Meet Me Under The Ombu Tree (5 page)

‘It’s a very long shot, Chofi,’ he replied, smirking at her.

‘Why?’

‘Because girls don’t play in matches.’

‘Well, there’s always a first time,’ she told him defiantly. ‘I think Papa will let me play in the end.’

‘Not the
Copa Santa Catalina.
There’s a lot of pride riding on that match, Chofi-anyhow, Agustin’s the fourth.’

‘You know I can play just as well as Agustin.’

‘No, I don’t - but if you
do
end up playing it will have nothing whatsoever to do with magic. Foul play, manipulation - they're more your style. Poor Paco's wrapped around your little finger and he doesn’t even know it.’

‘Everyone’s wrapped around Sofia’s little finger, Santi,’ laughed Maria,

without the slightest hint of envy.

‘Except Mama.’

‘You’re losing your touch, Chofi.’

‘With Anna, Sofia’s never had a touch.’

The Santa Catalina Cup was the annual polo match played against the neighbouring
estancia,
La Paz. The two
estancias
had been rivals for many years, generations even, and the year before, Santa Catalina had been beaten by only one goal. The cousins at Santa Catalina, and there were many, played polo most afternoons during the summer months, in the same way that Anna’s cousins used to play hurling back in Glengariff. Sofia’s father Paco and his elder brother, Miguel, took the most interest and bullied the boys in order to refine their game. Santi already played a six-goal handicap, which was excellent as the best handicap was ten and one had to be a very accomplished player to qualify for a handicap at all. Miguel was fiercely proud of his son and did little to hide his favouritism.

Fernando, Santi’s elder brother, was only a four-goal handicap. It irritated Fernando that his younger brother beat him at everything. It was even more humiliating that not only was he a superior athlete but he was superior
and

lame. It hadn’t escaped his notice, either, that Santi was not only the apple of his parents’ eye, but the entire fruit bowl. So he willed his brother to fail, he ground his teeth together at night from willing so hard, but Santi seemed invincible. Now the bloody dentist had given him an ugly mould to wear in his mouth at night to save his teeth - another nail Santi had happily hammered into his coffin.

Sofia on the other hand had two elder brothers, Rafael and Agustin, who made up the four players of the team. Rafael also played a four-goal and Agustin a two. Sofia, much to her fury, was not considered.

Sofia wished she had been born a boy. She hated girlie games and had grown up following the boys around hoping to be included. Santi always allowed her to join in. He often took the time to help her with her polo and insisted she practise with the boys, even when he had had to withstand fierce opposition from his brother and cousins, who hated playing polo with a girl, especially as she played better than some of them. Santi claimed that he only let her join in to keep the peace. ‘You could be extremely demanding, it was easier to give in,’ he told her. Santi was her favourite cousin. He had always stuck up for her. In fact, he was a better brother to her than Rafael and the

hapless Agustin could ever be.

Now Santi threw Sofia his penknife. ‘Go on then, make your wishes,’ he said lazily, pulling out a packet of cigarettes from his breast pocket. ‘Do you want one, Chofi?’

‘Sure, why not.’

He pulled one out, lit it, then after taking a long drag passed it down to his cousin. Sofia climbed up to the higher branch with the expertise of a Venezuelan monkey and sat cross-legged, revealing her brown kneecaps through the frayed slashes in her jeans.

‘Now, what do I wish for this time?’ she sighed, and opened the knife.

‘Make sure it’s attainable,’ advised Santi, casting his eye over to where his sister was sitting quietly, watching her cousin with undisguised admiration. Sofia sucked on the cigarette before blowing the smoke out in disgust.

‘Hey, give me back my fag, if you’re not going to smoke it properly. Don’t waste it,’ he said irritably. ‘You can’t imagine how difficult it is to get my hands on these.’

‘Don’t lie, Encarnacion gets them for you,’ replied Sofia casually as she began to carve into the bark. The soft wood came away quite easily after the initial

cut, the little shavings falling off like chocolate.

‘Who told you that?’ he asked accusingly.

‘Maria.’

‘I didn’t mean ...’ began Maria guiltily.

‘Look, who cares, Santi. No one gives a damn. Anyway, we’ll keep your secret,’ said Sofia, more interested now in her wish than the squabble that she had ignited between brother and sister.

Santi inhaled deeply, holding the cigarette between his thumb and his forefinger as he watched Sofia drawing on the bark. He had grown up with her and had always considered her to be another sister, along with Maria. Fernando wouldn’t agree; he had always found Sofia trying at the best of times. Her face was fixed into an expression of intense concentration. She had beautiful skin, Santi decided. It was smooth and brown like Encarnacion’s milk chocolate mousse. Her profile revealed a certain arrogance, perhaps it was the way her nose turned up at the end, or was it in the strength of her chin? He liked her character; she was defiant and difficult. Her almond-shaped brown eyes could change from soft to imperious in a blink, and when she was angry they darkened from chestnut to a rich red-brown colour he had never seen in anyone else’s eyes. No one could say she was a pushover. He admired that quality; she had a charisma that drew people to her even though sometimes they burnt their toes on her coals when they got too close. He enjoyed watching them burn from his unique position of special status. He was always there to run back to when her friendships went awry.

After a while Sofia sat back and smiled proudly at her work of art.

‘Well, what is it then?’ asked Maria, leaning into the tree to see better.

‘Can’t you tell?’ replied Sofia indignantly.

‘I’m sorry, Sofia, but no,’ she replied.

‘It’s a love heart.’ She caught Maria’s eye, who frowned back enquiringly.

‘Oh?’

‘Bit of a cliche, isn’t it? Who’s the lucky guy?’ asked Santi who had flopped back onto his branch and was dangling his arms and legs in the air lethargically.

‘Not telling, I’m wishing,’ she replied, lowering her eyes coyly.

Sofia rarely blushed, but in the last few months she had begun to feel differently about her cousin. When he looked into her eyes in that intense way, her face coloured and her heart hopped about like a cricket for no apparent reason.

She admired him, looked up to him, adored him. Oddly her face had taken to blushing. It had nothing to do with her, she hadn’t been consulted, it just happened. When she complained to Soledad that her face turned red when she talked to boys, her maid laughed and said it was all part of growing up. Sofia hoped she’d grow out of it just as quickly. She reflected on these new feelings with curiosity and exhilaration, but Santi was miles away, exhaling smoke like a Red Indian. Maria took the knife and carved a small sun.

‘May I be blessed with a long, happy life,’ she said.

‘That’s a bit of an odd thing to wish for,’ scoffed Sofia, screwing up her nose.

‘You must never take anything for granted, Sofia,’ said Maria seriously.

‘Oh God, you’ve been listening to my raving mother. Are you going to kiss your crucifix now?’ Maria laughed as Sofia pulled her face into an expression of piety and crossed herself irreverently.

‘Aren’t you going to wish, Santi? Go on, it’s tradition!’ she insisted.

‘No, it’s girl’s stuff,’ he replied.

‘Please yourself,’ said Sofia, throwing herself back against the trunk. ‘Mmm. Can you smell the eucalyptus?’ A satin breeze brushed softly over her hot cheeks, carrying with it the unmistakable medicinal scent of eucalyptus. ‘You know, of all the smells in the
campo,
this is the one I love best. If I were lost at sea and smelt this smell I would cry for home.’ And she sighed melodramatically.

Santi inhaled deeply, blowing the smoke out of his mouth in rings.

‘I agree, it always reminds me of summer.’

‘I can’t smell eucalyptus. The only scent coming my way is Santi’s Marlboro,’ complained Maria, waving her hand in the air.

‘
Bueno
, don’t sit downwind then,’ he retorted.

‘No, Santi, don’t
you
sit upwind from me!’

‘Mujeres!’
he sighed, his sandy blond hair falling about his head like one of those mysterious auras that
La Vieja Bruja
raved on about in the village. Apparently everyone had one, everyone except the very wicked. The three of them draped themselves like cats over the branches, searching in silence for the first stars through the dusk.

The ponies snorted and stamped wearily under the ombu, changing their weight every now and then to rest their feet. Tossing their heads they patiently fought off the cloud of flies and mosquitoes that gathered about them. Finally

Maria suggested they begin to make their way back.

‘It’ll be totally dark soon,’ she said anxiously, mounting her pony.

‘Mama is going to murder me,’ Sofia sighed, already envisaging Anna’s fury.

‘I’ll get the blame again, I suppose,’ groaned Santi.

‘Well, Santiago, you’re the adult - you’re meant to be looking after us.’

‘With your mother on the warpath, Chofi, I don't think I want the responsibility.’ Anna was well-known for her temper.

Sofia jumped onto her pony and with an experienced hand guided it through the darkness.

Back on the ranch they gave their ponies to old Jose, the most senior
gaucho,
who had been leaning against the fence sipping
Mate
through an ornate silver
bombilla,
waiting with the patience of someone to whom time means very little. He shook his grey head with gentle disapproval.

‘Señorita Sofia, your mother has been calling us all night,’ he chided. ‘This is a dangerous time,
niha
, you must be careful.’

‘Oh, dear Jose, you shouldn’t worry so much, you know I’ll get away with it!’ And laughing she ran after Maria and Santi who were already walking off towards the lights.

As predicted, Anna was outraged. Like a jack-in-the-box, the moment she saw her daughter she sprang up, her arms waving about as if she had no way of controlling them.

‘Where on earth have you been?’ she demanded, her red face clashing horribly with her hair.

‘We went for a ride and just forgot the time, I’m sorry.’

Agustin and Rafael, her older brothers, both stretched out on the sofas, smirked ironically.

‘What are they grinning about? Agustin, don’t eavesdrop! This has nothing to do with you.’

‘Sofia, you’re a lying toad,’ he said from the sofa.

‘Rafael, Agustin, this is not a joke,’ their mother snapped in exasperation.

‘ “Off to your room, Señorita Sofia”,’ added Agustin under his breath. Anna wasn’t in the mood for his jokes and looked to her husband for support but Paco returned to his sons and the
Copa Santa Catalina.
Grandpa O’Dwyer, who wouldn’t have been any help at all, was snoring loudly in the armchair in the corner. So Anna, as usual, was left to play the autocrat. She turned to her daughter and with the sigh of a well-practised martyr, sent her to her room

without any supper.

Sofia left the sitting room unfazed and wandered into the kitchen. As she had hoped, Soledad was prepared, ready with
empanadas
and a bowl of steaming
zapallo
soup.

‘Paco, why don’t you support me?’ Anna asked her husband wearily. ‘Why do you take her part every time? I can’t do this on my own.’

‘M.'
amor
, you’re tired. Why don’t you get an early night?’ Paco looked up at her grim face. He searched her features for the soft young girl he had married and wondered why she was afraid to come out and show herself. Somewhere along the line she had retreated and he wondered whether he would ever get her back again.

Dinner was awkward. Anna wore a pinched expression on her face in an act of defiance. Rafael and Agustin continued to talk with their father about the polo match the following day as if she wasn’t there. They forgot that Sofia was absent. Her empty place at the dinner table was fast becoming a regular occurrence.

‘Roberto and Francisco Lobito are the ones we’ve got to watch out for,' said Rafael, talking with his mouth full. Anna watched him warily, but at twenty-three years old he was too grown-up to be told what to do by his mother.

‘They’ll be marking Santi heavily,’ said Paco, looking up from under his serious brow. ‘He’s the best player on our team - that means you boys will have more responsibility. Do you understand? Agustin, you’re going to have to concentrate.
Really
concentrate.’

‘Don’t worry, Papa,’ replied Agustin, shifting his small brown eyes from his father to his brother in a bid to show his sincerity. ‘I won’t let you down.’