A Long Petal of the Sea(26)

“Where did you get that sluttish dress?”

“It’s fashionable, Papa. Do you want to see me in a nun’s habit, like Aunt Teresa?”

“Don’t be impertinent. What would Matias think if he saw you like that?”

“He’d stand there with his mouth wide open, like he always does. Don’t get your hopes up, I’m never going to marry him.”

“Well then, you shouldn’t keep him hanging on.”

“He’s so devout, Papa.”

“Would you prefer him to be an atheist?”

“Not in a month of Sundays, Papa. Mama, I came to ask if I could borrow Grandma’s necklace, but I see you’re already wearing it. It looks wonderful on you.”

“You take it, Ofelia, you’ll show it off much better than I will,” her mother said quickly, raising her hands to the clasp.

“Don’t be silly, Laura! Didn’t you hear that I want you to wear it tonight?” her husband cut in.

“What does it matter, Isidro? It will look better on her…”

“It matters to me! That’s enough. Ofelia, wear a shawl or cardigan, that neckline is too low,” he ordered. He couldn’t forget how embarrassed he had been during the masked ball held when they crossed the equator, when Ofelia appeared as a harem girl, wearing a veil and a revealing pair of pajamas.

“Just pretend you don’t know me, Papa. Luckily I don’t have to sit at your table with those boring old crocks. I hope I’m with some good-looking young fellows…”



“Don’t be so vulgar!” her father managed to exclaim before she swept out of the room, twirling like a flamenco dancer.

To Laura and Ofelia del Solar the captain’s dinner seemed endless. After the dessert—a volcano of ice cream and meringue with a lit candle in the center—the mother retired to her suite with a migraine, while her daughter made up for it dancing in the ballroom to soaring trumpets. She overdid the champagne and ended up in a corner of the deck kissing a Scottish officer with carrot-colored hair and wandering hands. Her father swooped down to rescue her at the last minute. “For God’s sake, the trouble you cause me! Don’t you know that rumor has wings? You’ll see, Matias is going to hear about this before we even dock in Liverpool!”



* * *



—

IN THE DEL SOLAR house on Calle Mar del Plata back in Santiago, a sense of perpetual vacation floated in the air. The master and mistress had been away for four weeks, and not even the dog was missing them. Their absence didn’t change the routines or lighten the servants’ tasks, but none of the servants was in any great hurry. The radios poured out soap operas, boleros, and soccer. There was time for siestas. Even Leonardo, who normally clung to his mother, seemed happy and had stopped asking for her. This was the first time they had been apart, and far from regretting it, Baby took advantage to explore all the forbidden nooks and crannies of this three-story house: the basement, garage, cellar, and attic.

Felipe, the eldest son, who had been left in charge of the house and his younger brother, took his responsibilities lightly, because he was not cut out to be the head of the family, and his mind was on more interesting affairs. The burning issue of political life in Chile at the time was the question of the Spanish refugees, and so he couldn’t care less if they served watery soup or crab at table or if Baby slept with the dog on his bed. He didn’t check the household expenses, and if he was asked for instructions, told the staff they should do as they always did.



Juana Nancucheo, of mixed criollo and Mapuche heritage from the deep south, was a woman of indeterminate age. Short of stature and as solid as the ancient tree trunks of her native forests, with a long black plait and olive skin, she was rough in manner and steadfastly loyal, and had been in charge of the household since time immemorial. She strictly supervised the three maids, cook, laundress, gardener, and the man who polished the floors, fetched the firewood and coal, looked after the hens, and did all the heavy work (nobody could remember his name: he was simply “the little fellow who did all the chores”). The only one to escape Juana’s control was the driver, who lived above the garage and received orders directly from the masters, although in her view this led to many abuses. She had her eye on him: she was sure he couldn’t be trusted, that he smuggled women up to his room. “There are too many domestic staff in this house,” Isidro would often say. “So who are you thinking of getting rid of, patron?” Juana would retort. “No one, I’m just saying it,” he would immediately bluster. He was right in a way, Juana admitted to herself: the children were grown up and several of the bedrooms had been closed off. The two elder daughters were married and had children of their own; the second son was away studying climate whims in the Caribbean, even though in Juana’s opinion there was nothing to be studied about that, you simply had to put up with it. Felipe lived in his own house. The only ones left were the youngest daughter, Ofelia, who was going to marry the agreeable young Matias—such a gentleman, so much in love—and Baby, her little angel, who was going to stay with her forever, because he would never grow up.

Her master and mistress had traveled abroad before, when the children were younger, and before Leonardo was born, and she had been left in charge of the house. On that occasion she had carried out her duties without anyone complaining, but this time they had decided to leave Felipe in charge, as if she were a useless idiot. All those years serving the family, she thought, and they repaid her in such a shabby fashion. Tempted as she was to gather her things and leave, she had nowhere to go. She must have been six or seven when she was given to Laura’s father, Vicente Vizcarra, in payment for a favor. In those days, Se?or Vizcarra traded in hardwoods—although by now there was nothing left of the fragrant forests of the Mapuche region, chopped down with axe and saw and replaced by nondescript trees planted in rows like soldiers, destined for paper mills. Juana was a barefoot youngster who understood no more than a few words of Spanish: her mother tongue was Mapudungun. Although she looked to him like a young savage, Vizcarra accepted her, because to refuse would have been a tremendous insult to his debtor. He took her back to Santiago with him, and handed her over to his wife, who in turn passed her on to the maids for them to train the girl in basic housework. Juana learned everything else for herself, her only schooling being her ability to listen and her willingness to obey. When Laura, one of the Vizcarra family daughters, married Isidro del Solar, Juana was dispatched to be their servant. She calculated that this must have been when she was about eighteen, although her birth had never been registered and so legally she didn’t exist.