A Long Petal of the Sea(57)

Juana brought them iced tea and dulce de leche pastries, then hovered behind the camellias trying to overhear them. As she often told Felipe when he scolded her for listening behind doors, her position in the family meant she had to stay well informed. “Why did Ofelita have to break young Matias’s heart? He’s such a good person; he doesn’t deserve to suffer like that. Just imagine, ni?o Felipe, before he could even ask she told him everything that had happened. And in detail.”

Matias had listened in silence, wiping the sweat from his face with a handkerchief, overwhelmed by Ofelia’s confession, the heat, and the sweet scent of roses and jasmine in the garden. When she had finished, it took him a good while to calm his emotions and conclude that, in reality, nothing had changed. Ofelia was still the most beautiful woman in the world, the only one he had ever loved and would continue to love to the end of his days. He tried to tell her as much with the eloquence he had shown in his letters, but the flowery language was beyond him.

“Please, Ofelia, marry me.”

“Didn’t you hear what I’ve been telling you? Aren’t you going to ask me who the father of the child was?”



“That doesn’t matter. The only thing that does is if you still love him.”

“It wasn’t love, Matias. It was lust.”

“Then it needn’t concern us. I know you require time to recover, although I suppose no one truly recovers from the death of a child, but when you are ready, I’ll be waiting for you.”

He took the little velvet box from his pocket and placed it delicately on the tea tray.

“Would you say the same if I had an illegitimate child in my arms?” she challenged him.

“Of course I would.”

“I imagine that nothing I’ve said comes as a surprise to you, Matias: you must have heard the rumors. My bad reputation will follow me wherever I go. It could ruin your diplomatic career, and your life as well.”

“That’s my problem.”



* * *



—

BEHIND THE CAMELLIAS, Juana Nancucheo couldn’t see Ofelia take the small velvet box and examine it closely in the palm of her hand as if it were an Egyptian scarab; all she noticed was the silence. She didn’t dare poke her head through the bushes, but when she thought this had gone on long enough, she emerged from her hiding place and approached them to remove the tea tray. It was then she saw the ring on Ofelia’s fourth finger.

They wanted to be married without any fuss, but for Isidro del Solar that was tantamount to admitting guilt, besides which his daughter’s wedding was a wonderful opportunity to repay a thousand social obligations, and while they were at it give a slap in the face to the bastards spreading gossip about Ofelia. He himself hadn’t heard any, but on more than one occasion in the Club de la Union he thought he heard people laughing behind his back. Preparations for the wedding were minimal, since the bride and groom had everything ready from the year before, including sheets and tablecloths embroidered with their initials. They published the announcement in the society pages of El Mercurio, and the dressmaker quickly made a wedding gown similar to the previous one, but a few sizes larger.



Father Vicente Urbina did them the honor of marrying them. His presence itself was a vindication of Ofelia’s reputation. When readying the couple for the sacrament of marriage with the usual warnings and advice, he delicately avoided the question of the bride’s past. Ofelia, however, took great pleasure in telling him that Matias knew what had happened and so she wouldn’t have to carry the secret alone for the rest of her life. The two of them would bear it together.

Before leaving for Paraguay, Ofelia wanted to go to the country cemetery where her child was buried. Matias accompanied her. They straightened the white cross, laid a bunch of flowers on the grave, and said prayers. “One day, when we have our own plot in the Catholic cemetery, we’ll transfer your little boy to be with us, as it should be,” said Matias.

They had a week’s honeymoon in Buenos Aires, then traveled overland to Asuncion. Those few days were enough for Ofelia to sense that in marrying Matias she had made the best decision of her life. I’m going to love him as he deserves, I’ll be faithful to him and make him happy, she promised herself.

And so at last this man, as stubborn and determined as an ox, was able to cross the threshold of his lavish and meticulously prepared house, carrying his wife in his arms. She weighed more than he had bargained for, but he was strong.





CHAPTER 9

1948–1970

Every being

Will have the right

To land and life

And that will be the bread of tomorrow.

—PABLO NERUDA

“Ode to Bread”

ELEMENTAL ODES

THE SUMMER OF 1948 SAW the beginning of a Dalmau family tradition that was to last a decade. Roser and Marcel spent the month of February in a cabin they rented by the beach. Like most Chilean husbands of his standing, who boasted they never took holidays because they were indispensable at work, Victor stayed in the city and joined them on weekends. According to Roser, this was simply another expression of Chilean machismo: how could they give up the freedom that being summer bachelors offered them? It would have been frowned upon for Victor to take a whole month off from the hospital, but the main reason for him remaining was that the beach always brought back bitter memories of the Argeles-sur-Mer internment camp. He had promised himself never again to set foot on sand.