Letters to Mrs Hernandez

by C S Gibbs

  Setsu, herself, was never previously one to be flirtatious, but was feeling a new sense of liberty in Argentina and, with Vero as a mentor, she was enjoying the fresh, uninhibited air of personal freedom that was not allowed to her, back home. She saw his eyes moving over her and felt a buzz of delicious guilt.

  “Do you know how to brush a horse down? Let me show you.”

  Setsu took the brush and smoothed it over her mare's flanks, creating arced contours in the fine hair.

  “Now, you try,” she said, handing him the brush.

  As he swept his hand along the horse's body, she reached out and grabbed his hand.

  “No, do it like this,” she said, correcting his strokes, whilst still keeping hold of his hand.

  At this unexpected touch, his heart began to pound and drive his libidinous subconscious to dream of better things to come. He turned to look her in the eyes and found her waiting for his gaze, as their heads gently leaned towards one another in anticipation of a first kiss.

  “Ah! There you are! I have been looking for the pair of you all over the place!” called Vero as she approached them from half way across the paddock with what appeared to be more urgency than normal.

  “Setsu, you have done a great job on the horses. It is time for dinner, so come in, you two. Sandra has prepared the table!”

  Thwarted, the young couple joined Vero, who positioned herself between the two of them.

  “So, Ben, what do you think of your first day at an estancia? Do you feel at home on the Pampas? You must feel like a gaucho, now?” There was a high-pitched ring in Vero's voice that was akin to a favourite aunt talking to an infant.

  “Yes . . . it's been nice . . . I liked riding the horse . . .” came the reply through lips that were now thin instead of puckered.

  “And Setsu, you did a beautiful job on the horses, you have learned a lot from being here.” Vero sounded like a schoolmistress.

  “Luis has shown me a great deal about looking after the horses,” uttered Setsu, sounding like a little girl who had been given an unwanted gift. She stared at the ground, feeling defeated by Vero's superior mother figure.

  With heads bowed and little appetite for what would, no doubt, be another of Sandra's sumptuous feasts, the frustrated pair trudged back to the estancia, finding it hard to understand the spring in Vero's step.

   

  ***

   

  Dinner had passed quietly, allowing Setsu and Ben's passions to slow themselves for a while. Hector took the lead in the conversation.

  “Yes, you should have seen her father's face when he realised that I was only a gaucho! When I brought his daughter back, safe and sound, for just a few moments, I was a good prospect in his eyes. He liked the way I spoke and I was in my best riding clothes, that day.

  “Then he asked me about my occupation and when I said that I was working on the Chalmerston estate, it all went down hill, because he could tell that I was no son of old Lord Chalmerston. 'You are just a gaucho?' he asked, then he said through gritted teeth, 'Well, I thank you for assisting my daughter, I bid you good day. Be on your way.”

  Hector puffed on his cigar and looked at Vero, who took up the story.

  “It happens a lot, does it not? When a father tells his daughter to stay away from a boy, there is only one outcome. It made me want him all the more. So we started writing letters and arranging to see one another. I tell you, compared to us, Romeo and Juliet were a couple of amateurs!

  “I put him off the scent by settling in to my studies, so that when I started going for a weekly horse ride, he was not so suspicious. At first, he thought that it was a good thing for me to relax and take a break from my books. But, of course, it could not last. I was still keeping all of his favoured suitors at arm's length and he began to suspect something. He found one of Hector's letters and fell in to a rage. To keep us apart, he was going to send me to a finishing school in Switzerland!

  “But I managed to get one more letter out to Hector and our escape was planned. It was just like in an old movie – at midnight, under a full moon, Hector came for me with two horses. I climbed out of the window in my riding gear, carrying a small bag of belongings and we rode off together! I never went back, again.”

  Setsu was intrigued.

  “But where did you go?”

  “Old Lord Chalmerston was very fond of me,” said Hector, “And he was no great admirer of Señor Estrada, but he knew that Estrada would come looking for us, so he told me that it was best for us to go away together, until things had died down.

  “At first, I thought that he would send us to another farming estate, maybe down towards Patagonia, or even across the River Plate to Uruguay, but he had family a little further afield.”

  “Where?” asked Ben.

  “In New Zealand!” laughed Hector, “We were there for a whole year. A very eventful year, too.”

  “But that,” interrupted Vero, “Is another story. Come, Setsu, it is nearly time for us to take you two back to the city, so let me help you pack your things.”

  With that, she practically whisked Setsu from the room, leaving the two men to finish their drinks.

   

  ***

   

  With Hector at the wheel, the drive to the centre of Buenos Aires had been without palpitation, especially as Vero had insisted on keeping Setsu with her in the back of the car, much to Ben's annoyance.

  “Shall we see the two of you again, next weekend?” asked Hector, “You know that you are welcome.”

  “I would love to,” said Ben, seeing an opportunity, “Setsu, why don't you and I catch the train together from Once station?”

  “I have a better idea!” cut in Vero, “Hector, why don't you and I join them in the city? We have our apartment, there, and we can show these two around the sights. How does that sound?”

  “It sounds as if you have already made up your mind, my dear!” said Hector.

  “So, we are all agreed, then? Oh, Hector, dear, it would be best if we took Ben home, first. Constitucion is not far from here. Then we can take Setsu home.”

  “Are you sure, Vero?” asked Setsu, “I think you can get to my apartment from here before we get to Constitucion?”

  “Oh, maybe, but I think that Ben needs to get home, first. He has got to get up for an early start tomorrow.” She patted Setsu's hand with headstrong reassurance.

  The car rolled on through the fading Sunday evening light, until it reached Ben's lodgings. He shook hands with Hector and turned to farewell the ladies in the back. Vero moved first and planted a kiss on his cheek, then, by discreet use of a gently restraining hand, made sure that Setsu could offer nothing more than a hand shake.

  As Ben stood on the pavement, smiling and waving, he was not surprised to see Hector turn the car around and head back in the direction from which they had just come. So, he thought, it really would have been quicker to take Setsu home first, but Vero was obviously not going to let him see where she lives. Not yet, anyway. Knowing that such an obstacle could easily be overcome, he smiled and went indoors.

  “You see, Setsu,” beamed Vero, “I told you that you would like him.”

  “Alright,” conceded Setsu, who always felt so unabashed in Vero's company, “Yes, but why did you not tell me that he is English? I am supposed to be at war with him!”

  “Ah, that is nothing. All wars end, eventually. Life is too short not to enjoy ones-self. So you are happy to see him again, next week?”

  “Of course. Where shall we go?”

  “How about the race course and the zoo? Hector loves a gamble on the horses.”

  Hector slowed the car to the side of the narrow, Parisian-looking street as they approached the apartment block. Setsu hugged and kissed them both and made her way up the stairs to her small room.

  “You really are working on those two, aren't you, Vero?” said Hector as he turned the car for home, “But don't be so heavy handed with them. It is best not to try and control
things so much.”

  “But you agree with me that they are a great match for each other? They need to be given direction and I intend to be the perfect chaperone. I know what I am doing – I am making sure that things develop at the right pace. It takes time to grow the perfect rose.”

  “I agree, darling, but just be careful with the way that you spread your manure! Do you really think that taking Ben home first will stop him from finding out where Setsu lives?”

  “He is new in the city. He does not know his way around. I don't want him going to her apartment, just yet.”

  “That's as may be, but he is a smart young fellow and you are forgetting one thing. He knows where she works. And if he wants to, it won't take him long to find it.”

  The car rolled along in silence for a moment. It was not often that Vero was lost for words.

   

   

   

  Chapter Fourteen - A Man of Letters

  The grid system of the Buenos Aires streets was causing Ben some confusion. Back home, the urban streets meandered on a path almost of their own choosing, following the route of rivers and streams, crossing paths with one another at will, or simply ending abruptly for little or no reason. Two thousand years of building and demolition had produced a Gordian knot of lanes, roads, streets and avenues, yet despite this, it was their unpredictable nature that made them unique, memorable and navigable.

  The same could not be said of this city in the new world, with much fewer decades under its belt, the modern planners had made all roads look the same to this newcomer, and without a distinctive bend here or crumbling piece of Georgian architecture there, he found himself in the ridiculous situation of going around in circles within a maze of perfect squares.

  There were, though, reasons for being lost at this moment. In the intervening days since the weekend, Ben had been constantly distracted at work, unable to focus on the tasks in hand, never mind being unable to sleep at night. To his workmates, he had passed off his condition as a case of the local food disagreeing with his stubborn English innards, but the truth was more private than that.

  Lost and in need of salvation, there was nothing else for it but to take a deep breath and attempt to speak in broken Spanish to a local.

  Ben moved apprehensively toward a cafe, outside which sat a well-dressed elderly gentleman, peacefully buried in a book whilst taking idle, intermittent sips from his glass of blood-red wine.

  “Por favor, Senor. Donde esta Escuela Internacional?”

  The man pointed to the junction across from the cafe.

  “”Coja la segunda calle y escuela esta a mano izquierda.”

  The second street on the left . . . the second street on the left. Ben thanked the man, who waved him on his way, and raced into the road, making that common error of the Englishman abroad of looking to his right for the oncoming car, only to realise after a couple of steps that not everyone in the world drives on the left hand side of the road.

  There was a screech of brakes and a loud honk of a car horn. The driver of the suddenly stationary vehicle spat forth a furious rebuke of finest Latin fire, the words of which registered little to the stumbling but unharmed foreigner, but the full force of the context was clear in any language.

  “Er . . . Perdon!” he offered as he sidestepped his way across the street as quickly as possible.

  The second street on the left . . . nearly there . . . nearly there.

  At last, he reached his destination, but found himself hesitating at the door. No, it would not be right to go in and perhaps ruin everything, he thought, but the job had to be finished, or he would certainly endure another sleepless night.

  Reaching in to his jacket pocket, he carefully removed the ivory white envelope and looked at it one last time. This letter had to be delivered by hand – he could not leave it to chance that it might be lost in the sorting office, or perhaps by some quirk of fate, there would have been a rain shower on collection day, resulting in the address being smudged and the letter consigned to the waste paper bin – this way, it would reach its recipient.

  He looked at the address: To Miss Setsu Kimura, Escuela Internacional, Buenos Aires.

  The handwriting was his best and he had flourished the capital letters to make sure that his effort was emphasised.

  “Here goes something, or nothing,” he though, as he smoothed the envelope again and moved toward the letter box with trepidation to post the letter, allowing himself a lingering grip before finally dropping it through the slot.

  Ben paused and stared at the letterbox for a moment. That would have to do, he thought, but then a mild panic seized him as he realised that the school was still open and he could be spotted. It was midday and he did not want to run in to anyone, especially Setsu. That would make him seem far too eager. That would cause a bad show.

  Making an abrupt about turn, Ben briskly made his way back to work.

   

  ***

   

  “Before you go to lunch, class, remember to study for tomorrow's test on reflexive verbs. Very well, class dismissed!”

  The fifteen students placed their chairs neatly behind their desks and made for the door, all bidding Miss Kimura farewell until their next generous helping of English grammar. It had been a good morning and with her fourth class of the day now complete, Setsu was looking forward to her lunch hour.

  She had done well at the international school since her arrival, overcoming her initial discomfort at being so far from the familiar, but her sense of determination and bright personality had made her an effective and popular member of staff. There were a fair number of successful Japanese ex-pats in Buenos Aires who had done well enough to send their children to a private school, so the demand for a Japanese-speaking teacher meant that there was plenty of work for someone of Setsu's capabilities. Besides, the pay was good and she could send plenty back to her mother in Tokyo to help her cope with price rises and food shortages.

  Setsu was cleaning the black board when Sylvia, the receptionist, entered the classroom.

  “Hola, Setsu, there is a letter here for you!” She placed the still-warm envelope on to Setsu's desk.

  “Oh, gracias, Sylvia. I wonder if it is from my mother or brother?”

  “Well, there is no stamp or post mark on it, so it must have been hand-delivered.”

  “I'd better have a look, then.”

  Setsu examined the envelope. She did not recognise the handwriting and it did not have the same lilt to it as the other Argentines with whom she worked. Curious, she opened the letter and began to read.

  There was a moment of silence, broken by Sylvia.

  “Well, who is it from?”

  “Oh . . . It's nothing, just a note from a parent asking me to give some extra work to their child. Let's get something to eat.”

  With that, the two women made their way off to the refectory.

   

  ***

   

  Later that evening, Setsu had readied herself for bed. Tired, she clambered in to her single bed, and with the bedside lamp to read by, she opened the letter to read it again.

   

  Constitucion,

  Buenos Aires

  December 8th, 1942

   

  Dear Setsu,

  I hope that you don't mind me writing this letter, but I really wanted to say just how very much I enjoyed your company over the weekend at Vero and Hector's estancia.

  I know that we might have got off to a little of a shaky start, but once we got talking I found you to be quite the most wonderful company – your conversation was fascinating and I really like your sense of humour.

  This whole trip to Argentina has been a real eye-opener for me and there is one new experience after another. I have never met anyone from Argentina before and certainly never expected to meet anyone from Japan, especially someone who is such great company as you – not to mention the fact that you did not seem to mind my terrible dancing
.

  What I really want to say is that I hope very much to see you again, soon, and that you will tell me a lot more about yourself and Japan. I shall be spending every available weekend at the Hernandez's – it would be so wonderful to see you there again, soon.

   

  Yours sincerely,

  Ben Hutchinson

   

  It must have been the tenth time that she had read the letter since arriving home, that evening. She folded the letter up and carefully slipped it back in to its envelope, before placing it on the bedside cabinet. Smiling, she switched off the lamp, sighed and drifted off to sleep.

  Some miles to the west of the soundly slumbering Setsu, lay the letter's author. If he could, in any way, have been aware of the success of his stylographic venture, then he, too would have drifted off to a contented dreamland. However, the besotted intoxication which had seized him and denied him a good night's rest since the weekend at the estancia was now replaced by the sheer terror of rejection. Still he could not sleep.

  The letter had seemed like such a good idea. An ideal way to express his feelings to Setsu and set his restless mind at ease with the knowledge that he was doing something, anything, to register his interest in her. After all, was the pen not mightier than the sword? If not, then perhaps he would swap his pen for a sword so that he could fall on it?

  Oh, for a response, he thought. How long would he have to wait? It now became apparent to him that no amount of counting sheep was going to clear his mind.

  It was going to be another long, restless night, and there could well be plenty more where that came from.

   

   

  Chapter Fifteen - Captivated Among the Captive

  Setsu had been something of a dark horse for as long as she could remember. At school her classmates and teachers had tolerated her, although she had felt their suspicion of her and their assumption (which was actually largely correct) that her parents had been 'putting ideas in her head' with regard to the national psyche.