Letters to Mrs Hernandez

by C S Gibbs

  From her vantage point on the front steps leading from the estancia to the large garden, she could see the two young lovers, eagerly awaiting the food being prepared by Sandra on the outdoor stove, close to the drooping fronds of the willow tree. They looked so happy and relaxed – Setsu was again wearing a flower in her hair (since Ben had mentioned how lovely it looked, she had done so for him at every opportunity) and Ben had changed from the skinny, shy boy in to a confident young man.

  Autumn was drawing in and this was surely going to be the last good weekend before the steady march toward Winter would begin.

  Vero now felt a cloud of doubt, as she suddenly wondered if she had created impending misery for these two. Instead of the Montagues and Capulets, it was the empires of Japan and Britain that would forbid their relationship and in a little over a month's time, they would be pulled apart by the war.

  Was it her own arrogance that had made her think that two strangers from opposing nations should be brought together? Perhaps it was, but then, why not? If this world is to become a better place, then why not start with this? One small effort in bringing people together and ending ignorance.

  Yet how on Earth were they to remain in touch whilst this stupid war continued? She had created this situation and felt a surge of responsibility to find some way to keep them together throughout the coming months or years.

  Vero looked skyward and offered her prayers to the infinite: I know that you are up there, listening, she thought, and you have your reasons for denying me a child, but you have put these two in my charge and I stand justified in doing what I felt was right by bringing them together. You have helped me to create a new love, so now you must give me a way to preserve it.

  She paused for inspiration from her trusted wine and cigarette, waiting for some guidance from above.

  Clearly, there was a good connection to the divine, that evening, as the answer suddenly arrived and Vero beamed with satisfaction. The answer was so clear to her and she could not wait to share it.

  She strode over to Ben and Setsu with her usual assured swagger.

  “You two, come and sit with me, I have something to tell you.”

  She ushered them to wooden chairs under a tree and began to explain her wonderful idea as though she were reading a bedtime story.

  “I have it! I know just what to do in order to help the pair of you keep in touch once you are away from us.”

  Setsu looked puzzled.

  “You do? I was getting so worried about that.”

  Vero smiled, “It has been so obvious that I could not see it. The answer lies right here with neutral Argentina. There are no restrictions on either of you sending letters here, so all you have to do is send them to me!

  “I will just put your letters in to new envelopes with your addresses on them and it will look as though they have been sent to you from me.”

  “That's brilliant,” said Ben, “But any letters to or from me will still be read by a censor, so we would have to be careful.”

  “That is true,” agreed Vero, “So you should not use your names. Just sign yourselves as 'S' for Setsu and 'B' for Ben.”

  Setsu did not look so confident in Vero's plan.

  “Yes, that will work well for Ben, but I don't know how I would send any letters out of Japan, and how will you send anything to me?”

  “Ah, I have thought of that, too,” beamed Vero, “Hector and I have friends at the Ministry of Trade who can send letters to the Argentine embassy in Tokyo. All you will have to do is visit there maybe once a month to send and collect your letters. You see – I told you that we are the right people!”

  Setsu looked re-assured and raised a glass.

  “Thank you. Thank you so much. Let us all drink to you and to our letters. The letters to Señora Hernandez.”

   

  ***

   

  The evening dusk began to cast its dull cloak over the garden, so with the food consumed and the fire beckoning, the people of Estancia Fuga made their way indoors.

  Vero and Hector had gone to check that their beloved horses were settled for the night, whilst Sandra busied herself in the kitchen. Sitting by the newly lit fire, Ben and Setsu pondered Vero's master plan.

  “I promise that I will write to you. We will keep in touch. You told me that we can make things happen if we believe in them, and I believe in what we can do,” said Ben.

  “I promise the same to you,” declared Setsu. “The war is beyond our control but if we both stay determined, then we can do this. I think it will work – we can make it work. We know that we have to go, but at least this way we can keep in touch,” started Setsu. “Letters are such precious things. They can carry so much of your feelings and even though they are just pieces of paper, they can bring you close together.”

  “Actually, I was thinking about that and I would like to suggest something,” said Ben, who reached in to his pocket, producing the Conway-Stewart pen that had been gifted to him by James Carruthers.

  “This was given to me by a very special man. The fellow who set me on the path that led me to you. I would like you to have this, so that when you write to me, you are doing so with . . . well, a part of me.”

  Setsu took the pen and smiled, almost fetching a tear to her eye. She immediately got up and walked to the cabinet by the door, on which stood her handbag.

  “That is such a beautiful gesture,” she said as she walked back towards him, offering him her blood-red Pilot fountain pen.

  “This was my father's and it would mean so much to me if you would write your letters with this pen. Then I would know that every word was written with love.”

  The pair rose to their feet, embraced and kissed.

  “Well, that's the horses put to bed! Who's for a little night-cap, then?” Vero strode in to the room with Hector trailing but closing in on the drinks cabinet with singular purpose. Foiled again, Ben and Setsu broke from their clinch and sat down in separate seats, both of them realising that for now, the best way for them to express their feelings would be to simply write them down.

   

   

  Chapter Twenty-three - Such Sweet Sorrow

  Winter had taken hold upon the Pampas. The stubbled crops had faded to palest yellow under an unblinking sun in an ice-blue sky. Evergreen trees still sang a continual diaphanous whisper as the soft breeze sighed through their branches.

  Again, the owners of Estancia Fuga sat and dined with their two young guests, as they had done so many times over the last six months. Sandra's food was as delicious and filling as ever and the roaring fire had kept everyone warm.

  Despite this, the four people felt a degree of emptiness and coldness because this was the last time that they would all be together for quite some time. The following morning, Ben would leave for New Zealand, whilst only three weeks after that, Setsu would make her return to Japan.

  Despite this muted air, Vero knew that the night was going to move on to better things. After dessert, she had excused herself, saying that she was going to help Sandra in the kitchen, but the drinks were not the main focus of her agenda.

  “I'll take the coffee, Sandra. You go upstairs and make sure that the fires are all going well in Setsu and Ben's rooms – I think you know why!”

  Sandra gave her a baffled look?

  “Both rooms? But I thought that tonight was the night?”

  “I can't be sure which room they will end up in! I can hardly tell them which one to go in, myself!”

  “You can't be sure? Oh, come on, Señora, what do your instincts tell you?”

  “Well, custom dictates that it should be the man who leads the lady to his room, but Setsu is definitely the more assertive one . . . oh, I can't decide!”

  “Well, what about your first time with Hector? Didn't you go to his room?”

  “We didn't have a room – we had the Pampas!”

  Sandra paused for a moment.

  “Was it his field or your field?”

/>   “I can't remember. I was too busy staring at the stars!”

  Both women cackled saucily, then settled, lest they attracted any attention from the dining room.

  “Look, Sandra, just put some extra logs on both fires to be on the safe side.”

  “Very good, Señora,” Sandra made for the stairs, but Vero suddenly called her back.

  “Put some extra logs on our fire, too, please. Tonight is not just a night for young love – there is plenty of room for old love, too!”

  Sandra smiled and continued upstairs.

  “Here is the coffee!” announced Vero as she entered the dining room.

  “I'm not sure if I should have any,” said Ben, “You know how it keeps me awake and, for once, I actually have to get up early, tomorrow.”

  Ben stopped himself. He saw the look from Vero and could actually read it: tonight was different. Tonight was meant to be a long night. Tonight, the chaperone's shackles would be off.

  “Perhaps just this once, eh?”

  Now it was clear where the night was leading, Vero could relax, too. No more need to use delaying tactics or be an obstruction.

  He would look at Setsu with nervous excitement and then look away almost in panic, trying to engage in Vero's small talk or indulge Hector in his passion for cigars, but it was becoming less and less possible to focus on anything other than being together with Setsu, but alone with her.

  “You know, Ben, a cigar is so lonely without a brandy. Will you join me? And, my dear Señoras, surely you will indulge in a canã?”

  All agreed and Hector poured out the helpings: two for relaxation and two for Dutch courage.

  The quartet sat and watched the flames of the fire dance over the steadily fading logs. Their heat would be exhausted by morning – as with all things, there is only a given time in which to burn brightly.

  Vero and Hector savoured their drinks with a subtle swiftness and it was Vero's turn to take the lead. She knew that their part in the play was over for tonight and that it was time to leave the young actors alone for their most intimate scene.

  “Come, my old puma, let us put these glasses in the kitchen and make our way upstairs. I may have need of you on such a cold night!”

  The noble cat rose and followed his lioness, pausing at the door to address his young wards.

  “I bid you both the tenderest of goodnights. Or should that be a night of good tenderness?”

  Before the dumbstruck lovers could reply, the puma was grabbed and led away by his mistress, upstairs to blissful captivity.

  There was no more need for words. Both knew that the night was going to end this way. Drinks were left by the fireside and Setsu followed Vero's example by taking Ben's hand and leading him upstairs.

  Accompanied by nothing more than the crackling of the fire, Setsu opened her bedroom door and led her man inside. Previously, any opportunity to steal kisses had been sincere but formal, whilst hands had been held with restraint and embraces had been both reserved and difficult. That time was now past and such fear and inhibition were to be forgotten.

  Alone, the fire and the light of the full moon spilling through the window gave them all the illumination that was required as finally lips could meet with unrestrained fullness, bodies could press together, hands could clasp and pull at clothes. Any notion of innocence was banished by pure instinct.

  Breathing quickened to gasping, pulses racing, as both lay together on the bed and felt the scintillating first sensation of bare skin on skin. Animal drive mixed with gentleness, as the blind urges were tempered by the unwillingness to inflict discomfort, but the lusty vigour was knowingly met with willing surrender.

  Eyes met in the moonlight and locked in a gaze that, though wordless, exchanged a thousand pages of unwavering devotion.

  This night would never come again. They wanted every touch to last forever – it needed to last forever - for after tomorrow, each breath, thought and sensation from this night would be all that they would have to sustain each other for goodness knew how long.

  All passion spent, they lay sleeping in a tight embrace, which would last until sunrise.

   

   

  Chapter Twenty-four - June 1943

  The stormy seas of the Terra Del Fuego were long past and beneath the dreamy blue skies of the South Pacific, the long, white clouds clearly flagged the presence below of New Zealand.

  Standing on prow of the merchant vessel, Ben again marvelled at the new sights before him: the myriad of tiny islands that peppered the approach to Auckland Harbour, some of which, with their jade green grass and undulating hillocks seemed to be uncanny microcosms of his native Derbyshire landscape, albeit thankfully free of coal mines and their accompanying slag heaps. That said, with landscapes so similar, it was no wonder that both places were famous for being largely covered with sheep.

  Squinting in the bright mid-morning light, it was again the sheer vivid colour that struck him. As in Lisbon the clouds dissipated in the growing heat and the sky seemed like a perfect, stretched wall of polished azure. The sea was the deepest of emerald greens, whilst between the ocean and the heavens the grass did truly appear to be greener.

  From a distance, there seemed barely room to shoe-horn in another vessel at the bustling quayside. British and American ships filled every available space as worker ant sailors, troops and stevedores toiled, embarked, disembarked or just plain busy-bodied about their work, all with the ultimate collective aim of heading for Tokyo.

  The ship tip-toed through the precarious approach to the quayside and finally moored by the large, white cargo sheds of Queen's Wharf.

   

  Estancia Fuga,

  Mercedes, Buenos Aires

  November 9th, 1943

   

  Dear Ben,

  As I write, it is Summer again and you must be getting ready for Christmas in the sunshine, just like we did, last year.

  All I can think of is how much I miss you already. You have been gone for a few months and it feels like a lifetime. Vero is doing her best to keep me happy and we are riding horses and shopping a great deal.

  Mother is well and still sending me letters telling me to eat properly and hurry home to her. I do not mind, as it gives her something on which to focus. I still have heard so very little from my brother – I think that he has forgotten about us!

  New Zealand sounds so very beautiful, especially after the Pampas was so flat! I hope that I can see it with you, one day, very soon. Is the weather really hot there, like it is supposed to be in Australia? Do they have crocodiles? I hope not!

  Can you please send some photographs of yourself, and maybe even of you with your aeroplane? That would be very special.

  I must close, as I do not get as much time to write as I would like. Write soon, be safe.

   

  Love,

  S.

   

  Christchurch, New Zealand

  December 17th, 1943

   

  Dear S,

  Hello again! All is going well with my training. I have been flying a much bigger aeroplane called a Harvard which is very much more powerful than the biplane Tiger Moth and I must admit that on my first go in one I was so taken with flying it that I lost all track of time!

  My C.O. gave me a bit of a talking to for that, but I could hardly help but enjoy the sights – this really is the most beautiful country that I have ever seen. You will be pleased to know that I have worked hard to make up for my error and am in good books again now.

  One of my fellow trainees is a Maori chap named Te Kawau (that means 'cormorant', he tells me) and he has invited me to one of his 'iwi' (that's their word for tribe, which is apparently called Ngati Whatua o Orakei – I must ask him what that means, again!) gatherings called 'Matariki' – which is their new year celebrations (don't ask me why it isn't on the 31st of December). It should all be very interesting.

  I hope that you are well and that this letter reaches you before yo
u head for home. I feel as though a part of me is missing.

  I shall close for now – I need to study for a test on meteorology! I will write again as soon as possible.

   

  Lots of love,

  Ben

   

   

  Chapter Twenty-five - Correspondence In Transit

  There was music in the air. Everywhere and everything was music. Birds in the trees led the way with their merry descants. Insects numbering in their thousands, though somehow all hidden from view, made their shrill and unending tremolando. Cattle added their off-key baritone improvisations and from a distance, came the steely rhythms and rattly bangs of the trains that Ben once maintained.

  All this music of the Earth's sphere was insignificant, though, in comparison to one melodious offering in particular. From across the fields one could hear the notes dancing their way through the air, and if one followed them back to their source, over field and along pathway, traversing streams and passing between trees, one would eventually find it emanating from the widely flung-open windows of the Estancia Hernandez.

  For there at the grand piano sat Vero, lost in the sound of a tango, her left hand leading the music with percussive drive, her right tackling the melody, whilst still finding room for harmonies and grace notes. She worked the sustain pedal with her right foot as though she was at a sewing machine and though her left foot could have been used for the soft pedal, Vero's mood was indelicate – such a glorious day required passion, and passion should be played fortissimo!

  A cigarette holder was gripped between the maestro's teeth and she puffed discreetly with her eyes closed, tipping her head from side to side, loose hair swaying with the lolling rhythms.

  Sandra paused at the doorway clutching the day's mail. She knew better than to interrupt the mistress when she was in full flight. Besides, it was always a joy to witness such a performance.

  Vero sensed the presence in the room and like a half-waking lioness she opened one eye and acknowledged Sandra – it was time to reach the climax of the performance.

  “Bring them to me, please!” she called without missing a beat and then raced towards the final chord. In one single movement, Vero rose to her feet whilst racing upwards on the right of the keyboard with her right hand, glancing downwards to make sure that the final note was plinked in to place by her trailing left hand, she moved toward Sandra.