Virginity Despoiled

by Charles Brett

  "Quite right, niña. You've done your homework. But you have, however, ignored a further relevance. If a deceased person does not leave a will, the rules of consanguinity may be applied to determine who is the nearest relative and thus becomes the rightful heir to an estate.

  "In addition, there's one rather confusing aspect, or at least to me. Different jurisdictions accept different degrees for inter-marriage or – these days – relationships. For example, most modern legal systems place the formal bar at three, though this is not recommended. Yet the Catholic Church has on occasion set it as high as seven, and granted automatic marriage annulments if one of the parties could prove a family connection existed that made the calculus seven or less. You show surprise? So was I. A bishop friend told me."

  "So where does this leave me?"

  "Patience, niña. I need to be sure you comprehend the basics before I proceed. To repeat myself, you with your Davide have uncorked something so delicate I've had to adopt the utmost care when talking within the family. I also needed time to decide." The expression on La Abuela's face was somehow both non-committal and wary. "To decide whether or not to tell you the truth."

  "What truth, Abuela Mia? Please."

  The phone rang. Her grandmother answered and talked for some while before deliberately curtailing the conversation.

  "That was your father, as you no doubt recognised. What I'm about to tell you even he doesn't know. More to the point, I'm not certain he should ever know, as you'll comprehend when I explain. Come closer, Ana. Draw up your chair. We need to support each other."

  Doing as requested, Ana became calmer and more nervous. Objectively this was impossible. She accepted what she was about to hear was going to shock. She just didn't know which way, only that resolution was imminent. Even Davide's importance receded.

  "Give me your hand. Thank you. You warm an old lady."

  Ana's grandmother paused again before revisiting the Civil War. Amongst the catalogue of horrors perpetrated by each side, one in particular stood out. The Catholic Church deliberately removed recently-born babies from Republican mothers, and even from unmarried Nationalist mothers, for there were plenty enough of these, and placed those babies with good Nationalist married women who could not conceive. In the Church's and Franco's distorted thinking a generation of potentially wrong-minded children would be brought up right-minded by barren, if grateful, new mothers. To the now bereft real mothers, little or no further thought was given.

  "Wait, niña! I'm getting there."

  La Abuela continued by revisiting Tío Toño.

  "He presumed you and Davide were related because you're second cousins. This gives you a consanguinity score of six. That neither of you knew you might be blood related is not surprising. First, the common ancestor is your great-grandmother. Second, her husband had two wives, though the first isn't often remembered. She died in childbirth. It was typical of Tío Toño to know that part but it doesn't, as it happens, matter.

  "The next relevant element is how the Civil War split families. Brother disagreed with brother, aunt with aunt, grandparents with their siblings and children, and so on. This was common and ugly. In our immediate family we were Republican by inclination, though not by action. Yet there were a few family members who were passionate Nationalists and virulent Catholics. Or is it the other way round? What does matter is that your mother's mother is not the daughter of your great-grandmother."

  "I don't –"

  "You will, if I may continue?"

  La Abuela's expression conveyed sympathy.

  "Your maternal grandmother was one of those babies removed by force from her real mother. Initially the baby was meant to go to a modest Nationalist family in Teruel as part of Franco's repopulating of that poor, brutalised town. However, somebody heard that the child was 'in transit' and – no one knows quite how – re-arranged the destination to be your great-grandmother. She took in your grandmother, after whom you are named – she was Ana Christina – and nobody commented. This was made easier by two factors. The first was timing. It happened soon after the war ended when chaos reigned. The second was your great-grandmother had just delivered a dead baby. The substitution accomplished, she brought up your grandmother as her own, and legally so.

  "Why does this concern us? Your grandmother was not the natural product, putting it brutally, of your great-grandfather and great-grandmother. In terms of consanguinity you and Davide are not blood related at all. Tío Toño was wrong, though he could not have known."

  "That means there's no impediment regarding Davide?"

  Ana couldn't believe her ears. This was the 'Get-Out-of-Gaol-Free' card she'd dreamt of –

  La Abuela hadn't finished.

  "Genetically there's no cause for concern. If you want to have children together no one can object on consanguinity grounds. But ..."

  Ana deflated. Always a 'but' emerged in family matters. Nothing was simple. Defeat was about to snatch victory from her grasp.

  "You see, Ana cariño, only you now know this. And me, of course, and I won't know it for much longer. Your father doesn't know your mother's mother was one of what the Argentinos o Chilenos might call 'desaparecidos' or 'disappeared'. Your mother doesn't know either. Your grandmother chose not to tell her. Why? You're familiar with how status-conscious your mother can be. She's infected your father."

  Ana couldn't deny it. Her parents were as portrayed. Too often family disputes were resolved by weighing what others would think rather than practicality or common sense. Forget justice or any sense of right or wrong. Appearances, shaped by social pretension, were all. It was a side of her mother Ana resented, especially when decisions went against her. It was why she was now closer to La Abuela than to her parents.

  "There's more, however, than the genetics. Remember I mentioned the second application of the consanguinity table? Inheritance."

  La Abuela continued by describing how Ana's maternal grandmother originally came from a branch of a Nationalist-leaning notable family. No questions had needed raising until recently. The inheritance for that family line was unambiguous. Yet six months ago the youthful last of the primary line died unexpectedly in a skiing accident – young, without issue and intestate.

  "By blood you have a claim. In reality, your mother has the real claim, but she doesn't know. My suspicion is that if she did it'd go to her head. I haven't mentioned a word while trying to think through who to tell what, if anything. Why? Because I feared, and continue to fear, another family divide. To make everything even more complicated your mother's mother was one of twins."

  "Abuela! You must be joking! Is this a Mexican soap opera?"

  "You are acute. I agree; it does sound that way. It was the major reason to keep quiet, when no harm was being done to anybody. But you met Davide and later Tío Toño inadvertently – though he was continuing a long personal tradition of interfering, in my opinion – opened Pandora's Box, providing you with the basis to start your questions.

  "I have one more element to mention, though you may have worked it out for yourself already. You are entitled, via your mother, to make a claim. What I don't know is if your grandmother's twin is alive or aware of their interest. No one's sure if it was a boy or girl. This burden is for you to carry now, niña. You have to weigh up what you wish to do. I can't do this for you.

  "In one sense I have cleared your path to Davide but there's a price. In justifying why you're able to be with Davide, you'll likely have to justify the absence of any consanguinity constraint. If you tell your parents they may work out about your mother's claim. Who knows what lengths they'll go to in order to obtain a title and inheritance that's marginally theirs? That's why I've decided they should remain ignorant.

  "You might also raise demons from the Civil War, reigniting past hatreds within the family even if they lie dormant at present. This is Franco's spiteful legacy. In the twenty-first century we Spaniards prefer to sweep matters under carpets rather than face hard truths in search of reconc
iliation."

  Ana sat in silence, holding her precious grandmother's emaciated hand. It dispensed no warmth, neither physical nor spiritual.

  She could see she had brought a burden on herself. What had she done? Obtained a 'Get-Out-Of-Gaol-Free' card that she couldn't use. Her emotions whirled, confused by the implications. Out of nowhere an idea crept up on her, one that sublimated this family mess. Something that needed rectifying. A good rather than an evil.

  "Abuela, you remember me telling you about the Amazon dinner party?"

  La Abuela nodded.

  "How could I forget? I don't think I've laughed so much for a long while. But what has that party to do with this, other than Davide being present?"

  "You may remember there were four Amazons? Two Australians trying to outdo two Spaniards – me and a friend."

  Another nod.

  "That friend was Cousin Inma. She'd given up Opus and everything to do with it a couple of years before. I know you dislike her. Nevertheless, I want you to reconcile. She's very different now. She's not the Opus monster you've excoriated for years. I think ... I'm sure you'd like each other."

  "Cariño! At the very moment I drop an impossible dilemma on your shoulders you think of others."

  She leant over to kiss Ana's forehead.

  "I'm astonished, humbled. I'm fortunate to have a granddaughter as thoughtful as you. You've the right of it. I don't want to leave this world falsely estranged from any family member. Could you convince Inma to visit? She's no reason to. I've not been either good or fair to her. If you can convince her you'll make me a happier old lady."

  "I can try, Abuela."

  Tuesday: Callosa

  Oleg drove. This didn't make much sense because Andrei was the one who knew the way. But Oleg had insisted and what Oleg wanted he got. It wasn't worth fighting about. In any case, if truth be told, Oleg was the better driver in the cheap SEAT Léon – so very unlike his black polished monster in Tallinn.

  With no more directions to give for a few kilometres Andrei lapsed into his thoughts, guiding them to float over the first evening and the following morning. He'd had a good time at the dinner. Chatting up his two closest companions proved more interesting and entertaining than he'd foreseen. They were good company.

  Moving along to the night club, for both Helga and Freja insisted he join them, was better and had induced a pleasant expectation. The music was good. He knew he was a better than passable dancer and they responded as if they thought so too. The enjoyment was mutual. His one problem was being unable to decide who he preferred. As a result he'd let events arrange themselves. He'd been taken aback when Helga and Freja announced they were leaving for their hotel. His astonishment, at not being invited to join either, must have showed for they smirked, despite offering to meet with him tomorrow, well later that day.

  Angered by his failure he'd retreated to the bar. After a couple of vodkas, drunk Russian-style, he acknowledged that at three in the morning it was too late to chat up an alternative companion, unless he wished to pay. That night he didn't.

  He strode back to his hotel and slept late, which meant he woke relaxed near midday. He was surprised not to have been chased by Oleg, who had not joined the night-clubbers. He remembered. Neither had Kjersti. What had they been up to? He would be doubly annoyed if Oleg had scored when he hadn't.

  Taking the lift in search of a decent breakfast he found he was too late. Café con leche and some ugly thin sugary thing called a churro didn't appeal. Lunch was far away. Even though it was on the early side, he resolved to find a beer around the pool area. Who knows, he might run into Helga and Freja? Intuition suggested all was not yet complete there ... he hoped.

  Descending towards the pool bar he glanced through the front doors – to find Oleg and Kjersti trotting up the steps in soaked, sweaty sports gear, and looking pleased with themselves. He waited for them.

  "Running? At this time of day?"

  "Oh yes. It was great. Kjersti and I agreed last night to try one of her runs. She researches these before her holidays. A little under 20K today but with a couple of nasty sections. She's into distance running, like me. What's more, she has every day mapped out with a different route."

  Oleg being verbose? Andrei was taken aback and even more so when Oleg threw an improbably generous – for Oleg – smile of appreciation to Kjersti.

  "Like me, she suffers in winter. In Norway it's too dangerous to run when it's ice and snow."

  "I guess it takes all sorts."

  Kjersti laughed. It was gentle and sympathetic. Andrei, turning to her, saw she looked good close up, if stringy in those sweat-sodden running shorts and top.

  "I'm off to the pool bar. Would you like to join me?"

  Oleg deferred to Kjersti.

  "A swim would be one way to cool off, with a shower later."

  Andrei had been uncertain, then and now, if there had been a double meaning to this. Would Oleg open up?

  He pulled himself together. His musings meant they'd almost missed the side-road before Callosa. He gave Oleg instructions. Ten minutes later they drew up in front of a building resembling a large shed. Oleg parked and inspected the area.

  "This is suitably remote, at the edge of town and with nobody much nearby. It's good. Well done."

  He stopped, mystified.

  "How do we get in? I don't see any door."

  Leading by example Andrei marched Oleg around the building. Here were two large loading bays, four smaller and lower ones, plus a conventional entrance.

  "It was built for fruit gathering, sorting and shipping. Growers would bring their crops in via the small bays. Large articulated trucks would transport the sorted produce to northern Europe from the large ones. We don't need this sophistication but, as everything else was what we wanted, I bought the place for a pittance. A very good deal. The owner was desperate for cash."

  They ventured inside. Andrei pointed out the loading and sorting floor, which had sun flooding in through large skylights. From here he climbed metal stairs up to the office space. Rather than desks and chairs it was laid out more like a laboratory. Going over to one particular table he picked up a squat, capped bottle and handed it to Oleg.

  "This is our friend. The olive fruit fly. In science it's known as Bactrocera oleae. It's native to the Mediterranean and even California. It is, as you'd expect from its name, a member of the wider fruit fly family."

  Oleg inspected the bottle. What he saw was a small fly about five millimetres long, with transparent wings about twice that length with spotted tips. The body was black, though there was a silvery surface with three narrow, parallel black lines. It was ugly.

  "Why did you choose this?"

  "I started by working through a list of olive pests and fungi. The challenge isn't so much how to do damage as how to perpetrate any agent. It didn't take long to suss out our highly reproductive friend here offers the most for the least."

  He picked up a printed sheet.

  "If you want the details try this, courtesy of the University of Florida. Andrei read aloud: 'In the Mediterranean region, two to five generations of flies occur a year. The winter is spent in the pupal stage several centimetres below the soil and leaf litter. Adult flies emerge from March to May, depending upon the latitude and temperature. Under summer conditions, a preoviposition period of six to ten days elapses before mating, with longer time required earlier when temperatures are not as high. During the preoviposition period the female is maturing the ovary and a first set of eggs. Beginning in June females seek and oviposit in early maturing olive fruits. Ten to twelve eggs may be laid daily, one per olive fruit, and about 200 to 250 are laid in a lifetime. The female punctures the fruit with the ovipositor and deposits an egg beneath the skin.

  'The legless larva (maggot) feeds upon the fruit tissue, causing the fruit to drop off the tree. The egg, larval, and pupal stages last two to four, ten to fourteen, and about ten days respectively. Duration of the life cycle varies from one to six or sev
en months. Male flies produce an auditory stridulatory sound or signal during courtship. Courtship and mating occur at dusk, near the end of the daylight period.

  'Females of the olive fruit fly produce a multicomponent pheromone. They are the only tephritid females known to produce a sex pheromone. Males produce the pheromone in other tephritids that have been studied. –'"

  "Enough, enough! I get the picture. It's not pretty. Okay, so that's the damage agent. Now tell me how we spread it in sufficient numbers to achieve our desired results."

  Andrei sighed. He'd hoped to be back in Benidorm to meet Helga and Freja for a late afternoon swim. He wanted to admire them again in their swimsuits. It seemed Oleg did not have a run booked. Kjersti must be having a rest day. He would have to hurry if he was to satisfy Oleg's thirst to know all and be back in time.

  Tuesday: Madrid

  Sliding a desk drawer shut Inma turned to Ana. "I've thought about it overnight. I appreciate what you think La Abuela should mean to me. I don't want to see her. She's ignored me. No, she discarded me for too long. I can't forget that."

  "If you'll forgive me, you're being both an ass and a pain in the ass. She hasn't got long. Please reconsider."

  "I know. But it makes no difference, even if it makes me self-centred."

  "May I tell you a story? My own?"

  "If you insist."

  Ana's jaw dropped. She had not seen Inma so curt or brutal before, not that there'd been any prior situation to provoke it. She began by confirming that La Abuela and her parents, as Inma knew from family talk, did not get on despite La Abuela being her paternal grandmother. La Abuela hated that he was so irrevocably right wing when her sympathies, to him, were to the left of the North Korea Kims. La Abuela's views on his father's choice of second wife had not soothed matters.

  "That's how I was brought up, to avoid La Abuela. Then came La Abuela's eightieth birthday. For unclear reasons two of the younger generation were placed by her side for the celebratory dinner. One was me, though this incensed my parents. Father complained it should be him, as the eldest son, beside her. I couldn't do anything. La Abuela, or someone, had chosen.