Исабель Альенде - A Long Petal of the Sea

In front of the mirror on this penultimate night of the sea journey, sheathed in her ball gown, perfumed and wearing the necklace she had inherited from her mother, all Laura wished for was a small glass of sherry with a few drops of valerian, then to settle down in her bed and sleep and sleep for months until the end of the journey, until she woke up back in her own home with its cool rooms, back in her world, with Leonardo. She missed him terribly; it was torture to spend so long far away from her son: perhaps when she returned he might not even recognize her—his memory was so fragile, like everything else about him. What if he fell ill? Better not to think of that. God had given her five children, and in addition had sent her this innocent, this pure soul.

Frustration flared up in her stomach; she could feel heartburn in her chest. I’m always the one who has to give in, what Isidro wants he gets: it’s him first, second, and third—that’s what he tells me, as if it were some kind of joke, and I accept it! What wouldn’t I give to be a widow! thought Laura. She had to combat this recurrent temptation with prayers and penitential acts. To wish for another person’s death was a mortal sin; Isidro might be short-tempered, but he was an excellent husband and father. He didn’t deserve this perverse wish of his wife, the woman who, when they married, had sworn at the altar to be loyal and obedient. “I’m crazy as well as fat,” she sighed, and all of a sudden that conclusion seemed amusing. She couldn’t suppress a contented smile, which her husband took to be one of acquiescence.

“That’s what I like to see, darling,” he said, singing under his breath as he headed for the bathroom.

—

OFELIA ENTERED HER PARENTS’ suite without knocking. At nineteen, she was still an impetuous girl. When is she going to grow up? her father would sigh halfheartedly, because she was his pampered child, the only one who was as daring and stubborn as he was, someone impossible to subdue. She had been out of her depth at school, and after failing her final exam was only allowed to graduate because the nuns wanted to get rid of her. She had learned very little during her twelve years’ education, but managed to hide her ignorance by being so beguiling, by knowing when to keep quiet, and thanks to her ability to observe. Her memory had not been good enough for her to pass her history exam or to learn the times tables, but she knew the words to all the songs played on the radio. She was absentminded, flirtatious, and too pretty: her father was afraid she would be easy prey for unscrupulous men. He was sure that all the officers on board, and half the male passengers, including the elderly ones, had her in their sights. More than one had commented how talented his daughter was, referring to the watercolors Ofelia painted on deck, but they did not crowd around her to admire her banal little compositions. Isidro was hoping to see her married soon, when she would become the responsibility of Matias Eyzaguirre and no longer his, so that he could breathe more easily. Although it would be better for her to wait awhile, because if she married very young, like her sisters, within a few years she would turn into an embittered matron.

Coming from Chile, in the far south of America, the journey to Europe was a long, expensive odyssey that few families could afford. The del Solar family were not among the truly rich, as they might have been had Isidro’s father left what he himself had received rather than throwing it away entirely before he abandoned his family, but they were comfortably well-off nevertheless. However that might be, social position depended less on money than on lineage. Unlike many rich families who still had their provincial mentalities, Isidro thought it was important to see the world. Chile was an island, bounded to the north by the most inhospitable desert, to the east by the impenetrable cordillera of the Andes, to the west by the Pacific Ocean, and to the south by the frozen continent of Antarctica. This explained why Chileans spent their time navel-gazing, while beyond their borders the twentieth century went galloping along. To Isidro, travel was a necessary investment. He had sent two of his sons to the United States and Europe as soon as they were old enough, and would have liked to do the same for his daughters, but they married before he found the right moment to do so. He was determined not to make that mistake with Ofelia; he had to get her out of the narrow, sanctimonious atmosphere in Santiago and give her at least a veneer of culture.

Secretly, he had in mind something that not even his wife knew at present: to leave Ofelia in a girls’ finishing school in London at the end of their trip. One or two years of a British education would be good for her; she could improve her English, which she had studied since childhood with a governess and private tutors, as all his children had (except, of course, Leonardo). English could well be the language of the future, unless Germany took over Europe. A school in London was what his daughter needed before she married Matias Eyzaguirre, her eternal fiancé, who was carving out a career for himself in the diplomatic corps.

Ofelia occupied the second bedroom in the suite, separated by a door from her parents. For weeks, chaos had reigned in her cabin: trunks and hatboxes lay open, while clothes, shoes, and cosmetics were strewn everywhere, along with tennis rackets and fashion magazines. Brought up by servants, she went everywhere sowing confusion, never asking herself who picked up or sorted out the typhoon she left in her wake. At the sound of a bell, someone appeared as if by magic to attend her. That night she had rescued a flimsy, tight-fitting gown from the maelstrom. When he saw it, her father exploded with disgust.

“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!”