‘And this must be the woman you spoke to me about.’ Audrey blushed.
‘Gaitano, this is Audrey Forrester, my sister-in-law,’ Louis replied.
Gaitano nodded and his old eyes shone with compassion. ‘Ah, I see. So beautiful and so beyond reach. It is always a pleasure to gaze on such beauty.’ He kissed Audrey and her cheeks stung for some time afterwards from his prickly stubble. ‘Come and join me for a drink. Then I will leave you two young people to enjoy my farm before joining me for lunch. My gaucho, El Chino, is preparing a delicious barbecue for you and Costanza has cooked dessert. I want today to be special. Life is a sequence of moments and this is one I would like you both to remember.
‘I’m sure Louis has told you that we met in Mexico,’ said Gaitano to Audrey, sitting down and picking up his coffee cup. ‘He is an unusual young man. Imagine teaching deaf children to play music? Who would dare attempt such a seemingly impossible task? Yet, deaf people hear with their hearts; there are plenty of men who hear with their ears yet are deaf to the music in their hearts.’
Audrey looked at Louis and smiled with pride. ‘Louis is exceptional,’ she agreed. ‘He taught me to play the piano in a way I had never ventured before.’
Gaitano nodded knowingly. ‘Yes, but you already felt the notes. You only had to learn to play them.’
‘Perhaps.’ She laughed softly. ‘Do you play, Gaitano?’
The old man chuckled sadly. ‘I feel the notes but I am too afraid to play them. For if I were to start I would never stop. That is a great danger I face. I have seen too much in my life to restrain such emotion. This is a country of turbulence. I doubt the notes of my internal melody would be very pleasing. I will play in Heaven, if God grant me such paradise. But now, let us drink to Louis and his gift.’ He raised his coffee cup and Audrey raised her glass of juice. Then Gaitano left them alone and shuffled across the park to where El Chino tended the asado in the shade of a eucalyptus tree.
‘What a wonderful man,’ Audrey said as they walked towards a small cluster of shacks where a couple of young gauchos had saddled up ponies for them.
‘He’s deaf,’ said Louis.
‘Deaf?’ Audrey was astounded.
‘Very deaf. Can’t hear a word.’
‘You would never know,’ she exclaimed in admiration.
‘No, you wouldn’t. He’s been deaf for years, although he wasn’t born deaf. He came out to Mexico to meet me. A friend of his read an article about my work and sent it to him. We became instant friends.’
‘But you didn’t teach him to play?’
‘He said he was too old. I think he feared that by giving vent to his feelings he might break down. Music does that sometimes. You hold all your emotions inside, button them up, control them and then all it takes is a simple tune to get you going. Out they pour and there’s no stopping until they’ve been released in their entirety.’
‘Poor Gaitano. Does he have a wife?’
‘He had a wife and children, but his wife died and his children are now living all over the world. I think he was a hard man.’
‘So who looks after him?’
‘Costanza and El Chino, I imagine. He’s doing all right.’
Audrey took Louis’ hand in hers. ‘You told him about us, didn’t you?’
‘I had to tell someone. I couldn’t tell anyone else. Gaitano always said that if I ever went back to the Argentine I was to come and visit him here. He recognized you the moment he saw you.’
‘You described me well.’
‘Your face was etched on my mind, it wasn’t difficult.’
‘Bouncing curls,’ she said and laughed.
‘No,’ he replied seriously, stopping and pulling her into his arms. ‘Long sensitive face, languid green eyes, soft translucent skin and a full and generous mouth. The mouth of a poet.’ He cupped her chin in his hand and kissed her lips. ‘But the most precious part of you is inside and no one can see that but me.’
They mounted their ponies and made their way slowly across the plain. The midday sun was now high in the sky but it wasn’t too hot, just pleasantly warm. All around them the pampa lay vast and flat, interrupted only by the odd cluster of trees that marked a farm, the vital water tank that rose above them to catch the rain silhouetted against the sky. Contented vizcachas, a type of prairie hare, hid in the long grasses, camouflaged against the earth until the sound of approaching horses moved them on. Their carefree meandering indicated that life was good on the prairie.
After a few miles they stopped beneath the rubbery branches of a large ombu tree and left their ponies to rest in the shade. ‘You know this is the only tree that really belongs on the pampa, all the others were imported and planted by settlers,’ said Louis, sitting down on the grass.