Eve of the Harvest

My family owns a sizable pear orchard—the main source of jobs in our little town. Although I stand to inherit the farm in the future, I have not been home often or long enough to learn the ropes. I have chosen to pursue a law degree, so I spend most of my time in a prestigious university in the East Coast. I would normally be in the library or in the law office at this time of the year, but this summer is different. My mother suddenly passed away a couple of months ago; succumbing to a disease I was unaware she had. And though the traditional mourning period has elapsed, I decided to take a leave of absence from the academe and my internship. I needed to come to terms with the loss of the most important woman in my life.

Wanting to be left alone with my thoughts, I have gotten in the habit of taking a stroll after sunset. The orchard would usually be deserted and my walks uneventful, except that fateful eve of the Bartlett harvest. It was a balmy summer night with warm breeze rustling the leaves. I was on my way back to the house when I saw her among the pear trees. Her lithe figure bathed by the pale August moonlight; the thin fabric of her camisole dress clung to her curves. Her head was tilted towards the sky, and dark tresses cascaded down her back. I was still a few feet away from her and she had not noticed my presence.

I stood there staring for a while, taking in the view of this gorgeous creature. Oddly enough, she does not seem out of place in the middle of our farm. I watched as she stretched her arm to pick a Bartlett from the nearest branch. I was surprised at her action, but was more flabbergasted when I spotted a half-filled basket by her bare feet.

“I’m sorry, but what are you doing?” I yelled, incredulous that this woman is casually taking our produce.

She turned to look at me, a bemused expression on her face. I expected her to start explaining but she remained quiet, her brown eyes bored into me.

“This is a private property.” I informed her. “You are trespassing and stealing. You can get jailed, you know.”

Lorenzo gave me permission to take as much as I want.

The way she spoke of my father’s name with affection and familiarity gave me an idea of who she was. Suddenly, everything came to focus. The whispers about my father’s illicit affair with a much younger woman became all too real. And if I am to be honest with myself, I can see why anyone would fall for this sun-kissed beauty. She exuded an aura of sensual fragility that can seduce anyone.

“Katia? You are Katia, right?” I asked, trying to ascertain the situation.

She reluctantly nodded, not taking her eyes off my face. Somehow, the confirmation of her identity aroused conflicting emotions within me. Part of me wants to be angry at her because the rumors started while my mother was still alive. Part of me wants to touch her and experience what her body has to offer. I took a few careful steps towards her, unsure of my intentions. She stood her ground, without any sign of fear nor anxiety.

“You are as intoxicating as the gossips say.” The words that escaped my lips were shocking specially to my sober self. I was raised to be polite to everyone.

I don’t know what you’ve heard. I don’t know what you believe. I know who you are, and I don’t want to cause any trouble between you and Lorenzo.

Her caressing utterance of my father’s name made my blood boil. “You don’t want any trouble between my father and me. But you were okay with getting in between my parents. Are you happy now that my mother is out of your way?”

Katia’s eyes widened at my accusation and her shoulders dropped in resignation. For a moment, I felt satisfied that I broke through her defenses. I was pleased with myself at having put the harlot in her rightful place. Then, I saw the glistening tears running down her cheeks.

I loved Martina as much as I love your father. She saved me from myself even while her own world was crumbling. And now, she is gone.

Her quiet weeping had turned into convulsive sobbing as she crumpled at my feet. Bewilderment replaced my righteous indignation. I tried to convince myself that Katia is feigning grief, but the anguish in her voice when she said my mother’s name made me reconsider. Ashamed and uncertain, I stood transfixed by her unabashed display of misery. When Katia has stopped crying, I flopped down beside her on the ground.

“Who are you really? Why are you here?”

I have just given up a relationship with yet another married man when I decided to move to your quaint little town. I first laid eyes on Martina at the marketplace. Your mother has the most dignified bearing I have seen in any woman. I remember imagining what kind of life she has. What upbringing allowed her to carry herself with such grace. I silently cursed my fortune for bringing me only unhappiness.

“Were you jealous of my mother’s life? Is that the reason for your dalliance with my father?” I prodded her. Somehow, I needed to feel justified for my earlier outburst. I wanted her to admit that she betrayed the one she claimed to have loved.

Your parents treated me like their own. Martina, more so, because she was longing for the company of a daughter. Everything was going well but my past had caught up with me. I told them the truth and offered to leave. Your mother refused to let me go.

“Does your past have anything to do with the rumors?”

You see, my mother was the most hated woman in my hometown. They said she slept with everyone’s husbands and defiled everyone’s sons. And since no good seed can ever come out of a corrupted tree, everyone assumed that I am exactly like her—perverted and immoral. So for all of my growing years, I had been constantly punished for my mother’s transgressions. When I came of age, men began noticing and indecent proposals came pouring in. I initially tried to fend off their sexual advances, but I got tired at some point. I figured why shouldn’t I just enjoy the sins everyone assumed I’m already committing?

Katia’s voice trailed off as she stared at the distance.

“If you are implying that you don’t have an improper relationship with my father, why is no one quashing all the nasty tales?”

Your parents ignored the malicious talks because they didn’t have time for that. I, on the one hand, have long given up the notion that people care for the truth. People will believe what is convenient for their narrative. I don’t need their validation, so why should I make the effort to tell anyone my story?

“And yet here you are telling me your story.” My voice dripped with sarcasm.

Mina…

Her gentle tone when she said my name was like cold water dousing a flame. I became conscious of her emotional gaze.

I know it’s not what you wanted to hear. Your head is thirsting for sordid details because your heart longs to find something to blame for your loss. You can hate me all you want, but please do not ever condemn your father for something he did not do. Know that your mother will always be his only inamorata.

Katia did not wait for my rebuttal (perhaps, she knew that there was none). She stood up and picked up her basket of fruits. Without any word, she sauntered away from me. I watched her disappear among the pear trees. It was time to shed the tears I have been holding back all these months.