Love in the Land of Barefoot Soldiers

by Frances Vieta

  In the emperor’s office, Yifru stood behind him as he took from his desk the mobilization decree he had written on September 28.

  At a few minutes before 11 a.m., court dignitaries and military chiefs gathered around the drum. As the drumbeats stopped, the soldiers rose in one wave. Silence descended as the court chamberlain mounted a wooden chair and began to read the emperor’s proclamation.

  “Listen! Listen! Open your ears!

  The Lion of Judah has prevailed.

  Haile Sellassie I, Elect of God,

  King of Kings of all Ethiopia.

  “People of my country Ethiopia! You know of Ethiopia’s ancient tradition since the days of Menelik and that she is well known and honored for her independence.

  “Some forty years ago today, Italy, boasting of her ability and strength, wanted to acquire our people as slaves after destroying Ethiopia’s independence. When she came into our country to fight us, our God, who does not like violence, helped us, and when he gave us victory we did not seek to recover our land that had been taken. Your eyes can see and your ears can hear the yoke of serfdom that our brothers, who live in the areas Italy has usurped, have had to bear.

  “We for our part entered a League of Nations that was established for the sake of world peace. We informed the League so that the offender be identified once the WalWal conflict had been looked into by the arbitrators, according to the law. When these men investigated the matter, they found in our favor, determining that the Ethiopian government had done no wrong and carried no responsibility for the attack which had taken place at WalWal.”

  “That was the verdict,” Marco whispered.

  “Shh . . . I can’t hear.”

  “While the arbitration was going on, Italy did not abandon its warlike activities. She was meaning to deprive Ethiopia of her liberty and to destroy her. A nation without freedom is tantamount to a people driven from its land, being pushed like cattle by the hand of the enemy. A nation thus becomes one that lives in bitter affliction, and in humiliation, as a tenant watching its inheritance in its own country in the hands of other men. It becomes a country that has no control over its possessions, nor its livelihood, not even over the soil of its grave, one that exists by inheriting serfdom that passes on to the next generation.

  “With other people, when a king or a bishop dies, his descendant is substituted for him. But when a country’s independence is extinguished, there is no replacement. While serfdom passes on from one generation to the next, it is an eternal prisoner living with a name that does not die. However proud Italy may be of her arms, she, too, is known to share in death.”

  After the chamberlain finished, the cheering continued unabated. “Long live the emperor! Death to the Italians!”

  Imperceptibly, the crowd swung around to face the balcony, where the emperor was standing. With the great dignity that surrounded all his dealings, he bowed to them.

  “I am happy to see you before me with knives, swords, and rifles. But it is not I alone who knows, it is the whole world that knows that our Ethiopian soldiers will die for their freedom.

  “Soldiers, I give you this advice: Be cunning, be savage, face the enemy one by one, two by two, five by five, in the fields and in the mountains. Hide, strike suddenly, fight the nomad war, snipe and kill. Today the war has begun, now scatter and advance to victory.”

  Ceseli and Marco watched as the emperor finished while the cheering crowd of soldiers and people yelled.

  “So it’s here,” Marco said. “I was hoping that I was wrong. That something, some country would intervene. Or Italy would stop.”

  “I never thought it would come to this,” Ceseli whispered. “I believed in the League.”

  “I’ll leave you now. I know I should tell you to leave, but I know you won’t listen to me. There’s something very important I need to do,” Marco said, gently kissing her on the top of her head. “Take care. I love you.”

  CHAPTER 31

  IN ROME, ON THE morning of October 3, the people were still sleeping after the compulsory Fascist celebration the previous evening. Mussolini had decided to proclaim the invasion before it happened and had planned a Fascist mobilization. Restaurants and shops throughout the country were closed so that people in every community could assemble in the public squares to hear Mussolini’s speech.

  Mussolini had spoken from his own balcony hanging over the crowded Piazza Venezia, the huge piazza in downtown Rome, down the street from the Forum and the Coliseum. Pope Paul II built the Palazzo Venezia in the fifteenth century so that he could watch the excitement of elaborate carnival celebrations a custom he had brought with him from his native Venice and there was surely something carnivalesque about the meeting of October 2, 1935.

  Il Duce had thought of summoning the crowds by having all the church bells in Rome toll at the same time, but the church bells in Rome all toll together only when a pope dies, and the present Pope, Pius XI, said it was inappropriate. Mussolini used whistles.

  The focal point of the celebration was the balcony of the Palazzo Venezia that adjoined the Duce’s office. By the time Mussolini was ready to appear on his balcony, the Piazza Venezia and all the streets leading to it were packed. After the cheering diminished, after he had satisfied the cameras with his posturing, he began shouting into the microphones:

  “Black Shirts of the Revolution! Men and women of all Italy! Italians scattered the world over, beyond the mountains and beyond the seas, listen!

  “A solemn hour is about to strike in the history of the Fatherland. Some twenty million men at this moment fill the public squares of Italy. Never was there beheld in the history of mankind a more gigantic spectacle. The twenty million men: one heart, one will, one decision. Their demonstration must show and does show the world that Italy and Fascism are one and a perfect, absolute, unalterable whole . . .

  “For many months the wheels of destiny moved toward this goal: Now their movement becomes swifter and can no longer be stayed!

  “It is not just an army that strains toward its objectives, but an entire people of forty-four million souls, against whom an attempt is made to perform the most hideous of injustices: that of snatching from us a small place in the sun.

  “To economic sanctions we shall oppose our discipline, our sobriety, our spirit of sacrifice.

  “To military sanctions we shall reply with military measures.

  “To acts of war we shall reply with acts of war!

  “Let no one think of subduing us without a hard fight. . . .

  “Proletariat and Fascist Italy! Let the shout of your decision fill the heavens and bear solace to the soldiers waiting in Africa, an incitement to friends and a warning to enemies in every part of the world. A cry of justice, a cry of victory!”

  As he finished, there was none of the earth-shattering din of applause, none of the mob’s unlimited enthusiasm. The three hundred thousand people in the square were not impressed. Those he called ‘one heart, one will, one decision’ left the square immediately, disdaining the remainder of the four hour program.

  At this critical moment, while Il Duce’s exhortations on the valor of the Italian Fascist army may have impressed the British and French, they did not convince the Italians. They were certainly far less united than Mussolini would like to admit, but these forty-four million people had given Mussolini absolute power and whether they liked his war or not, they were in it.

  CHAPTER 32

  “I WOULD BE VERY honored if you would allow me to join the Ethiopian Red Cross,” Marco said, coming right to the point. Looking around him, he was surprised by the austerity of the small room: two straight backed chairs in front of a monastic style desk, a small copper lamp a desk calendar, and the holder for his silver pen. He wondered why he had assumed that this inner sanctum would be more luxurious and more in keeping with the power that the Keeper of the Pen actually wielded.

  “I thought . . .”

  “That I would serve with Italy? No,” Marco said, interrupt
ing. “I am ashamed of my country. I have been working here for more than two years. This is just not right. As for me, I know enough of the language to make a substantial contribution. Or, at least I think I could. Let me go with one of the Red Cross units.”

  Yifru studied the earnest young man in front of him. He remembered the train ride. He didn’t know him at all, but Ceseli did and he respected her judgment. Ethiopia would need doctors and she was not going to get nearly enough of the good volunteers such as Marco would be. Ethiopia would be privileged to have him serve in the Red Cross. “There is a unit from the British and the Swedish Red Crosses. You know, of course, that in keeping with the rule of the International Red Cross, the units treat soldiers from both sides equally. You’re ready to do that?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Then I accept your generous offer. It won’t be easy and it won’t be fun. The Ethiopian Red Cross will be serving in the Tigre, Ogaden, and Sidamo. Do you have a choice?”

  Marco hesitated. He had already been in the Ogaden in the south. He remembered Ceseli’s vivid descriptions of Axum in the Tigre. “Tigre. If that’s possible.”

  “There is a unit near Quoram. It will be under the supervision of a British doctor, but there are several small units near that one. He’s flying up there tomorrow.”

  “Will there be room for me in the plane?”

  “I’m sure that can be arranged.”

  “I know it’s not going to change the course of history, but that’s what I’ve decided to do,” Marco smiled tenderly at Ceseli that evening. “I just finished a letter to my family. And I want to give you this,” he said, taking a leather book and handing it to her. “It’s the work I’ve been doing on epidemics. I’ll be too busy up there on more menial tasks. I’m calling it Marco’s bible,” he joked. “It contains everything I’ve been able to find about tropical diseases, but so far I haven’t been able to put it together. Some of this material tells of miracles that supposedly took place after some kind of emergency. Famine, for example.”

  “May I read it?” she asked, taking the book.

  “I’d be very happy if you would.”

  “You’ll be working with the Red Cross?”

  “In Tigre.”

  “It’s beautiful up there. There’s no danger is there?”

  “None at all. Red Cross hospitals are always considered neutral havens. So are their doctors. That’s part of the Geneva Convention. And Italy was one of the five founding members.”

  “What will the Italians think?”

  “I haven’t told them and I don’t think I will. There’s going to be a lot of suffering. I’m going to do what I can.”

  “That’s very brave of you.”

  “It’s what I need to do.”

  “There’s no real danger? You’re sure?”

  “Positive. I could get myself killed, as you know, just walking across the street. I don’t have to tell you that. A caparisoned mule, for example. But pamper me. Should anything happen. Send the book to my father in Florence.”

  “I will.”

  His brightly shining eyes looked back at her. “You’ll take care of yourself?”

  “I will. I’m going to volunteer at the American hospital here in Addis.”

  “You should get on the next train, you know that?”

  “But you know I’m not going to do that.”

  Marco looked at her knowing it was senseless to insist. “One more thing. Would you let me take that photo? The one with you and the Afar girl. I’d like to remember what I’m doing this for.”

  “Yes,” she said, turning to the photo propped against the one of her father on the bureau. She turned back to him searching his eyes and trying to see how he felt.

  “I’ll take good care of it and I’ll see you sooner than you think.”

  “You know something, Marco. You look like an angel. I thought of that the first time I saw you sleeping on the train. A curly-headed Renaissance angel. Take care of that head of hair,” she said, as she tiptoed and kissed him on both cheeks. “Isn’t this the way the Italians do it?”

  He looked at her, his eyes twinkling mischievously. “No. This is the way Italians do it,” he said, lifting up her face to him and then kissing her deeply. “Don’t forget it. Will you wait for me?”

  “You know I will.”

  “I love you, Ceseli. Take care of yourself. We’ll be together very soon.” He held her hand tightly before releasing it, then stood back from her. Tearing himself away, he pinched her elbow and was gone.

  Turning from the door, she sat on her bed. She would miss him terribly. Being with him was the best thing that had ever happened to her, and also the most confusing. It had been wonderful talking with him, sharing their thoughts, confiding in him, making plans for the future. Now she was alone again. Her father was gone, and now Marco. Even though she understood completely his need to go, she felt so lonely, and so hurt and so starved. Completely deserted.

  CHAPTER 33

  ON OCTOBER 14, DE Bono decided to enjoy some of the glory his quick success had earned him and traveled to Adowa for a triumphal ceremony of conquest and submission planned for the next morning.

  He expected the trip from his headquarters at Coatit to include at least six hours on mule back over the rugged mountain trail and was surprised and gratified to learn that after only one week’s work, his labor battalions had proven again the renowned Italian skill in building roads. The trail was already in such excellent condition he was able to make the entire journey in his black FIAT Balilla motorcar.

  The small town of Adowa, only twenty miles south of the frontier with Eritrea, had always been an important trading center on the routes from the Red Sea to central Ethiopia and was for this reason the scene of the devastating defeat of the Italian army in 1896.

  Like most Ethiopian towns, there were clusters of the beehive tukuls nestling around the round Coptic Church. The squalid little town, now damaged by the bombs from the Royal Italian Air Force’s Caproni bombers, was nevertheless bedecked with flags. Flowers lined the streets and several triumphal arches had been erected in accordance with De Bono’s instructions, although they were made from wood and not marble. Sure of the impending Italian invasion, De Bono had commissioned in Italy a large stone statue to honor the Italians who had died at the Battle of Adowa and had brought it to the town. Surrounded by his troops standing at attention in the seething heat in the dusty main square, while the band played the Fascist anthem, Giovanezza, De Bono with great fanfare unveiled the statue by pulling from it the green, white, and red Italian flag.

  Zeri, hot beyond means and thirsty, was not in the mood for such shows of patriotism. He coughed and moved off to one side.

  De Bono’s second official act on this October day was the issuance of a proclamation to the people of Tigre:

  “Concerning the Assumption of Government Beyond the Frontier.” The proclamation declared:

  “In the name of His Majesty the King of Italy, I assume the government of the country. From today, you, the people of Tigre, are subject to and under the protection of the Italian Flag.

  “Those of you in local authority should remain in office and are responsible for the order and discipline of your respective districts. They will present themselves before the nearest military authority together with the clergy of the parish church to make the act of submission. Those who do not present themselves within ten days will be considered and treated as enemies.

  “Let whosoever has suffered injury present himself to my generals and he will receive justice.

  “Traders, continue to trade; husbandman, continue to till the soil.”

  At the same time, De Bono issued another directive, a kind of Fascist Emancipation Proclamation. “You know that where the flag of Italy flies,” it declared, “there is liberty. Therefore, in your country, slavery under whatever form is suppressed. The slaves at present in Tigre are free and the sale or purchase of slaves is prohibited.”

  Zeri,
thought this ironic. Why hadn’t De Bono freed the slaves in Eritrea? He knew that a 1935 League of Nations report on slavery acknowledged its existence in Ethiopia, but praised Emperor Haile Sellassie’s efforts to phase it out. Furthermore, Zeri noted that De Bono would have a problem that he should have foreseen. If the slave owners no longer fed their slaves, who would? The Italians!

  CHAPTER 34

  AS FAR AS EYES could see was a densely packed, living wall of men waiting for the ceremonial march. It was October 17, already two weeks after the invasion and only now was the Minister of War, Ras Mulugeta, ready to lead his seventy thousand soldiers north to meet the enemy.

  In a huge open tent on a hill above the JanHoy Meda Imperial Parade Ground, Haile Sellassie, in his uniform of commander-in-chief, sat on his throne chair. The cabinet ministers squatted in front of him on the fine scarlet Persian rugs. The palace guards, with swords, rifles, and rhinoceros whips stood ready to maintain order.

  In an area reserved for foreign dignitaries, Ceseli and Standish watched with fascination.

  “Where do they all come from?” Ceseli asked.

  “The emperor issued a kitet. That’s the summons to arms. The men are recruited from the Shoa Province. They owe the emperor two months of military service in exchange for the use of his land.”

  Units of the Imperial Guard, in European uniforms though barefoot, marched with their heavy guns mounted on pack mules. There were fearsome war whoops as Mulugeta’s troops approached the emperor’s tent. Ceseli grabbed Standish’s arm as the first swordsman drew his weapons in front of the emperor.

  “Don’t worry. They’re showing him their techniques of attacking and dismembering an enemy. It’s the way they show their bravery. You’ll get used to it.”

  Indeed, such was the skill of these warriors that no blood was drawn during the entire review.

  “Here’s Mulugeta,” Standish said just before noon, as fearsome yells and the beating of the Negarit War Drums announced his arrival.