them how to play polo or kick a football.”
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“Do you play polo, Señor General?” Lonfranco asked in amazement.
“Of course I do, my young friend. That is why we have moved to Palermo,
to be close to the polo fields and the race track in the park nearby. I breed and
raise both race horses and polo ponies. My polo team is one of the best on the
continent.”
As one of his chores back in Italy, Lonfranco had been charged with the
care of his father’s team of horses that pulled their goods to market. He had an
intimate knowledge of the animals and had enjoyed riding alone in the open
country every opportunity he could seize.
His father’s team consisted of large draft animals suitable for pulling
the heavily laden wagon that held their livelihood. He had never ridden a
thoroughbred in his life and had never before witnessed a real polo match.
Nevertheless, his love of horses endeared him to the general even more, and it
was only a short time later that Lonfranco was invited to join San Marco and
his family for a Sunday afternoon picnic and polo match.
Life for young Lonfranco would never be the same in his adopted country
after that enchanted afternoon. The general greeted him with great warmth
upon his arrival. He was introduce not only to the San Marco family, but to
many of the city’s prominent socialites as well.
Whenever the general brought his polo team to play, it was a major social
event. Beautiful carriages with their formally attired drivers and footmen lined
the perimeter of the playing field. Musicians wandered through the audience,
playing any and all requests. The entire scene reminded Lonfranco of the
carnivals he had attended with his father years before in Italy.
Señora San Marco, a poised and beautiful woman, was congenial and
helpful in explaining the rules of the game to the young Italian. The general’s
four daughters were in attendance as well, in the company of their governess.
The eldest daughter, Maria, caught the boy’s eye right away. Her smile made
his heart jump when they were finally introduced.
“Papa says that you are a good worker, very willing and smart, too. You
must be something special, for he never asks his workers to come to social
gatherings,” she said as they shook hands.
“I have the greatest respect for your father, Señorita, as does everyone I
have met in Buenos Aires,” he replied.
“You are from Italy, is that so? I want to study abroad when I finish
school here. I was thinking of the Sorbonne in Paris, but maybe you could
tell me more about your country. I have read of its great art and architectural
treasures.”
She was seventeen years old, and Lonfranco could see that her mother’s
beauty had not been diluted one bit in the following generation. Flowing brown
curls, deep hazel eyes, and a figure that was straining to be let loose from the
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JAMES McCREATH
confines of the formal white garden chemise. The total package had a telling
effect on the young Italian’s hormones. He struggled to keep his composure.
“I am not well educated’ Señorita San Marco, but there are many things
about Italy that I am sure you would enjoy seeing. I would be happy to tell you
about them, at your convenience.”
Maria was intrigued by this handsome, well-built youth. The boys that
her father allowed to court her were mostly society or military men, usually
much older than herself. Thank heavens the general did not prescribe to the
prevailing habit of arranged marriages at an early age for his daughters. He
wanted Maria, in particular, to see the world and spread her wings a bit before
settling down. That was just as well, for his eldest daughter had a mind of her
own and had never met a man that she was even mildly interested in.
She and Lonfranco talked for hours that Sunday afternoon, and the young
lady was shocked to find that her new acquaintance had not celebrated his
sixteenth birthday yet.
“You look nineteen or twenty at least,” she demurred. “Are all the young
men as mature as you back in Italy?”
“Only the ones that have to go to work at a young age. That forces you to
grow up in a hurry!”
As captivating as Maria was, Lonfranco also had eyes for the fine horse
flesh that was on display at the park that day. He had never seen such regal
mounts, and the men that rode them displayed skill and courage, the likes of
which he had never seen.
The game caught his fancy at once, and he sat there daydreaming that
perhaps one day he would ride with the general’s team. He liked the physical
aspect of the sport. The melding of man and mount, the ability to ride like the
wind, yet the necessity of having a sharp eye and a true stroke around the goal
kept Lonfranco intrigued for the whole afternoon.
A chorus of ‘bravos’ greeted the general as he rode triumphantly to the
podium to accept his team’s prize ribbons. Lonfranco ran to his side and took
the reins of his stallion as he dismounted.
“Well, my young friend, did I not tell you that I have the best team on
the continent?”
“General San Marco, I am truly in awe. Such beauty and yet so physical.”
“Would you like to try it, Lonfranco?” Without waiting for an answer, the
general called for two new mounts to be brought up. A squire assisted the boy
by taking his jacket and giving him a leg up.
“Now, let’s see if you can stay on that animal!” The general laughed as he
gave Lonfranco’s mount a slap on the rump with the flat of his palm. The horse
bolted off at once, the general following close behind.
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The boy was able to rein in the steed almost immediately, and once he
felt in control, he gave the animal its head with a few chortles and a soft kick
to the flanks. Never had he been astride a horse with such agility and speed.
The equine charger responded to his every command, and the two men raced
all over the playing field, seemingly as one with their mounts. It was only the
persistent urging of Isabella San Marco to join the family for luncheon that
brought an end to their fun.
“You have a fine seat, Lonfranco. You sit aboard a thoroughbred as if you
were born on one,” the General proclaimed as the two men dismounted.
“I have never ridden like that in my life, Señor General. Thank you for
the opportunity.”
A steward handed the riders cold drinks as two squires lead the horses
away. Both men were soaked with perspiration.
“I am too covered in sweat to eat with your family, Señor General.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, my boy. Women have to learn how to appreciate good
clean sweat and the smell of horse flesh. It is how I have raised my daughters.
Each of them can ride like the wind, even my wife. A good horse has saved my
life many a time in battle, and they know and respect this. Come now, let’s join
the women and eat.”
Lonfranco tried to stay on the perimeter of the assembled guests who were
partaking of the picnic, for he was emb
arrassed at his malodorous state. Maria
was at his side as soon as she located him, spurning the requests of several
dandified society boys to join them on their blankets.
“You are full of surprises, Lonfranco! You have a real touch with those
animals, that is obvious! You had better watch out or my father will give you a
mallet and conscript you onto his team. He has taken a real liking to you. Now,
come and eat your picnic with me!”
Lonfranco seemed to be floating on air the remainder of that magical
afternoon. The warmth of the general and his family made him at ease. For the
first time, he felt a sense of well-being in his new country. It was over all too
quickly for the boy’s liking, but the general’s parting remarks made his heart
soar with anticipation.
“I am in need of a handler for my stock that I keep on our estancia in the
Pampas, Lonfranco. It would mean relocating, for it is a long train ride from
the city. But it is some of the most beautiful land in all of Argentina, where
one can ride to the horizon and still keep going. I found it during the Indian
campaigns, its owner having been run off for good by the savages. Perhaps you
would be interested in the position? Think about it, and we will talk in a few
days. Thank you for joining us today. It would seem that you have made a good
impression with the whole family, especially Maria. She is strong-willed. Be
careful of her charms. I myself have trouble resisting them. She knows how to
get what she wants, even from her father, the general! Take care, my boy.”
45
JAMES McCREATH
His feet barely seemed to touch the ground as he made his way home
that fateful evening. His euphoria did not last long, however, once he reached
the modest boarding house that he called home in working-class Avellaneda
district.
His landlady, Señora Chazaretta, handed him a manila envelope as he
walked through the parlor on his way to the room he shared with two other
Italian immigrants. Lonfranco did not recognize the handwriting on the
envelope, even though it was postmarked in Livorno, Italy. The return address
stated the name of one of Livorno’s more prominent legal firms.
He waited until he was alone in his room before he tore open the seal.
He slowly tried to decipher the handwritten contents, for reading was a skill
that his parents had not stressed in his working-world upbringing. He clearly
understood one word, however, and it brought an icy shiver to his spine. ‘Morto.’
‘Dead!’
He could make out the names of his father, mother, and brother, but he
had no idea how they were related to that dreaded word. He started to shake
uncontrollably and sat on the edge of his bed to calm himself. It was at this
point that Mario Togneri, the elder of the two men that he shared the room with,
walked in. He was almost fifty years of age and had befriended the young boy
from the day that they were assigned as roommates by Señora Chazarretta. He
had a kind, soothing manner, and he would often ease Lonfranco’s homesickness
with wild stories of his youth in the old country. The two had become very
close, which was a good thing, for the young immigrant had never before been
in such need of a broad shoulder.
“What is the matter, Lonfranco? You are as white as a ghost.”
“Can you read our native tongue, Mario?” he held out the letter clasped in
a white-knuckled, shaking hand.
“Of course, I can. My wife was a schoolteacher back in Brindisi for many
years, God bless her departed soul.”
“Please read this to me, Mario. I fear it contains terrible news, and I am
shaking too hard to hold it.”
The older man took the document and stared at it intently. Lonfranco
could see the blood drain from his weathered face. Tears filled Togneri’s eyes as
he spoke ever so softly to the boy.
“Your family has been wiped out, back in Livorno. All of them, dead!
Influenza! It has apparently ravaged the whole district. They say it came off
the ships landing from the Orient. Thousands have died. Your father, being
the most frail, succumbed first. After he died, your mother seemed to lose her
spirit to resist anymore, and she passed away within a fortnight. Your brother,
Pietro, would not leave her side, caring for her until the end. That was his
undoing, as he died a few days later. The rest of the letter deals with legal
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RENALDO
matters concerning the disposal of the family assets. The lawyer gives you two
choices: One, to go back to Italy and assume ownership as the sole beneficiary
of their estates, or to sign this paper allowing him to liquidate everything and
send the proceeds to you here in Argentina. He sends his condolences and asks
for a prompt reply. That is all.”
Tear-filled, disbelieving eyes met the older man’s gaze.
“It can’t be true. I just received a letter last week that said everything was
fine, and . . . and that they were planning their passage to join me. See, the
letter is right here.” The boy fumbled uncontrollably with his small valise.
“Here it is . . . read it! Read it! It is all lies from the lawyer! Why would
someone do this? I have sent them money, not a lot, but enough to start saving
for the voyage. It, it . . . oh Mama! Pietro! Papa! I have let you down. Don’t be
dead, God in heaven, don’t let them be dead!”
He was now screaming at the top of his lungs, and the commotion
attracted the attention of Señora Chazarretta and the rest of the boarders.
As she entered the room, the landlady started to berate the boy for his
unbecoming behavior, but she was stopped in mid-sentence by his shocking
appearance.
“Señor De Seta, it is hardly . . . What on earth has happened?”
Mario Togneri handed her the letter while he explained its contents.
Señora Chazarretta cast it aside and grasped the boy lovingly in her arms. He
was whimpering softly now in Italian, words and phrases she could not clearly
make sense of. She stayed with him for hours, comforting and reassuring him
about his future. She let Togneri and the other man that shared the room
sleep in her flat that night so that she could keep a watchful eye on her newly
orphaned boarder.
Although alcohol was forbidden in the boarding house, she produced
a small flask of cognac when she brought him some soup and bread in the
early morning hours. The cognac was all the boy desired, and it succeeded
in calming his overwrought nerves enough to induce a fitful sleep. When he
finally awoke late the following afternoon, he was still in a state of delirium.
Nothing he said made sense, speaking half in Italian, half in Spanish. The
young immigrant thrashed wildly at times in his bed, shouting the names of
his lost loved ones. He refused all food, and with the exception of the cognac
that Señora Chazaretta discretely supplied him to bring on sleep, he took no
nourishment for three days. Lonfranco remained in his bed for that entire time,
unable, or unwilling to talk to anyone.
Finally on the morning of the fourth day, as he lay curled in the fetal
&nbs
p; position, the drapes and blankets that had been used to keep all light out
of the tiny room were cast aside, and brilliant sunshine filled the chamber.
Lonfranco reacted immediately to the glare that struck his disheveled form,
and he gingerly raised himself on one elbow and protested vigorously.
4
JAMES McCREATH
“Qué pasa? ‘What are you doing?’ “Cover those windows up and get out!
Leave me alone!”
He had to shield his eyes to see the form that stood in front of him more
clearly, and even at that, he did not recognize who it was. His head felt as if it
would explode any moment. His mouth was parched and dry, and although he
had no food in his stomach, he thought that he was about to throw up.
“Who are you? What do you want with me? Please go and leave me in
peace, I beg of you.”
“So that you can spend the rest of your life in bed feeling sorry for yourself?
I think not! I have seen too much good in you to let you throw it all away in
self-pity.” Although his eyes were still unable to focus, there was no mistaking
that voice of authority. He strained to rise to a sitting position.
“General San Marco! How, how did you find me here? Why did you come?
I, I am just a worker, not worthy of your time and . . . ”
“Be quiet, my dear boy. Your roommate, Togneri, came to my home to
tell me of your tragedy. Unfortunately, I was away for two days on military
matters. It was three days before I was able to read his note relating your
perilous condition. I came at once! So, you have lost your family back in Italy.
Tragic! May God have mercy on their souls. I will pray for them, but that is
all anyone can do for them now. You, my young friend, are an entirely different
matter. You will come with me now, to my home. I have sent for my personal
physician to attend to you. He is awaiting our arrival. My carriage is downstairs.
Señora Chazarreta will gather your belongings. You may have lost one family,
Lonfranco, but you are about to gain another. I have talked it over with my
wife and children. You are welcome to stay with us in our new home! Heaven
knows, you were the one responsible for completing the casa in record time. As
for your future, we will talk when you are of sounder mind and body. Now, my
friend, let me help you up.”
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