José took a deep breath. “I do not know, my love.”
I looked up at my husband. “What’s going to happen now?”
“You let me protect you from the demons.” His arms tightened around me as I drifted off into sleep.
* * *
Two days later José rushed through the door, returning home earlier than normal while I washed up from my and Menotti’s lunch. He quickly moved around the house, checking the windows. “José, what is it? What’s wrong?”
“Lock the doors.”
“What are you talking about?” I said, one of my eyebrows rising to question my peculiar husband.
“I said lock the doors. We are not leaving this house until I say so.”
“José, now you are just being ridiculous.”
“Rivera, the former president, is planning a coup. It’s happening tomorrow.” He walked over to Menotti, picking him up, holding him close.
I dropped the plate I was holding, large shards scattering across the floor. “Are you sure? Where did you hear this?”
“I have my sources. They’ve been planning it. Rivera and his men are preparing to move in on the government. They’ve had enough of Oribe’s alliances with Argentina.”
“Are you going to be involved when it happens?”
“No,” José said, looking back at me. “I can’t abandon my family.”
As José had instructed us to, we stayed in the next day and the day after that. José cautiously ventured out to see what had become of the coup while I spent another day at home. Later that day José came home with fresh bread, a smile on his face, and a box of pastries under one arm.
“Well, we have avoided the war for now,” he said, setting the box on the table and picking up Menotti, who was already obsessed with what his father was carrying. “Oribe was ousted, it was all fairly peaceful. Rivera showed up with his army and escorted Oribe out of the capital.” He broke apart some pastry and fed it to Menotti, whose eyes shone with joy at the flavor.
“Mo! Mo!” he proceeded to call out to his father before holding his mouth open like a baby bird.
“They say that Oribe ran off to Argentina to take shelter with Rosas,” José said as he placed more food in our son’s mouth.
“You’re going to spoil his supper,” I scolded.
José passed the box to me. “Tonight, we celebrate the little victories. Supper can be spoiled this one time, can’t it?”
Thoughts turned over in my mind as I slowly chewed. “Why would anyone want to take shelter with Rosas?”
“Because Rosas is powerful. He will back Oribe up when he is ready to attack. After Oribe licks his wounds, of course. It doesn’t take a fool to know that any government set up by Oribe will just be a puppet government for Rosas.”
“There’s going to be a war, isn’t there?”
“I’d bet money on it,” José said.
I sighed as I watched my husband and son together. My heart constricted with worry. Once more we would go to war.
Thirty-One
July 1841
As José had predicted, war came to Montevideo. Two months after being ousted from the Uruguayan government Oribe returned with an army sponsored by Rosas. “They say Oribe is advancing in the north,” José said, pushing his stew around in his bowl. “It’s foolish to leave now, with rainy season on the way.”
“Who are they going to send to meet him?” I asked, wrapping my shawl tighter around my shoulders as I watched the brisk wind rustle the trees through the window.
José shrugged. “I wouldn’t know. I’m not involved with the military anymore. They don’t tell me these things.” He abruptly turned his attention to Menotti, letting the subject of the war die.
Days later, José became increasingly involved with the household as he sought out distractions from Uruguay’s politics. As we sat down for supper one evening a knock on the door echoed through the house. I looked at José curiously before going to open it. On a cold winter day such as this, no one was leaving their warm hearths to visit their neighbors.
At the door was a man who looked like his clothes hadn’t been washed in days. A shadow of fine bristles spread across his face. He held a worn-out hat in his hands. “Pardon me, senhora, but I am looking for a rat bastard with garlic breath by the name of Giuseppe.”
I stared at him, not knowing what to make of this supposed guest. “Miguel Contreras?” I heard José ask as he approached from the other room. “Why, you pockmarked bull calf!” José embraced the stranger in a bear hug. “What are you doing in South America?”
Miguel shrugged. “I’ve been floating around here and there.”
José, realizing I was still there, turned to me. “Let me introduce you to my wife, Anita. Anita, this is an old friend of mine, Miguel Contreras.”
“I gathered that,” I said, looking him over, trying not to grimace. “Will you be staying for dinner?”
“I could never turn down a free meal, thank you,” he said with a small bow.
The visitor looked around our house as he followed us to the kitchen. “I still can’t believe that Giuseppe Garibaldi is a married man.”
“And a father,” José added.
“Well, I hope that your child has all your worst qualities, unless it’s a girl. Then I hope for everyone’s sake she looks like her mother.” Contreras winked at me.
“We have a boy. His name is Menotti,” José said, beaming with pride.
“I’m sure it won’t be long before he’s plundering the Mediterranean and instigating mutinies, just like his father.”
“He’s going to need to learn to walk first,” I said, setting the plates on the table.
José threw his head back and let out a full laugh. “Miguel and I go way back. He was my shipmate when I sailed out of Marseille.”
“And then I allowed your husband to rope me into helping him oust a very annoying French captain.”
“I’m sure his reasons were most noble,” I teased.
“Naturally,” Miguel said, raising a flask that he produced from his coat. “To the man who corrupted me! May I never be considered an angel again.”
“What brings you to my door?” José asked the question that I had been wondering as well.
“I’ve been heading up the resistance to Rosas. Up until recently he has had his eye on Brazil. However, Uruguay seems to be the easier pearl to retrieve. Someone needs to keep that monster in check.” He stifled a burp. “When I heard about recent events, I couldn’t help but get involved. Argentina has its eyes set on Uruguay. If we don’t stop them, they’ll take over the whole continent.”
“I agree, but from what I’ve seen of the Uruguayan military, we should be able to hold off the Argentine army,” José said as he clutched the metal straw in his teeth.
“Until the coffers run dry.” Miguel’s fork scraped the plate, making me wince in irritation.
“Well, thankfully that won’t happen anytime soon,” José remarked.
“I wouldn’t count on that.”
“What do you mean by that?” José asked.
“You didn’t hear?” Miguel looked up, stunned.
“No. What’s happened?”
“The treasury is empty. Oribe took it all.”
José dropped his fork. “How? How can that be? I’ve sat in on government meetings, I’ve heard the reports. That’s impossible!” José’s voice trailed off. “Oribe had his son-in-law doing the finances.” José and I shared a look of realization. This wasn’t good. “They trusted him,” he said to no one in particular. “I thought if they trusted him so much then maybe I should too.”
“You ignored your intuition,” I whispered.
“This is bigger than Uruguay.” Miguel cleared his throat. “Argentina and France signed a treaty.”
José leaned forward in his seat. “Why would France align themselves with a monster like Rosas?”
“Trade. Why else?” Miguel said. “A few years back a few French citizens got caught selling
Argentinian cartography to Bolivia. The French ambassador demanded their release, which resulted in Rosas closing the French embassy.” Miguel took a big swig from his flask. “The French, being the proud people they are, decided to raise the stakes and blocked the port of Buenos Aires until their people were released from prison. It’s been two years and they are just now allowing ships through.”
“Well, now we know why Argentina wants to meddle in Uruguay,” I said. “They want our coastline.”
“Rosas won’t stop until he controls all of South America,” José said.
“José, we need you, my friend. We need you to organize the Italians. We want to create a legion comprised solely of our Italian brethren. There are so many of us from the old country here, and we want to fight for our adopted home, but we can’t do it without you.”
José studied his friend for a while before speaking up. “The people will need to become their own champions. I am a mathematics teacher now.”
“Please, you can’t tell me that you are happy playing house.” Miguel looked to me as I bounced Menotti on my hip. “I am sorry, I mean no offense.” He looked back to José. “I know you. I know you thirst for adventure. You can’t sit back and let history happen in front of you.”
“I am sorry, Miguel; my days of marauding are behind me. I have a family to take care of.” He poured more hot water into his mate gourd, trying his best not to look Miguel in the eye.
Miguel’s sharp eyes narrowed on my husband. “Well, I see I was wrong. I will not waste any more of your time.” Miguel bowed to me. “Senhora.” He placed his hat on his head and left.
I set Menotti in the parlor to play before I began clearing the plates. José continued to sit at the table. “You don’t have to use your family as an excuse, you know.”
“It’s not an excuse.”
“Isn’t it? All you’re doing is shifting the blame from one thing to another while I get the reputation of being the wife who holds her husband back. If you don’t want to join the military, say you don’t want to join. You don’t owe anyone an excuse.”
“And what, dear wife, do you think is the reason why I don’t want to join the military?”
“You lost a lot in Rio Grande do Sul; we both did. It’s only natural to be hesitant to get involved in another conflict.”
José sighed deeply. “I guess you know me better than I know myself.” He kissed my cheek. “I’m going up to bed.”
“José…”
He waved a hand at me in dismissal. “I have a headache. I’ll see you in bed.” And with that he disappeared up the stairs.
Later, I went into the darkened bedroom. José lay on his side, his back to me. I crawled into bed next to him, curling up against his back. I could feel his breath rise and sink in a rigid rhythm.
“You have sacrificed more than anyone dare ask,” I whispered into his back. My fingers ran along the crisscross scars, the remnants of a long-ago punishment. “There is no shame in not wanting to give any more.”
His breath paused for a moment before beginning again. When he didn’t say anything I ventured further. “Know that your family will be all right no matter what you end up doing.”
For a moment I thought he might actually be asleep, but then he grabbed my hand and held it to his heart. It was in this way we fell asleep.
* * *
A few days later, as the sun set, José was playing with Menotti. I watched as they built grand towers that rivaled our table. As we sat enjoying our time together, a number of our Italian comrades showed up at our door.
“We have a problem,” Anzani said, supporting a man twice his size. The men who followed him through the door had bloodied faces with bluish-purple bruises seeping through. As they began to tell the story half in Spanish and half in Italian, I grabbed my medical kit and moved about the men, bandaging wounds.
Anzani paced, his arms tightly crossed. “Tell him,” he growled.
“We were at the pub when a large group of drunken Frenchmen came in,” one of the men ventured. His lower lip was swollen and split open.
“Well, that was your first problem,” José said, surveying the room. “Spending your evenings in pubs leads to things like this.”
“The Frenchmen bragged about how they were the best military and the Americas should feel blessed to have them here. If it weren’t for them the continent would plunge into chaos,” another comrade added.
I went rigid. José froze, looking to Anzani. France had caused enough damage to Italy. They claimed to be supporters of Italian unification when the public’s eyes were on them. However, everyone knew that Louis-Philippe was the patron of the Papal Army. Anything the pope requested; France provided. They were no one’s savior.
“Tell him what happened next,” Anzani added.
“They insulted us. They said we were cowards.”
“Just because a group of drunken Frenchmen call us cowards is not a reason to fight,” José scolded.
“They insulted you, José,” Anzani interjected. “Our people got into a pub brawl because they felt the need to defend your honor.”
“They said you were the biggest coward of us all,” a young comrade interjected. “They said the reason we lost the Ragamuffin War was because you couldn’t even save toy ships.”
José’s eyes became very focused on the block that he held in his hand. A deep red blush creeped up his neck.
My patient flinched, and I realized I was tying his bandage too tightly. I apologized, my cheeks growing hot at my beginner’s mistake. I couldn’t help but be distracted. A loud, boisterous José was not afraid to let you know what he thought; you knew exactly where you stood. But a quiet, contemplative José? There was no telling what you were in for.
Anzani kneeled next to him. “We need you.”
I stopped tending to the men and watched my husband. A hush fell over the room. José continued to train his eyes on the block, turning it over in his hands.
Then he glanced up at me. He gave me the same look that he gave when he was about to apologize. I returned a curt nod before he turned back to the men staring at him, letting his eyes scan each and every one of their faces. He pushed his shoulders back and straightened. His chin rose as he transformed from my José to Captain Giuseppe Garibaldi.
“We are here in South America because the European powers have made it unsafe to stay in our own country. They have taken almost everything. I say ‘almost’ because they have yet to take our pride. Our pride in ourselves and our pride as Italians.” He looked around the room. “I don’t know about you, but as for me, I would sail the world twice over to challenge anyone who attempted to steal my pride.” He got up from his seat on the floor. “We shall see to it these Frenchmen never speak ill of an Italian again.”
* * *
José stood by the door offering kind words to each man as he exited, keeping vigil as they disappeared into the night. “I’m going to have to play the politician again,” he said to no one in particular.
“I know.” I walked up behind him, slipping an arm around his waist, burying my face in his back. The smell of sandalwood engulfed me, bringing me to safety. Bringing me to him.
“It’s unfortunate. I was getting used to the quiet life.” He gripped my wrist, holding me closer.
“We’re not quiet life people.” I laughed into his back. “We were bound to tire of it.”
José chuckled as he closed the door on the outside world.
Thirty-Two
I stood by my stove talking to Anzani about his new baby boy, named Giuseppe Antonio Cingolani Anzani. I was more interested than normal in the details of the baby, as talking about them gave me an excuse to ignore Miguel, who sat at my table sighing and tracing a knot in the wood with his finger.
“I have never had a baby sleep so little.” Anzani yawned. “Just when I think we might get a few hours of sleep he wakes us up again. I swear the little bastardo does it on purpose.”
“How are the other boys handling it?�
� I looked out of the corner of my eye to spy Miguel frowning, the crease between his eyebrows growing tighter.
“Tomaso has been a godsend. Anything Luisa needs, he takes care of. The boys really look up to him.”
José rushed into the house. He was taking more meetings with government officials, and they kept him busy at all hours of the day and night. Large bags hung under his eyes.
After refilling Anzani’s mug with tea, I took a cup for myself and sat down.
Immediately Miguel looked up at me. “This is a business matter.” He turned to José and Anzani for support, but Anzani intently watched his feet as an awkward silence fell over the room.
José cleared his throat and looked Miguel directly in the eye. “Anita gets to sit in on any meeting of mine that she likes.”
Miguel leaned toward him. “But she’s your wife.”
José shrugged and met Miguel’s eyes. “That just means I am going to tell her everything anyway.”
“Clearly you’ve never heard about her exploits in the Ragamuffin War,” Anzani interjected with a roguish grin.
José frowned. “We have more serious matters to discuss. I’ve learned some unfortunate news about the navy. It’s apparently become a burden of the local municipalities to purchase their own ships.”
“That means if Montevideo wants a naval defense it would have to come up with its own money to have one? And the same goes for every other city?” Anzani asked.
“Are they mad?” Miguel asked.
“No money,” José said with a sigh. “By diverting the burden to the local regions, they can also divert the blame should anything go wrong.” When Anzani and Miguel opened their mouths to protest, José raised a hand. “I know, I know, something will surely go wrong.”
“Why not take money from something else?” I said, getting up for more hot water to refill the tea. “I’m sure the politicians have their pockets lined with gold.”
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