The Woman in Red

by Diana Giovinazzo

  “Well, good luck convincing them to part with it,” Miguel added as he poured something from a flask into his cup.

  “Which politician had the bright idea of making the navy a burden of the municipality?” I asked.

  “Enrique Vidal,” José said. A longtime politician, he always seemed to surface when the timing was most opportune for him.

  Miguel swallowed a large swig of tea before responding, “Of course he did. Vidal cries fiscal responsibility in the streets while he lives the life of luxury at home.”

  Anzani nodded. “All we need to do is show them that Garibaldi can put together a group of sailors and make a profitable navy. If it doesn’t convince the federal government, we can at least have some protection for Montevideo.”

  * * *

  Over the course of the next few weeks José came home tired and crankier than Menotti just before a nap. The government was fighting within itself. A number of the long-term politicians wanted to do things the way they had always done them.

  José tried as best he could to walk a thin line of encouraging change without being too radical. He would have been successful in his endeavors had it not been for Vidal. Vidal was the keeper of the treasury and he didn’t want the sins of his predecessor to be repeated. Or so he said.

  José held his head in his hands while he sat at the table as I cooked. “Vidal won’t fund anything. I barely got him to agree to one boat. One boat! Tell me how I’m supposed to sail a navy with one boat?”

  “I don’t know, my love,” I said, setting his dinner down in front of him.

  He pushed the food around on his plate. “Vidal says he’s saving money for the good of Uruguay, but I think he’s only saving money until he has enough to live like a king in Europe.”

  I had been doing everything that I could to make his time at home peaceful. I listened patiently as he frequently complained about the current state of affairs. I made sure Menotti was as happy as he could be, moving his naps to the later part of the afternoon so that he was fresh and pleasant for his father. The next evening José came up behind me while I was cooking, startling me as he wrapped his arms around my waist. He kissed my neck tenderly before letting his chin rest on my shoulder.

  “What put you in such a good mood?”

  “Nothing. I wanted to show my appreciation. I know I haven’t been the most pleasant person to live with lately.” I let myself be pulled along as José swayed.

  “We put up with a lot from those we love.” I laughed out loud as José blew into my neck playfully.

  That evening I watched as José played on the floor with Menotti. He even put his son to bed. Later in the evening I found myself draped over José in our bed, breathless after our lovemaking. I felt cocooned in his embrace. José gently stroked my arm as we listened to the sounds of Montevideo outside our window.

  “The government gave me my first assignment. They are sending me on a delivery run.”

  My fingers traced his ribs. “Where?”

  “Corrientes.”

  I sat upright. “Corrientes! It’s surrounded by Argentinian forces. The province is already lost.”

  “I have to prove how desperately Uruguay needs a functional navy.”

  “You have nothing to prove. This is suicide!” I moved to slap José’s chest, but he grabbed my arm, pulling it to his lips.

  “It’s only suicide if I let them catch me.”

  “You are voluntarily putting yourself in harm’s way.”

  He pulled me to him by my arm. “Tesoro mio, I have been in tighter situations than this,” he said before kissing me.

  It was still dark when I awoke. For a moment I felt disoriented. I stretched out, realizing José was no longer in bed next to me. Sitting up, I scanned the dark room, listening, but there was no one. I checked in on Menotti, who reminded me of a miniature man in the way that he slept with his blanket kicked off and wadded between his knees.

  I cautiously padded downstairs and into the kitchen. The moon shone through the windows, casting odd shadows across the table. It was then that I spotted the note. The little intimidating piece of paper that lay on the table.

  I have sailed for Corrientes. I will return to you, tesoro mio.

  —José

  Thirty-Three

  September 1841

  The eerie quiet of the house without my husband was unsettling. I regularly took refuge with Luisa, who was left to manage the Anzani brood while Francesco sailed with José.

  Taking advantage of the warm spring sun, we brought the children outside to tire themselves out. I watched Menotti play with the other boys, thinking about the duty I had to keep our son safe so that he could grow into a strong man worthy of his father.

  “I don’t know what I did to anger God so much,” Luisa said over the sounds of her fussy baby. “Not only did I not get my daughter, I got a willful child who hates everything. How can he be so stubborn? He can’t even talk yet!”

  “At least you didn’t have an ugly baby.”

  Luisa held her son out from her to admire him. “If there is one thing Francesco and I are good at, it’s making handsome, strong-willed children.” She made a tsking sound. “Cesare, put that thing down, Lord knows where it’s been!” Cesare’s smile fell as he flung away the large worm he had been tormenting the other boys with. Luisa scolded Cesare in Italian, then turned back to me. “Go on, read the article.”

  Luisa had been teaching me to read by following the articles in the newspaper about our husbands. Each day we met I grew a little stronger as we gleaned the only information we could on their well-being.

  After a two-day battle with the Argentinian flagship, the Rivera has been sunk.

  My mouth went dry and Luisa froze in place, in the middle of patting little Giuseppe. I coughed, clearing my throat, and continued on.

  Captained by Senhor Garibaldi, the Rivera was attempting to bring much-needed supplies to the people of Corrientes.

  Luisa crossed herself.

  The men are believed to be dead since the wreckage is so extensive. Argentina has yet to inform Uruguayan officials of any prisoners.

  I let the newspaper fall into my lap.

  Luisa stared ahead at her children. “Our husbands aren’t dead.”

  “We would feel it.” I’d been told José was dead before. I didn’t believe it then and I certainly didn’t believe it now. I thought back to that cold day in Brazil when Moringue tried to tell me my husband was dead. There wasn’t any wailing, as my mother had done for my father. I simply marched on, knowing there was no way for me to stop. I had always imagined that if José was truly dead, I would feel it with every fiber of my being.

  “When I was pregnant with Tomaso, Francesco was shot. The bullet went through his back, lodging itself in one of his lungs.” Luisa looked down at the baby, who had finally started to settle, stroking his little cheek. I could see tears welling up in her eyes. “The doctors told me then that my husband would die, but I didn’t believe them. I made Francesco promise me he would live long enough to see Tomaso become a man.” She watched Tomaso as he played with the other boys. “Our husbands will return.”

  * * *

  It was early in the morning, before the sun rose, when I woke from a dream that felt like a memory. I was back on our ship in the battle for Laguna. I could feel the ship shudder from the cannon fire. The faint smell of gunpowder filled my nose.

  I bolted awake when I heard the booming cannon and realized that it was not a dream. My heart pounded as I took in my surroundings. I felt the firmness of my bed. The moonlight cast odd shadows over my floor and armoire. The boom of the cannon rattled the house. I threw off the covers and ran for Menotti. We rushed out the door, meeting Feliciana on the front steps.

  “What’s happening?” Feliciana asked, her golden-brown eyes wild with terror. Cannon fire boomed again in the distance.

  “The city is under siege. We have to get Luisa and the children.”

  Luisa was already pushing her sleep
y children out the door as we approached. “Are you going to the church?” she asked, slightly out of breath.

  “Yes!” The church was a large stone structure in the center of the city. It had withstood every storm and war that the people of Montevideo could remember.

  The cannon fire echoed like thunder in the air around us. Guided by moonlight, we ran as fast as we could in the warm air, pulling our frightened children along behind us. Others were now waking, rushing from their homes to seek the sanctuary of the church.

  Father Lorenzo and the nuns were handing out blankets and steaming cups of tea as we walked into the church. The smell of incense drifted through the air, mixed with the scent of unwashed bodies as more than a hundred women and children staked out miniature camps. Every able-bodied man was fighting with the central Uruguayan army in defense of our country, leaving the women of Montevideo to fend for themselves. The flashes of light from the distant ships lit up the night sky, casting an orange and red glow through the stained-glass windows of saints praying over us. My eyes scanned the high white marble arches above. Cathedrals like this were intended to last when everything else had turned to dust.

  Father Lorenzo greeted us as we approached him. “We are doing all that we can to make everyone comfortable, but I’m afraid that we can’t meet everyone’s needs. Morning is going to come soon and with it, hungry bellies. I am not Christ; I cannot perform miracles.” We steadied ourselves as another great boom rocked the ground on which we stood.

  “Do you know if anything is being done to fortify the city? Surely we must have some defense?” I swept my hair into a loose knot. I needed to know what the plan was to keep everyone safe.

  Father Lorenzo shook his head. “The vast majority of Uruguay’s men are fighting to the west; they left a small garrison to defend the city. But if Argentina is here now, then it means they broke through our front line.” He watched the people filing in. “Rosas has had his eyes on our port for a long time. It looks like he may finally get his hands on it.” Though Rosas had a treaty with France regarding the Buenos Aires port, he still had to tolerate them meddling in his affairs. If he took Montevideo, he would have a brand-new port, free from the long arms of France.

  I looked around; most of the people were huddled together, dirty, crying, and visibly scared. I didn’t need Destiny to send me any omens to know that my place was here with these people. I stood up on a pew and called out, “Everyone, I need your attention. We need to work together to save our city.”

  “We aren’t soldiers!” a woman called from the back of the room. She looked immaculate, like she had arrived on a social visit rather than running for her life from cannons. I stood taller and pressed on.

  “No, we are not, and that’s what makes us an asset. We don’t need soldiers to protect us; by working together we can manage to accomplish the work of ten armies.” I looked around the room at all of the dirty, tear-streaked faces that were staring up at me. “We will go out in teams of six, four groups at a time. We’ll work together to fortify the city.”

  Father Lorenzo stepped up beside me. “Montevideo used to be surrounded by a wall. It was torn down when the English invaded in 1807, but we could build on those ruins.”

  I nodded. “You’ll need to grab the debris; boards, timber, whatever you can to create walls that they can’t get through. We are also going to need supplies. From our homes and from our neighbors you will need to gather food, blankets, anything we can use to make our time here more comfortable. Those that aren’t outside will watch the children.”

  A small woman with light hair shot her fist in the air. “That’s ridiculous! We can’t do that much work!”

  “Then you can take the first childcare watch!”

  I got down. “Luisa, you take a team with you. Feliciana, can you take the first childcare watch, as well?”

  “Of course,” she said, gladly taking Giuseppe off Luisa’s hands.

  Amid the smoke we fanned out into the broken city. Two groups focused their search on blankets and food to bring back to the church, first from their homes and then from the homes of their friends. The other two groups focused on building up the battlements. We ventured as close to shore as we dared, pulling together debris, fitting it into a wall.

  Meanwhile, the cannons exploded around us. The all-too-familiar smell of gunpowder filled my nose. Some of the women jumped at the sound of the cannon fire as the ground shook around us. But I kept moving, feeling more alive than I had in ages.

  “Move forward!” I called out over the chaos. These women had an incredible amount of strength, they just needed to use it.

  * * *

  After working for another hour, we headed back to the church, our arms loaded with as many blankets and as much food as we could carry. When we reached the church, we handed out the supplies we had gathered. It had only been a few hours, but we were already functioning like one of José’s regiments.

  Without warning, I felt the room tilt as a wave of nausea washed over me. I grabbed the back of a pew to keep from falling as my knees buckled. Luisa grabbed hold of my other elbow, looking on with growing concern.

  “How far along are you?”

  I thought for a moment. “No, I can’t, I…” But I hadn’t had my courses since before José left…and that was well over two months ago. Realization dawned: It was indeed possible.

  Luisa steadied me as she brought me over to a corner with a thick blue blanket. “Sit, I’m going to get you some food.”

  “No, Luisa, I’m not hungry.”

  “Don’t be silly,” she said. “You need it just as much as they do. I’ll tend to Menotti and the children until your next shift.”

  I curled up in my corner, turning from side to side, trying to find a way to get comfortable as I contemplated the possibilities of having a new child. My mind raced; there was still no word from José. I looked around the church as the women held on to their children in an attempt to soothe them. Menotti toddled behind Luisa’s brood while they hoarded whatever pillows and blankets they could get their hands on. Periodically I would hear giggles coming from their little tent, making me smile. My eyes rose to the crucifix that hung over the altar. We needed to make it through the attack, if not for our sake then for the sake of our children.

  We continued to work in our shifts throughout the next day as rain poured down on us, and well into the humid night. Smoke and ash clung to the raindrops, soaking us with dirty water. The battlements weren’t much, but they would at least slow down the Argentinian army. We were our own disciplined army.

  A few days later reinforcements arrived to lift the siege, releasing us from our duty to save the city.

  “Who knew our women could be so brave?” one of the soldiers mumbled as they surveyed the church.

  “And resourceful,” another responded.

  I smiled to myself as I gathered Menotti and made my way home.

  Three days later I rose early to go to the central military offices to collect our rations. A thick cloud of depression hung in the stale air. No one smiled; they kept to themselves as they shuffled through the once vibrant streets. I stopped short as I made it to the ration line.

  Women and young children wrapped out the door and around the corner. I gripped Menotti’s hand to keep him from running away as we waited. The only difference between the officers’ wives and enlisted soldiers’ wives in the line was the color of the ration cards. Red stood for enlisted, green was for officers. I hid mine in my pocket, feeling a stab of guilt, knowing that I would get more food than many of those around me.

  My morning sickness grew far worse than anything I had experienced with Menotti. My stomach churned as we slowly made progress toward our end goal. Menotti pulled at my hand that gripped his arm as his restlessness grew. A commanding officer stood at the front of the line, inspecting the ration cards.

  My turn came, and I stood in front of the tall officer, who looked down his nose at me. “Name.”

  “Garibaldi,” I
said, handing over my card.

  He handed the card back.

  “Bread, oil, and salt? What am I supposed to do with this?” I questioned the meager supplies slapped down in front of me.

  “That’s not my concern.”

  “This isn’t enough to feed my family. My husband is an officer, I’m supposed to be getting officer’s rations.”

  “Those are officer’s rations.”

  I stared at him in disbelief. “If these are the officers’ rations, then what are the soldiers’ rations?”

  He looked at me, for the first time showing empathy. “You don’t want to know.”

  I hid my food in my basket and made my way back through the town center. Menotti escaped my grasp and ran to a shop nearby. I scooped him up just before his little hands clasped the persimmons at the bottom of a beautiful pile, moments before he had the chance to send them scattering across the ground. I held him close, looking at the food longingly. How was I supposed to feed my son on only bread and olive oil? How was I going to feed myself?

  Passing the Anzanis’ house, I suddenly felt the desire to see a friend, even if it was just for a quick visit. The children were playing outside while Luisa put together a salad of stale bread, olive oil, and scraps of wilted vegetables.

  “I see you got your rations as well.”

  Luisa huffed. “At least I can put together a decent panzanella.”

  I laughed as we brought the food into the backyard. Picking at my plate, I took in the garden, lined by the backs of at least six houses. “How many of the families here have husbands fighting?”

  Luisa thought for a moment. “Most of them, I believe. Everyone is struggling like we are.”

  I kicked at the grass. “What do you think about starting our own gardens? I am sure we can trade for seed or something. Maybe we could get the other families together. It probably wouldn’t be enough to fully feed us, but at least we wouldn’t starve.”

  Luisa smiled. “I like that. Whatever we put in we can get out of it.”