Renaldo (10 page)

seek out the boy and ask him personally for his appraisal of various situations.

Their relationship grew to be somewhat like uncle and nephew, for the

general had conceived four daughters but no sons. He would say to Lonfranco

that he wished for just one son to carry on the family name and provide him

with some manly companionship around his home.

“Surely you must get all the male company you want in the military?”

Lonfranco had questioned.

“It is true that I am surrounded by men every day, but they are not my

blood. They are not family. Unfortunately, my wife cannot have another child.

I have fought my wars, and now it is time for me to enjoy the fruits of my labor

with the ones I love. But as much as I love my wife and daughters, I can’t teach

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 embarrassed 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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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