Renaldo (8 page)

convinced that this was the closest he had ever been to finding contentment in

his life as they ate and talked and snuggled.

When the aggressive athlete took too much liberty with his roaming

hands, the object of his affection would hit him with the wooden spoon she used

to stir the tomato sauce. The telltale red splotches on Lonnie’s face and torso

finally convinced him that this woman was totally in control of the situation,

and that he had better wait for an invitation to continue his advances.

Over the next two days, they stayed entwined with each other, body and

soul. It was Celeste, however, that set their course and pace. They would eat,

talk, make love, and then repeat the whole routine again at her discretion.

Lonnie did not mind, for he had totally succumbed to her knowledge and

power. He had never felt so helpless, yet so connected to any woman in his life.

Sometimes they spoke of politics, but mostly of themselves, their backgrounds,

their families, their dreams.

She was the descendent of French immigrants who settled in Tucumán

Province as sugar cane sharecroppers when the railway expanded into the

northwest region of the country in 1875. That same rail line opened the

province to trade markets in Buenos Aires and beyond, and Celeste’s ancestors

became well-to-do sugar merchants.

Tucumán had been one of the first settled regions in the country, with

the Spanish Conquistadors arriving from Peru in 1553. The cities in this region

served as livestock and agricultural centers to support Peru’s nearby silver

mines. The city of San Miguel de Tucumán rose to such prominence that the

first national assembly representing all regions of what was then considered to

be Argentina met there in July of 1816. These representatives declared their

independence from the corrupt regime of Ferdinand the Seventh of Spain and

established the united provinces of the Rio de la Plata.

This was easier contemplated on paper than it was to achieve in fact. A

central Cabildo or ‘municipal council’ was set up in Buenos Aires, but several

disgruntled provinces, including modern-day Paraguay, Bolivia, and Uruguay,

quickly gained independence in a series of bloody battles. Spanish loyalists in the

Tucumán region fought from bases inside Peru, using terrorist tactics to keep

both the military and the local population wary of this new independence.

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JAMES McCREATH

This in many ways, Celeste explained, was the birth of the continuing

antigovernment movements that seemed to flourish in Tucumán province. The

cost in human lives and suffering over the last one hundred and fifty years had

been immeasurable. From pitched military battles to murder, extortion, and

kidnapping, nothing had changed up to the present. There was always a new

cause to champion and fight for, and thus, to die for.

It wasn’t so much to attain independence or autonomy from Buenos Aires.

It was more to achieve a sharing of the national wealth along the populist

philosophy. But for those innocents caught in the deadly political crossfire, it

didn’t matter in the slightest what the current cause was.

Celeste’s family had made and lost several fortunes as a direct result of

this turbulent history. Scores of her relatives had been arrested and executed or

had simply disappeared. Everyone tried to lead as normal a life as possible on a

day-to-day basis, but there seemed to be a constant undercurrent of uneasiness

due to the likelihood of impending flare-ups.

Lonnie was captivated by the story, but every time he would delve for

current family information, Celeste would skillfully shift the conversation to

his roots.

He had learned that her parents were retired and living on their country

estate, some hours from San Migel de Tucumán. Her two brothers, one older,

one younger, were running what was left of the family export business.

The student also received some insignificant facts about his lover’s

undergraduate studies at the local university, but further information was not

forthcoming. Lonnie was too much under her spell to push the point, and

subsequently, found himself talking about his ancestors with more feeling and

emotion than he had ever done before.

With the gentle encouragement of his tutor, Lonfranco Ernesto De

Seta painted the tableau of his family’s history in Argentina with a graphic,

insightful brush.

34

My paternal grandfather and namesake, Lonfranco Guissepe De Seta,

arrived in Buenos Aires in 1898 as a fifteen year-old immigrant

from Livorno, Italy. He was alone and had only the name of an old

family friend to contact.”

With those words, Lonnie embarked on a journey through his family’s

history in Argentina, a history that would take several hours to relate.

He went on to explain how his great grandfather, Alberto De Seta, had

shipped his young son off to establish a base in Argentina, with the intention

that the rest of the family would follow later if the reports from ‘the land of

silver’ proved promising.

Alberto De Seta had been a traveling porcelain and dry goods merchant/

importer working the northwestern provinces of Italy, with Florence as his

main market. The constant travel had taken its toll on Alberto. In spite of the

help of his two sons, Lonfranco and Pietro, both of whom he conscripted into

the business as soon as they could count money, his health and vitality had

failed him.

Seeking a new frontier for his family in retirement, he had sent his eldest

son across the Atlantic to establish a foothold for the future. This was not an

uncommon practice in Italy at the time. Young Lonfranco would often sit down

by Livorno’s bustling port, watching the tramp steamers carrying deck loads

of his excited countrymen off to the adventure of a lifetime. It was with great

enthusiasm that the youth awaited the day that he could be one of those men

on the steamer deck, waving and blowing kisses to adoring, tearful relatives

below.

That day came in the fall of 1898. Alberto had told the boy that this was

the best time to go, for it would be spring in Argentina, and the prospects

for work would be much improved. He gave his son the name of a prominent

Italian builder in Buenos Aires as a contact. This wealthy gentleman had been

a longtime customer of the elder De Seta before immigrating to Argentina.

That information and a few gold coins were all that Lonfranco De Seta

had at his disposal to establish a foundation in the land his family aspired to

adopt. The boy would have no way of knowing as he stood on the deck of his

westbound steamer that none of his loved ones would ever join him in the

promised land.

JAMES McCREATH

The passage to Argentina was pure hell, with food and sanitary conditions

at an intolerable level. Several passengers died outright from disease or

malnutrition. Others simply disappeared, jumping overboard to end what

seemed like perpetual sea sickness and claustrophobia.

Lonfranco was young and strong, however, and able to endure the first

of many hardships he would encounter on his journey to success in the new

world. When he finally disembarked on Argentine soil, some four weeks

after his departure, he was shocked to find that Señor Pugliese, who was to

be his mentor, had died several months earlier and all his businesses sold or

terminated. Pugliese’s widow had been aware of the communication from

Lonfranco’s father, but was in no position to offer any assistance, except for the

location of a cheap immigrant hotel.

She did mention that there was a lot of construction going on in the well-

to-do ‘Palermo’ section of Barrio Norte, where ambassadors, generals, and the

elite of Buenos Aires society were settling and building palatial homes.

Lonfranco was able to find an inexpensive room that first night in his

new country. He was thankful that his homesick sobs of anguish could not

be heard over the snoring of the dozen or so men with whom he shared his

cramped space on the floor. The next morning, the boy ventured off on his own

at daybreak, anxious to seek out whatever employment was to be had in this

new land that he was forced to embrace.

The sights, the sounds, the smells . . . they all bombarded his senses.

More than anything though, it was the humidity that caught him unprepared.

His heavy woolen fall clothes were drenched with perspiration within minutes.

Nevertheless, his spirits were buoyed by youthful curiosity. There was a newness

to the city that was not to be found in any part of Italy that he had traveled.

The similarity of Spanish to his native tongue made communication with

the Porteños relatively easy. Within a few hours, he had traveled by lorry and by

foot deep into Barrio Norte, where he finally rested at the edge of an immense,

open, green space.

One quick inquiry revealed that what he was gazing at was the Jardin

Zoologico, or Buenos Aires zoo. The park stretched well beyond the zoological

buildings, however. Lonfranco was told by a helpful passerby that what he

saw before him was Parque Tres de Febrero. It encompassed over ten thousand

acres of land. Along with the zoo, it contained a state-of-the-art race track with

grandstands, polo fields, several lakes connected by navigable streams, playing

fields, botanical gardens, and picnic areas. He was informed that it was the

center of the universe here in Buenos Aires on the weekends, when thousands

of Porteños would flock to its soothing, open expanses.

Another local told the boy that construction gang foremen often sought

day laborers at the Plaza Italia, not far from where he now stood. Lonfranco was

36

RENALDO

heartened to find that the plaza’s dominant feature was a statue of Garabaldi,

the famous Italian patriot. To his delight and relief, most of the fifty or so men

that had congregated at the base of the statue were from his homeland. Each

was after the same thing. Work!

He didn’t have to wait long to learn how the system operated. As soon as

a prospective employer announced his arrival in the plaza, every man went to

great lengths to make sure that he was noticed. They would surge around the

foreman, calling out their given names and attesting to their physical strength

and willingness to work. Often they were beaten back by overseers that the

foreman had brought along, both for his own protection from the would-be

workers’ enthusiasm and also to have some brutal fun at the expense of these

displaced peasants.

Most of these ‘bosses’ had a keen eye for strength and stamina, and often

the old or the frail would be passed over in favor of younger, fitter prospects.

At fifteen, Lonfranco already stood in excess of six feet, and his tight,

angular body was well muscled as a result of his labors for his father over the

past eight years. His straight black hair was slicked back with pomade and

despite his tortuous journey overseas, he looked as robust and fit as any man

in the plaza.

Jimmy Shaunaker, the big Irish foreman, must have thought so as well,

for he had chosen the youth to join his pick and shovel brigade with a wave

of his baton. The half-dozen men that were selected bid farewell to their less

fortunate compatriots and were marched out of the plaza.

Lonfranco marveled at the size of the homes as they wound their way

through streets bustling with tradesmen, merchants, and well-to-do residents.

Each estate was surrounded by a high wall or fence, often affording only a

glimpse of the residence and grounds. The styles and architecture varied

dramatically from lot to lot, Italianate beside French colonial, beside English-

style tutor. Lush gardens and fountains could be seen in the front courtyards of

many.
Perhaps one day . . .
Lonfranco thought to himself.

Finally, the procession came to a halt in front of a large vacant lot on Calle

Arenales. Tools were issued to the newcomers, and they were told to jump

down into the excavated hole and take instructions from the line boss.

Tucho Ortiz was not a man that Lonfranco would enjoy taking orders

from, for his methods and his demeanor were as ugly as his face. The work was

backbreaking and relentless, with only a half hour break for lunch. Each man

was assigned an area to dig. If their progress was insufficient, Tucho’s baton,

a larger version of Shaunaker’s, would come crashing down on his backside

accompanied by a stream of invectives.

Lonfranco made sure that he kept up a favorable pace, even though his

hands were becoming swollen and blistered. He was able to make it through

3

JAMES McCREATH

his first day without facing Tucho’s wrath, and to his delight, he was asked

back for the next morning with a promise of long-term employment if he made

it through his first week. He collected his pay and set out to find good work