by Lily Tuck
Worse than the weather and the drilling was their diet. Both Gaspar and Fulgencio were used to eating maize, manioc and fruit, with the occasional fish—after catching the manguruzu with the monkey inside it, however, neither brother could eat fish—but since all the men in Paraguay had been conscripted into the army, none were left to till or plant the fields, and grain and vegetables had become scarce. The great hunks of undercooked bloody barbecued beef, their sole diet (large herds of cattle had been captured in Matto Grosso province and brought back to feed the army), gave Gaspar and Fulgencio acute and debilitating dysentery. No matter how many gourds of maté they drank a day to try to stop up their bowels, after each meal their stomachs cramped and, bent nearly double and barely able to contain themselves, they ran into the woods to relieve themselves—their shit a stream of malodorous yellow water.
At night, the two brothers hardly slept; they swung in their hammocks swatting at mosquitos and thinking about their wives, who cooked, cleaned the house, made chipa and bore Gaspar and Fulgencio many children. Gaspar’s wife was older and not as good-natured or amiable as Fulgencio’s wife, her sister; at times she was reluctant to have sex with Gaspar—she was pregnant or else she was menstruating—and, however frustrated he might be, Gaspar respected her wishes and never forced himself on her. Younger, prettier, Fulgencio’s wife had no such reservations; she often wore a flower in her hair, a signal to Fulgencio, and, less fastidious than her sister, she did not mind if Fulgencio took her outdoors in the fields or on the banks of the river. Sometimes, to relieve the monotony of the nights at Humaitá, Gaspar and Fulgencio played a game among themselves—the game was simple, it consisted of who could get off first. In his hammock, Gaspar, more often than not—although he did not admit it to Fulgencio—thought about how he was making love to his wife’s sister, Fulgencio’s wife. He fantasized how Fulgencio’s wife’s body, although familiar and shaped like her sister’s, was smoother and firmer, he also fantasized how she was more easily satisfied. Next to Gaspar, in his hammock, Fulgencio was also thinking about his wife and imagining her smooth dark skin and the flower in her black hair but then, without his hardly noticing it, the picture in his head of his wife invariably changed and turned into a picture of a much paler woman with blond hair and Fulgencio thought about how he was sitting astride her and how he could feel her soft hips between his knees and that thought more than any other made him come and he always won.
When Inocencia received the curtains from Baron de Villa Maria’s house, she was delirious with happiness. She spent entire days in her bedroom in front of the mirror sifting through the heavy silks and brocades, draping each piece of cloth over her broad shoulders and around her thick waist to see which color suited her best—yellow? pink? crimson? blue? She pored over the candy-box illustrations of insipid-looking doll-women in outdated fashion magazines that Ella had discarded: Le Journal des demoiselles, La France élégante, La Mode illustrée. Out loud to herself, she read and reread the descriptions of plunging bodices, pagoda sleeves, hems trimmed with flounces, bows and ribbons, lace collars and cuffs.
Envious and resentful, Rafaela watched her sister. “Can I have a little of the pink silk?” she asked Inocencia finally.
Exhausted and emaciated, Baron de Villa Maria reached Rio de Janeiro months later on foot. He was the first to inform Don Pedro that Brazil had lost its richest province.
Meantime, a relieved and finally sober General Barrios returned to Asunción, bringing home, at great expense and inconvenience, the marble statue; several soldiers had to carry it and one, clumsy, let drop his portion of the statue, breaking off a foot of the woman stung by a serpent.
Irate, Charles Washburn, the United States minister, had already written a letter home complaining about Franco’s actions in regard to the Brazilian steamer the Marquez de Olinda: “I told him that such a proceeding in time of peace was unprecedented in modern warfare; and that, as there had been no declaration of war, and the Brazilians had not expected such action, there could be no justification in such proceeding.”
To Mrs. Washburn, during supper, he complained as well. “When I advised President Lopez today to release the new governor of Matto Grosso province, Camheiro de Campos, along with the crew and the passengers of the Marquez de Olinda, who I have heard are being kept in appalling circumstances in a prison in the interior, he would not listen to me. Again and again, I tried to explain how the seizure of the vessel would not provoke Dom Pedro nearly as much as the seizure of his own subjects, but I might as well have been talking to myself or talking to the wind for all Lopez heeded me.”
“A prison in the interior? How dreadful—no doubt they will all perish! But never mind, dear, I am sure you did the right thing. As you well know, the only person the president will listen to is that awful, ambitious Irish woman, Madame Lynch,” Mrs. Washburn answered.
“I even reminded President Lopez that the United States might eventually be willing to help him in a war against Brazil, and to furnish him with the tools to do so with greater dispatch,” Charles Washburn said.
“I have no doubt that the president will soon come around to your way of thinking. Are you not hot, dear?” Mrs. Washburn made a fanning motion with her hand. “Hush,” she also said to Bumppo, her terrier who, for no reason she could see except that he was greedy, had started to bark.
2 JANUARY 1865
What I wonder will the new year bring? I know that the Brazilians and the Orientals, like the Spanish and the Portuguese, loathe each other and the two countries are always on the verge of war. One of the reasons, the colonel was able to explain to me, is the Brazilian cattle owners who have established themselves in Banda Oriental and are engaged in smuggling cattle into Brazil, thus evading the import duties the Banda Oriental government has imposed. When called to account for this by the government of Banda Oriental, the Brazilians sided with General Flores, a revolutionary gaucho chief. More recently, according to the colonel, the Brazilians and the gauchos invaded and captured the Banda Oriental town of Paysandú. When the people from that town surrendered, the gauchos slaughtered them all anyway. Difficult to imagine such unprovoked violence!
Yes, definitely, there is something wrong with that girl, the wet nurse. When I walked into the nursery this morning, she tried to get up from her chair and nearly fell. I suspect she had been drinking. I will have to make inquiries.
The Banda Oriental minister in Asunción flattered Franco. The time for Paraguay to play a decisive role in the politics of the Río de la Plata had come, he told him. As a result Franco sent a note of protest to the Brazilian minister in which he said that he would regard any occupation of Banda Oriental territory by the Brazilians as disturbing the equilibrium of the states of the Río de la Plata. He wrote that the matter was of great concern to the Republic of Paraguay as a guarantee of its security, peace and prosperity, and such a hostile action would have serious consequences.
Franco’s protest was not perceived as a declaration of war. Nor did he act upon it. Instead Franco waited. Montevideo fell in February, and Venancio Flores became the new president of Banda Oriental so that all of a sudden, instead of being Banda Oriental’s ally, Franco found himself both Brazil and Banda Oriental’s enemy.
One afternoon while Ella was out riding alone, she rode past a group of soldiers who, because there were not enough horses, were riding double and one of them had called out to her in an unpleasant way, and she was reminded of the Irish groom in Buenos Ayres—what was his name?—Patrick MacBride. Poor Patrick. Ella also remembered how at the asado in her honor, Mr. James White, the rich landholder, had told her that Patrick was probably killed by the gauchos while they attempted to steal Mathilde from him. The gauchos, Mr. White said, were a wild bunch who had little regard for human life. Forgetting her condition, no doubt, he had gone on to describe to Ella the gauchos’ favorite method of disposing of their victims—“playing the violin,” they called it. “First, the gaucho throws the victim down on his face,” he sa
id, “then the gaucho seizes him by the hair and plunges his knife into his neck, just below the right ear and across the throat—” To illustrate, Mr. White, who was holding a greasy lamb chop, sliced the air with his hand. “So that the blood flows more rapidly, the gaucho wrenches the victim’s head back—” At the thought, Ella shuddered. Gathering the reins and kicking Mathilde, she urged the horse into a canter. “Let’s go, my darling.” Ella had to kick Mathilde twice. The mare was getting older; she was no longer so quick to respond.
Baron von Fischer-Truenfeld was inspecting the telegraph line from Cerro León to Asunción. The line seemed in good order and the sun shone pleasantly in Baron von Fischer-Truenfeld’s face as he rode on the hard-packed clay road. As he approached a village, he could hear the voices of children playing, then the voice of a woman calling to them. From his horse, he caught a glimpse of the woman, a pretty, dark-haired young woman, and for a moment he was tempted to get off his horse and go to her—he could flirt with her, kiss her, perhaps sleep with her. Instead he merely waved at her. Smiling, the young woman waved back. Paraguay, Baron von Fischer-Truenfeld knew, was preparing to go to war as was, he also knew, Prussia. Suddenly, more than anything, Baron von Fischer-Truenfeld wanted to go home.
In his hurry one morning, as Franco was leaving Ella’s bedroom—late, he had scheduled for congress to convene—he bumped into one of the ladies-in-waiting, who was standing in the hall. Franco had seen Ella’s ladies-in-waiting on many different occasions—Señora Juliana, Doña Dolores and Doña Isidora—and he employed their husbands in the army, but he got the three ladies confused. This one was pretty and plump; she had been leaning over, her skirt was hiked up, adjusting something—her stocking perhaps—and as Franco opened the door and stepped out, he nearly knocked her down. To keep her from falling, Franco grabbed her arm. Digging his fingers into the soft flesh, he held on to the woman’s arm a little longer than necessary.
“Muchas gracias, Señor.” Unafraid, the lady-in-waiting looked him in the eye and smiled.
6 MAY 1865
According to the colonel, who did not have a chance the other day to finish telling me everything that occurred in Paysandú, the real reason that General Leandro Gomez, although he surrendered and waved a white flag, was taken out and shot against a wall was that he and General Suarez, the head of the Oriental forces, had a longstanding personal feud. Something to do with a woman! How typical and banal! Nevertheless it is an outrage and cold-blooded murder! [Ella underlined these last three words “cold-blooded murder.”] And war, I am certain, is now inevitable.
Poor children! They have come down with the measles! Federico has the worst case, he is covered from head to toe with spots. When I consulted Dr. Stewart he informed me that several cases of the measles have been reported among the soldiers at Humaitá—and the infection he also said was brought over deliberately by an Argentine soldier! I hope and pray Franco does not contract it and when I inquired as to whether he had had the measles as a child, Franco said he could not remember. No use asking Doña Juaña, she would not deign to answer me. And she only cares for Benigno.
But I must not forget yesterday we had glorious news! Congress unanimously conferred the rank of field marshal on Franco (he was also given a most splendid diamond encrusted marshal’s baton!). From general to field marshal—what next? I asked him. Emperor?
The next time Frederick Masterman went out to collect the opium that he had planted and that he had promised to give to Maria Oliva, he discovered that the neighbor’s cattle had pushed through the fence and gotten into his garden. The cattle had eaten all the poppies; he could see them, spread out like dirty, blown sheets in the field, lying on their sides. One cow was trying to stand up. Each time she got herself up on two legs, she fell down.
Ten
CORRIENTES
Rosaria and Maria Oliva, the wet nurses—by then the youngest boy, Leopoldo, was weaned—also came down with the measles. First Rosaria, a week later Maria Oliva, who developed such a high fever that she went to lie down in a tub of cold water in an attempt to bring down her temperature. Just over the measles himself—his body was still covered with scabs—Federico was the one who found Maria Oliva curled up like a baby, her skin blue. Throwing down the bunch of flowers wrapped in newspaper that he had picked to give Maria Oliva, Federico ran to fetch Rosaria. Rosaria felt for Maria Oliva’s pulse and, finding none, she crossed herself, then, reaching for the nearest thing at hand, she quickly covered Maria Oliva’s naked body with the newspaper that was wrapped around the flowers Federico had wanted to give her.
Citizens! The course of the war in which our Fatherland is engaged against the triple alliance of Brazil, the Argentine Confederation, and the Banda Oriental no longer allows me the self-sacrifice of absenting myself from the seat of war and from my companions in arms, who are in campaign, as the public order and the unanimous enthusiasm of the nation permit me to go where the soldier’s duty calls me—
Printed in bold type on the sheet from El Semanario was Franco’s proclamation to the Paraguayan people. The rest of the article (except for a few more lines on the corner of newspaper covering Maria Oliva’s shrunken ass, which read, “Every citizen in his heart believes in the holiness of the cause, which has forced us to leave our peaceful and laborious life, and the God of armies will watch over our fate!”) was wet and illegible. That hardly mattered; neither Rosaria nor Maria Oliva—had she been able—could read.
Franco’s troops, under the command of General Robles, occupied the town of Corrientes. Already Paraguay was at war with Brazil and Banda Oriental, and now Paraguay had started a battle with Argentina by asking for permission to march through the province of Misiones—a disputed territory on which both Argentina and Paraguay had claims, and of which Corrientes was the capital—permission that Argentina, at peace with Brazil, had refused to give.
“You may count on us for putting ourselves in a position to make the voice of the Paraguayan government heard in the events that are developing in the Río de la Plata,” Franco told U.S. Minister Charles Washburn.
As yet unaware—the news did not reach Paraguay for six months—that President Lincoln had been assassinated, Charles Washburn lost no time in reporting Franco’s words to Secretary of State William Seward. But William Seward had been stabbed in the throat by one of John Wilkes Booth’s fellow conspirators and was in no state to reply.
Bartolemé Mitre of the Argentine Republic replied immediately by declaring war on Paraguay. A few days later, on the first of May, he met with Dom Pedro of Brazil and Venancio Flores of Banda Oriental to sign the Treaty of Triple Alliance.
“None of our three countries should seek a separate peace.” Impartial and just, Venancio Flores was adamant.
“A state of war with Paraguay will continue to exist until the abdication of Francisco Solano Lopez.” Dom Pedro disliked Franco for both personal and political reasons.
“Paraguay will have to pay the entire cost of the war,” always practical, Bartolemé Mitre insisted.
Again, Venancio Flores persisted, “All warships and war materials possessed by Paraguay will be divided equally among the three signers of the treaty.”
“Paraguay will be forbidden to rearm within a generation.” The most confident, General Luis Alves de Lima y Silva, Duke de Caxias, the new Brazilian commander in chief of the Allied forces, was certain the war would not last long. Paraguay, he predicted, would soon be defeated.
“Tell me, how does the electric telegraph work?” Curious, Ella was also flirting a little. Out riding one afternoon, she had happened to meet Baron von Fischer-Truenfeld.
Doffing his cap, Baron von Fischer-Truenfeld rode over to her. During the years he had spent in Paraguay, his face had tanned a dark brown, which made the scar on his cheek more prominent. Baron von Fischer-Truenfeld’s knee brushed up against Ella’s.
“No reason for a beautiful lady like yourself to concern herself with such dull matters,” the baron had answered.
“I’m practical. I like to know how things work.”
Ella and Baron von Fischer-Truenfeld’s horses were trotting side by side.
“The telegraph is made up of electromagnetic impulses. The telegrapher sends the code by tapping on a spring-loaded brass key that opens and closes the electrical circuit. The impulses are then translated into dots and dashes—your hat is very fetching.”
Ella did not reply.
“As you no doubt know, Morse Code consists of signs of different lengths. We Prussians improved on the system—three points now result in one line. Also, the words that are most often used have the shortest signs and thus are transmitted quickest.” Baron von Fischer-Truenfeld kicked his horse to keep up with Ella’s. “Blue becomes you,” he also said.
Ella still did not speak.
“The next step is to find a way to use one telegraph line to send signs in both directions,” Baron von Fischer-Truenfeld paused; he worried Ella was making fun of him. “For instance from Asunción to Cerro León and back again to Asunción. An Austrian named Julius Gintl invented how to do this with two batteries—are you certain this interests you?”
“Absolutely certain.” At last Ella smiled.
Reassured, Baron von Fischer-Truenfeld continued, “Julius Gintl’s method is called the method of compensation. Here, in Paraguay, I have been able to apply his method with only one battery. When I go back to Prussia, I will register the patent.” Then, whipping his horse hard on the rump, he said, “Shall we gallop, Madame?”
