“For once will you think about yourself? Telling our story doesn’t have to be your job.” José was now following him as they picked up more goods to put in the cart. “Brother, let someone else carry that burden. Just for a little while.”

Rossetti paused. He looked up at me and Menotti, making eye contact for the briefest of moments. I thought José had gotten through to him, but Rossetti shook his head. “I cannot shift my responsibilities onto someone else.”

“I’ll buy you a new printing press,” José pleaded.

“With what gold, my friend? No, that printing press and I have been through too much together for me to ever let her go.”

José sighed. “You are a stubborn, foolish man. That press will be the death of you.”

Rossetti hoisted a box onto the cart before leaning against it, panting for air. “Then I will die with a legacy.”

I pitied the women who were not suited to this life. Shortly after we set out for the trail they began to complain with every step. Their children were heavy weights in their arms. Their feet hurt. The weather was too cold.

I was lucky, Menotti was only a few months old and not very heavy. The first two miles felt lovely, the wind crisp against my flushed cheeks, but the trail grew steep as we traveled up the ridge.

The lush green foliage became sparse as more rocks lined the sides of the trail in piles bubbling up along our route. Soon there were only rocks as far as our eyes could see. The rain, relentless in its punishment, pelted us like tiny pebbles, turning the ground into a slippery mess. We had to get off our horses and walk alongside them, pulling them by their reins.

When I was young, the gauchos would sit around the campfire telling stories of giants who lived at the tops of the vast mountains of southern Brazil. One tale in particular always caught my attention: A prince volunteered to climb to the highest mountain in search of a fountain made of gold that would save his father from death. The prince was warned, “Do not look to the right or the left, for if you do the giants will snatch you up and make you their slave forever.” When the prince began walking on the path, he couldn’t help himself. He looked to his left and a giant snatched him up and made him his slave.

Now as I stared up the steep path before me, I couldn’t help but think that these mountains were the giants that the gauchos warned me about. As we journeyed the air thinned, making every breath a struggle. It didn’t matter how deeply I inhaled, it felt like I couldn’t take enough air into my lungs. The rain never stopped. I was frigid and I didn’t think I would ever be dry again.