Montevideo stood on the precipice of war. Sitting around the table at the Anzanis’ house, we gleaned as much information as we could about this new threat.

“What do you know of Uruguayan history?” Anzani asked.

“I know Uruguay is the reluctant middle child forever pitted between Brazil and Argentina,” José said as he reached for the gourd of tea. “For a long time, no one wanted to colonize the region. It was a patch of barren land used to keep Portugal and Spain from warring.”

“Yes, but the gauchos began to settle here, didn’t they?” I asked, taking the seat next to my husband. “I remember my father saying that he thought about moving here, but then he met my mother and stayed in Brazil.”

“Women change everything.” José planted a kiss on my temple. “And yes, the gauchos eventually settled the land.”

Luisa set a plate of cold meats and fruit on the table. “This isn’t the first time that Argentina has had its eyes on Uruguay.”

“God help us, if it weren’t for the Treinta y Tres, we would have been under Argentine rule a long time ago,” Anzani remarked before taking a piece of meat for himself.

“Who were the Treinta y Tres?”

“The Treinta y Tres were thirty-three men who formed an army to expel Argentina from Uruguay,” Anzani said. “Our last president, Fructuoso Rivera, was a member. Too bad he resigned after his presidential term was over. I would rather have him than Manuel Oribe. At least with Rivera we would not be bending for Rosas and Argentina.”

“Oribe is an ignorant man who takes every offense as a personal strike. Men like him, who have a weakness of character, are drawn to stronger men regardless of their motives,” José added, using the bombilla to stir his tea. “Now we are forced to play nice with Manuel Rosas and his corrupt Argentine bureaucracy.”

The danger was further pressed upon me the following week as our Italian family gathered together. I sat at the table chopping herbs as the women gossiped, and before long Argentina became the subject of discussion.

“It doesn’t bode well for Oribe to be making alliances with Rosas,” one of the women said, shaking her head over the pot of rice that she was stirring.

“We’re safer if we make an alliance with the homem do saco.” A number of women gasped and crossed themselves at the name of the mythical sack man who stole children.

“I don’t understand. What makes Rosas so evil?” Immediately, I was sorry that I had asked. All of the women turned and stared at me as I shrank with embarrassment until Luisa’s laughter, tinkling like a bell, filled the kitchen. The rest of the room broke into laughter along with her.