“Isn’t it? All you’re doing is shifting the blame from one thing to another while I get the reputation of being the wife who holds her husband back. If you don’t want to join the military, say you don’t want to join. You don’t owe anyone an excuse.”

“And what, dear wife, do you think is the reason why I don’t want to join the military?”

“You lost a lot in Rio Grande do Sul; we both did. It’s only natural to be hesitant to get involved in another conflict.”

José sighed deeply. “I guess you know me better than I know myself.” He kissed my cheek. “I’m going up to bed.”

“José…”

He waved a hand at me in dismissal. “I have a headache. I’ll see you in bed.” And with that he disappeared up the stairs.

Later, I went into the darkened bedroom. José lay on his side, his back to me. I crawled into bed next to him, curling up against his back. I could feel his breath rise and sink in a rigid rhythm.

“You have sacrificed more than anyone dare ask,” I whispered into his back. My fingers ran along the crisscross scars, the remnants of a long-ago punishment. “There is no shame in not wanting to give any more.”

His breath paused for a moment before beginning again. When he didn’t say anything I ventured further. “Know that your family will be all right no matter what you end up doing.”

For a moment I thought he might actually be asleep, but then he grabbed my hand and held it to his heart. It was in this way we fell asleep.

*  *  *

A few days later, as the sun set, José was playing with Menotti. I watched as they built grand towers that rivaled our table. As we sat enjoying our time together, a number of our Italian comrades showed up at our door.

“We have a problem,” Anzani said, supporting a man twice his size. The men who followed him through the door had bloodied faces with bluish-purple bruises seeping through. As they began to tell the story half in Spanish and half in Italian, I grabbed my medical kit and moved about the men, bandaging wounds.

Anzani paced, his arms tightly crossed. “Tell him,” he growled.

“We were at the pub when a large group of drunken Frenchmen came in,” one of the men ventured. His lower lip was swollen and split open.

“Well, that was your first problem,” José said, surveying the room. “Spending your evenings in pubs leads to things like this.”

“The Frenchmen bragged about how they were the best military and the Americas should feel blessed to have them here. If it weren’t for them the continent would plunge into chaos,” another comrade added.