I took the plate and thanked him. “Do you have children?” I picked at the food in front of me. The truth was that I was indeed hungry, but I didn’t want to seem too eager. I didn’t want to show any weakness.

“No, God has not blessed me with a family. Not many women can handle life with a soldier, as I am sure you can understand.” He laughed to himself, not caring if I found his joke humorous. He pulled out a chair and sat across from me. “I have to admit that I am very excited to finally meet the one and only Anita Garibaldi.”

“Senhor Moringue, you flatter me.”

“No, really. I have heard all about you. The brave woman from Laguna who fought off thirty Imperial frigates,” he said.

“Six.” I smiled politely. “There were only six Imperial frigates that we fought off and about six smaller vessels.”

“Brave and modest! Such rare qualities for a woman.” He slapped his knee. “You’ll have to forgive me, senhora, my soldiers have been following your story. The old men say you are Atiola incarnate.”

I laughed. “Atiola? The Indian earth goddess?”

“Yes, the pagan mother who blessed us with cassava.” He held my gaze as we scrutinized each other.

I shrugged. “I never cared for cassava.”

“I do have one burning question. Did Garibaldi really throw you over his shoulder and sail away?”

“Where did you hear this story of yours?”

“It is the story the men tell of how you found yourself to be with a pirate. They say he spied you from his ship and declared, ‘She must be mine!’ Then in a fit of passion he dove straight into the water. He threw you over his shoulder and the two of you have been sailing the Brazilian waters since, living happily ever after.” He looked at me as if I were a child. “For really, why else would a woman leave her husband?”

I openly laughed, accidentally spitting some bread out of my mouth. “Is that what they are saying? I will have to be sure to tell José when I see him.”

Senhor Moringue smiled, reminding me how dangerous he was. “If we had met under different circumstances, I think I would be quite fond of you.”

“I wish I could say the same for you.”

His face grew stern. “I am sorry we cannot continue with this lovely conversation. I came to speak to you regarding a more serious matter.”

I picked some more chicken. “Well, as you have said, I am only a woman. I would not know much about serious matters unless they involve mending clothes and cooking.” I spit the chicken I had been chewing into my hand before dropping it unceremoniously onto the desk. “That, by the way, is horrible. You should put your cook in front of the firing squad.”