A Promise In Portugal

By Janet Azevedo

At 81 years old, Evalina da Rosa, a very wealthy widow, decided to begin her life anew. She had survived a marriage of 60 years to a man whose moral code was non-existent. But her essential optimism had not faded, only dimmed. She was determined to find joy before she passed on to the next world and her methods were distinctly at odds with 1901 Lisbon society. She placed an ad in the city's largest newspaper requesting applicants for an open position - her husband.

Shortly before the time t

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Mar 17, 2014
• ISBN: 9781628381764

Book preview

Significant Dates/Timeline

1820 Pedro da Rosa born

1833 Evalina da Rosa born (nee Camillo)

1837 Emilia Soares born (nee Camillo)

1850 Pedro and Evalina become engaged

1851 Evalina (18) marries Pedro (31)

1871 Marguerite Luz born (nee Matias)

1874 Mercedes Matias born (Camille Matias born 1890; Mercedes arrives in Lisbon 1889)

1893 Miguel Machado born (10/6/93-3/15/65)

1896 Joao Machado born

1898 Maria Barcelos born (parents are Augustino and Graciosa Barcelos)

1914 (May) Pedro da Rosa dies (94)

1914 (July) Miguel leaves Terceira (Miguel 20; Maria 16)

1914 (Sept.) Miguel joins CEP

1915 (June) Evalina begins recruitment

1915 (Sept.) Marriage

1919 Camille’s marriage

1921 (June) Marriage

1921 (Aug) Sailing

1948 (June) Julia Machado is born

1973 (Dec.) Julia Machado in Portugal

Historical Dates

1901 Death of Queen Victoria

1910 Don Manuel II abdicates and sails to England

1911-1915 Manuel Jose de Arriaga serves as Portugal’s first President

1915 Teófilo Braga serves as Portugal’s interim second President

1915-1918 Bernardino Machado serves as Portugal’s third President

1914 Great War begins in Europe (Portugal declares neutrality)

1916 (June ) Portugal enters the Great War

1917 (Feb.) Portugal sends the first contingent into battle in France

1917 (April) Portugal suffers its first casualty in the Great War

1917 (May) Miracle/Apparition at Fatima, Portugal

1918 (Apr.9) Battle of Lys

1918 (Nov.) Armistice signed; Great War ends

Prologue

LISBON, PORTUGAL

November 1973

Julia Machado

We arrived in Lisbon in mid-November 1973, having decided that it was way past time for me to visit the land of my ancestors. Barbara and I had left the U.S. several months before intending to backpack throughout Europe for as long as our money would hold out and so long as the book "Europe on $5 a Day" actually lived up to its titled promise.

I had decided to make this trip on a dare from friends and after discovering that Barbara also wanted the adventure of traveling for an extended period, we quickly made plans that included Eurail passes, an inexpensive charter plane ticket, and of course the ubiquitous Europe on $5 a Day which quickly became our bible.

Despite the need to conserve our funds, we’d each allotted ourselves $100 to buy mementos and gifts during our travels and it’s that fact that precipitated the fateful meeting with Rafael Borges. After several months of traveling, our backpacks were getting too heavy to support the things we’d purchased along the way. After arriving in Lisbon that morning, we’d utilized our bible and found a listing for a gift shop that also provided packaging/shipping services.

We walked into Camillo Presente on Rua da Glória in the Baixa district. Rafael greeted us with a flirtatious "Bom dia and when he learned we were both Americans, he switched to perfect English and bombarded us with friendly questions about our travels. We told him of our need to ship our goodies" back to the U.S. While we chatted, he pulled out two boxes and began packing the items we’d given him; one for each of us. He then asked for credit cards to secure payment for the shipping charges.

As he looked at my American Express card, he smiled and asked if I had been married to a Portuguese man. Since my hair was long and blonde, he assumed I was not the true owner of my surname. With my usual ethnic pride, I rushed to correct him. No, my name is Julia Machado and my father is Portuguese and, in fact, my avô and avó are from The Azores. Avô and avó—or Grandfather and Grandmother—were what we called my Portuguese grandparents although as children we called them Voovoo and Vovo.

Rafael asked for the names of my father and grandparents. Curious questions, but I complied giving him the names he requested. My grandparents are Miguel and Maria Machado.

Rafael’s eyes widened at this news and then he asked another question. Which island in the Azores are your avô and avó from?

I felt foolish that I wasn’t more literate about my family history but I pressed forward with the little that I did know. I’m not sure but I believe it’s the ‘third’ island, if that makes sense.

Yes! That’s Terceira! Now he became more animated and asked if my grandfather had a nickname. I told him that he did and then did my best at pronouncing the Portuguese sobriquet.

Now he began stopping people who were shopping in the store, pointing at me, speaking in rapid and excited Portuguese. When he finally calmed down a bit more, he asked me if I knew what the nickname meant. I told him that I didn’t and at this point, he explained.

I believe your grandfather is the man who is mentioned in a very popular fado song. It is the story of a great love affair between Miguel and Maria.

I began to laugh. I’m certain you’re wrong. I’ve never heard anything remotely romantic about my grandparents and you have to admit, Miguel and Maria are pretty common names around here. I think you must be wrong.

He smiled at me solicitously and asked if he could take Barb and me to a casa de fado that night to hear the story. I knew that fado was the national Portuguese singing style that was somewhat like the blues but more poetic. Rafael explained further that many fado songs told stories and that the stories were based on fact or history or ideals. We both agreed to meet Rafael that night at 7pm in front of his family’s shop and we’d walk to the nearest fado bar.

As soon as we departed the gift shop, I decided that I needed to become enlightened. So after asking for directions, we immediately headed for the Lisbon Telephone Center. There were very few trans-Atlantic cables; therefore, in order to call the U.S. (a very expensive venture), we had to make an appointment to use a cable line. At the Telephone Center, they informed us that nothing was available that day but we could return the next morning at eight to place the call.

The timing was perfect. It would be late evening in Southern California and my dad would be home from his split shift at the dairy. I needed to ask him just what Voovoo’s nickname meant in English.

That night we had a wonderful evening with Rafael who ended up bringing two more friends. At a mid-point in the evening after consuming several glasses of cold Cinzano, Rafé, as we now referred to him, asked the fadista, a beautiful, long-haired woman dressed all in black, to please sing the Miguel e Maria fado. She smiled warmly as though remembering the story firsthand and then began. When she was done, Rafé asked if there was any chance she could sing it in English. When she hesitated, he explained that I was Miguel’s granddaughter.

And so she sang it, albeit somewhat in broken English. And, indeed, it was quite romantic. But I was not yet convinced of the authenticity of the story. At the end of the evening we thanked Rafé and his friends for providing us with such a memorable time. I told Rafé that I had a call scheduled to my father in the morning and that I would come by his shop after the call. He told me that he had one more story to tell me—one that showed we were almost related. We cheek-kissed a dozen times and said our adeus.

The next morning, I was at the Lisbon Telephone Center early and waited patiently for my connection. I had only made two calls to my parents in the months I’d been gone; we’d relied on letters to communicate. I would tell my folks approximately where I’d be in 2-3 weeks time and they would mail their letters to that city’s American Express office. Needless to say, our first stop at every city we visited was the American Express office. The letters from home kept me grounded and less homesick.

When the operator signaled that the call was ready, she directed me to a partially enclosed booth. I picked up the telephone and after several hellos, I heard my dad’s voice. I wasted no time. Dad, I’m in Lisbon and I need you to tell me very honestly what Voovoo’s nickname means in English and how it came to be his nickname.

There was a long pause, an intake of breath and then he said, "We don’t like to talk about it. It’s been an embarrassment to the family and I really didn’t want you kids to know about it. The only reason you’ve ever heard the nickname is because when we go to festas each year, the old Portagees call him that, so we couldn’t keep you from hearing it."

Okay, Dad, I think I understand. But could you please explain it to me?

And he did.

Chapter 1

LISBON, PORTUGAL

May 1914

Evalina

The funeral Mass for Pedro da Rosa was being held in one of Lisbon’s oldest churches, Nossa Senhora da Conceicao Velha. With its single nave and barrel ceiling, Our Lady of the Conception, like Pedro da Silva, was a study in contrasts. Combining the dark Gothic with the illuminated Renaissance style, the altar appeared at first glance to be bathed in gold but, in fact, it was simply haloed in the blanched gold of the apse’s arched ceiling. This falsely lustrous glow only enhanced the duskiness of the nave where Pedro’s new widow, Evalina da Rosa, was seated.

Evalina sat alone in the first row pew. She was hardly listening to the words of the funeral Mass that seemed to be an echo of every Mass she’d attended in her life. She couldn’t take her eyes or her thoughts off the dark mahogany coffin that rested on its bier just steps away from her restless hands.

…tibi Pater, quia peccavi nimis cogitatione, verbo e opere; mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa.

Her right hand instinctually formed the fist that then tapped her chest to each mea culpa, the familiar Latin words causing her attention to refocus. …to you Father, that I have sinned exceedingly, in thought, word, and deed; through my fault, through my fault, through my most grievous fault. When her Pedro had heard these words at Mass, he didn’t tap his chest, he pounded his sternum with each mea culpa as though the strength of his fist would nullify his sins; sins of deed not just thought and word.

With his narrow back blocking the full view of the altar, Father Dias faced the tabernacle and began the call to the Lord for mercy.

Kyrie eleison, Kyrie eleison, Kyrie eleison, Kyrie eleison, Kyrie eleison…

Evalina knew that there would be little mercy for Pedro. He had lived his version of the great life while here on earth with little consideration for what the hereafter might offer him. He sincerely may have thought that his ritual attendance at Mass each Sunday might gain him entrance to another good life despite the lifetime of sins that were more of a ritual than even his Sabbath observance.

Father Dias ascended the pulpit, gave a reading of the gospel, followed by a somber homily. She realized that she needn’t be worried that the priest would use the pulpit to pay homage to a man that he hardly knew despite their warm handshake each Sunday morning. The Catholic Church did not allow eulogies at the funeral Mass. The firm belief of the Church was that a funeral is not a celebration of life but rather a celebration of salvation and mercy and grace and eternal life. It is not meant to be a commemoration of the person who has died. For once, she was grateful for the adherence to Church doctrine and for the priest’s very brief sermon.

As the Mass continued she remained focused on the ritual and completed her responses as required. Et cum spiritu tuo, she whispered, as the priest uttered the repetitive Dominus vobiscum. And then of course, "Oremus. This time, the Let us pray command was followed by the Commemoration of the Dead prayer, and then Evalina’s favorite part of the Mass—the Agnus Dei. She always translated the Latin words to herself, as the priest then struck his breast three times: Lamb of God, who takes away the sins of the world, have mercy on us. Lamb of God, who takes away the sins of the world, have mercy on us. Lamb of God, who takes away the sins of the world, grant us peace."

Her own quest for peace began with Pedro’s transgressions over 60 years ago. Evalina, now 80, felt young again and found it hard to believe that she’d been married to this amoral man for more than six decades. She knew the young Portuguese men and women considered her an old hag—velha malvada—but she didn’t feel old. With Pedro’s death, she felt like a sailor who’d been granted unexpected shore leave—liberated and hopeful.

Hopeful. Evalina Camillo had felt the same way in 1850 when the dashing and charismatic Pedro da Rosa had asked for her hand in marriage. A mere technicality since her parents had arranged the marriage several years earlier. Although Pedro was more than a dozen years her senior, she had been in love with him since she was 13 and her father had informed her of the arrangement. Pedro had been a business partner of her father, Alberto Camillo, and had visited their house frequently throughout her adolescent years.

Even though she was only just 17 when Pedro made his plea for her hand, she was already wise enough to know that the best time to negotiate terms was before accepting the proposal, not after.

Do you plan on taking me to the theater as often as I’d like? Evalina had queried playfully.

Pedro smiled, But of course. I want everyone to see the beautiful woman on my arm each night and know that she is mine alone.

And if I wanted us to host a soiree several evenings each month, would that be agreeable to you?

Your father has told me that you were often holding English tea socials for all your little friends long before he arranged for this marriage. He may have foreseen that you needed a husband that could afford your taste in entertaining. He chuckled as he finished his comment but Evalina was blushing and smiling simultaneously.

She continued, And so, your answer is yes? Or are you avoiding telling me that you shall isolate me from society like a pretty bird in a cage?

She had not been acting coy with her questions. She did love to entertain and to surround herself with interesting people that made her life feel fresh and expansive. She’d known too many women who had married men that were content to stay at home each evening simply smoking their cigars and reading the Jornal Ilustrada. That life was not for her.

"My answer is yes. We shall have a soiree each night if you like, allowing for some evenings at the theater. Now, e favor, what is your answer to my proposal?"

Evalina had paused not because she had any doubts about this marriage but because she knew these questions only touched the surface of what their life would be like as husband and wife. But quietly and sincerely she had said "sim," affirming and sealing a marriage commitment that would last 64 years, without realizing that the affection would have a much shorter duration.

Father Dias completed the final words of the Mass and turned to face the mourners, offering them Benediction. Evalina, like the others, crossed herself and then touched her rosary to her lips as the mourners began to filter into the center aisle, approaching the casket to bid a final farewell to this 94-year-old patriarch of the city.

The organist played Gounoud’s Ave Maria and the sounds echoed through the church nave as Evalina inhaled the residual smells of the pungent incense that the priest had wafted along with the four altar boys circling Pedro’s casket.

As each person genuflected and began their exodus from the church, Evalina knew that the most harrowing part of her day would commence shortly as everyone migrated to the da Rosa home to provide consolation. A commiseration, which in many cases was demanded by the occasion.

As per Pedro’s pre-death arrangements, and as was tradition for the wealthiest Lisboans, Pedro’s body would be interred in a grave inside the church. As was his request, he would reside in the apse near the altar, a location afforded only to the very wealthy. A second site next to his had been reserved for Evalina for when she died. Evalina shuddered at the thought of spending eternity with this man but accepted that it was preordained.

She left the church then turned and walked to the adros, the large green space adjacent to the church that served as the burial site of the less well-to-do. The poor were buried in public cemeteries that had been consecrated. While the church’s interior was the most revered spot for burial, the adros was considered quite preferential to public cemeteries such as Prazeres.

There at the near corner of the adros was the stone monument that her eyes had sought out. The marble monument was very simply engraved with the name Daniel Simoneau along with the birth and death dates. She stopped the rush of tears that always threatened when she was confronted with his name, and the memories it evoked. Evalina turned quickly now and resumed her stately stride to the waiting single horse carriage that would take her home, and to the unwelcome onslaught of sympathizers.

The food had begun arriving the previous night as their friends set about sending servants over with the roasted beef, hams and the tureens of sopas that filled the house with spicy scents of cabbage and apples. The tradition of bringing food to the home of the deceased’s family may have originated with peasants who could not feed their visitors after the funeral; but it continued even with the wealthy ranks of Evalina’s class.

Mercedes, Evalina’s private maid and sometimes confidante, had spent the morning baking several loaves of sweet bread knowing that the aroma would provide some comfort to Evalina when she arrived back from the church. Just as the last loaf of massa sovada came out of the oven, the horse-drawn couchet arrived with her mistress followed closely by several others. Although Emilia, Evalina’s younger sister and only sibling had wanted to share the couchet with her sister, Evalina had firmly declined. She had ridden alone both back and forth from the church. She and Pedro had no children and Pedro had been an only child. So she rode alone.

Before exiting the couchet she asked the coachman to wait and hold the horses steady; she needed a moment to gather herself before he began helping her to alight. She took in a deep breath and promised herself that this would be the last time she would need to play the part of Pedro’s loving wife, the last time she would be forced to speak kindly of him. She would also refrain from speaking her mind to Emilia, a sister in name only.

Chapter 2

TERCEIRA, AZORE ISLANDS, PORTUGAL

June 1914

Miguel

Having arisen before dawn, Miguel Machado sat on the dew-covered wall that surrounded the garden of his parent’s home. The home sat high enough so that as the sun rose in the east he could see the harbor of San Mateus. The sun also served as a blinding backdrop to the dozens of mossy green-roofed houses fronting the small harbor that served his village. When he looked slightly to his left he could take in the breathtaking sweep of Monte Brasil and the seaport city of Angra do Heroismo located at its base.

Located more than 900 miles from the coast of Portugal, Terceira, the third island to be discovered in the nine-island archipelago of the Azores, is also the third largest of the nine islands. But its greatest conceit is the rugged beauty of its coastline. The beaches of the archipelago are narrow and covered in coarse black sand and dark reflective rocks exemplifying the volcanic complexion that geologically defines the island.

Angra do Heroismo is the seat of Terceira’s government and is one of only two seaports on the island. San Mateus, three miles south of Angra, is one of the seaport’s largest parishes and the houses dotting the hilly area are painted a traditional whitewash which gives the area a look of seaside purity and tranquility.

Miguel loved the island but he particularly loved the harbor view and the accompanying longings to travel inspired by the vista.

The small rocket’s resounding boom split the air and reverberated throughout the streets of San Mateus, startling Miguel from a reverie that had kept him still for nearly two hours. At that precise moment, a bull, though tethered to its three handlers, or mascarados, began to wander the main street as the women pulled their small children inside and the men ventured quickly outdoors to join the others in tracking and teasing the unlucky bull. The tourada á corda had begun.

Miguel jumped from his perch on the garden wall and ran diagonally across the courtyard knowing that if he timed it right he’d intersect the bull’s run at Avenida do Cabo which just happened to be where Maria Barcelos was staying. Quickly hopping over the perimeter retaining wall, he immediately bumped headlong into another body in motion.

"Mãe de Deus!" Miguel swore painfully, as his knee