by
M.T.

Following an attempt on his life by Moges and Abraha that fateful day in 1937, Graziani ordered the indiscriminate massacre of the "natives" and the arbitrary destruction of their properties.

From EnToTo Mariam to Nefass Silk, from QeChené Medhani-Alem to Yeka Michael, terror reigned; virtually every neighborhood in the budding New Flower incurred the wrath of Fascism as, with every passing hour, the slaughter reached apocalyptic proportions.

Bella Haile Selassie, a small enclave nestled in the hills of Qebena however, was spared, thanks to Kont Florenzo,a member of the Italian aristocracy and FelaCH-QoraCH in the would-be colonial administration, as my grandmother, Tiye Alemitu, would tell it.

Tiye Alemitu,a raconteur of considerable reputation, waxes nostalgic to this day whenever she talks about Kont Florenzo...the young nobleman from a far-away land: tall, handsome and debonair, the epitome of quiet dignity and a gentleman through and through...Kont Florenzo, who single-handedly saved Bella from the atrocities of Fascism at considerable risk to his reputation as a QendeNa Fascist himself.

Tiye Alemitu would have you believe that Kont Florenzo's "courageous" act in shielding Bella from the indiscriminate butchery was born of that irresistible proclivity intrinsic in every man to please the woman he loves...the desire to appear gallant in her eyes in the face of adversity. That the adversity itself, more precisely the carnage, was of Kont Florenzo's own doing by virtue of his membership in Graziani's inner circle does not lend itself to good CHewata and is, therefore, not up for discussion as far as Tiye Alemitu is concerned. Having honed her narrating skills over the years, Tiye Alemitu has discovered the merits of omitting certain inconsistencies to avoid possible challenges by smart-alecky grandchildren.

If you were so impertinent as to point out the discrepancies in Kont Florenzo's actions anyway, thus diminishing the hero-status she has conferred on him, Tiye Alemitu would attack you with unbridled fury, blitzing you with a volley of verbal assaults so vicious that you will wish you had kept your clever observation to yourself. (FoQaQa, yesew foQaQa! Abbbbon, derso neger yamarel'h mesloh, . . . Kiddd!. . . . followed by a quick flick of the wrist in a single, sweeping motion that slices the air upward dismissing you as an unworthy foe).

Tiye Alemitu maintains, rather preemptively, that Kont Florenzo would undoubtedly have saved Bella out of the goodness of his heart and his sense of righteousness even if she, his new-found love in Abyssinia, were not around to provide the primary motivation. It was true that she had lived in Bella (with her two elder sisters) in one of the nondescript houses on a stretch of Sensell-lined road wedged between Talian Legassion at the end of the road and the bono (piped water) at the other end.

It was also true that this was where yeTey'm Qonjo Tiye Alemitu, the young maiden with the perfectly coifed gofferé, the selkaka features and her youthful exuberance, had caught Kont Florenzo's eye on one of his daily walks past her house from the Legassion, where he had lived.

She had noticed his intense tikurrrr b'lo stare, but had thought nothing of it, attributing it to the usual inquisitiveness of the Ferenj in a foreign land. It was not until a few days later that it had occurred to her that this young man in the freshly creased khaki uniform, brandishing a row of shiny medals across the chest, had seemed to deliberately slow his pace as he had approached her G'bi. Ever so subtly, he had thrown a furtive glance in the general direction of the house as he had walked by. They had often exchanged short and peculiar looks, but one of them had always blinked and looked away. . . she, out of fear, lest her curiosity be seen as impudence and he, out of bashfulness, Tiye Alemitu insists. "Ayn affar, waaanna ayn affar," she would say with a hearty laugh, calling up the initial scene of 60-some-odd years ago in all of its vivid details.

With the passing of every single day, Tiye Alemitu had begun to enjoy what she had been convinced was a thinly veiled admiration by this not-so-secret admirer. She had even taken to boldly fixing her gaze on him at times (Isti m'nabatu y'honal?!) and had seen how quickly the color had left his face, turning him as white as "y'chin neTela."

Emboldened by her newly discovered insight into her own feminine charm, Tiye Alemitu had kept up her end of the d'bibiQosh with increasing self-assured cockiness. On one occasion, she had even gone as far as playing a cruel joke on him:

"It was shortly before sunset, semayu dengezgez b'lwal, when I saw his lanky figure emerge from around the slight bend in the road. I quickly ran off and hid behind the Sensell, . . . Abbon! Abet k'fate," she narrates and breaks into hysterical laughter.

As she has done countless times before for the benefit of many a captive audience, she launches a complete recreation of the original "hide-behind-the-Sensell " scene to augment her story. As you are watching, she lifts herself up with considerable difficulty and, like a predator on a prowl, tip-toes toward the back of the room where she leans her frail body against the Qum saTin stooping as low as age will allow;. . . she stands there with hands folded closely together against her chest, chin tucked in and tired eyes straining to peer through images of Sensell-bushes from generations gone by. Before long, you the audience are reeled into the movement of the tale (even though you have had the same scene staged for you numerous times before) and find yourself following Tiye Alemitu's probing eyes into empty space, expecting some young Fascist to materialize out of thin air before your very eyes. "Abbon!"

When Tiye Alemitu invokes the name of her beloved Abbo, she does so with such an ardent passion and elaborate deference to the Resident Saint that the listener is left with very little choice but to take her word for it. (Abbo, a.k.a. Abbuye Ge'remenfessQidus, the Patron Saint of d'ffin Qebena by virtue of His location up in the hills closer to Qebena than to Ferensai Legassion, is one of only a handful of Saints out of 44 that has the distinction of being addressed with Antuta. When Tiye Alemitu and others who grew up under Abbo's protective shield swear by Abbo, there no longer remains room for further discussion).

"Abbon!", Tiye Alemitu declares as she returns to the senduQ by the bed to resume her story, now a bit out of breath from her animated dramatization, but still laughing at her mischief of ages ago.

From her hiding place behind the Sensell-bushes, she had clearly seen the irritation on Kont Florenzo's face when he had observed that she had not been out and about, as usual engaging in one of several household chores or picking her kemkemo gofferé while squatting on her heels:

"He thrust his chin forward with a jerk and picked up his pace with great agitation...tadyaaa, Qua, Qua, Qua, Qua iyale sishQoneTer, I cupped my hand and held it against my mouth to stifle the loud chuckle that threatened to burst out of me," she says and breaks into another laugh until the tears start streaming down her hollow cheeks. "Ay tenkol, ayyy tenkol!. . . indiaw waaana tenkoleNA neberku," she exclaims, leaving you with a bit of self-revelation for context.

The following day, at the usual hour, Kont Florenzo had waved at Tiye Alemitu for the first time. She had not known how to respond, but had yemot motwan raised her hand in salute and had quickly run inside the house where her sisters, now fully aware of her shenanigans, had been contemplating the very real possibility that the younger sibling's misadventure was about to embroil the humble household in a disaster of untold magnitude: "Affer b'yi, affer merét yasbelash ité, demo t'gelefiTalech...," they had chastised her.

The two elder sisters had regained their composure quickly, however, when Kont Florenzo's gifts had started to arrive. In the following days, the loyal Banda from the Legassion had shown up at their door and had grudgingly dumped an odd assortment of gifts on the dirt-floor with an attitude that had betrayed his own coveting of the goodies he had been sent to deliver. The Banda's bad disposition had not escaped Tiye Alemitu: "Issssa?...min mekonu new?!," she had remarked: "FoQaQa!"

Samunaw, bunaw, abujediw, sikuaru, ambere-CHiQaw!. . . . . yeSudan shito alQerem, m'nu tey'zo had started to pour in with regular frequency to the chagrin of the Banda. He had been burdened with the unenviable task of schlepping it all to these women, who had continued to persist in their failure to recognize in some small way how significant his contribution had been to the good fortune that had befallen the family.

When word had finally come that Kont Florenzo would pay the family a visit, Tiye Alemitu had treated it with indifference, while her terror-struck sisters had gone about in nervous frenzy trying to prepare for his arrival. Tiye Alemitu had refused to go out of her way to receive the uninvited guest. In fact, in a bold display of individuality, she had even declined her sisters' urging to change into something more presentable for the occasion. "Yach'nu, Abbon! Yach'nu indelebesku!"

Thus, from Tiye Alemitu's point of view, the Kont had been received with very little or no fanfare. He had walked in hat-in-hand and had stood awkwardly in the middle of the room casting his eyes about until one of the sisters had invited him to sit down: " Wuy, b'Abbo, ere teQemeTu," and turning toward the Banda, had implored: "Ere teQemeTu belwachew! B'Abbo!" Tiye Alemitu however, skulking about in the back of the room taking in what she had thought was a ridiculous scene, had mumbled under her breath: "Issa? . . . . Lem'n lené l'Alemitu b'lo tegetro ayQerim?"

The loyal Banda, half-hidden by the imposing figure of his boss, had dutifully translated, and the Kont had finally taken his seat. Soon thereafter, everyone, including the Banda, had had a glass of the fashko bino the Kont had brought, and the house had come alive with noisy chatter as yemoQe CHewata had ensued.

Tiye Alemitu, however, had refused to participate, and no amount of cajoling and prompting would get her to open her mouth as she had just sat there nervously twitching her dress. Even the mekereNA Banda, terribly alarmed lest his boss attribute Tiye Alemitu's reticence to deficiencies in his translation-skills, had taken to admonishing her: "B'lgina new, tiliQ b'lgina! AwaQi siyanag'r, mechem . . . new'r new, aygebam . . . aygebam biyalehuuuu!"

Tiye Alemitu, however, had not budged, but whenever she had thought it safe, she had stolen a glance at the Kont and had noticed how handsome he really had been; ..dark, silky hair slicked back from the forehead to the nape of the neck, a prominent nose in perfect symmetry with the chiseled features, and a bright smile that revealed a set of teeth straight as a fence and as white as yewotet areffa.

In the days and weeks that followed, Kont Florenzo's visits had become routine, and with the passage of time, Tiye Alemitu had warmed up to him. She had even begun looking forward to that time of day when he would appear at their door and sing out his cheerful greetings: "Bonjorno Alemitu! . . . . . Koméstaaaaaré?"

They had made it a habit to sit out in front of the house and "talk" until nightfall. He had patiently taught her words and expressions in Italian, which she had to repeat to him over and over until he had been satisfied that she had it just right. He would give her a word and follow it with the prompt: "Alora, Alemitu...Adesso!" Tiye Alemitu would then repeat: "Alora, Alemitu, Adesso...hahahahaha! Ay mekeraye! " It had taken her awhile to realize that he hadn't meant for her to repeat the prompt itself, but they had both gotten good laughs out of it.

If you are an astute observer, you will sense that Tiye Alemitu takes great pride in her command of Italian, which she credits to her tutor, the Kont. In the absence of anyone to assess the level of her bilingualism, she launches a brief tutoring session of her own for you the listener's consumption.

"For example," she explains: " If he says to you, Bonasera Alemitu...you say, Bonasera, Bonasera; . . . . . . .if he says Capito? Alemitu, Capito? . . you say, Si, si, si; . . . . . . ummmmmmm, if he says Beniqua, you come; . . . . . if he says Andiammo, however, you go;. . . hahahahahahaha, Iné Inatih Waza Mesiyehalehu!". . . . . She wipes tears of laughter with one end of her neTela and continues: "Wait, wait there is more,. . . . Lemisaléeeee,. . . ummmmmmmmmm, how would you respond if he said to you . . . Kozeché, Alemitu? or Kozofaré, Alemitu? ," she asks.

Your first instinct is to point out that you are not Alemitu, but you know to keep your mouth shut and let Tiye Alemitu bask in her glory while you play dumb. "Ay yenante t'mihrt, indih'm argo t'mihrt yele'té," she then scoffs predictably...and now that you have been given a fair chance at answering her challenge and have failed, she happily (and triumphantly) provides you with the proper response to the hypothetical question posed to you by a non-existent Kont: "Melsuma?...ing'dih melsumaaaa..." ( the mels, however, doesn't come as easily as it once did).

An unspoken intimacy had grown between them over time, even though they had not had a heart-to-heart due to their ignorance of each other's tongue. The Kont had made up for this deficiency by expressing himself through simple gestures such as (TirQ'm argo) holding Tiye Alemitu's hand when the occasion had allowed it (the closest Tiye Alemitu gets to admitting to physical intimacy).

Before long, Tiye Alemitu had begun to visit the Kont at his residence in the Legassion. Whenever he had sent for her (usually at dusk), she had dabbed some of the Sudan Shito behind her ears, draped the gold-embroidered kabba over her slender shoulders and had followed the Banda on the short walk to the Legassion. Once there, she had been received with elaborate attention by the Kont who, she had every reason to believe, had held her in tender esteem.

Tiye Alemitu is quick to point out that her relationship with the Kont was, by all measure, different from the interracial liaisons of the day, of which there were very many all across town.

"Iné yante'nat," she says, "I was treated with dignity and without servility...every bit like the Immebét that I was, unlike man'm agasses galemota who threw herself at the Carabiniere."

To this day, she goes to great length to separate herself from the wild doings of the time, where "Adamé butana" engaged in illicit unions with the "LiQiQamo Fascist" who ran riot among the women giving free reign to their lust.

"Abbon!" she swears, "Iné'natih never had a reason to hang my head...n'geriN kalk linger'h!" (And you don't remember asking).

According to Tiye Alemitu, the relationship was based on mutual respect and equality. In fact, she strongly asserts that the Kont was at her beck and call right from the outset and had never once even looked at her with bek'fu ayn. She, unlike so many others, was not forced into intimacy, neither was she seduced without being loved, she insists. Besides, unlike the run-of-the-mill Carabiniere of primitive upbringing, her man was of Patrician birth with solid Christian values "even though he was a Kotelik." (She has never been able to substantiate Florenzo's claim of noble heritage, but she has never questioned it either).

Furthermore, she claims to have been the Kont's only love, and states with absolute certainty that he had never as much as cast his eyes at another, much less keep a harem like his less principled compatriots had done. She, Tiye Alemitu, was never the object of a simple exotic curiosity...she was nobody's Faccetta Nera. !! *

And so it was that on that ominous day (Yekatit Michael, 1929, beNA aQoTaTer), with diff'n Adisaba in the grip of terror, Kont Florenzo had rushed over to Tiye Alemitu with a few of his partners-in-crime in tow. He had hurriedly asked the three sisters to identify the homes of family and friends to be exempt from the genocide that had been in full swing by then. Tiye Alemitu and her sisters had pleaded for a blanket immunity for all of Bella and had received it.

Thus, the d'nQém -do-gooder Kont had been forced into a selective psychosis, in which he had to choose his victims judiciously and outside the boundaries of Bella...all for the love of a woman, Tiye Alemitu contends.

Once the dust had settled and life had returned to some semblance of routine, Tiye Alemitu had looked forward to seeing the Kont again. However, Qenoch alfew Qenoch siteku, through interminable days of anticipation and eagerness, there had been no sign of the Kont.

Every footstep out in the yard, every distant sound of a human voice on the road, every hoof-beat of a trotting horse and every r'mm r'mm of a passing mekina would bring Tiye Alemitu to her feet. She would glance up and down the road...pause a little and return to her seat by the kessel m'dija around which the three sisters would huddle and speculate as to what might have happened to the Kont. The most optimistic of the sisters would say: "Baymechew new...Abbon baymechew!"

Their speculation, however, had ended when early one evening, out of the advancing darkness, the figure of the loyal Banda had emerged at their doorstep, bearing the news that the Kont had returned to Roma. After delivering the in-your-face merdo, the Banda had continued to stand there grinning ear-to-ear until Tiye Alemitu had taken her pent-up anger out on him, dismissing him with her idiosyncratic flick of the wrist: "Kidd! Agan'nt! Abbon!...'raaaas'h waaanna Agan'nt!"

She had resented hearing from the Banda (of all people) what she had known all along in her heart, namely that she would never see her Kont again!...No Arrivederci!...not even a plain old Ciao!

Tiye Alemitu stares far over your head and beyond into the distant past as she recalls her emotion of over half-a-century ago...most regretful had been the fact that, unbeknownst to the father, a child (my uncle) had been conceived.

A gentle sigh escapes her trembling lips as she sits there on the senduQ by the bed, heavy with age and the burden of having loved and lost, and her weary eyes shimmer with tears that come only too easy these days.

Oh, for the love of a Fascist!!!. . . . . Kozofaré, Tiye Alemitu, eh? . . . . . . Koooozofaré?