Mama would iron in the late afternoons. She worked so hard to provide for us during the long stretches of time that PaPa was out to sea. I could see the steam rising from her iron. It had a faint blue tinge, and would float towards the window of our adobe apartment. Light brown walls, almost the color of sand, with seashells used as binding.
Out the window the blue steam rose, the open window, no curtain, no shutters, no glass, always open to the smell of the sea. I rushed to the window to see where it would go. High up we were, fifteen stories below us, seven more yet higher still. I saw the blue, wisping towards the clouds.
I could see the boats and ships. Some small fishing dinghies, some tugs, some larger trawlers. I used to fancy I could see PaPa and which boat he was on, but I have grown out of that. Beyond the boats that I normally saw, I could see something that I had not seen before. An armada of steamships, belching blue steam, thicker and more terrifying than my Mama's could ever be.
Mama stood by me and started to shake. It was then I knew. The armada was coming to our Villaggio del Castlemare. Soon they would be here, and there was little time to run or hide. The wooden soldiers were coming. Their march was about to begin.
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