Home to Italy (11 page)

Peppi was standing
outside in the bushes, measuring the window frame for a new pane of glass when Lucrezia walked into her office. He had arisen early that morning in the hope that he might get the job started and perhaps even finished without her ever noticing. Lucrezia, though, had been equally intent on getting an early start to her day. She hurried in and went directly to her desk.

“Buon giorno, Signorina!”
Peppi called in through the broken pane.

The sound of his voice gave Lucrezia a start. She had not seen him at the window.
“O, Dio,”
she said, putting her hand to her heart. “I didn't see you there, Signor Peppi.
Buon giorno.”

“Mi dispiace, Signorina,”
said Peppi. “I didn't mean to startle you.”

“No, that's all right,” she said. “I was just preoccupied, that's all. I get like that in the mornings sometimes.”

“You work too hard,” said Peppi.

“You sound like my father.”

“He's a wise man, your father.”

Lucrezia gave him a half-smile and turned her attention back to the work on her desk. Meantime Peppi stretched out his tape and measured the bottom of the window frame. He scribbled down the length on a scrap of paper; then, with the pencil clenched between his teeth, he measured the height.

“Quite a storm yesterday,” he said, scribbling down the other number.

“Dio mio!”
exclaimed Lucrezia, facing him once more. “I thought the roof was going to blow off!”

“Me too,” said Peppi with a smile. Then he beckoned for her to come to the window.
“Venga,”
he said, “I have a little something to give you.”

“For me?” said Lucrezia. Her curiosity piqued, she stood and came to the window. “What is it?” she asked, gazing out.

Peppi reached down to his feet and picked up a small but hefty ceramic mug, the kind used to hold pens or paper clips or whatever else one might keep on a desk. It was splattered with mud from being left out in the rain, but otherwise it was in good repair.

“Here,” he said, offering the mug up to her by way of the same broken window pane through which it had originally exited the building. “I don't know how it managed to find its way out into the garden, but I thought it might make a good paper weight.”

Lucrezia gasped and broke out in an embarrassed, but delighted smile when she saw it. “I've been looking all over for that thing!” she exclaimed, taking the mug. “I made this when I was a little girl. It's one of my favorite things. How on earth did it ever manage to get out there?”

“I can't imagine,” said Peppi.

Lucrezia wiped the mud off the mug and inspected it more closely. “It doesn't seem to be damaged at all,” she said with relief. She turned her gaze to him and smiled once more.
“Grazie,
Signor Peppi.”

“Prego,”
he replied, “but please, just call me Peppi.”

“D'accordo,”
she said, still smiling.

“And you should do that more often.”

“Cosa?”

“Show people your smile,” Peppi said. “It's a shame to keep it hidden all the time.”

“I'll try to remember,” said Lucrezia. Then she went back to work and Peppi went off to buy a new pane of glass.

Pedalling into town and returning to replace the window pane took longer than Peppi had anticipated. As it turned out, the pane of glass he purchased was too big to fit securely in the basket on his bicycle. He had no choice other than to balance the glass against the back of his saddle while he walked the bike home. Along the way he stopped now and then to chat with the villagers he had come to know since returning from America. Everyone knew everything about everybody in a little place like Villa San Giuseppe. Invariably they asked how he was feeling and warned him about doing too much too soon.

By the time he returned to the factory and replaced the window pane, Peppi was feeling quite tired. After finishing up, he decided to follow Luca's advice, not to mention everyone else's in the village, about pacing himself more sensibly. He ate a light lunch then went to his bedroom and stretched out for a nap. Peppi came down later that afternoon to inspect the landscaping job he had only just started in front of the factory. As he descended the stairs he saw Enzo and Fabio, one of his co-workers, by the front door. The two were on their work break, puffing cigarettes while they traded shop talk.

“Hey, Peppi!” called Enzo at seeing Peppi come into view.
“Come 'stai?”

“Eh, better than yesterday,” said Peppi with a shrug, “but not as good as tomorrow, I hope.”

“Bravo,”
said Fabio.

Peppi had always disliked the smell of cigarettes and he coughed when the breeze blew their smoke in his face. “Uff, don't you guys know that those are bad for you?” he said, fanning away the smoke with his hand.

“Ayyy, you stayed in America too long,” laughed Enzo before taking another drag. “You guys worry too much over there.”

“Maybe,” said Peppi.

“Hey, Peppi, what did you think of that storm yesterday?” said Fabio. “I thought God was getting ready to knock down the mountains all around us.”

“It certainly sounded that way,” Peppi agreed. “It was quite a storm.”

“Veramente,”
said Enzo, nodding. “Did you hear about that poor bastard in L'Aquila that got hit by the lightning?”

“No, I hadn't,” replied Peppi.

“Get this,” chuckled Fabio. “The guy's up on his roof, trying to fix the television antenna so he can watch the soccer match last night. It starts storming like crazy, but he doesn't come down because he hasn't finished yet and he really wants to watch the match. He finally gets the thing all plugged in just as the storm is at its worst. That's when he finally decides that he'd better get inside quick. But then he gets all the way down to the bottom of the ladder when he remembers he left his tools up on the roof. So what does the dope do? He goes back to get the tools! No sooner does he reach the top of the ladder than a big bolt of lightning comes down out of the sky and knocks him to the ground.”

“That was God's way of showing him how stupid he is,” noted Enzo.

“Dead?” asked Peppi.

“No,” said Fabio, shaking his head. “Broke both legs, though. Just the same, he wouldn't let them take him to the hospital until after he watched the match. Can you believe it?”

“I'd forgotten how dedicated Italian soccer fans are,” said Peppi.

They all shared a laugh, then Peppi went over to inspect the little garden he had started along the walkway that led to the front door while Enzo and Fabio continued to chatter. He knelt down and fussed with the soil around one of the flowers he had transplanted. Just then the door to the factory opened and Lucrezia came out.

“Ciao, Enzo, ciao, Fabio,”
she said pleasantly.

“Ciao, Signora,”
the two replied respectfully. They were accustomed to a more brusque greeting from Lucrezia and they glanced at each other with suspicious eyes.

“Ciao, Peppi!”
she called, walking past them.

Peppi called back a greeting.

Enzo and Fabio watched with great interest as Lucrezia strolled over to Peppi. She stopped beside him and bent over his shoulder to take a look at the flowers. As she did so, the two strained to get a closer look at her backside.

“These are beautiful,” she said, leaning over to breathe in the fragrance of the flowers.

“I hope to plant more soon,” said Peppi.

“That would be nice,” said Lucrezia. “Thank you for fixing my window, by the way, and also for finding my mug.”

“Piacere mia, Signorina,”
said Peppi, smiling.

“Please, just call me Lucrezia,” she said returning his smile.

“Okay,” said Peppi.

Lucrezia hesitated for a moment as if she wanted to say something more. Instead she straightened up and started to walk away.

“Ciao, Peppi,”
she said, casting a glance over her shoulder.

“Ciao—Lucrezia,”
he replied.

Peppi knelt there in the garden and watched Lucrezia as she stepped into her car. When she drove away, he stood and kept watch until the car was out of sight. Then, humming a tune, he turned his attention back to the garden, completely forgetting that Enzo and Fabio were still there, observing the whole scene.

Enzo took a last puff from his cigarette and tossed the butt to the ground. “Know what I think?” he said, nudging Fabio with his elbow.

“What?”

“I think that guy in L'Aquila wasn't the only one to get hit by a thunderbolt.”

One afternoon,
Peppi decided to eat his lunch on the bench beneath the arbor in the courtyard. It was a bright, sunny day in early May and a brisk wind chased enormous white clouds across the sky. The factory protected the courtyard from the breeze, keeping it tranquil enough for Peppi to leaf through the sporting news in
La Gazzetta dello Sport
without the pages being blown about while he ate. For Peppi, one of the true delights of returning to Italy was the marvelous coverage competitive cycling received in the daily sports pages and on television. He couldn't get enough of it. As he happily scanned the results of the latest races, it occurred to Peppi that he was itching to start riding his bike again. He took that as a sign that he was almost fully recovered.

Peppi was just about to take his first bite of his provolone and prosciutto sandwich when he heard the familiar sound of Lucrezia's voice raised in anger. Apparently there had been some sort of mishap in the factory and she was letting everyone in the valley know about it. There ensued the usual sound of objects being tossed about and doors slamming.

Peppi put his sandwich down and waited, fully expecting that at any moment some object would come sailing through the window he had recently repaired. Instead, the back door to the factory opened and out stormed Lucrezia. She slammed the door behind her and stomped over to the edge of the courtyard where she stopped and folded her arms. Looking up to the sky, she took a deep breath and let it out with a long, weary sigh. The energy seemed to drain out of her, and like a beaten boxer, she let her arms droop down to her sides. It was then that she looked up and saw Peppi sitting beneath the arbor.

“Oh,
Dio,”
she sighed again.

“Trouble today?” Peppi asked.

Lucrezia shrugged.

Peppi folded the newspaper and gestured for her to sit beside him. Lucrezia hesitated for a moment, then came over to him.

“Here, have an olive,” he said, offering her the bowl as she sat down, “they always make me feel better. I don't know why.”

Lucrezia took an olive and handed him back the bowl. “It's the mono-unsaturated fats,” she said tersely as she nibbled on the olive.

“I beg your pardon.”

“The unsaturated fats in the olives,” she explained. “They've done studies on them and the omega-3 fatty acids. Somehow they interact with the central nervous system to elevate your mood.”

Peppi took a long look into the bowl. “Gee,” he mused, “I just thought it was because they taste good.”

“That's another reason,” said Lucrezia. She finished eating the olive and tossed the pit into the bushes.

“Have another?” offered Peppi.

“No,
grazie,”
said Lucrezia. “I'm watching my weight.”

“Ah, even here,” chuckled Peppi before taking a bite of his sandwich.

“What do you mean?”

“The women in America are always driving themselves crazy trying to lose weight,” he told her. “They think that men want them all to be skinny like sticks, even though they're beautiful just the way they are.”

“I don't care what men think,” huffed Lucrezia. “Not anymore.”

“Why not?”

“Because I could never love another man, not like I loved my husband, so why should I care what the rest of them think of me?”

“I guess you have a point,” said Peppi. “But you're still young, anything could happen.”

“No,” she said miserably. “I might still be young enough, but my heart is dead inside me.”

“Yes,” said Peppi, “I know how that feels. Do you think that's why you get so angry sometimes?”

“I don't know why I get so upset,” she admitted. “It just happens and there's nothing I can do about it.”

“You could try eating more olives,” Peppi suggested.

At that Lucrezia finally permitted herself to smile. She reached for the bowl and helped herself to another olive before getting up to go. “Maybe you're right,” she said. “I'll give it a try.”

“Good,” said Peppi, pleased that he had managed to cheer her up a little. “Now go back to work and don't worry about it if you find yourself yelling a little now and then. It's good for you to let it out.”

“I'll keep that in mind.”

“But please, promise me no more broken windows!” he called after her as she walked back into the factory. “That glass is a real pain in the backside to carry on the bike.”

Lucrezia waved over her shoulder as she stepped back inside. When the door closed behind her, Peppi turned his attention back to his prosciutto and provolone sandwich and
La Gazzetta dello Sport.
He contentedly munched away, unaware that Enzo and all the workers were lined up at the window inside the factory, watching him and Lucrezia. Enzo winked at the others who smiled and nodded in return. Then, upon hearing Lucrezia approach, they all scurried back to their places.

Peppi surprised Luca
a few days later by joining him for the Sunday morning training ride. Luca could not have been more pleased, but he cautioned him to just “sit in” that day and let the others do the work at the front. The rest of the riders waiting in the piazza gave Peppi a hero's welcome when he rolled up to the fountain. It was good to see him out on his bicycle once more. Added to the group's delight was the general air of excitement over the start of the Giro D'Italia, Italy's greatest bicycle race. The race was scheduled to start that day in Rome and the riders could think or talk of little else. Along with them, the rest of the country would be mesmerized for the next three weeks as the drama of the race unfolded.

“Andiamo!”
shouted one of the riders.

“Forza L'Italia!”
cried another.

With that they all clicked their shoes onto the pedals and swept out of the piazza onto the open road. The group zipped along at an enthusiastic pace before settling into a more moderate tempo. Protected as he was in the cocoon of riders surrounding him, Peppi rolled along comfortably. The feel of the wind in his face and the warmth of the sun energized him as did the sound of the gears spinning on all the bikes. That sound had always been something special to Peppi. It reminded him of a giant beehive, full of life and energy, just buzzing along down the road. After a while he got the urge to test himself and he started to follow the line of riders up toward the front. At seeing him move through the pack, one of the younger riders pulled up alongside and wagged a finger of disapproval at him.

“Troppo duro alla testa!”
he admonished Peppi.

“He's right, it's too hard up there,” added another. “Stay in the pack for a few rides until you get your legs back.”

Reluctantly, Peppi obeyed what he knew was wise advice. With a smile and a shrug he drifted back into the safety of the group. Luca pedalled up alongside and gave him a nudge in the ribs.

“Don't feel bad,” he said with a big smile. “They're just looking out for you.”

“I know,” grumbled Peppi. “I appreciate it. But when I'm back in form, I'll drop all of them.”

“Hah!” laughed Luca. “Now I know you're feeling better!”

Later in the ride, Peppi and Luca dropped off from the group and pedalled down a different road that bypassed the more arduous terrain the younger riders were planning to challenge that morning. Had Luca insisted, Peppi would have braved the difficult climbs ahead, but he was just as happy rolling along the flat roads at a leisurely pace. For his part, Luca seemed equally content to avoid the suffering that would inevitably have followed if they had stayed with the group. The two pedalled along, talking and laughing as they traded war stories from races past. It was not much longer before they decided to plot a course back toward Villa San Giuseppe. It was then that Peppi realized that one possible route would take them by the mulino.

“Come on,” he said, turning down a new road, “I want to visit my home.”

When they arrived at the ruins they coasted up to the edge of the property and stopped. Straddling his bike, Peppi leaned his elbows onto the handlebars and gazed over the pile of rubble that was once his home. Not much had changed from his last visit other than the grass around it, which had grown taller.

“What are your plans for the place?” asked Luca.

“I don't know,” admitted Peppi. “For the time being, I thought maybe I'd put a tomato garden in over there in the back where my father had his garden. It gets some nice sun there. I'm sure the soil is still good.”

“Nobody's planted anything there for years,” noted Luca. “The soil probably doesn't need anything at all, maybe a little manure and some lime, but that's it. Come to think of it, my own garden could use some.”

Peppi smiled and nodded, and for a moment the two just stood there in silence, enjoying the tranquility of the spot.

“By the way,” Luca said at last, “I've been meaning to thank you.”

“Thank me? For what?” replied Peppi.

“For whatever it was that you said to Lucrezia out in the courtyard the other day when it looked like she was just about ready to murder us all.”

“I didn't tell her anything,” said Peppi with a shrug. “I just gave her a few olives.”

“Well, whatever it was, it worked,” said Luca. “These past few days she's been a different person. I've actually seen her smile once or twice. It's like a miracle.”

“It's the mono-unsaturated fats and the omega-3 fatty acids,” said Peppi.

“The
what?”

“The olives,” chuckled Peppi. “All that stuff in them does something good to your brain.”

“I would have thought it was just because they taste good.”

“That's another reason.”

“Olives,” chuckled Luca, shaking his head. “Who would have thought?” He clicked his shoe back onto the pedal and turned his bike toward the road. “Come on,” he said to Peppi, “let's go home and have dinner. Filomena's expecting you. We can watch the Giro prologue while we eat.”

“Sounds good to me,” said Peppi, following him. “Just make sure she serves olives. I'm in a good mood today and I want to stay that way.”

“Eh, whatever you want,” said Luca, and the two pedalled away down the road.