Home to Italy (7 page)

It was a little apartment,
just one small bedroom, a kitchen, and a bathroom with a shower. A heavy, musty smell greeted them when Luca opened the door, for the apartment had been locked up and left unused for many years. All was still within. They were in the quiet part of the building. Most of the comings and goings in the factory downstairs took place on the opposite end. Below the apartment were the company offices and a few storage areas.

The shades were all drawn and the scant rays of sunlight that managed to filter their way in from the outside spread across the room like a dim, gray film. Luca tried the light switch, but the bulb overhead was dead. He stepped inside, parted the shades, and threw open one of the windows. A rush of fresh air and sunlight brought the room to life. Luca turned and beckoned Peppi in.

“It's not the Pitti Palace,” he said with a shrug.

“I'm not royalty,” Peppi replied. “This will do just fine.”

“Good,” smiled Luca. “Let's go get your things.”

When they returned from Sulmona there was a great commotion in the factory. At first, as Peppi and Luca carried the luggage up the walkway, it sounded as if there were many people screaming at each other inside. As they drew nearer, however, it became clear that only one voice was doing most of the screaming.

“Imbecilli!”
came the shrill cry of a woman's voice. “Are all of you fools!” The sound of doors slamming followed. Shortly thereafter, a smartly dressed woman with copper red hair and dark wild eyes burst from the building and stomped toward them in a blaze of fury.

“O, Dio,”
muttered Luca.

“Sono tutti imbecilli!”
the woman declared as she blew past Peppi and Luca like an express train barrelling down the tracks. “They are all idiots and I can't stand to look at them for another moment today.
You
deal with them!”

With that the woman hurled herself into a nearby car, started the engine, and tore away from the building in a cloud of dust.

“Madonna mia,”
said Peppi. “Who was that?”

Luca looked down and shook his head. “Uff,” he grunted. “That was Lucrezia—my daughter.”

Peppi looked off into the distance at the car speeding away. “I think she's having a bad day,” he remarked.

“That's bad news for us all,” sighed Luca. “Let's go find out what happened.”

They left Peppi's bags by the door and went inside. The workers were huddled at the far end of the factory, their voices raised in fits of mutual recrimination. At seeing Luca enter, they rushed over to him en masse, all of them beside themselves with anguish. Their hands open in supplication, their faces the very picture of contriteness, they all began pleading with him at the same time. Those who could not catch Luca's eye turned helplessly to Peppi, who could offer no other consolation than a sympathetic shrug.

“Please forgive us, Signor Luca!” some cried.

“It was all our fault,” others admitted.

“It was an accident, we didn't mean it,” cried others still.

Luca held his hand up for quiet. “Calm yourself,” he implored them.
“Ch' è successo?
What happened?”

At that they all began talking at once again, each trying to tell his version of the story. Luca held his hand up again for quiet.

“One at a time,” he told them, “one at a time!” He pointed to one of his supervisors. “You there, Enzo, you go first. Tell me what happened.”

“It was an accident,” cried Enzo, tears filling his eyes.

“I think we've pretty well established that fact,” sighed Luca. “Now tell me all about it from the beginning.”

“It all started first thing this morning,” he began, “when they brought in the new shipment of boxes.”

Enzo went on to recount the whole wretched tale. The boxes, he told Luca, through some act of God (for how else could these sort of things be explained?), had somehow gotten themselves switched. The boxes for the chocolate-filled candies were packed away where those for the vanilla-filled candies were normally stored, and vice versa. The workers began the day expecting to fill a large order of the chocolate-filled for the company's distributor in the Veneto region.

By this point in his telling of the story, the beads of sweat were rolling off poor Enzo's forehead. “We finished making the chocolate-filled and started to pack them into the boxes,” he continued, his voice full of torment. “We'd been going for a while when your daughter came out of the office because she wanted to take a box of confetti to a friend. I said I'd get it right away for her, but when I brought her the box she said, ‘No, Enzo, I don't want vanilla. I want chocolate.'
Dio mio,
that's when I knew something was wrong!”

“Let me guess,” sighed Luca, giving Peppi a sideways glance. “You packed the chocolates in the vanilla boxes.”

“Santo Giuseppe,”
cried Enzo, “when your daughter found out, I thought she was going to cut off our heads!”

Luca looked at him kindly. “Now now,” he reassured them all, “I'm sure it wasn't as bad as all that. How many boxes did you fill before my daughter discovered what was happening?”

Enzo scratched the back of his neck. “Difficult to say,” he replied sheepishly, a pained look coming over his face. “Thirty dozen, perhaps. Maybe a little more, maybe a little less.” He cast his gaze down toward the floor and shook his head. “What a waste,” he sighed.

At hearing the amount, Luca made a pained expression of his own. He gave a little cough and scratched his chin for a few moments. The workers gazed at him in suspense. “Well,” he said at last, clearing his throat, “it's not the end of the world, is it? Life gives us lemons, we'll make lemonade.”

“I'm not sure I know what you mean, Signor Luca,” said Enzo.

“Don't worry,” he said, patting Enzo on the shoulder, “it's an old American saying I once heard. Now tell me, besides being in the wrong boxes, is there anything wrong with the candies?”

“Nothing at all,” Enzo assured him.

“And you followed the family recipe,” Luca continued, “the one that was handed down to me from generation to generation?”

“To the letter,” said Enzo with conviction.

“Then other than being in the wrong boxes, the candies you made today are still of the highest quality, the quality that has made them popular all over Italy?” said Luca expansively.

“But of course!” replied Enzo with fierce pride. “We would produce nothing less.”

“Then everything is okay,” said Luca with a smile. “We'll just take those thirty dozen boxes and give them away at the schools or the churches. Or maybe there's some local charity that would love to have them to resell to raise money. We'll find a use for them. Nothing will go to waste.”

The color was starting to come back into Enzo's face and an audible sigh of relief rippled through the workers all gathered around. “Are you sure, Signor Luca?” said Enzo, visibly grateful for the reprieve.

“I'm sure,” said Luca. Then he gave them a stern gaze. “Now, you still have a big order to fill, so back to work, all of you!”

“Subito!”
they answered in unison as they scurried back to their positions.
“Grazie, Signor Luca!”

“And don't forget to use the right boxes this time!” Luca called after them.

Peppi stood by Luca's side and watched the workers return to their jobs. Soon the factory was humming again like a beehive.

“You handled that very well,” said Peppi. “But your workers seem a little intimidated by your daughter.”

“They're terrified of her,” said Luca. “But you know, they love her too.”

“That's a strange mix,” said Peppi. “How did it come about?”

“It's a long story, my friend,” he sighed. “I'll tell you about it another time. For now, let's get you settled in.”

“D'accordo,”
Peppi agreed, and the two walked out to get his luggage.

“But thirty dozen boxes,” Luca muttered to himself. “What imbeciles!”

 

After they brought the luggage to the apartment, Luca promised to send someone up to give the place a thorough cleaning. Peppi, though, insisted on taking care of things himself. The thought of Peppi doing a woman's work mortified Luca, but despite his protestations he could not make Peppi change his mind. He reluctantly gave in to Peppi's wishes and headed back to the house to change his clothes for work.

Peppi stood alone in the middle of the kitchen, assessing his new home. The years of disuse had left a healthy coating of dust over everything, but otherwise the apartment appeared to be in good repair. Peppi set himself to work right away. He threw open all the windows to air the place out while he began sweeping the floors. When he was finished he wiped down the woodwork and cupboards before turning his attention to the kitchen and bathroom sinks. The plumbing fixtures were quite old, but they all seemed to work when he turned on the water. A steady trickle of water, however, dripped from one of the faucets, so Peppi made a note to change all the washers.

Next he examined the old refrigerator that stood in the corner of the kitchen. He plugged it in and, much to his surprise, it sputtered to life. He left it running while he checked the little gas stove against the adjacent wall. All the burners seemed to be in working order. Both appliances needed a good cleaning, but he would get to that later. First he wanted to look over the few pieces of furniture in the apartment. The little kitchen table was flanked by two sturdy-looking chairs. Other than these there was only the bed and a small bureau in the bedroom. Peppi went in and sat on the mattress. It was old and musty like everything else in the apartment, but it seemed comfortable enough. He would buy a cover for it and it would do fine.

Later, after his new domicile had been rendered passably habitable, Peppi took a walk into the village to buy a few groceries, some light bulbs, and other provisions. Luca had invited him to dinner that evening, but Peppi had declined, explaining that he needed to be alone for a little while to adjust to things. Luca, though disappointed, understood.

On the way back from the village, Peppi's arms were beginning to ache from the strain of carrying the two bags of groceries he had purchased. It was then that he happened to pass a house in front of which its owner had left an old bicycle leaning up against the wall. The bike had a small
“da vendere”
sign taped to it. As he walked closer, Peppi could see that the bike had not been ridden in years. The tires were worn and the frame had spots of rust on it, but what interested him most was the basket suspended above the rear wheel. Peppi set down the groceries, went up to the front door, and gave it a knock.

“How much for the bike?” he asked when the door opened.

That night Peppi ate a simple meal of bread and cheese and a little fruit before spending some time fixing up the old bike he had purchased that afternoon. With a little lubricant to loosen the chain and maybe some new tires, it would be perfect for getting around on when he wanted to run an errand. When he was finished with it, he leaned the bike in the corner next to his Colnago. Between the two bicycles he had all the transportation he needed.

Before going to bed, Peppi sat at the kitchen table and wrote a letter to Angie as he had promised her he would do once he was settled into the mulino. He told her of his trip from Rome and how he had met up once again with Luca. He told her about finding the mulino in ruins, but assured her there was no need to worry; Luca had given him a place to stay. So, for the time being, he had a roof over his head and food on the table. One way or the other, it seemed that life would go on for him.

“What are you doing?”

The woman's brusque voice startled Peppi, causing him to drop the screwdriver he was using to tighten the hinges of the front door to the factory. He had noticed that they were loose the previous day when he walked in with Luca. The door had probably been hanging like that for months; it was practically ready to fall off. Repairing it, he knew, was one of those minor but annoying jobs that everyone always means to take care of as soon as they get the chance, but no one ever actually gets around to doing. Peppi wanted to make himself useful, so he decided to come down early and take care of it himself first thing that morning, before the workers began to arrive.

With the woman hovering ominously above him, Peppi picked up the screwdriver, gave the screw he was tightening one last quick turn, and stood. As he rose, his eyes could not help but be drawn to the sleek lines of the woman's slender legs. These eventually led his gaze upward across a graceful, curvaceous figure until finally Peppi found himself face to face with Lucrezia, Luca's daughter. He recognized her instantly from their brief encounter a day earlier when Lucrezia had stormed out of the factory.

“What are you doing?” she asked once more.

“Buon giorno, Signorina,”
Peppi replied, tipping his cap while he tried to avoid her icy glare. “I was just fixing the door. It was getting ready to fall off, you know.”

“Yes, I was well aware of that,” she said testily. “But who are you? Who hired you?”

“I'm a friend of your father,” said Peppi. “My name is—”

“I should have known,” huffed Lucrezia before he had a chance to finish. “Just don't take all day to do it. The office will give you a check when you're done.” She gave him a look of utter disdain and with a click of her tongue strode past him into the factory.

Slightly bemused, Peppi watched Lucrezia walk down the center aisle until she disappeared around the corner and the building reverberated with the echo of her office door slamming shut. He turned around to find one of the factory workers standing behind him. He too had been watching Lucrezia with admiring eyes.

“Bella, no?”
he said with a big grin. “What legs! But look out, she's a force of nature.”

“So I gather,” Peppi said with a chuckle.

When he arrived a short while later that morning, Luca was mortified to find Peppi sweeping the floor by the entrance.

“Peppi!” he cried in horror, clutching his chest as if his heart were about to burst. “What in the name of God are you doing?”

Peppi leaned on the broom handle and smiled at his friend. “I'm just trying to earn my keep,” he said.

“By sweeping the floors!”

“Well, somebody has to do it,” said Peppi, nodding to the workers behind him, “and everyone else looks busy.”

“Mannagia,”
said Luca, shaking his head. “My friend comes back to Villa San Giuseppe after God knows how many years. His wife, may she rest in peace, is dead, his ancestral home destroyed, he has nowhere to go, and I'm supposed to put him to work sweeping floors so he can stay in a drafty old apartment that no one has used in a hundred years? What are you trying to do, make me look like some kind of
orco
in front of the rest of the village?”

“Of course not,” laughed Peppi. “Please, don't worry,
amico mio.
I enjoy staying busy. It makes me feel useful.”

Luca let out a grumble of consternation and took the broom from Peppi. He leaned it against the wall and put his arm around his friend's shoulders.

“Go back to your room and rest, Peppi,” he said, guiding him toward the door. “Yesterday was a traumatic day for you, and for me as well. Take some time, get your feet settled on the earth again, and then we'll talk about how to keep you busy.”

“Eh, maybe you're right,” said Peppi. “I just wanted to help, that's all.”

“You've helped already,” said Luca with a big smile. “You don't know how much. So go now. And tonight you have dinner with us, no excuses.”

“Okay,” said Peppi, opening the door, “you go on to work now. I'll see you tonight.”

“Va bene,”
said Luca. He turned to go, but then stopped and gazed at the door. “Hey,” he said brightly, “who fixed the hinges?”

Peppi answered with a shrug. Luca gave a shrug of his own and headed off to his office. As soon as he was out of sight, Peppi stepped back inside, grabbed the broom, and continued sweeping.

 

Filomena welcomed Peppi at the door when he arrived for dinner that evening. She ushered him in, fretting all the while about how he was doing after the previous day's shock.

“You poor thing,” she said, shaking her head as she guided him to the living room. “My husband wanted so badly to tell you about the mulino before taking you out there, but he just couldn't bring himself to do it. Here, sit down and relax while I get you something to drink. Luca just went downstairs to get a bottle of wine. He'll be back in a minute. Luca! Peppi is here!”

Later, when the three sat down at the dinner table, Peppi noticed the extra setting at the place beside him.

“For my daughter Lucrezia,” she said as she ladled out the minestrone. “That is, if she ever gets here. She's still down in that office of hers doing God only knows what.”

Peppi glanced at the clock. “She certainly works long hours,” he said.

“You're right,” sighed Luca, “but there's no talking to her about it. The truth is, I'd be in trouble without her. Do you know that since I first let her start managing most of the daily operations our sales have almost tripled? She's relentless; she runs the place with an iron hand. But the workers all respect her because she herself works like a slave.”

“She should work so hard at the rest of her life,” observed Filomena with a hint of irritation in her voice. “The clock is running out, you know.”

“Everything in its time,” said Luca. He smiled and shrugged when he saw the questioning look on Peppi's face. “My daughter is forty-one and my wife is anxious for more grandchildren,” he explained.

“Ah,” said Peppi. “I understand. But your daughter is so attractive. Why hasn't she ever married?”

Luca was about to reply when the door opened and Lucrezia herself stepped inside. She carried a briefcase in one hand and an armful of files in the other. These she promptly dropped onto the kitchen counter before coming into the dining room. She stopped short when she saw Peppi at the table, her cheeks turning almost as red as her hair.

“Lucrezia,
finalmente,”
said Luca. “What have you been doing?”

“I had some things to finish up,” she said, self-consciously pushing a strand of hair away from her face. “I didn't notice the time.”

“Well, work is over, so come in and eat. This is my good friend, Peppi, the one I was telling you about last night.”

“Hello again,” said Peppi, hoping to put her at ease.

“You two have already met?” said Luca.

“Well, yes,” murmured Lucrezia, “you might say we…”

“We had a nice chat this morning just before you arrived, Luca,” said Peppi, giving her a smile.

“Lucrezia, don't stand there like a statue, go sit down!” Filomena ordered.

Lucrezia took her seat beside Peppi, reached over to the minestrone, and filled her bowl. She glanced at Peppi as she started to eat her soup.

“I'm sorry we didn't have the chance to talk longer this morning,” she said awkwardly. “I was…in a hurry.”

“No need to apologize, I understand,” said Peppi.

“She's always in a hurry,” said Filomena.

“The world is in a hurry,” remarked Luca. Then he went off on a tangent, complaining about the pace of modern life, the cutthroat nature of the business world, and the pressures it all brought to bear on the modern family. He would have expounded further had Filomena not intervened by suggesting that he should run for parliament if he felt so strongly.

“This is what I have to put up with every night at dinner,” she lamented while she cleared the bowls and set out the plates for the main course.

Lucrezia looked at Peppi and rolled her eyes. “And I have to listen to both of
them
every night at dinner,” she said.

Peppi smiled, glad to hear Lucrezia speak to him, if only because it meant that his presence there had not entirely ruined her dinner. It was then that he observed the wedding ring on her finger. Luca had never answered him before when he asked why Lucrezia wasn't married. He saw no harm in asking now.

“Lucrezia, I couldn't help wondering about something,” said Peppi. “I see that you wear a wedding ring, but I don't think I've heard mention of your husband.”

Peppi immediately regretted bringing up the subject for a pall fell over the table. Luca gave a nervous cough and Filomena bit her lip. The two gazed with anxious eyes at their daughter, who stared vacantly at her plate. After what seemed an interminable silence, she pushed herself away from the table and stood.

“I don't talk about my husband,” she said, barely above a whisper, “not with anyone—not ever. You'll excuse me now.” Then she left the table and hurried out of the room.

“Lucrezia!” Filomena called. She looked upward with exasperated eyes, as if she were seeking divine guidance, before excusing herself to hurry out after her daughter.

Peppi looked helplessly at Luca. “I'm so sorry,” he said. “I didn't mean to upset everyone.”

“Don't worry,” Luca reassured him with a wave of his hand. He let out a long sigh and shook his head. “It's not your fault, my friend. It's no one's fault really—except maybe God's. I should have told you sooner.”

“Told me what?” said Peppi.

Luca beckoned for Peppi to pass him his glass. He filled it with wine and passed it back. “Lucrezia
was
married,” he began, filling his own glass, “to a nice boy from Sulmona.” He took a long sip of wine before continuing. “His name was Francesco. He had a good job working for his family's jewelry business. You should have seen the gifts he would bring to her after they first met! He worshipped my daughter, all the boys in town did. And she worshipped him in return. They seemed like a perfect match. So, to make a long story short, they finally ended up marrying. And it was a good marriage. They were very happy, and we were happy for them.”

“What happened?” asked Peppi.

Luca took another long sip of wine and put his glass down. “Francesco travelled around quite a bit for business. He was driving home after a meeting in Napoli. It was a rainy night and the roads through these mountains are so dark. He couldn't see up ahead that the pavement was crumbling near the side of the road. He took the turn too fast and the car skidded off the embankment.”

Luca stopped and stared sadly at his glass. He downed the rest of the wine and poured himself some more. “And that was that,” he said with a shrug.
“Arriverderci, Francesco.”

“How long ago did it happen?” asked Peppi.

“Oh, almost ten years now,” answered Luca, “but it seems like yesterday. Francesco was a good boy, and a good husband to my daughter. We were all heartbroken when it happened, naturally. But life goes on. We all got over it, everyone except Lucrezia, that is. To this day she won't say a word about it.”

“And she's never found anyone else?”

“No,” said Luca. “After it was all over, she just buried herself in work and has stayed there ever since. Sure, she has her friends, and now and then they'll try to introduce her to someone new, but Lucrezia won't let anyone get too close to her. It's like she's afraid to get hurt again.”

“I know that feeling,” said Peppi before taking a sip of his wine.

“We all come to know it, sooner or later,” said Luca. “What can you do? That's just the way of things.”