Home to Italy (17 page)

The days dragged.

With little else to do to keep himself occupied, Peppi passed the long, hot afternoons watching the daily coverage of the Tour de France on Luca's television. It was a welcome diversion, but somehow the race did not stir in him the same passion as had the Giro. Even the dramatic mountain stages failed to thrill him as they ordinarily might. Still, each day Peppi watched the action closely, for he knew that Enzo and the others were hungry for news about how the Italian racers were faring. Now and then he would walk down to the factory to give everyone an update on what the race leaders were doing and to fill them in on any new stories of interest floating around about the
peloton.

In every major bicycle tour, one must understand, there is always one controversy or another swirling around the periphery of the race. Racers on one team complain about the tactics of those on another team. Sometimes racers on the same team squabble because their team leader is not faring as well as expected. Other times a particular rider fares much
better
than expected, fueling rumors that he has used some illicit substance to improve his performance. Perhaps one of the race leaders was observed late at night, out on the town with some movie starlet, when he should have been fast asleep in bed, recovering for the next day's stage. All of these stories and others are just part of the ongoing drama, threads woven into the overall fabric of the race. They are what make the experience of the Tour or the Giro so captivating, even when the actual racing might be lackluster.

Despite having already watched most of the day's racing, Peppi generally went up to Luca's house each evening to watch the news and the nightly recap of the race. By now, however, the Tour had wound its way out of the Alps and back onto the flatlands of France. The overall leader had, for all intents and purposes, already been decided in the mountains. All that was left were the few remaining stages for the has-beens and might-have-beens to fight for in the few days before the race reached Paris. The drama was over.

Just the same, Peppi trudged up the path to Luca's house one night to watch the day's proceedings on the television. He had already lost the little interest he had in the race days ago, but the routine of watching it had become something of a comfort to him. It helped him fall asleep at night. He was just making himself comfortable in front of the television when the telephone rang unexpectedly. To his surprise, it was Luca.

“Ah, I knew I would find you watching the Tour,” said Luca when Peppi answered.

“What else is there for an old man to do at night around here?” replied Peppi, happy to hear his friend's voice once again. “Have you had time to watch any of it yourself?”

“Not much during the day,” Luca admitted, “but I've watched the highlights every night. What did you think of the Alps?”

For a few minutes they chatted enthusiastically about the race, sharing their views on the riders and their teams, the tactics they used, and why they succeeded or failed. Before long, though, the conversation turned to the subject of tomatoes. How were things turning out in Peppi's garden? Luca wanted to know. Peppi apprised him of the status of the tomato garden where, he was happy to report, a healthy crop of luscious green tomatoes was bursting forth from his plants. It wouldn't be long before they slowly ripened into a deep, delicious red.

Luca sounded very pleased by the news. “I can taste them already!” he exclaimed. “But tell me, Peppi, what's this business I hear about you talking to a hawk?”

“How on earth did you hear about that!” laughed Peppi.

“Lucrezia,” Luca answered.

“Lucrezia?”

“Yes,” Luca told him, chuckling. “One day when she was talking on the telephone to Enzo, she happened to ask about you.”

“Really?” said Peppi, unsure of why he felt so pleased about such a trifle. “What did Enzo tell her?”

“He told her ‘the old man is doing fine, but he was getting lonely, so he decided to talk to the birds because no one else would listen to him.'”

Peppi could not contain his laughter, for he could well imagine Enzo saying those very words. He made a mental note to put Enzo on the spot about it the first chance he got. Then he recounted for Luca the whole story of what had happened that afternoon at the mulino.

“It's an omen,” said Luca with great gravity when Peppi had finished the tale.

“Yes, that's what everyone says,” replied Peppi. “But an omen of what?”

“Ah, now that's the question,” said Luca. Peppi could picture him on the other end of the line, scratching his chin thoughtfully. “It's so difficult to say with these things,” his friend went on. “But at least we know it's a good omen, Peppi. I mean, finding the photograph of your parents was a wonderful thing. I can't see how you could read anything bad into it.”

“I hope you're right,” said Peppi. “But no matter what, it made me very happy.”

“Good,” said Luca before letting out a sigh. “So, tell me the truth, Peppi,” he asked, “how are things really going in the factory? I know Lucrezia has been calling every day, but you know how it is. When the cat's away, the mice all play. Sometimes you don't get the whole story.”

“Don't worry,” Peppi told him. “I've been cracking the whip here since you left. The place is running even better than it was before.”

“Hah!” chortled Luca. “In that case I'll have to make you a manager when I get back. We're going to need all the good help we can get.”

“Sounds like your trip to Milano was a success,” said Peppi.

“Not bad,” replied Luca. “I think it will help business.”

“And how are your wife and daughter?” Peppi asked. “I didn't hear any rumbling from the north.”

“No,” said Luca. “Things have been surprisingly calm on that front. Lucrezia's anniversary came and went without a peep. To tell you the truth, though, it was even worse. Filomena and I kept waiting for Lucrezia to tear our heads off, at least once, but it never happened. She's been restless, though, and a little moody. I think maybe she's finally starting to reconcile herself with what happened to poor Francesco. Maybe she's getting ready to move on with her life. God knows, it's taken her long enough. But who can say? Anyway, I think she'll be happy to get home tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” said Peppi, much surprised. “I thought she wouldn't be back till the beginning of next week.”

“That's the real reason I called,” said Luca. “Some of the people we had planned to visit were already at the trade show, so when it was over we were able to travel about and make some of our other stops sooner than we had planned. Right about now there's not much left for Lucrezia to do but go home and close up the factory for a month while Filomena and I take the train to the beach. That's why I wanted to call you ahead of time, to make sure the coast was clear, if you know what I mean.”

“I'm sure everything in the factory is fine,” Peppi told him, despite having observed firsthand the somnambulant pace of things since Luca had been away. “Just the same, I'll pass the word along first thing tomorrow to make sure.”

“Grazie, amico mio,”
said Luca. “You know, just having you there makes me feel better about things.”

“Piacere mia,”
replied Peppi. “Anything to help.”

Later, when he had finished talking to Luca, Peppi hung up the phone, turned off the television, and went straight back to his apartment. The doldrums of the past two weeks had suddenly vanished like a dream at the first light of dawn. He was anxious now to get to bed as quickly as possible for he would need to arise with the sun the next morning. There was much, he realized, that he wanted to do before Lucrezia came home and little time to do it. But he wasn't worried. If anything, the prospect of a busy day ahead gladdened him. He laid his head on the pillow that night and drifted off to sleep with his heart full of anticipation.

“That's not funny,
Peppi,” said Enzo, crushing out his cigarette. “Don't even joke like that.”

“I'm not joking,” said Peppi. “She's coming back today. I spoke with her father just last night on the telephone.”

They were standing at the front door to the factory. It was early morning and the rest of the workers were just straggling in like war-weary troops on their way to the front. The incessant heat of the past few weeks had taken its toll; just arriving at work to start their day was something of an accomplishment. Like any good field commander, Enzo knew when to push his troops and when to go easy. He was a compassionate supervisor, so he had carefully analyzed the work that needed to be completed to shut down the factory for August and the amount of time allotted to do it. With that in mind, he set a reasonable pace for his charges with the goal of having everything finished just in time for Lucrezia's return. Until that very moment, he had been serene, perfectly content in the knowledge that all was going along right on schedule. When he realized, however, that Peppi might be in earnest, that Lucrezia was indeed returning early, Enzo's face turned ashen.

“You
are
joking, right, Peppi?” he said, his voice full of dread. “Please tell me you're joking.”

Peppi winced and replied with a shake of his head.

“Dio in cielo!”
Enzo cried. “She'll murder us all!”

With no time to waste, Enzo fled into the factory to raise the alarm. There soon ensued the clamor of lamentation and profanity one might expect in such a desperate situation. From the cries of despair and wails of mutual recrimination, one might have thought that the end of the world was coming.

Peppi ducked his head inside the door to get a peek at the scene. Pandemonium, he saw, reigned supreme. Workers were running back and forth, their arms laden with boxes of confetti that had been stacked in haphazard piles and now needed to be stowed neatly away with the rest of the inventory. Now and then the workers collided with one another, causing them to drop their loads and spill out the contents onto the floor. With rags in their hands, others climbed atop the machinery and began hastily wiping everything down. Poor Enzo stood amidst the confusion, trying vainly to bring some semblance of order to the sudden frenzy of activity that swirled about him. Frantically he screamed out instructions, waving his arms and hands for emphasis like a conductor at the crescendo of a symphony.

“The vats!” he cried, making no attempt whatsoever to hide his sense of panic. “Clean the vats first,
then
wipe down the machinery!” He paused when he saw Peppi observing him from the door with sympathetic eyes. “It will take a miracle to finish before she arrives,” he lamented, “a miracle.”

The best Peppi could offer was a shrug. Just then, as the noise and confusion reached its apogee, the shrill ringing of the office telephone pierced the air. All activity stopped and dead silence fell over the factory.

The telephone rang again.

Enzo turned dejected eyes to Peppi, shook his head, and marched off to answer it while the others held their breath.
“Buon giorno, Signora Lucrezia,”
his voice echoed throughout the factory. One could almost hear the communal gulp that followed those words.

Grim-faced, but finally composed, Enzo emerged from the office a short time later. He walked out before them, looking like a man who had resigned himself to the fact that his fate was now sealed and there was nothing he could do about it.

“Three o'clock,” he told them. “She'll be back by three o'clock.”

The full gravity of the situation set in and no one spoke until Fabio finally stepped forward. “We can do it, Enzo!” he cried. “We can do it if we all work together. We won't let you down!” His words rallied his co-workers and before Enzo could mutter another word, the previous chaos resumed.

Peppi came inside and did whatever he could to help with the cause. Before long, though, he left them, for he wanted to tend to the front gardens and the courtyard before Lucrezia came home. He wasn't sure why, but somehow it had become very important to him that things should be looking their best when she arrived. As he walked out the front door, Peppi stopped and gave Enzo a salute to wish him good luck. Enzo rolled his eyes in reply and looked up to heaven, his hands folded in supplication.

Outdoors, it was another scorching day, and the beads of sweat rolled off Peppi's forehead as he set himself to work in the gardens beneath the midmorning sun. Now and then a stray cloud would wander by overhead and cast its cooling shadow over him. The relief was always brief, though, and the sun felt that much hotter on his shoulders when it reappeared. Despite the heat, Peppi whistled a cheerful tune as he went along pruning the bushes and weeding the flower beds. He liked the warm weather and he felt happy to be busy with a clear purpose once again.

Afterwards, Peppi went out back to the courtyard and spent some time raking around the arbor and fussing with the grapevines coiled about it. The flower beds, he noted, were still in good shape for he had kept them well watered. Once he was satisfied that things were looking as good as might be expected, Peppi sat down on the bench beneath the arbor to take a short break. As he cast his gaze about at the gardens, he thought that it might be a nice idea to pick some flowers to leave on Lucrezia's desk, just to welcome her back. When he went back inside, he would look around the factory to see if he could lay his hands on a vase.

Noontime was fast approaching and Peppi felt a twinge of hunger in his stomach. His first impulse was to go upstairs to his apartment and fix himself a light lunch. His thoughts, though, turned to Enzo and the workers inside the factory. With the deadline of Lucrezia's return hanging over their heads like a guillotine, they would certainly not be taking any siestas that day. Peppi felt sorry for them, and guilty at being able to relax and enjoy his lunch when they could not. Without giving another thought to his stomach, he collected the gardening tools, stowed them away, and went back inside the factory to see how things were progressing.

“Let's face it,” said Enzo when Peppi returned, “it would take an act of God for us to finish everything before she gets back. My only hope is that we have the place close enough to being finished that she won't notice where things are a little rough around the edges, if you know what I mean.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?” Peppi offered.

“You could go to church and pray for us,” Enzo suggested with a wry smile.

“Is that all?” said Peppi, patting him on the shoulder.

Enzo sighed and shook his head. “At this point, it would help as much as anything.”

“Okay,” chuckled Peppi, “I'll do it. But first I need to take a look around.”

“What are you looking for?” said Enzo.

“A vase.”

Peppi walked off to the back offices to begin his search. He soon discovered that there were no vases to be found in any of the offices and there was nothing suitable in any of the closets or storage areas in the factory. He stood for a moment in the middle of the factory floor, wondering where he might look next. That's when it occurred to him that if he could not find a vase, he should just go out and buy a new one. With that in mind, he bid farewell once more to Enzo and his cohorts and headed off into town on his bicycle.

Despite the heat of the afternoon sun, a surprising number of people were strolling about on the piazza when Peppi pedalled into town on his rusty old bike with the basket. Most were old women looking after their grandchildren while the parents were off at work. The children kicked soccer balls and gleefully chased each other around the piazza while their grandmothers passed the time gossiping among themselves. Peppi smiled, for the scene might easily have been one out of his own childhood. The world had turned many times since he left for America so many years ago, but things in his home-town had not truly changed all that much.

Peppi rode across the piazza and turned down a narrow cobblestoned alleyway that wound its way through one of the adjoining neighborhoods. The air was distinctly cooler there because the stone buildings on either side kept the street in shadow most of the day. Just being out of the sun made a refreshing change. Peppi pedalled a short way down the street before he spied the “
aperto”
flag in front of the little gift shop he sought. He was pleased to find it open, having feared that the owner might already be taking his
siesta.

“You're lucky,” said Enrico, the gift shop's owner, when Peppi came in. “I was just about to close the place and go home for lunch.”

“I won't keep you long,” Peppi promised him. “I just came in for one small thing.”

“Take your time, take your time,” Enrico urged him, giving him a wink. “Buy as many things as you want. We have plenty! My stomach can always wait.”

“Thank you,” chuckled Peppi, “but all I need is a vase to put some flowers in. Nothing too fancy. Just something simple.”

“I have just the thing,” said Enrico without hesitation. He turned and went off to the back of the shop. A few moments later he returned carrying a simple white vase large enough to hold a good-sized arrangement of flowers. He held it up for Peppi to inspect.

Peppi smiled and nodded.

“Perfetto,”
he said.

Later, with the vase bundled up in brown paper to protect it on the ride home, Peppi carefully walked his bike back out the alley so as not to jostle the basket on the cobblestones. When he came back out into the sunlight, he paused at the edge of the piazza. The bells in the church tower across the way had just chimed one o'clock, and the women and children were all making their way home for lunch. Peppi was feeling hungry and thirsty himself, so he began to walk his bike over to the bar to buy a bottle of mineral water to sustain him on the ride home. As he pushed the bike along, he happened to look down the road that led down the hill and away from the village.

Off in the distance he saw a tiny glint of sunlight. He stopped and gazed intently at it until it became clear that what he had seen was the sun reflecting off an approaching automobile. Judging by the speed at which the car was zooming along, Peppi knew in an instant that it must be Lucrezia. Her break-neck driving style was unmistakable. Peppi let out a laugh, but it should have come as no surprise to him that she would make it home nearly two hours early.

With no time left to get home before her, Peppi put the flowers and the vase out of his mind and stood there watching as the car sped closer and closer to the village. For a brief time, he lost view of it as the road disappeared from sight behind the buildings that encircled the piazza. Not long after, though, he heard the growl of a car engine. Peppi looked down the road just in time to see the car turn the corner and start the climb up the hill to the piazza. As luck would have it, Lucrezia looked up ahead and saw Peppi standing there. To his delight, her face broke out in a great smile when her gaze met his. She put her hand out the window and waved.

It was then that something happened that would forever alter the final course of Peppi's life. As he lifted his hand to wave back, something moving off to the side caught his attention. It was a soccer ball, he realized, rolling off the piazza—and into the car's path. Directly behind, a little boy who had squirmed free from his mother's grasp, chased after it. Oblivious to the danger until it was too late, the child darted out into the road. At the sight of the oncoming car, he froze in his tracks like a fawn. With no time to stop, Lucrezia instinctively swerved the car hard to her right. Miraculously, she avoided the boy, and the ball glanced harmlessly off the car's fender. The car, though, had veered far off the edge of the road.

People in circumstances such as this often recount that the experience seemed to take place in slow motion. In Peppi's case, however, his mind raced at the speed of light to the conclusion before the event had actually taken place. In a flash, he envisioned the crumbling pavement on the edge of the road, the pavement he had noticed so many weeks ago and had intended to do something about. He saw it giving way beneath the weight of the car, the rear wheel spinning and spewing bits of dirt and rock out the back as it tried to gain traction. He saw Lucrezia futilely trying to right the car before it was too late.

He saw the inevitable.

Despite Lucrezia's best efforts to steer the car back onto the road, its momentum caused it to skid and slide sideways down the embankment. For an agonizing instant, it teetered there on two wheels. Lucrezia let out a scream of terror just before the car toppled over and dropped from sight. It rolled down the rest of the embankment until it came to a crashing halt on the dry, rocky riverbed below. For a moment all was still. Then the back end of the car burst into flames.