Home To Italy Part 16

"A cold bed doesn't sound so bad right about now," grumbled Peppi, wiping a bead of sweat off his brow. "As for you, Fabio, you might benefit from a cold shower."

"Hot or cold, it doesn't bother me," laughed Fabio, "just so long as I have someone in there with me to scrub my back."

"You can't win with him, Peppi," chuckled Enzo. "It's not even worth trying."

Peppi rubbed his chin and looked up at the sun. He was feeling restless, anxious to do something productive, but the afternoon heat made it near impossible to do anything but hide in the shade until the early evening came.

"So, Peppi, what do you think of the Tour de France so far?" said Enzo, referring to the French version of the Giro D'Italia. The Tour had started just a few days earlier. "Have you followed much of it?" he asked.

"No, not yet," shrugged Peppi. "The flat stages at the beginning don't interest me much. I'll start paying attention when they get to the mountains."

"Me, I'm just the opposite," said Fabio between puffs on his cigarette. "I love the flat stages because that's where you get all the best sprint finishes. In the mountains they just crawl along. It's boring to watch."

"Eh, to each his own," said Peppi, getting back to his feet. He stood there for a moment, gazing off toward the horizon. "One good thing at least," he said.

"What's that?" said Enzo.

"This hot weather will be good for my tomatoes," Peppi replied, "so long as I keep them watered."

"Yes, but be careful, Peppi," cautioned Fabio. "If you water them too much you'll break their skins."

"Grazie, Fabio," said Peppi, "but I've already been warned about that." Peppi gave them a nod and headed off to the back of the building to check on things in the courtyard. Fabio," said Peppi, "but I've already been warned about that." Peppi gave them a nod and headed off to the back of the building to check on things in the courtyard.

"What's with him today?" said Fabio as they watched him go.

"What do you think?" snickered Enzo, flicking away his cigarette b.u.t.t. "He's getting tired of that cold bed of his."

Peppi wanted to make sure that the flowers had a good drink, so he waited until almost sundown before he watered the gardens. In the cool of the evening the water would have a chance to soak deep into the soil to the roots of the plants instead of evaporating right away in the scorching heat of the midday sun. For good measure, he would water them again in the morning before the heat returned.

When he had finished watering the gardens, Peppi went back to his apartment to prepare supper for himself. As the sun disappeared behind the mountains, the temperature outside mercifully cooled. Inside, however, the warm air was still trapped. Peppi peeled off his shirt and left it hanging on the chair while he prepared for himself a salad to have with some bread and a little cheese. It was much too hot to eat anything more substantial. He set his simple meal down at the table, opened a bottle of mineral water, and sat down to eat.

As he ate, Peppi became acutely aware of the stillness of the descending night and the quiet of his apartment. Surrounded by this silence, it occurred to him that even the crunching of the lettuce between his teeth overwhelmed any sounds that might have drifted in from the world outside his window. When he stopped chewing, he was sure that he could hear his own heart beating. It was an odd feeling and, for the first time since returning to Villa San Giuseppe, he felt truly alone.

Peppi put his fork down and let his thoughts drift back to America, to a dinner he had eaten on another warm summer's night many years earlier. That night, however, he had not been dining all alone. Anna had been with him then. It was a breathless, sultry night, as he recalled, and they had decided to brave the mosquitoes by eating dinner on the little stone table beneath the grapevines in the back garden. To ward off the bugs, Peppi had encircled the table with a ring of citronella candles. It was the soft glow of those candles on Anna's face, the reflection of the tiny flames dancing in her eyes, that he most remembered from that night. In that gentle light, she had looked as young and beautiful to him as the day they first met.

"It's not polite to stare, you know," he remembered Anna telling him.

Later that night, after they had made love, Peppi could not have imagined feeling more content and at peace as he felt in that moment. As he lay beside her in bed, caressing her cheek, she had looked up at him and smiled.

"You're still staring," she had said.

"I'll never stop staring," he had promised her.

It was a beautiful memory, but somehow it only deepened his sense of isolation. He gave a sigh and tried to think of other things. His thoughts drifted to Milano, and he wondered how Lucrezia was managing at the trade show. It struck him then that thinking of her made him feel equally lonely. He glanced over at his bicycle and decided that perhaps it would be better at that moment to get out of his apartment and not to think of women at all. He ate his meal quickly, and when he had finished he took the key Luca had given him and trudged up to the house to watch the evening recap of the Tour de France.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE.

A curious thing happened one afternoon a few days later when Peppi rode out to the mulino to check on his tomato garden. Tending to the garden had become something of a daily obsession since Lucrezia and her parents had left for Milano. There was next to nothing happening at the factory, so the quest for a b.u.mper crop of tomatoes gave him something around which he could build his day and focus his energy. happened one afternoon a few days later when Peppi rode out to the mulino to check on his tomato garden. Tending to the garden had become something of a daily obsession since Lucrezia and her parents had left for Milano. There was next to nothing happening at the factory, so the quest for a b.u.mper crop of tomatoes gave him something around which he could build his day and focus his energy.

By now the plants in the garden were supported by the rows of stakes Peppi had pounded into the ground. As he went from plant to plant each day, tying each one to its stake as it grew taller and taller, Peppi would meticulously prune each branch. When that task was completed, he would turn his attention to the soil and attack any upstart weeds without mercy. Finally, when he was satisfied that all was as it should be in the garden, he would walk to the river to fill the buckets with water for the plants. Afterwards, he would sit for a time and admire his work, all the while telling himself that he must be patient, that in time he and the others would enjoy the fruits of his labors.

As he pedalled up the hill toward the mulino that afternoon, Peppi was daydreaming about how delicious his tomatoes would be. When he crested the hill just before his ancestral home, he was greeted by the sight of a hawk perched upon the highest section of wall that had yet to totally collapse. Peppi pedalled to a stop at the edge of the road and straddled the bike. To his surprise, the hawk did not fly away at seeing him approach, but instead remained there observing him with dark, fearless eyes.

Peppi lowered his sungla.s.ses and gazed back. It was another torrid but breezy day. As man and bird regarded one another, a hot, dry wind whistled through the ruins of the mulino and across the long waving gra.s.s. Peppi rested his bike on the ground and slowly stepped closer to get a better look at the hawk and perhaps to see just what it was up to. It was then that he suddenly recalled the hawk he had seen soaring through the sky that day with Luca. He wondered if this hawk and that one could be one and the same.

Peppi took off his helmet and laid it next to the bike. He inched closer still until the hawk opened its wings as if it were about to take flight. Peppi stopped in his tracks and the bird resumed its previous impa.s.sive stance.

"What is it you want, my friend?" Peppi called to it. "What are you doing here in my wreck of a mulino?"

The hawk made no move other than to scratch at the stone wall with one of its talons before suddenly raising its head. It opened its beak wide and let out a long, shrill screech that gave Peppi a start. Just as suddenly, the hawk spread its wings, and with a few powerful flaps it effortlessly soared away from the mulino. Holding his hand up to shield his eyes from the glare of the sun, Peppi stood there watching the mysterious bird fly away until it had glided out of sight.

Now, Peppi had lived virtually all of his adult life in America, but he had grown up in the isolated highlands of central Italy where superst.i.tion still ran very deep. Peppi, however, never considered himself particularly superst.i.tious. Just the same, though, he upheld tradition by always keeping a broom by the door to his home, an ancient trick to keep away witches who, should they want to enter one's house during the night, must first waste all the dark hours before dawn counting the bristles. Not surprisingly, the strange encounter with this natural predator had left him troubled. Despite the insistence of his intellect that it had all occurred by chance, his emotions told him that their meeting on that spot at that time had nothing to do with mere coincidence. It was an omen, but of what type he could not guess. Peppi continued to look up into the sky, wondering all the while what meaning there was to be found in it all.

Turning his gaze back to the Earth, Peppi stepped inside the crumbling walls of the mulino to examine the spot where the hawk had perched. The rock, he soon saw, still bore the faint scratches left behind by the bird's claws. He pa.s.sed his hand over them, feeling the rough texture of the rock against his fingertips. Turning, he looked around at the remains of the mulino. He had pecked about the rubble more than once, sifting through the broken fragments of wall and ceiling, searching for any artifacts of his former life there. Aside from a few forks and knives and other utensils, he had never found anything of true interest amidst the debris. Over the years just about everything else had been taken from the abandoned homestead by vandals or mischievous youngsters.

Leaning back against the wall, Peppi let his eyes continue to roam about the place as he puzzled over the eerie incident with the hawk. He had just made up his mind to go check on the tomato garden when the weight of his hand against the wall caused a small section of rock and plaster to crumble and fall.

Peppi looked down. There by his foot, tucked beneath the shattered remains of one of the ceiling beams, he saw the faint glint of some small object reflecting the sun. When he stooped down to get a closer look, he realized that what he had seen was the edge of a small oval picture frame lying half buried beneath the beam. Very carefully, he reached down and tugged the frame free from its hiding place. Miraculously, the frame and gla.s.s were in perfect condition. When Peppi dusted off the gla.s.s and held up the picture, his lonely heart soared a thousand times higher than any hawk had ever flown. Behind the gla.s.s was a photograph of Peppi's mother and father, a very old photograph he suddenly now remembered very well, for it had always rested on the mantel above their fireplace.

Stunned by this discovery, he sat down against the wall and beheld the photograph. How young and strong and beautiful his parents looked! Tears of joy welled in Peppi's eyes and a thousand memories flooded his mind. It was if he were holding in his hand some sort of portal to the past through which he could suddenly see all the people and places he once knew and loved so well as a child. Common, everyday events he had long ago forgotten burst into his memory. He remembered watching his father and mother toil away in the mulino, never once complaining, for they were happy to have productive work to sustain them. He remembered riding in the back of the wagon atop the sacks of grain on their way to the market. He remembered holidays when the house was filled with aunts and uncles and cousins and friends, all long gone now or scattered to the four winds. In particular, though, Peppi remembered a stormy night, late one spring, when the thunder boomed so loud that he feared the mountaintops would topple down upon them. His mother had tucked her frightened son into bed that night while his father secured the windows. "Don't worry, figlio mio figlio mio, vananon'," vananon'," she had comforted him. "You'll always be safe in this house because your father and I will always be here watching over you." Peppi closed his eyes and smiled as he recalled his mother's words. In that moment, he knew in his heart, for the very first time, that he had truly done the right thing in returning to Italy. she had comforted him. "You'll always be safe in this house because your father and I will always be here watching over you." Peppi closed his eyes and smiled as he recalled his mother's words. In that moment, he knew in his heart, for the very first time, that he had truly done the right thing in returning to Italy.

Afterwards, when Peppi had finished tending to the garden, he tucked the picture frame safely into the back pocket of his cycling jersey. As he mounted his bike, he happened to look up into the sky where he once again saw the hawk circling high above him. To his delight, a second soon joined it and the two birds floated gracefully along, held aloft on the breath of that hot summer's day. Peppi made the sign of the cross and blew them a kiss. Then he turned and pedalled home, mindful all the way of the precious newfound treasure he carried with him.

"It's a sign," declared Fabio with some authority after Peppi recounted the story of the hawk later that afternoon.

"What kind of sign?" said Enzo, not at all confident in Fabio's ability to interpret such phenomena.

"It's a sign from G.o.d, what else would it be?" Fabio replied. Some of the other workers who had gathered around to hear the story nodded in agreement.

"But what do you think G.o.d is trying to tell me?" asked Peppi, as skeptical as Enzo of Fabio's perspicacity. "What's it all supposed to mean?"

"Think about it," said Fabio, striking a contemplative pose. "The mulino was the place of your birth, where you started your life, and now you've come back to it. You've come full circle, but your life hasn't ended yet. You've just ended up back at the beginning. You see, your life is like a big circle. Even the picture you found of your parents is shaped like a circle."

"It's an oval," Enzo pointed out.

"Oval, circle, what's the difference?" said Fabio. "Wherever you start on it you end up back in the same place."

"But you still haven't told me what it all means," said Peppi with a smile. "What is G.o.d trying to tell me?"

Fabio scratched his chin thoughtfully. "If you asked me," he finally replied, "I'd say He's trying to tell you that your life isn't over, that it's time to make another circle."

"What are you saying?" scoffed Enzo. "He's supposed to go back to America again? He comes all the way over here and now you think G.o.d wants to send him back there?"

"I didn't say that he had to make the same same circle," said Fabio, anxious to defend his theory. "Maybe it's time for a different circle, a brand new one." circle," said Fabio, anxious to defend his theory. "Maybe it's time for a different circle, a brand new one."

"And maybe it's time for you to get out of the sun and get back to work," said his supervisor. "Come on, everyone, back inside. We still have lots to do today. Signora Lucrezia will be calling soon to see how things are going and I don't want to have to lie to her."

With a communal groan, Fabio and the others obeyed Enzo and went back into the factory to finish their work for the day. When the door closed behind them, Enzo turned to Peppi and gave him a nod.

"What do you think, Peppi?" he said. "Do you think maybe Fabio is right, that it really was a message from G.o.d?"

Peppi shrugged. "Who knows?" he said. "Maybe it was all just a nice coincidence. Either way, I'm happy to have my parents back."

With that Peppi started to make his way up the stairs to his apartment. He paused and looked back at Enzo, who had yet to go back inside the factory.

"Does Signorina Lucrezia call every day?" he asked.

Enzo smiled. "Without fail," he chuckled. "G.o.d help me if I'm not there to take the call."

"I hope things are going well for them in Milano," said Peppi, starting up the stairs once more.

With an impish sparkle in his eye, Enzo watched him go. "I'll tell her you were asking for her," he called up the stairs. Then he went back into the factory to wait by the telephone.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR.

The days dragged.

With little else to do to keep himself occupied, Peppi pa.s.sed 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 pa.s.sion 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. 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 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 lackl.u.s.ter. 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 lackl.u.s.ter.

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. G.o.d 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 pa.s.s 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." said Luca. "You know, just having you there makes me feel better about things."

"Piacere mia," replied Peppi. "Anything to help." 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 antic.i.p.ation.