Home To Italy Part 2

"But why!" cried Angie.

"Because this house has always been a happy house," he tried to explain to her. "Anna and I worked hard to make it that way and that's the way I always want it to stay, happy, with happy people in it. I don't belong here anymore."

Peppi paused and looked about the room for a few moments. It truly had been a happy house. He and Anna had always loved entertaining family and friends in their home. Whether it was hosting a surprise birthday party or serving a holiday dinner to a houseful of guests, or maybe letting some of their nieces and nephews enjoy a sleepover at Uncle Peppi and Auntie Anna's, it seemed that the two of them were rarely alone. One of Peppi's favorite events was the party they held each year the first weekend after Christmas. Peppi loved the dreamy, relaxed days after Christmas Day when all the hustle and bustle had pa.s.sed and people finally slowed down enough to let themselves catch their breath. It seemed to Peppi that it wasn't until then, when the frantic rush was over and all the stress had evaporated, that the true spirt of the season settled onto everyone.

The party was a day-long affair with people coming and going all afternoon and well into the evening. Everybody would come, friends and family alike. Anna's brothers and sisters with their wives and husbands and children always came early and stayed late, as did Angie and Carmine and their kids. Peppi's cousin Erio would make the drive down from New Hamps.h.i.+re with his family. Even Vincenzo, another of his cousins from his mother's side of the family, would fly in every few years from California to visit. Anna would always lay out for them a feast worthy of King Wenceslaus. For starters she would put out some appetizers for them to pick on, a variety of dried sausages and cheese, olives, roasted red peppers, and fresh baked breads. These she would follow with a big platter of the real antipasti: clams casino, fried squid, broiled scallops wrapped in bacon, snail salad, smelts, and other seafood delights. Later she would bring out the lasagna or the penne or whatever type of pasta she decided to cook that day. As if that weren't enough, there was always a sirloin roast on hand with rabes and roasted potatoes and other vegetables on the side. Anna never bothered to prepare a dessert because the other women inevitably brought more pies and cakes and cookies than they could possibly fit on the dessert table. The eating and drinking and laughing and talking would go on all day, but the festivities were never quite complete until Anna sat down at the piano and the children gathered around to sing their favorite carols. That was always Peppi's favorite part of the day, for he loved the magical sound of their angelic voices.

Inevitably, Anna would be too exhausted the day after the party to even lift a finger, so Peppi would light a fire in the fireplace and the two would recuperate by spending the day snuggled together on the couch. The blissful glow from those wonderful times would stay with Peppi and Anna for days afterward and always carry them into the New Year on a high note.

Now, sitting at the kitchen table, Peppi let out a sigh. Even though he would not be there to see them, he hoped that, one day, happy times such as those would return once again to the house.

"But all your things..." said Angie.

"I'll send for what I want once I get settled," he told her. "The rest stays with the house."

Angie pressed him no further on the subject. Instead she let out a long irritated sigh before giving him a slap across the shoulder that knocked the pencil from his hand.

When it was time to leave, Angie held the front door while Peppi carried his two suitcases out to the car. Carmine had opened the trunk. He waited there with Angie while Peppi went back inside to get his bicycle case.

It was dark and quiet in the house now. Peppi stood for a few moments in the front hall, looking about, wondering if there was anything he had forgotten to do. When he was satisfied that he had not, he picked up the bicycle case and walked out onto the front step. He turned to close the door, but something made him stop. He paused, opened the door wider, and peeked back inside.

"Anna?" he called softly.

Peppi waited, half-expecting to see his wife come to the door to make sure that he was wearing his hat or to fuss with the scarf around his neck or to make him promise to call if he was going to be late coming home. Slowly, Peppi pulled the door shut and turned the key to lock it.

"Ciao, bella," he whispered. Then he turned from the door and walked away. he whispered. Then he turned from the door and walked away.

CHAPTER SIX.

"You'll be back one day, Peppi," Luca had a.s.sured him that morning long ago when Peppi left Villa San Giuseppe for the last time. one day, Peppi," Luca had a.s.sured him that morning long ago when Peppi left Villa San Giuseppe for the last time.

They had been standing on the piazza by the fountain, waiting for the bus to come that would take Peppi to Naples where the s.h.i.+p for America awaited him. Luca nodded to the mountains on whose roads they had trained together so often. "And when you do, I'll make you suffer, amico mio," amico mio," he added for good measure. "Of that you can be sure." he added for good measure. "Of that you can be sure."

"Well, at least I'll always have something to look forward to," Peppi told his friend.

There was a long silence.

"I'd stay and wait for the bus," said Luca, his voice quavering, "but I have a hundred kilometers to ride today."

"I know," replied Peppi.

With a nod of his head, Luca turned quickly, mounted his bike, and began to pedal off out of the village.

"Ciao, Peppi!" he called over his shoulder. Peppi!" he called over his shoulder.

"Ciao, Luca!" Peppi called after him. Luca!" Peppi called after him.

Peppi stood there watching and waving until his friend had disappeared down the road. It wasn't until that moment that he realized all that he would be leaving behind. He looked about the village at the houses and the familiar faces. The tears had just begun to well in his eyes and Peppi was sure he was about to cry, but then from behind him he heard the sound of the bus rumbling into the village.

Peppi awoke with a start, the roar of a bus still ringing in his ears. He felt sad and alone, the dream and the memories still fresh in his mind. He opened his eyes and looked about at the unfamiliar surroundings of the spa.r.s.ely furnished room. Sitting up, he peered through the dim light to the window. The shutters were closed, but they did little to m.u.f.fle the incessant clamor of the traffic crawling up and down the street below. Peppi might just as well have been sleeping out on the sidewalk for all the difference they made. With a yawn, he set his feet on the floor, stood, and walked to the window. He opened the shutter a crack and looked out at Rome.

His was not a particularly inspiring view of the Eternal City. The street below was snarled with traffic and people hurried to and fro along the crowded sidewalks. It was a colorless section of town, but Peppi didn't mind; he hadn't come to sightsee. He had chosen the hotel in which he was staying because Termini, Rome's central train station, was just a few blocks away. His plan was to spend a day in Rome to get adjusted to the time change before taking the train to Abruzzo the following day.

This was only the second time Peppi had ever visited Rome. The first was as a teenager when he came to compete in a bicycle race on the outskirts of the city. The race, he well remembered, had ended badly when he was unable to avoid a spectacular crash just meters from the finish. Peppi was one of the first riders to go down in the pileup. Afterwards, sc.r.a.ped and bruised and vowing never to ride in Rome again, he quickly cleaned his wounds and headed straight back home to Villa San Giuseppe on the next available train.

Looking down the drab, congested street, Peppi was just as eager to get out of town as he had been that day after the race. But first he needed to rest. The trip over the Atlantic had tired him more than he had expected and he had slept almost all of the seven hours since he first checked into the hotel.

It was late afternoon now and the sun had already dipped behind the buildings across the street. Near the corner, the neon sign of a little trattoria glowed amidst the gathering gloom. It had been many hours since Peppi last ate and he felt the first few pangs of hunger gnawing at his stomach. He turned from the window and went into the bathroom to throw some water on his face. When he came out he sat on the edge of the bed for a few moments. Feeling as much revived as he could reasonably expect that first day, he slipped on his shoes and reached for his jacket.

The air was cool and dry when Peppi stepped outside and began to make his way down the sidewalk. It felt good to get out and walk after being cramped up like a canned anchovy for so many hours on the plane. Now, with all the shop lights glittering in the growing darkness, the street seemed far livelier to him than it had when he first rode in from the airport that morning. He strolled along, glancing into the windows as he pa.s.sed. Soon he came to the trattoria he had spotted from the window of his room. He gave the menu taped to the window a cursory examination before stepping inside. It was still early for dinner by Roman standards and the tables were all empty.

"Buona sera, Signore," the owner greeted him. He smiled at Peppi and made a sweeping gesture to the rest of the room. "The restaurant is all yours," he said in English. the owner greeted him. He smiled at Peppi and made a sweeping gesture to the rest of the room. "The restaurant is all yours," he said in English.

"Un tavolino vicino la finestra," responded Peppi, nodding toward a table by the window. responded Peppi, nodding toward a table by the window.

"Ma lei parla bene italiano!" exclaimed the delighted owner. "You speak Italian very well for an American." exclaimed the delighted owner. "You speak Italian very well for an American."

"How do you know that I'm an American?" said Peppi, still speaking in Italian.

"Le scarpe," sighed the owner, looking down at Peppi's well-worn shoes. He shook his head and clicked his tongue. "Only an American would wear such shoes to dinner." sighed the owner, looking down at Peppi's well-worn shoes. He shook his head and clicked his tongue. "Only an American would wear such shoes to dinner."

Peppi looked down at his feet and chuckled. "I've been away from Italy for too long," he admitted. "Not that I had much of a sense of style when I left."

"Stay here in Rome a little while, my friend," said the man, "I can tell you where to get some nice shoes."

"Maybe," laughed Peppi, "but for now I need to eat."

"D'accordo," the owner agreed. "Go sit and I'll bring you a nice bowl of minestrone while you look over the menu." the owner agreed. "Go sit and I'll bring you a nice bowl of minestrone while you look over the menu."

Little by little, the restaurant began to fill while Peppi ate his dinner. Most of the patrons seemed to be tourists or students. They arrived two or three at a time and talked excitedly amongst themselves in French and Spanish and German. The trattoria's owner, who later introduced himself to Peppi as Marcello, waited on all the tables with practiced efficiency. He was always busy, always in motion, but he still managed to find time to exchange a few words of lively banter with the other patrons in whatever language they happened to be speaking. As Peppi was the only one dining by himself, Marcello paid extra attention to him so that he wouldn't feel alone amidst the hubbub.

Later, when Peppi was finis.h.i.+ng and there was a quiet moment in the restaurant, Marcello brought out two cups of espresso and sat down at the table with him. He slid one cup over to Peppi and kept the other for himself.

"I need a little break," he told Peppi, taking a teaspoon of sugar and dumping it into his cup. Then he added another spoonful, and then another.

"You've earned it," said Peppi with a smile. "You work hard."

"Everybody works hard," sighed Marcello. "We all take our turns. That's just the way of things."

"It's a good way," said Peppi.

Marcello took a sip of espresso. "So tell me, Signor Peppino, how is it that you speak our language so well, and what brings you all the way across the ocean from America to my little trattoria?"

"I was hungry," said Peppi with a shrug.

Marcello burst out in laughter. "Well, I hope it was worth the trip!" he exclaimed. "Tell everybody else to do the same when you go back to America."

"I'm not going back to America," said Peppi. "I'm going back to live in Abruzzo where I grew up."

"Che pazzo!" cried Marcello. "You give up living in America to come back here? What are you, crazy?" cried Marcello. "You give up living in America to come back here? What are you, crazy?"

Peppi smiled and took a sip of his espresso. "That's the same question everyone back home kept asking me. Now that I've come back to Italy, people are still asking."

"That's because it's a good question, my friend," said Marcello, wagging his finger at him. Then he broke out in another great smile. "Of course, if you're going to be staying, that's a good reason to go get some new shoes." He was just about to tell Peppi where to find the best shoes in Rome, but then one of the other patrons called to him to order a second bottle of wine.

CHAPTER SEVEN.

The train for Sulmona pulled out of Termini a few minutes past noon. Peppi had spent the few extra dollars needed to sit in a first cla.s.s compartment. It would be a long trip and he wanted to be comfortable. Besides, it would be easier to keep an eye on his luggage, particularly the case containing his bicycle, which was far more valuable to him than the combined contents of the other two suitcases. For the time being, Peppi had the compartment all to himself, so he settled into his seat and pa.s.sed the time by staring out the window at the flat, uninteresting landscape. Before long his eyes grew heavy and he dozed off. pulled out of Termini a few minutes past noon. Peppi had spent the few extra dollars needed to sit in a first cla.s.s compartment. It would be a long trip and he wanted to be comfortable. Besides, it would be easier to keep an eye on his luggage, particularly the case containing his bicycle, which was far more valuable to him than the combined contents of the other two suitcases. For the time being, Peppi had the compartment all to himself, so he settled into his seat and pa.s.sed the time by staring out the window at the flat, uninteresting landscape. Before long his eyes grew heavy and he dozed off.

When he awoke, Peppi discovered that he had been joined by two other pa.s.sengers. One was an attractive young woman. Sitting one seat over on Peppi's side of the compartment, she flipped through the pages of a fas.h.i.+on magazine. Across from her sat a young, smartly dressed businessman. The young man, Peppi noted with amus.e.m.e.nt, was pretending to scan the headlines of the financial news while periodically looking up in the hope of catching the young woman's eye. For her part, the young woman never so much as glanced his way, completely ignoring the young man in that maddening and devastating way that only Italian women know how to do.

Peppi sat up straight and gave a little yawn. To the consternation of the young man, the young woman turned and smiled at the older gentleman.

"I'm sorry, Signore," she said, pulling her belongings closer to her to make more s.p.a.ce for Peppi. "I hope I didn't disturb you."

"Not at all, Signorina," answered Peppi. "Far worse things can happen to an old man than to wake up and find a beautiful young lady sitting beside him."

The young woman beamed. The young man fumed.

Peppi smiled and turned to look out the window as the train clattered along. The landscape had changed dramatically, the flatlands now replaced by rolling hills that would soon give way to the mountains. It wouldn't be long before they reached the Abruzzo region.

"I hope I didn't miss my stop," said Peppi, stretching his arms and legs.

"Where are you traveling to, Signore?" the young woman asked.

Peppi turned back from the window. "Sulmona," he answered. "And from there to Villa San Giuseppe."

"Villa San Giuseppe," she repeated. "I don't think I've ever heard of it."

"It's a little paese, paese, outside the city." outside the city."

"I've heard of it," the young man offered, hoping to join the conversation. He might just as well have been talking to himself for all the heed the young woman paid him. heard of it," the young man offered, hoping to join the conversation. He might just as well have been talking to himself for all the heed the young woman paid him.

"Forgive me," she said to Peppi, "you look like an American, but your Italian is very good."

"I am an American," Peppi replied. "But I was born in Villa San Giuseppe."

"Ah, going there to visit family?" she said brightly.

"No, I'm going there to live."

"To live, how nice!" said the young woman. She paused and glanced at the ring on Peppi's finger. "Is your wife already there?" she asked.

Peppi shook his head. He glanced over at the young man, who immediately understood the look in Peppi's eyes. The young man gave a little cough, hoping the young woman would get the hint.

"Oh, then she's waiting for you back in America," she continued, oblivious to him.

"No, Signorina," said Peppi gently. Then he explained to her that Anna had recently pa.s.sed away.

"O, Dio!" the young woman cried, throwing her hands up. "You poor thing, I'm so sorry for having asked." the young woman cried, throwing her hands up. "You poor thing, I'm so sorry for having asked."

"Don't worry," Peppi a.s.sured her. "I'm sorry for having told you."

Upset with herself at having made what she obviously considered a terrible blunder, the young woman sat there fretting for a time about how to make up for it. The fas.h.i.+on magazine on her lap no longer held any interest for her. She tossed it aside and looked at Peppi with sympathetic eyes.

"I know it's none of my business, Signore," she said at last, "but I can't help asking. Why are you going back there to live all alone? Where will you go?"

Peppi shrugged and looked out the window. Just then the train entered a tunnel. All went dark for a few moments and the only sound he could hear was the m.u.f.fled roar of the wind caught between the train and tunnel walls. Just as quickly, the train burst back into the sunlight, the mountains now rising all around them. Peppi turned away from the window and saw the sincere look of concern in the young woman's eyes. Even the young man had set aside the newspaper to pay attention. Peppi looked at them both and smiled.

"What is your name, Signorina?" he asked.

"Loredana."

"Mine's Claudio," the young man added.

"And yours?" said Loredana, giving Claudio only the vaguest hint of acknowledgment that they were on the same train together.

"My friends call me Peppi," he replied.

"Tell us about it, Signor Peppi," said Loredana. "Please, tell us where you are going."

"It's a long story," Peppi said.

"And it's still a long way to Sulmona," she replied.

Peppi gazed at her for a time. He smiled again, for there was something pure and irresistible in her youthful eyes. Peppi had never been one to wear his heart on his sleeve, particularly in the company of complete strangers. All the same, he could see no harm in talking about his life and the simple plans he had made for what was left of it. If nothing else, it would help pa.s.s the time. Peppi sat there for a moment, rubbing his chin.

"Where do I begin?" he wondered aloud.

Loredana smiled. "Begin at the beginning," she suggested.

"Hmm, the beginning," said Peppi thoughtfully. "I was born in the mountains. I guess that's a good place to start."