When he had finished putting on his cycling shorts and jersey, Luca paused to assess himself in the mirror. If one ignored the wrinkled face and the thin crop of silver hair on his head, it would be easy to mistake him for a much younger man, he told himself. Yes, his stomach had taken on slightly more girth since the beginning of winter, but he still stood tall and straight, his shoulders and arms as strong as ever. But most gratifying to Luca were his legs. Even now they were just as lean and sinewy as when he raced his bicycle back in the old days. He liked the hard contours of his thighs and bulging calves. His were powerful legs, power built by untold thousands of kilometers of pedalling a bike, day after day, year after year. Luca loved his family and friends, his town and country; he loved his work, but it was cycling that kept him alive. It was as essential to him as breathing.
“You look wonderful,” Filomena chided him from beneath the bed covers. “Now stop admiring yourself and finish dressing before you miss the group.”
“My head hurts too much to be admiring myself,” he replied. “But thanks for noticing me.”
“Don’t mention it.”
Luca went downstairs and into the kitchen. It was chilly there. Even with his socks on he could feel the cold of the marble floor against the soles of his feet. He made coffee and sat down at the table to drink a cup while he nibbled on some biscotti. It was important to have at least a little something in his stomach, else he would never make it through the whole ride. Little by little, as he sipped his coffee and ate his biscotti, the banging in his head began to fade away. Before long he was feeling reinvigorated enough to entertain the thought of pedalling hard again. Luca took a last sip from his cup before leaving the kitchen to put on his bicycle shoes.
It was a brisk morning, but the Abruzzo sun shone warmly on Luca as he pedalled away from the house. He zipped up his jacket as he coasted down the drive past the modest two-story building that stood near the road at the end of the property. The building housed the factory in which his company made confetti, the delicious hard-shelled candy that was sold all over Italy. The company, a family business started generations ago, had been handed down to Luca when his father passed away. The business had given Luca everything he had: the clothes he wore, the roof over his head, the food on his table. Most important of all, it gave him the money to buy a new bicycle whenever he wanted, as well as the time to ride it. He was eternally grateful for that, and as he always did whenever he passed by the factory’s front door, he made the sign of the cross and blew a kiss up to heaven as a gesture of thanks for his good fortune.
The group was assembled by the fountain when he finally rode onto the piazza. Years ago when he was young, Luca would have been the first one there, waiting for all the others instead of the other way around. But Luca had long ago relinquished his role as leader of the group. Still, he was greatly respected by all for the racing exploits of his youth. As always, he was greeted warmly by the younger riders when he rolled up alongside them. He soon joined in the idle chatter while they waited for the rest of the stragglers to appear before they headed off out of the village.
The first murmurings of “Andiamo!” were being made when someone recommended that they wait for one last rider that could be seen approaching from far down the road. Luca turned and gazed off into the distance to guess who it might be. Whoever it was, he was pedalling hard to get there on time. They decided to wait. Before long the rider had pedalled up the steep little hill that led into the piazza and up to the fountain where all the others immediately began to click their shoes onto their pedals.
Luca, however, paused and gazed through his dark sunglasses at the newcomer. He was an older rider, he saw, perhaps as old as himself, but he looked fit and trim. The jersey he wore was unfamiliar to Luca, but there was something vaguely familiar about the way the rider had climbed up the little hill before the piazza, something about his posture as he rolled up to the group.
For his part, the new rider sat on his bike, returning Luca’s gaze, the side of his mouth curled up in the slightest hint of a smile. It was then that it dawned on Luca and he returned the half smile.
“Buon giorno, Peppi,” he said nonchalantly.
“Buon giorno, Luca,” Peppi replied.
“You know, I’m going to make you suffer today.”
“I was hoping you’d say that.”
Then they pedalled off together to catch up to the group.
CHAPTER NINE
“Let them go,” said Luca. “They’ll wait up for us on the other side.”
They were pedalling up a steep section of road, struggling to keep pace with the lithe younger riders ahead who danced along effortlessly on the pedals. It had been weeks since Peppi last rode his bike with any regularity and months since he trained on any hills. His legs and lungs were on fire. His only comfort was the knowledge that Luca, judging by his labored breathing, was suffering just as much.
The ride had started out pleasantly enough. As they rode along out of town, Luca had introduced Peppi to the rest of the group. From their reaction, Peppi could tell that his name had been mentioned before. “That’s Peppi,” he had heard the younger riders whispering respectfully. “Luca’s old teammate. He won a sack of races in his day.” That he had been so well remembered gave Peppi a warm feeling inside.
Now, however, that comfortable feeling of warmth in Peppi’s heart and soul had turned into the acute discomfort of his aching leg muscles as the road grew steeper still. He and Luca slowed to a crawl, so much so that the two were almost in danger of falling over sideways. It was only pride and sheer determination that spared them both from the humiliation of having to dismount and walk the last few meters to the top; they would have preferred to drop dead on that very spot. Mercifully, the road leveled out as they reached the summit of the climb. They pedalled over the top and were greeted by the view of a long, gloriously flat road winding its way through the valley below.
“I think…you’ve suffered…enough…for today,” declared Luca between gulps of air.
“There’s…always…tomorrow,” Peppi puffed in reply.
They coasted down the hill and gradually caught up to the other riders. By then the group had settled into a moderate tempo, allowing Peppi and Luca to cling to the back with a reasonable amount of effort. Soon they had recovered enough to join in the paceline. Peppi stayed behind Luca, letting him lead the way up to the front as he had done so often years ago when the two raced together. Luca had just reached the front of the line and was taking his pull into the wind when Peppi happened to look down for the first time at the rear derailleur of his friend’s bicycle.
“Luca!” exclaimed Peppi. “You’re using Shimano?”
“So what?” called Luca over his shoulder. He pulled off to the side to allow Peppi to pass to the front of the line.
“A nice Italian boy like you, using Japanese components instead of Campagnolo,” said Peppi, clicking his tongue as he went by. “I don’t believe it.”
“Hey, welcome to the global economy,” replied Luca with a shrug. “I would have thought a nice American boy like you would understand.”
At that the two of them laughed. The others in the group smiled and laughed with them for it was good to see two old friends reunited after so many years. The whole crew pedalled on, jabbering all the while about little else but racing and riding, about derailleurs and pedals and gear sets and wheel hubs and about who was going to win the Giro that year. Those were the things most important to them at the moment; little else matters when you are riding a bike.
When they all finally returned to Villa San Giuseppe, it was nearing midday and the bright sun warmed the piazza as the riders rolled in. They gathered once more around the fountain and chatted a while longer before heading their separate ways for Sunday dinner. Before long only Peppi and Luca remained. They got off their bikes and sat on the steps by the fountain.
Peppi looked about the piazza, trying to reconcile his memories of the place with the scene now pr
esented to his eyes.
“Things have changed,” he said.
Luca looked about the piazza with him. “Everything changes,” he replied. “But you know, at the same time, everything stays the same. Sometimes it all just looks different to you.”
“But where did all these cars come from?” said Peppi. “When I left there were maybe one or two in the whole town. Now it looks like everyone has one.”
“Ayyy, that was after the war when you left,” said Luca with a wave of his hand. “No one had anything back then. Life is easier these days. If you’d stuck around, you might have a car or two of your own by now.”
“I’d still prefer my bike,” said Peppi.
Luca grinned and nodded in agreement. “Your Italian is still very good, by the way,” he told Peppi. “I’m surprised you haven’t forgotten it after all these years.”
“You can take the boy out of Villa San Giuseppe, but it’s hard to get Villa San Giuseppe out of the boy,” said Peppi.
“Bravo,” said Luca. Then he paused and gazed at his friend for a time. He nodded his head toward Peppi’s hand.
“I see a ring on your finger, Peppi,” he said, “but I don’t hear you mention a wife.”
Peppi looked down at his hand and shrugged. “I can’t bring myself to take it off,” he replied.
“I understand,” said Luca. “Children?”
Peppi shook his head. “How about you?”
“Two,” said Luca, unable to suppress a smile at the thought of his children. “A son and daughter, and two grandchildren! Who would have imagined, eh?”
“That’s wonderful,” said Peppi. “When do I get to meet them all?”
“Soon,” said Luca, “but first, amico mio, tell me what finally brings you all the way back to visit Villa San Giuseppe after all these years?”
“I haven’t come to visit,” said Peppi. “I’ve come to stay.”
“To stay?” said Luca, surprised but clearly delighted by the news. “But where, here in town?”
“I thought I’d live in the mulino,” Peppi answered. “In the house where I grew up. It’s still mine by right.”
“Il mulino?” said Luca thoughtfully.
“Yes,” said Peppi. “I want to go see it right now before I go back to Sulmona for my things. Why don’t you come along, just in case I’ve forgotten the way.”
“Well—yes, of course,” said Luca, his brow furrowed. “But first, why don’t we go to my house. My wife is making dinner. I can give you some dry clothes to put on, we can eat and talk, and later on I’ll drive you back to Sulmona. Then we can go see the mulino.”
“Okay,” said Peppi. “A nice home-cooked meal sounds very good to me right now.”
“Va bene,” said Luca, patting him on the back. “Andiamo.”
“I hope your wife won’t mind having an unexpected guest.”
“Don’t worry,” Luca assured him as they pedalled off. “You’ll like my wife. She’s the best cook in all Abruzzo!”
CHAPTER TEN
Luca and Peppi were discussing peppers and tomatoes and the cultivation of grapes when they finally came to the house a short time later. Luca lamented his lack of time to spend taking proper care of his garden.
“The factory keeps me busy almost every day,” he complained to Peppi. “And then if I feel like riding my bike for a while—well, there just aren’t enough hours to the day.”
“You just need to get up earlier in the morning,” Peppi chided him.
“You and my wife should get along very well,” said Luca with a rueful sigh.
Filomena had seen them walking their bikes by the factory and up the path to the house. She assumed that her husband was dragging home to dinner another hungry straggler from his pack of cycling cronies. The extra plate was already set on the table by the time the two walked through the door.
Besides Filomena, Luca’s son, Costanzo, was there with his wife, Maria, and their two teenage children, Gianni and Vittoria. Only Luca’s daughter, Lucrezia, who had gone to visit friends in Pescara, was missing. When Luca first introduced Peppi, all of them, Filomena included, gaped at the newcomer as if they could not believe their eyes.
“You are Peppi?” said Gianni with great respect. “The bicycle racer?”
“I don’t believe it,” said his sister. “All these years I thought that you were just someone Papa Luca made up in his imagination.”
“I’ve been gone a long time,” said Peppi with a shrug. “It all seems like a dream even to me.”
“Vittoria, Gianni, stop staring at him!” exclaimed Filomena. “Go sit down at the table. You too, Costanzo.”
“But they’re right,” laughed Costanzo. “It’s almost like we’re meeting a ghost. My father’s talked about you for so many years.”
“That’s what friends are for,” said Luca happily. “Now, Peppi, let’s get you some dry clothes and then we can all eat.”
The long, perfectly choreographed meal that followed surpassed even Luca’s lofty predictions. When everyone finally gathered around the dinner table, Luca poured the wine while Filomena brought out for appetizers a platter of bruschetta and another of fried olives stuffed with prosciutto. Soon after came the pasta alla chitarra, thin strands of pasta tossed in a savory sauce of pancetta, chopped tomatoes, olive oil, and cheese. Il secondo piatto consisted of tripe, the lining of the cow’s stomach, boiled and served in a zesty tomato sauce. There is no more powerful reminder of days past than the aroma and flavors of the food one loves. Everything Peppi had tasted to that point, every morsel, had evoked some memory of his youth, but the tripe in particular pleased him for it had been one of his mother’s specialties. He made a point of telling Filomena so as she was preparing to serve the main course of roasted lamb garnished with artichokes and fennel. Along with it she had prepared broccoli rabe and fried cardoons, a hearty, thistlelike vegetable that managed to flourish even in the chilly climate of the Abruzzi mountains. All in all, the meal was a staggering performance.
After dinner, while the men contemplated their bloated midsections, Maria and Vittoria cleared the dishes while Filomena prepared the coffee and dessert. Luca settled back in his chair and gave a contented sigh.
“What did I tell you, Peppi,” he said, patting his stomach. “Is my wife the best cook in all Abruzzo or not?”
Peppi let out a contented sigh of his own, for it had been many weeks since he had eaten so robustly. He smiled and nodded in agreement as he eased back and looked up at the photographs displayed on the wall behind his friend. There were, he noticed, pictures from the early days when Luca was still racing and others from when he and Filomena first met. The wedding pictures dominated the center of the wall as did the pictures of the children and grandchildren.
Luca leaned back and looked over his shoulders at the photographs. “You’re in one of those, you know,” he said.
“Which one?” said Peppi.
Luca pointed to an old photograph hanging amidst several others taken years and years ago. Peppi stood and went to get a closer look. Tears came to his eyes when he saw it. It was a picture of Peppi and Luca after a race, their arms around each other’s shoulders. They were smiling from ear to ear, so young, so full of strength and vitality.
“I remember that race,” said Peppi. “It was our last one together. You won it easily.”
“That’s because you let me,” replied Luca with a grin. “For once he gave me a leadout in the sprint instead of the other way around,” he said to Costanzo and Gianni.
“It was the least I could do,” said Peppi, still gazing at the photograph and the others around it. Looking at them reminded him of so many places that were once familiar to him, but about which he had since forgotten. Mostly, though, he studied the faces of the people and friends that he had known and loved so well, many of whom he knew were long gone by now. He turned from the wall and sat back down at the table.
“You have a beautiful family, Luca,” said Peppi. “You too, Costanzo.”
“No,” answered Peppi. “My wife and I always wanted them, but none ever came along. That’s just the way it goes sometimes in life.” He looked at Costanzo and smiled. “So, do you work with your father?” he asked him.
“No,” Costanzo answered to his surprise.
Luca let out a low grumble of irritation. “He works in Torino,” he said ruefully. “Can you believe it? My son has a family business right here, but he decides to go work for strangers in Torino.”
“I’m an engineer!” Costanzo protested, but with a laugh. “It’s what you sent me to school for. There’s nothing for me to do in a candy factory. Besides, you still have Lucrezia working for you.”
“Uff,” grunted Luca, rubbing his forehead. “It’s more like I work for her.” He looked at Peppi and shook his head. “I don’t know what I’m going to do with these kids.”
“I wouldn’t worry,” grinned Peppi. “I think you’re all doing just fine.”
Filomena brought out coffee to go along with a simple cornmeal cake and a plate of fruit. Vittoria and Maria set out some fresh plates and they all sat down to have dessert with the men.
“So, Peppi, you’ve made my husband very happy today with your visit,” said Filomena. “And to think I almost couldn’t get him out of bed on time for the ride this morning.”
“I was sure he’d be there,” said Peppi.
Luca laughed. “I wasn’t.”
“It was a good ride,” said Peppi, “and a wonderful meal, Filomena. I couldn’t have hoped for more on my first day here.”
“Where are you staying?” asked Maria.
“In Sulmona,” replied Peppi. “But I plan to move back into the house I grew up in. It’s still in my name.”
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