Free Home to Italy by Peter Pezzelli

soon feeling warm enough to unzip their jackets. They rode for a while without speaking, each content for the time being simply to listen to the hypnotic whirring of their gears as they turned the pedals over and over.
    â€œI’ve been thinking,” Luca finally said.
    â€œWhat else is there for men of our age to do?” noted Peppi.
    His friend chuckled. “You have a point. But seriously, I’ve been thinking about the mulino.”
    â€œWhat about it?” said Peppi.
    â€œWell, it’s just that the house has been abandoned for so many years. There’s no electricity, no running water. How are you going to manage there?”
    â€œI’ll make do,” replied Peppi. “I don’t need much.”
    â€œMaybe so,” Luca went on, “but no matter what, you’ll need some time to make the place livable. So I was thinking that perhaps you could stay with us for a while.”
    â€œNo,” said Peppi, genuinely grateful for the offer. “I couldn’t impose on you and your family like that.”
    â€œWhat imposition?” said Luca with a wave of his hand. “You forget that my family once lived above the factory when I was a boy. We still have a whole apartment upstairs just sitting there empty. Someone might as well use it. And it might just as well be you until you get settled.”
    â€œWe’ll see,” said Peppi with a smile, “we’ll see. Now take me to my mulino.”
    â€œSure,” said Luca softly. Then he made the sign of the cross and pedalled on ahead.
    Peppi followed close behind, the anticipation within him starting to grow. So many years had passed since he left Villa San Giuseppe, but the image of his boyhood home that he had always carried in his heart and mind was as vivid as ever. He could still remember the road that led out of the village, through the valley, and up a long gentle hill. How could he not, for he had pedalled up it countless times! The mulino stood just over the crest of the hill, set back from the road where a little stream tumbled down from the mountainside. As a boy he had spent endless afternoons fishing in the stream or simply lying on its banks, gazing up at the clouds in the crystal blue Abruzzo sky. Sometimes his father would join him and the two would just sit there quietly listening to the water as it babbled past them. Those tranquil moments were some of his favorite times. When he wasn’t playing by the water, Peppi loved to ride his bicycle into town to visit friends and family. He became a familiar sight, darting in and out of every street and alleyway in Villa San Giuseppe. Whenever his aunts and uncles came to visit, one of them would inevitably pat him on the head and say to his father, “Sandro, how long will it be before your son is champion of Italy!”
    But not all had been fun and games for Peppi. As soon as he was old enough, he worked side-by-side with his parents in the mulino. He arose early and worked grinding the cornmeal each morning for a few hours before walking to school, dusting himself off the whole way as he went. After school he would return home to help fill the sacks and prepare them to be carted off to market the next day. It was hard, simple work that didn’t make them rich, but it gave them enough to keep the family together with a roof over their heads and bread on the table. Only fools, Peppi’s father often told him, wanted more than that from life.
    As he had promised, Luca led him on a route that looped back through the village and out onto the road that led to the mulino. He suddenly slowed, though, and beckoned for Peppi to come up alongside.
    â€œAre you sure you want to go out there right now?” he asked.
    â€œOf course,” Peppi replied. “Why wait?”
    Luca pursed his lips. “I was just thinking that maybe it would be better to go back to Sulmona and get your things first. Then we could do it all in one