Free Home to Italy by Peter Pezzelli Page B

the apartment had been locked up and left unused for many years. All was still within. They were in the quiet part of the building. Most of the comings and goings in the factory downstairs took place on the opposite end. Below the apartment were the company offices and a few storage areas.
    The shades were all drawn and the scant rays of sunlight that managed to filter their way in from the outside spread across the room like a dim, gray film. Luca tried the light switch, but the bulb overhead was dead. He stepped inside, parted the shades, and threw open one of the windows. A rush of fresh air and sunlight brought the room to life. Luca turned and beckoned Peppi in.
    â€œIt’s not the Pitti Palace,” he said with a shrug.
    â€œI’m not royalty,” Peppi replied. “This will do just fine.”
    â€œGood,” smiled Luca. “Let’s go get your things.”
    When they returned from Sulmona there was a great commotion in the factory. At first, as Peppi and Luca carried the luggage up the walkway, it sounded as if there were many people screaming at each other inside. As they drew nearer, however, it became clear that only one voice was doing most of the screaming.
    â€œImbecilli!” came the shrill cry of a woman’s voice. “Are all of you fools!” The sound of doors slamming followed. Shortly thereafter, a smartly dressed woman with copper red hair and dark wild eyes burst from the building and stomped toward them in a blaze of fury.
    â€œO, Dio,” muttered Luca.
    â€œSono tutti imbecilli!” the woman declared as she blew past Peppi and Luca like an express train barrelling down the tracks. “They are all idiots and I can’t stand to look at them for another moment today. You deal with them!”
    With that the woman hurled herself into a nearby car, started the engine, and tore away from the building in a cloud of dust.
    â€œMadonna mia,” said Peppi. “Who was that?”
    Luca looked down and shook his head. “Uff,” he grunted. “That was Lucrezia—my daughter.”
    Peppi looked off into the distance at the car speeding away. “I think she’s having a bad day,” he remarked.
    â€œThat’s bad news for us all,” sighed Luca. “Let’s go find out what happened.”
    They left Peppi’s bags by the door and went inside. The workers were huddled at the far end of the factory, their voices raised in fits of mutual recrimination. At seeing Luca enter, they rushed over to him en masse, all of them beside themselves with anguish. Their hands open in supplication, their faces the very picture of contriteness, they all began pleading with him at the same time. Those who could not catch Luca’s eye turned helplessly to Peppi, who could offer no other consolation than a sympathetic shrug.
    â€œPlease forgive us, Signor Luca!” some cried.
    â€œIt was all our fault,” others admitted.
    â€œIt was an accident, we didn’t mean it,” cried others still.
    Luca held his hand up for quiet. “Calm yourself,” he implored them. “Ch’ è successo? What happened?”
    At that they all began talking at once again, each trying to tell his version of the story. Luca held his hand up again for quiet.
    â€œOne at a time,” he told them, “one at a time!” He pointed to one of his supervisors. “You there, Enzo, you go first. Tell me what happened.”
    â€œIt was an accident,” cried Enzo, tears filling his eyes.
    â€œI think we’ve pretty well established that fact,” sighed Luca. “Now tell me all about it from the beginning.”
    â€œIt all started first thing this morning,” he began, “when they brought in the new shipment of boxes.”
    Enzo went on to recount the whole wretched tale. The boxes, he told Luca, through some act of God (for how else could these sort of things be explained?), had somehow gotten