“What’s the matter?” Marco shouted, angry. He hunched over, panting, and his mouth tasted of exhaust fumes.
“I don’t want to ride with you!” Aldo’s eyes flashed with anger in the headlights.
“Because Papa said to? It’s not my fault! I don’t want to race!”
“Everybody knows that but him!”
“So don’t blame me!”
Aldo exhaled heavily. “Marco, listen, I didn’t want to tell you this, but I don’t really train at night. I only pretend to. That’s why I’m not getting any faster.”
“What do you mean?” Marco felt dumbfounded.
“I go elsewhere, and you’re ruining it. I can’t ride with you at night.”
“What are you talking about? Where do you go?”
Aldo hesitated. “I have a woman.”
“You, Mr. Shy Guy?” Marco burst into astonished laughter. “Bravo, Aldo! You’ve been lonely too long, brother!”
Aldo didn’t brighten. “She’s married.”
“Married?” Marco repeated, worried. Aldo had had his heart broken before, as he was too reserved a fellow to press his suit, and his only loves had gone unrequited. As a result, he could be na?ve when it came to the opposite sex, and there were plenty of husbands with jealous hearts.
“Don’t tell. It would kill Mamma and Papa.”
“Agreed.” Marco nodded, knowing their mother. There weren’t enough novenas in the world.
“How long have you been seeing her?”
“About six months. I met her by chance, on the street. Her husband works the night shift, so this is the only time she can see me.”
“You love her?”
“Deeply. It pains me not to be with her all the time, but I can’t not love her.”
Marco felt the same way about Elisabetta. She had been a part of his life for all of his life, and if he had to pinpoint the moment he had fallen in love with her, it had been when he was only eleven. She had tumbled into his arms while they were playing soccer, and the unexpected warmth of her touch had raced through his body like an electrical charge.
Aldo shifted onto his bicycle seat. “I’m going to see her. Meet me at the bridge at ten thirty. We’ll ride home together, with no one the wiser. Goodbye.”
“Goodbye.” Marco felt a mixture of pride and concern, watching Aldo until he lost sight of his white jersey.
CHAPTER FIVE
Aldo
May 1937
Aldo left Marco and raced down Via dei Cerchi, surprised that he had convinced his younger brother of the story. He was a bad liar because he had never had anything to lie about, until now. He had known that Marco would accept the story because romantic love motivated his younger brother. But Aldo was his own man, and though he had been unlucky with women, he believed that love came in many forms. Love of God, love of country. There was more to him than anyone in his family knew. He was charting his own course in life, and the stakes were getting higher for him, in ways he could never have imagined. He was past the point of no return.
He lowered his shoulders and pedaled southward, toward the quiet outskirts of the city. Traffic diminished, and trees and grass appeared, then became abundant. The night grew darker, since there were no streetlights and little ambient light, and sweat cooled on his forehead. He breathed in a deep lungful of air, and it smelled like grass, hay, and manure. He sailed past the Circo Massimo, deserted at this hour, and maintained his speed past the ruins of Terme di Caracalla, hulking shadows in the dark.
He reached the Via Appia Antica, the most ancient route of this ancient city. There was less traffic, but nevertheless it was perilous to cycle here, for he had to keep his tires from wedging between the cobblestones and the road was narrow, made for pedestrians, horses, and even chariots. Tree limbs grew overhead, and he struggled to see in the darkness. In time there were no lights at all, and no houses or buildings. If it hadn’t been for the moonlight, Aldo wouldn’t have been able to see where he was going.
His jersey was soaked, his thighs burned, and his heart pumped hard. He kept his pace even though the wind blew stronger here, and the elevation was higher. He reached a vast, open pasture near a quarry for pozzolana, volcanic rock, and raced across a dirt road in a pasture. He spied an overgrown ravine marked by a lone tree, which was the appointed spot.
He pedaled there, jumped off his bicycle, and slid the flashlight from the pack under his seat, then turned it on. He moved the vines aside and exposed the other bicycles that lay camouflaged on the ground. He left his bicycle with them and covered it with underbrush, an excessive precaution in this rural area, but he could take no chances. He walked thirty paces south, lighting the way to a spot where more vines had been used as a cover. He moved them aside, revealing a tunnel barely big enough to accommodate him.