EPILOGUE

Matteo

May 1957

Matteo hoisted his books and thumped down the steps, jaunty despite a long day of classes. His suit coat flapped as he loped toward a bicycle chained to a tree.

“Matteo!” Federico called, emerging from the heavy doors in his wake. “Aren’t you joining us for drinks? It’s Friday, amico!”

Matteo pushed his hair off his forehead, pivoting but still walking backward, and flashed a lopsided grin up the steps. “Going to meet my family, Fede,” he called up. “A più tardi.”

“Ci vediamo!” Federico called with a resigned wave, and Matteo tipped his chin and turned back to his bicycle. He dropped his books into the basket on the handlebars, and moments later he was pedaling hard, leaving the university, filling his lungs with cool evening air. He’d just claimed this bicycle, changing out its tires, lifting the seat, and oiling its chain, happy to take it over for now. It was too big for his cousin, but someday he’d fix it up again and gift it to her. After all, it should stay in the family.

He sailed through Rome’s streets, weaving into the ever-more-crowded centro storico. Sunlight slanted over buildings, and doors opened and closed as people emerged for la passeggiata. Matteo careened around a corner and jumped the curb, narrowly missing a boy eating gelato in an impossibly white shirt. Matteo grinned. That kid was one stumble away from ruining his clothes. He himself had been lovingly teased throughout childhood for dirtying clothes, ripping through knees, and scuffing elbows with alarming frequency. His aunt used to take him for long walks, sometimes buying him more than one gelato along the way, which would invariably drip down his shirtfront in the hot Roman sun.

It took a long time to arrive at the trattoria along the Tiber; the streets were packed with people laughing, chatting, and sauntering along in their finest as the sun hung low. Finally, he pumped up the Lungotevere, the Tiber glittering at his elbow, and spotted tables spilling out from an awning onto the sidewalk. His family sat in dappled shade, drinks in hand.

“Ciao, Matteo!” Uncle Giacomo called, seeing him first.

As he swung off the bicycle, his uncle stood, stumbling, and Aunt Francesca reached up to steady her husband. Giacomo had been shot during the war, fracturing his femur, and he’d used a cane ever since. In his characteristic way, he laughed about it, declaring that he and Francesca were a matched set.

Giacomo pressed Matteo’s hands in his. “Took you long enough.” He chuckled. “We’ve already finished half the carafe, kid.” Matteo steadied Giacomo as he lowered back into his chair, straightening his tie and draping an arm around his wife’s shoulders. He was a lighthearted man, attentive and kind, more like a father than an uncle.

Francesca rose a little, smoothing her tailored jacket, and Matteo bent to kiss her cheeks.

“How’s the bicycle working?” she asked.

Matteo opened his mouth to answer, but little Giulia interrupted. “When will you take me for a ride on Mamma’s bicicletta?” His cousin stared up, glasses magnifying green eyes, eight years old and serious as she chewed bread.

Matteo laughed. “Tomorrow? We can go for a trip to the park, sì?” He ruffled her hair, and Giulia shrugged, suppressing a smile.

“How was class?” his mother asked, rising as Matteo neared. Her gaze found his, with its usual blend of concern and love. He told her daily not to worry so much. Yes, he was getting enough to eat. Yes, he was studying hard. No, he wasn’t cold. Of course, there was plenty he wouldn’t tell her. There was the girl he’d started seeing. And the party he’d find with Federico later. And the fact that he was treading water at school, completely at sea.

“Va tutto bene, Mamma.” He bent, kissing her cheeks, and finally took his seat at the table.

“And the biology exam?” Giacomo asked, pouring a glass of wine from the carafe and passing it across the span. Matteo took the glass, wincing internally. Biology had been catastrophic this week, despite his uncle’s help. Giacomo, a surgeon, had inspired Matteo to take an advanced biology class. It was a mistake.

“Terrible,” Matteo admitted. “Looks like I can cross medical school off my list.”

“Allora, you didn’t really want to be a doctor,” Giacomo said, batting away any unspoken disappointment. Aunt Francesca smiled, reaching to pat his elbow.

“It’s too early to cross anything off your list, Matteo. Don’t be so hard on yourself—there are lots of things to be.”

Matteo took a gulp of wine in lieu of saying more. It was true—he was hard on himself, but how could he not be with such a family? He glanced at his mother, her graying hair swept up, her poise unbreakable. Lucia was an important woman. She’d been elected to parliament in 1953, and because she still held a seat, her life was a flurry of meetings and networking. Her occupation fit her, sliding on like a well-made suit. When Lucia spoke, rooms quieted. And Aunt Francesca, currently clipping her daughter’s wild hair back, was a lawyer. She was also something of a firebrand, known for championing the weak and taking on labor cases. Matteo swallowed more wine and looked away from the table. The sky was bright as fire over the Tiber’s bridges, the sun nearly down.

“Matteo.” His mother’s voice pulled him from his thoughts. “It’s all right. Don’t worry about the exam.”

He nodded, trying to clear any unease from his face. Did she know the pressure he felt to become something? Did she know how he worried about letting her down?

She held his stare. “You’ll find your way. We all had to.”

He nodded again, Giacomo passed the bread, and Matteo was relieved as the discussion turned away from his studies, and his future. But his mind wandered as he sat back, listening to his family chat. He hadn’t told them about the nascent feeling he’d had lately, something he could barely articulate. When he thought of his future—stripped of university classes and exams and his expectations for himself—what he saw was his family’s past. Their story vibrated within him, as if yearning to get out, as if it wasn’t quite finished with him yet. And it seemed like more than an account of Matteo’s own childhood, or of his family, or even of his country. The people pouring wine and laughing around this table were connected through a past of extraordinary courage, conviction, and profound love.

Theirs was a story of humanity. Could he tell it, somehow?

Matteo glanced at his uncle, who winked at Giulia as Lucia leaned over to talk with Francesca. They weren’t blood relatives. They’d met during the war, forging ties that bound them together for life. And because Matteo had no father, Giacomo had stepped in.

Matteo looked out over the Tiber again, purpling under its bridges. He barely remembered his real father. His mother spoke of Carlo sometimes, but Matteo could only pull up pieces of the man from his memory: long legs, fingers moving over a checkerboard, an unshaven jaw. A pair of arms swinging Matteo up into a tree. Wide palms. The flash of eyes in the dark, catching moonlight. A voice whispered alongside those eyes, fossilized in his memory. “In bocca al lupo, Lucia.”

Matteo looked back to his family. In bocca al lupo. His uncle, his mother, his aunt, and the father he’d lost—they’d all been in the mouth of the wolf, once. And they had survived. His stare fell to the bicycle, propped nearby. And maybe that was all you could do. Keep on pedaling, despite the wolf at your heels, despite fear, despite uncertainty.

The first stars pricked the deepening sky, and Matteo smiled to himself, recalling the words of his mother’s bedtime story. He looked up, and there were stars looking down at him, and he didn’t feel alone anymore. He started to walk, and he knew where to go. And, Matteo realized, he did. Perhaps he hadn’t decided which degree he would pursue, or what line of work he’d eventually occupy. But he understood, suddenly, that the past would shape his future. That someday, he would find a way to share his family’s story.

“You all right, Matteo?” Francesca studied him, eyes bright in the evening light.

He shook himself back to the present. “Sì, sto bene.” He managed a grin. “I’ll be fine.”