Giancarlo walked the streets that night, turning things over in his mind, until at last he came to a resolution of his own. By the time he returned home, it was well past midnight and his brother had already gone to sleep.

The next morning, Giorgio arose early and returned to work while Giancarlo still lay in bed. No sooner had his brother left the house, than Giancarlo jumped up and got himself dressed. He had not spoken alone to Antonella since the day his father died, and he was frantic to see her again. Not caring what anyone thought, he walked straight across town to the Portinaris’ house.

Antonella was home alone when she came to the door and opened it to find him there. Giancarlo stepped up to the threshold, but did not enter.

“Giancarlo, what are you doing here?” said Antonella in a hushed, anxious voice as she looked past him out the door to see if anyone was watching.

“I had to see you,” he said, “and tell you that I’m going.”

“Going where?” she said.

“I am going to America, just like I planned,” he told her, “but I’m not coming back, and I want you to come with me.”

“What do you mean, come with you?” said Antonella.

“Come with me, Antonella,” he begged her. “Let’s get out of this place and go to America, where we can live like we want and do what we want.”

“But Giancarlo, you know I cannot go with you,” she said.

“Please,” he implored her.

“Giancarlo, my life is here,” she told him. “How can I go with you?”

“What life?” he scoffed. “What is there to keep you here?”

Antonella put her hand to her mouth and closed her eyes. Then she breathed a sigh, and looked at him again.

“Your brother has not spoken to you yet, has he?” she said.

“Spoken to me?” he answered. “About what?”

“Giancarlo,” she told him gently, “last night Giorgio came here and asked me to marry him.”

Giancarlo felt the very life drain out of him.

“And?” he gasped.

Antonella looked at him, her eyes filled with compassion.

“And I told him yes,” she said.

No one came to see Giancarlo off the day he left Castelalto. It was early in the morning, and the rising sun had not yet cleared the mountains when he stepped out of the house with his two bags in hand. As he made his way across the sleeping village, Giancarlo stopped only once, at the piazza, where he gazed off into the distance one last time. Then he went on his way and began the long descent down the mountain, never once looking back.