Giorgio laughed heartily when he returned from work later that afternoon and listened to Antonella’s account of Carter’s perilous activities that day. Despite his wife’s opinions of the inherent dangers of working on a roof, he found Carter’s industriousness admirable and worthy of a little treat.

“Come, Carter,” he said, leading him out the door. “We must go see Demetrio.”

Demetrio, Carter learned as they walked through the village, was an old friend of Giorgio’s father. Now long retired, he had once worked with Roberto for the telephone company. From the way Giorgio spoke of him, Carter could tell that he held Demetrio in high esteem. Nonetheless he advised Carter to be a little careful about what he said in front of him.

“Demetrio is a good friend,” Giorgio explained, “very simpatico. But he talks to his wife, Ernestina, and she’s a cacchieressa, a real chatterbox. She blabs everything.”

When they came to Demetrio’s house and knocked on the door, his wife, Ernestina, answered. She was a little woman with a wrinkled face that for some reason reminded Carter of a squeezed lemon. Her husband, she informed them with a wave of her hand, was out back, making his wine.

“That is exactly what I had hoped he would be doing when we came,” said Giorgio with a big smile.

Demetrio was a wiry old man, with a thin, angular face and sinewy arms.When Giorgio and Carter found him, he was rolling an empty wine barrel up the walkway to the little stone shed that was built into the back of his house. Giorgio rushed over to help him, and the two set the barrel on its end just below the level of a second barrel that stood just inside the shed’s open door.

“Demetrio,” said Giorgio. “This is my friend Carter. He’s here visiting from America.”

“Ah, si,” replied Demetrio affably. “My wife told me that there was a young American boy in town. Piacere.”

“Piacere,” Carter replied as the two shook hands.

Giorgio gave Carter a quick wink, as if to say “See what I told you?” Then he turned to Demetrio and said, “Carter has come to watch how you make the wine.”

“Ayyy, there’s not much to see today, I’m afraid,” said Demetrio. “All I’m doing is moving the wine from this barrel into that one.” Then he gave Giorgio a knowing look and added, “Of course, while I’m doing it, we might have to taste a little of it to make sure everything is going as it should.”