Pietro slipped past the little wooden door into the darkened room, ducking his head to avoid bumping it against the low beam across the top of the opening. He turned and, spreading the palms of his hands against the edge of the door, he pushed it closed more slowly than he had opened it after noticing the creak that the old hinges sounded when made to work.
“Nonno,” he called softly. “Nonno, sei sveglio?” “Grandfather, are you awake?”
NonnoNonno, sei sveglio?”He got no reply to his whispered question, so he stood still in the darkness to let his eyes adjust to the dim light of the little room. Even in darkness, he knew that the roof beams were only inches above his head, big broad timbers that held up the rough-hewn ceiling. As the darkness thinned and his sense of sight slowly returned,
