Hero on a Bicycle by Shirley Hughes Read Free Book Online Page A

The pain was excruciating. He was kicked from behind and found himself on the ground again.
    He rolled into a ball, covering his head with his arms in anticipation of another blow. Then he heard a voice say, “ Basta! Enough!”
    Two hands reached down and yanked him back onto his feet. He stood there, gasping.
    A fourth man was holding him firmly by the scruff of his neck, something that Paolo welcomed because his legs seemed no longer able to support him. The man was stocky and powerfully built and dressed in the typical faded blue cotton trousers that local peasants wore for work; ammunition belts were strapped over his shoulders and around his waist. He wore very good leather boots laced up to the knee, and his cap was pulled down over his eyes. The lower half of his face was covered by a mustache and several days’ growth of tawny red beard. He was armed with a rifle, like the others, but it was slung across his back.
    What now? thought Paolo groggily, steeling himself for the next assault.
    To his relief, his three assailants lowered their weapons and stood back sullenly, one still stubbornly gripping Paolo’s bicycle. This fourth man was clearly a figure of some authority.
    “What’s going on here?” he asked abruptly.
    “Just a kid nosing around where he shouldn’t. Thinks he can act tough. Wants to join us — but look at him!”
    “Is that his bicycle?”
    “Yeah. It could be useful to us.”
    The bearded man turned to Paolo. “What’s your name?”
    “Crivelli. I am Paolo Crivelli. I live . . .” He hesitated as the man’s grip tightened on his neck.
    “Crivelli? You are Signora Crivelli’s boy?”
    “Yes. I’m thirteen, and I can . . .”
    But his interrogator had already turned back angrily to the others.
    “ Stupidi! Ignoranti! What d’you think you’re playing at? I suppose you didn’t think of asking his name before you started roughing him up? You could wreck everything and get us all shot!” Then he let go of Paolo, grabbed the bicycle, and shoved it back at him. “Take it — go home — presto! — as soon as you can. And remember, you say nothing about this little adventure to your family — nothing — understood?” Then he turned to go and gestured to the others to follow him.
    “But I want —” said Paolo weakly.
    “Just get going — now !”
    Paolo could resist no longer. Forlorn, dejected, and utterly humiliated, he set off, bumping dangerously down the path on his bike and praying that the sharp stones wouldn’t wreck his tires.

W hen Paolo pedaled wearily down the lane and into the yard, he found Maria waiting anxiously, shading her eyes with her hand.
    “Paolo!” she cried. “Where ever have you been? We’ve been looking all over for you. Your mamma wants you, right away.”
    This was the last thing that Paolo wanted to hear. All he wanted to do now was go to his room, lie on the bed with the shutters closed, and try to come to terms with his humiliation. His plan to become a hero of the Resistance — fighting alongside his fellow Partisans for his country’s freedom — now seemed merely childish. That was what those men had thought, anyway. He hated them for the way they’d treated him, but that only made him more determined to join them — to prove his worth and show them that he was as tough as they were.
    He slouched into the hall, where he found Constanza sitting on the stairs. Unusually for her, she jumped up when she saw him and took his arm.
    “Thank goodness you’re back. Something’s up, Paolo. Mamma’s in a bit of a state — you know, all icy calm but pacing about a lot. I’m glad you’re here. She wouldn’t say anything to me until you got back.”
    They found Rosemary in the kitchen, assembling empty wine bottles in a very precise row on the big wooden table.
    “You wanted to talk to us, Mamma?”
    “Yes — come and sit down, both of you.” They sat. She took a chair and faced them. They knew this was serious.
    “My dears . . . my