Somewhere deep down inside, he knew. Yes, somewhere deep in his heart, Benito always knew he was destined to become more than just the average street cleaner.
"Amore?" The young man paused in the hallway of his new home at the soft call of his wife, "Where are you going?"
"Only to sweep the streets, cara," He replied absently as he pulled on his light coat and reached for his wiry city-supplied broom. He proceeded to the front door, but paused to do a few buttons on his vest- Benito turned as he heard light footsteps approaching him.
Eliza was tired, that much was apparent. The two had only recently been married, but she was certain she was already pregnant as she didn't seem to fit into her normal dresses and had resorted to wearing a night gown.
"Again?" She sighed, faded grey eyes searching his face.
He shrugged, "Someone has to. How can we allow our beautiful market places to become so filthy? What will the passing merchants think?"
She smiled and her eyes shone briefly as she stroked his cheek with her palm, "Well, if you think it's that important, bello, I won't interfere with your divine quest."
He nodded and smiled gratefully at her understanding.
"I'll be back soon," He promised and turned back to the front door.
Benito sighed and adjusted his beret with one hand as he stepped into the Tuscan noon. He knew his cause was noble, but still- he felt he could be so much more. His mind wandered every which way until he finally arrived at his destination- the San Gimignano markets. Absently, he took his position, spreading his legs evenly to support himself, and brandished his frizzy broom.
As he effortlessly dragged the bound straws across the cobblestone roads, Benito pondered on the small cleaning utensil's weight yet again. He found it was always oddly heavy, as if there was some sort of weighted metal at its center, but every time he took the thing apart, all he found was wood and straw. After a while he'd learned to accept the broom's disproportionate weight and simply set his mind on his job.
And yet, it seemed no matter how much he swept, nothing got cleaner. Busy Italians hardly even noticed the man as he frantically wiped at the shmears of dirt and other wastes that clogged up the walkways. Benito nearly lost track of all the hours he'd been sweeping until he felt something on his shoulder.
It wasn't really a shove- but it was enough to cause him to lose his balance and stumble forward, the grip on his broom loosening due to the object's considerable weight. He managed to catch himself before falling to the ground, but winced as his tool landed with a loud thud. By the time he turned around to see what had pushed him, it was gone. All that was left was the small trail of a brown cloak, quickly dissipating into the crowd.
Benito clicked his tongue and shook his head as he bent down to retrieve his broom- but he stopped in mid-stoop. Something about that certain push… Now that he remembered, it wasn't exactly a shove or anything designed to remove him from the way- no, it was more of a pat. A pat on the shoulder…Something to indicate he was doing a good job, no?
And if he was doing such a good job sweeping the streets, there must be something else he'd be even better at…Seeing as he was excelling in this area of work it clearly wasn't challenging for him. Perhaps he should find another job!
What about the road though? He found himself questioning worriedly. But the pat on the shoulder…hadn't that meant he'd done enough? Perhaps the road was already clean, and that was the signal for him to go home for the day.
With renewed enthusiasm, Benito purposefully left his broom sitting on the side of the road and marched back home to tell his wife of his beautiful epiphany. He couldn't wait to hear what she'd think.