Other minor event, but the impact is comparable with the death of Presley, was the killing of John Lennon, magna pars of the Beatles. A shot in December that eighty (at 22.50 on the 8th, the news lay) a stout fan, who wanted everything for himself. A lunatic, were quick to pronounce massive media market and opinion makers of academic quality, more or less well versed in Adlerian psychology. A schizophrenic, what else can a guy shoot five pistol shots to his idol (he died, yet the record, 19 minutes after the shooting, at 23.09). At the time of the 'insane act "Mark David Chapman in his pocket a copy of Salinger's masterpiece," The young Holden. " It saw no dissonance between the cult of that novel starring a young sbalestrato, anarchist, braggart and poor moral standards (though humanly sympathetic), and the militants declared within the Evangelical Church (with a voluntary practice). Listening to him, he wanted to "punish Lennon, who would betray his (and other) ideals: its Lennon, the singer of peace! The boy's "saucy" consistency, which had returned to Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II knighted the nomination.
The context, reports a strong possibility, almost certainty that Chapman had not even clear awareness of the true motive of his "shot" alleged schizophrenic. A Gulizza that crime seemed yet another confirmation of his theory: human love has ancient roots anthropophagic. That is, it has (in a radical examination) as a branch, more or less saldamanete sublimation, the primum movens biological hunger, in fact. With this in mind, rather than to schizophrenia, the case suggests a paranoid fixation. So strong as to hide behind the same subject motivation weird, but functional to the regressive pull radical. Killed by him, the hero was too fond of his own: they have a bell'agitarsi other fans, none of them can diminish the exclusive possession. A sort of mystical incorporation.
And so I said, with a judicious mix of serious and humorous, sixteen year old cousin to former lover, in the time average of the sixties, the "sacred music" of those barons. On the phone from Milan, he said the news with painful memories, but now down from his role as a biologist, well-paid at major pharmaceutical companies (I say plural because of its easy to pass from one to another second impeccable calculations of materials benefits, money and career).
* "If there is a God, chaos and death will appear in its list of attributes, if not, nothing changes, because the chaos and death suffice to themselves until the end of time. He did not IMPORTING what incenses, you're a victim of transience and dissolution, anything you do not worship nothing will prevent, the good guys and bad guys have one destiny, one accepts the abyss monsters and saints, the idea of \u200b\u200bright and injustice has never been anything but a delusion, which we caught on for reasons of convenience. In truth, the origin of religious ideas and moral man, drive him out of man is a nonsense, the man is a metaphysical animal, who would like that the universe exists only for him, but the universe it ignored, and the man is populating the console of this indifference space gods, gods in his own image. So we can live to be content with empty principles. But these principles are so beautiful and so comforting fall into nothingness when we open our eyes to the death and chaos we live surrounded by, in constant danger. Faith is not a vanity among the other art of deceiving the world about the nature of man. "
Albert Caraco, Breviary of chaos
* The woes as the proverbial cherry: one leads to another. Even ectoplasm "news." That was also the year of 1980 Ustica: that is, the plane shot down by mysterious killer hunt in these waters too discreet who would not disclose ever the names of performers and sponsors of infamy-misunderstanding. Another of our mysteries, another story full investigation reconstructions thesis and antithesis, screening accusers unnecessarily tampering with radar traces of military presence out of place. Among the 81 victims, a young mother, the daughter of a neighbor: he came from Palermo. A beautiful woman, who kindled admiration and respect. He let a child of a couple of years. In memory, I see the father walking in our streets, after the fatal event, like a sleepwalker larval (1).
Year funeral, never anything else in time of peace (who was always on: spare calandario and edges of the globe), that 1980 slaughter of nature and men, as if to race "who" knew better than to show the face of fierce uncreated creation: Ustica, Bologna, Irpinia, ... And more murders of political terrorism, addicted to illusions about the driving force of a simplistic apostolate to the blood: other priorities of the people uneasy workers. Neither the choice of targets incomprehensible (which were the most) helped to understand that strategy tortuously oblique.
the floor of the retractable door-computer table lies a long time (I know more for what purpose) one of the cards shown and those who accompany the CD-Rom of the newspaper La Repubblica: I read "What happened" in that year . The election of George Bush for president the United States. In the list Chaos-death. The explosion of a jumbo jet over Lockerbie Pan Am for a bomb on board. The tragic plane crash at Ramstein tricolor arrows. Occhetto The election of a new secretary of the Communist Party. The assignment of nine Academy Awards in "The Last Emperor" by Bertolucci. The Olympics in Seoul. "And more." Below, the ad-interim of the 5th CD-Rom, "That year happened. The collapse of the Berlin Wall. The repression of the uprisings of Tien An Men "yet the blood of young lambs improvvisatisi rams little credibility. "The 'poison' in Palermo and the letters of 'crow' (the burr whole "down with Falcon"). "The battle for control of Mondadori (Mammon now and forever). "The death sentence against Salman Rushdie by Islamic fundamentalists" (strange fate of a word fundamentalist, say in the appointment of murderers. "And more."
In that 'other', and the other of the two Cd -Rom, there are, prominently sulfur, great wars prodigal of blood: Iran-Iraq (eight years of slaughter, with the brilliant gimmick de-mine minefields pouring the tender meat of Iranian children: Gloria, MISUSE, the great religious revival after the ouster of the sumptuous royal tyrant), Afghanistan (Taliban-USSR: super-assisted these, by the criminal U.S. and salad), Congo, Ethiopia, Sri Lanka, namely, the first Gulf War, Bosnia, Serbia, Kosovo, Rwanda and the way sum: so many names, so many horrors of human carnage swollen too human. And many earthquakes beautiful, full of dead and wounded and maimed and malmorti, exhibitions undoubtedly lead to the seismic Providence, always on alert of emergency (to lighten the burden on the man-made body too used to "Gaia, the living planet"). And what about the other instrument devised by rebalancing too wasteful inventive Nature, the dear tested epidemics wonderful pedigree, who have tried and continue to bleed like a English groped by those invisible to the cube which killer are bacteria and viruses, mutations are always ready to get worse? Ebola, bird flu, mad cow disease ... Not to mention the new successes of cancer usually noble career of thousands of years, the ALS patients, the recent (in terms of decades) Aids. And so on enhancing the project theo-cosmological ID, which so intoxicates those babies, unaware of the scientists and other believers of sadism hilarious oxymorons talkative mother nature squanderer.
Talking about it is as useless as possible, what would add to the realistic picture of some other World War massacre genocide, versatile empire-drunk-to-power, Satanic Islamic terrorism response, but that holy (holy Christian West against the Great Satan !) and via crowding in the run between dilated lazy writing and fast paced events? But it is mocking this "holy war", so tragically remote from beguzze neighborhood told by our mustachioed Verga, realistic innocent. * The last temptation
press to receive hospitality in these rooms of memory, aided three things: an old letter that mentions the danger Uncle Silvio Mau Mau writing to my father a question in a third of high school kid to have more news on Kenya's Jomo Keniatta and revolution; ultrasintetica the answer to the question based on the textbook and engagement with the class to spend a history lesson to Kenya. Apart from the fuel point out perhaps the most decisive: the coincidence of the birth of Kenya with a free year of my knowledge of Susy and her class. Which unfortunately coincides with the date of the killing of black John Kennedy.
A website helps me. Skipping the pre-colonial history of Kenya. The resistance to colonial sopercherie begins early in Kenya: already in 1922 there is a movement to a less unjust land distribution, the association of young Kikuyu. In March of that year he was arrested Harry Thuku, head dell'Associzaione. British police fired on a crowd that calls for their release: outcome, 21 deaths among the protesters. More than a hundred, they correct the Kikuyu. The multiplier effect of martyrdom was swift: from that time thicken political rallies against colonial oppression. For example, forced labor and the "hut tax" civilizing a brilliant idea to extend the revolutionary fire. Not asked as better working conditions and more equitable distribution of fertile land: they began to ask the Uhururu, freedom. Was born in '24 "Kikuyu Central Association (KCA), soon joins forces with other groups of different ethnic groups but convergent political agenda (for example, of the Luo tribe, the largest ethnic group after Kikuyiu. The colonial government makes concessions for the parade (assemblies, and the like), but begins to seize additional land for the good life of the settlers. The Church offers more opportunities for clashes: condemning female circumcision, is guilty of unacceptable interference to the "natives." Fertile soil, the dissent, for the birth of independent religious movements that will soon come alive with political nationalism. Since 1935 the main tribes form the Patriotic Association, which in 1940 the British government house and arrested the leaders try to dissolve (even with the unproven charge of conspiring with the Italian consulate). Again, the effect is contrary to desire. The "advisor" Eliud Mathu, the first African in that colonial Legislative Council of Kenya, founded a strong political organization, which in 1946 assumed the name of the Kenya African Union (KAU), and where to enter all the Kenyan ethnic groups, but with clear predominance of the Kikuyu. From this dominant ethnic group is out of the man who will lead the all'indipedùndenza Kenya, Jomo Kenyatta. In those years the future "father of Kenya" has passed fifty years and has an existential journey full of experiences. The pastor's son has even achieved a degree (...)
* I have to quit that story on synthetic Kenya: will take it back, I hope, later. Now I can not. I do not feel. Last call Susan told me a secret that Dripped Blood and pus. I try hard, but I can not talk about it in the agenda. The enormity of what paralyzes me. I am writing this dumb suggestion after some months of delay. In fact, total removal of writing romance: what's the horror of war policy resulted in massacres did not did this news: abysmally so far from any suspicion and fear of my ability. Maybe I'm trying to win the lock. But do not think I can do it.
I was repeating several times heard the bad news: the eldest daughter in a relapse of anorexia. "But how? ─ I say more! She has a degree, a specialization, a job, is married with a young man who adores her: what she needs to stop this before? "Susy had one of his shots of impatient surprise:" What are you surprised? And 'the disease! "Yeah, but what that means? This kind of disease etiology are well, they can be tackled with success, although difficult and perhaps partial, once identified the causes can be removed. Gradually, with tenacious patience and loving mother complicity. And I ventured an attempt at explanation: "Maybe, I said, she does not accept, even today, a father can give up so easily to a daughter, and two daughters even here? Perhaps the abandonment as it conveys a feeling of inadequacy, failure, even in noisy quell'affettività, guilt? The retropensiero might be, was unable to avoid, and then win, hostility or indifference of the father does not feel equipped enough for this miracle to regain it, I know ... "But Susy cut short, in that ' Last call: "What do you mean father and his abandonment, but what inadequacy! His wrath is something else. I showed him this summer ... "*
I tremble still with that grim revelation. And here I stop. Unable to call, again, the unfortunate mother. What do I say when all the useless words I said on that occasion? Happens to me a bit 'as seismograph that is unable to register for access to a seismic event of shock: in these cases, the only witness to the event that the device can provide is its inability to provide it, his failure to excess collision.
It is not my lucky lighting: I found it in an essay by a French philosopher, used to say the unspeakable Holocaust, or the inability of language (in whatever form and power) that can adequately express A must for every horror that derailed by each bank and limit Jurassic of our nature. The loan will save me honest complaint of theft, but not by a shiver of embarrassment to use it again for a horror, though, but of unparalleled proportions with excess multipole of the Other, is not some kind of abuse? Maybe I should cut those lines. Maybe cut it.
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PART THREE
"I want to write the great book. I feel in the mood. I want to say things that perhaps no one has ever said. [...] As I told you, hope to make a shot is in the novel and the novel I want to write is such as to make shot. Maybe, if I can finish it, an awful book, will make the effect of a bomb. [...] I have no intention, I assure you that writing this book, but the difficulties are ten thousand times larger than those of the novel. "
Federico De Roberto, Letters to his mother
*" is written for make plausible reality. I do not know the others, but I was always struck by the improbability of life, always seemed to me that at any moment someone would say: "Enough, it is not true at all." So I think we have to write to try to believe this impossible and could throw of the dice, that it should, if the universe is a metastasis crazy, a little 'pretend mimarla, a little' to seek an order to deceive us and save us. I think this is the civic and humanitarian duty of the writer, scribe get together and legislature of chaos, guardian of the law and all disturbers of the peace, a thief of fire leading men the secret of the ashes, a confessor of the unhappy, a sacred light , a god descended to die for all "
Gesualdo Bufalino, the reasons for writing, in lost wax
* Who will have the patience to follow us so far will have realized that something wrong messed the logic of the times. Inevitable that the unidirectionality of the monster bulimic played hide and seek, to pretend to go back and then forward again, and then ... In short, the usual rigamarole of telling that s'accapiglia over time. But that's not what I want to bother you now: this is trivial, even if complicated (and convoluted, perhaps up to sophistical tricks of Augustine of Hippo - with its claim of time as distension minds, and down to the magician Heidegger - with his time "ecstatic." Indeed, until the ultra-super-ontology magician and professor. Emanuele Severino, unperturbed voracious gobbling of Time and castrating iperloico Becoming the impossible.
The tangle between telling and living, the relationship between the facts narrated and narrating the real-time, who tells them, stopping, retracing his steps, speaking on already written, adding deleting editing in a thousand ways: nothing more fascinating. For those who have, just, and has no time to lose more substantive things to say. Or has the playful impulse hypertrophic (to Borges, for example, with its "Fictiones", aka "Library of Babel"), to the point of sacrifice, things, to the pure delight "geometric." No, here I mean only that the author of the diaries with my relative, but still large, Freedom transferred in this twisty tale overfed, has been identified for some time: it was among the two or three that I suspected. A little research I put in the hands of the country of residence and phone number real. We felt, met told. And in one of our meetings in amarcord decided to reveal the secret that boiling was not able to draw on the pages of his diaries diary. I could not - I said - and any attempt to break the spell arenas against "a wave of nausea: the feeling of my dirty pages. Spills with something non-recoverable: contamination, demeaning, like a loathsome disease, by social exclusion. "A special form of leprosy and AIDS, of radioactive contamination. And the more you have, the more you add in short, I heard a man in a critical crisis of conscience, "less" than the person who has gone to reveal (or building) in its pages: sometimes so brave, so bold. So au pair with the "shame of the world radical" (his expression, that I, perhaps, but I have to check, I cash in my free will rimescolante: for an intrinsic excess of "pessimism").
not hide something of its difficulties, rather a lot, hath been communicated to my fearlessness. So that wanders, pull it in and go along for the long hesitated to get into an argument. But as the push and pull has lasted long enough, let's see if I can immerse myself in the next row (I leave the cacophony: it is so fit!) in the liquid nausea. On the evening of extreme confidence, I brought Paul Try the main bar of my country to the sea. We took a coffee at the counter and left the small youth cicalante Babylon at the tables scattered on the edge of the square seized by the use in granting (a phenomenon that affects all the inhabited areas of Italy). And slowly sliding toward a less frequented stretch of beach, leaving behind the crowded promenade teeming variety of man-made (with the usual greedy piece of beautiful women and girls "umbilicate).
Conversation (in specimen). He: "We must end this endless story. I'll tell you what I have not dared (I was not allowed: you choose) to write about my private pages. Who also are aware of the worst atrocities. When Susanna replied to my hypothesis anorexia applicant's daughter with that shot almost aggressive, he added, this excess of cosmic filth. " I
. "Hm! Good start. And do not deny that I find amicable this reluctance or repugnance in a free spirit like you. "
him:" Maybe I'm not so free as you think, and as I believed myself. There is also a copious series on self-deception in self-analysis. But we're to the point. "
It stopped. And I pulled a sigh that seemed too long. He also began to find his exaggerated this reticence, and a block so inconsistent with his usual frankness. It began to confess, and began to explain: "I repeat to Susanna my daughter's illness on the etiological hypothesis: that the girl in his hypersensitivity, may have unknowingly been faulted for not having the force of attraction to the father to prevent abandonment. Susan snapped angrily: 'What do you mean father and inadequacy. The girls suffered from the presence of the father, not the absence. And if they are released with relief: our shores, more and more often, were a torture for them. The problem (Let's call it that) was not the father, but another one! ' 'Another?' 'Yes, another' I thought of an in-law, uncle, or that one of his abuse. I asked, 'Who, then?' And here the super-bang exploded: 'MY!'
"That's the bomb. I did not remember, Susan, such a cry, but cried, in his twenties. In joy or in communicative aggressive tension. Even in moments of visceral anger against teachers or family members it was an equal gushed. Trivial my pathetic 'Nooo!' She cut short, decided, 'Yes, but, unfortunately, yes! Grandpa, you know. " At my puzzled sbalestrato, inconclusive 'in what sense?' Susanna said, still screaming, to condense this small absolute black tar, 'raped her'. "
* Grandfather, then. Here is the monster. Inexcusable, the sensitivity of Paul, worse than a Nazi torturer and a Taliban cutthroats. Worse than a sadistic pedophile. A grandfather Beelzebub! Gilles de Retz in a reduced size. One can imagine a horror more shocking? To this effect were the utterances of my friend become a grandfather, he lived a tenderness hypersensitive to the first grandchild. But we continue the story of Paul.
During periodic stays at the parents of daughter happened that the father remained at home alone with her granddaughter more: the other went out together, Susanna, the mother and the second of his daughters, sometimes the little brother Jack, and the dear grandfather was protective against unsuspecting company granddaughter. These were the occasions of the inconceivable. Susan had told Paul that it had lasted years. It began when the girl had nine years. Paul was still reeling telling. Susanna had asked if the idea of \u200b\u200bviolence could only collect one kind of contacts, say, epidermal, non-invasive, non ... In short, a tangle of confusion, trying to mitigate the brutality of the act, not to give evidence of that clash. Susanna he replied with a troublesome, repetitive 'and I know, I know', but then admitted he had blurted out, indirectly, rape full. The revelations of Claudia insisted on violence, and talking was a married woman, confiding in his mother as she does not think that clearly distinguish between rape and violations less drastic? And maybe that "I know" Susan was a symptom of an afterthought against the over-confidence and its effect on Paul, a belated repentance useless modesty discovers that an excess of chance in his posture liberating. That, however, did not last long. He was confident a purulent secret, though. But not the first comer (to use a formula whip). Nor his unexpected companion recent purchase occasionally. He had revealed to a man who had meant so much for her, for his initiation into sex (and even by half). A character of weight and drama, in its reality as a student and friend. Friend of a wife betrayed by her and by her. And that was treated with the loving devotion of a sister. There was no need to repent of that confession. Or mitigate the horror. No, no: his daughter had been clear: violence penetration. Repeated over the years, at every opportunity of solitude to two. Perhaps this extreme form will be coming after nine years later but who knows what next. Years? Like turning the knife in the wound of questions of a mother torn by quell'inezione of hemlock, which corrodes slowly and kills the most jealous of maternal psychological complexity?
The child, then adolescent, then as a woman, had kept that secret inside until the summer before the phone call, so to speak for about twenty years. Paul was the shock of groping like a drunk who speaks nonsense. Bow, in that last phone call, idle questions, awkward questions, careful to avoid that effect torturer. Leaving his mother the choice to say or not say. A nod to the potential defensive reaction of the girl grew angry response it provoked: his daughter was "an idiot", a weak unable to defend themselves. And then, one child, a girl is soon to confuse, to plagiarize. Doubt as to a grandparent who has grown up with her mother, so many tokens of love had given her impeccable? He has made us believe in a game, a game a bit 'special, but innocent. And pleasant are not required to find the hormones in girls behavioral traits typical of femininity. Until the early sexual curiosity. Confusing, vague, in fact innocent, though. Innocent, of course, but with the innocent curiosity of malice finding that the same modesty inoculated gradually develops. Did not you know Paul? Paul knew it in theory, but, confused and frustrated, fired questions to fill the void opened between a sentence and the other speaker of that suffering. Questions a bit 'random, but, as I said, careful not to increase suffering in wretched.
He recalled that even the attempt of the same father to Susanna. A dip in the distant past. A return to bold, may be inappropriate, such as certain questions. For him, that he trusted to have described the incident in his diary, and for herself, which he had led her to relive it. Opportunity, among other things, Susanna, to repeat the outburst, the gritty upset as compared with the fragile daughter: "Sure, I'd play, the coward, but he touched me hard, I was quite another thing, I: rejected it in so badly that took off for ever the desire to try again. I knew I defend, I, not her. My daughter is a weak, stupid. "Am here the words-insults stupid, stupid, and similar qualifications? - Paul thought, but did not say sharply to Susanna. Repeated vague considerations: 'I wonder how will the convinced, confused, and induced to remain silent as a child. Growing up and becoming aware of the enormity of the shame, the girl herself was to be imposed on that secret. Other
the Kierkegaardian "thorn in the flesh," Paul thought, always prone to the temptation of recollection worship. What could be the hypothetical father cursing the terrible Jehovah's eyes on the sky the enemy, the face of this far more vile blasphemy?
Here, then, discovered the worms. The disease, relapse, poor or insufficient effectiveness of therapies swollen roots lie in that man-made cancer. Susanna did not keep the secret: he flat-spotted in almost all parts of the vast family that swelling. It has met with several of its sensitivity. Her sister Tina, the small, four, had begged not to say anything to his companion, his older brother, did the same prayer for his wife that hide the stench of the bilge. With different accents, but the same substance, they followed the other two brothers. Susanna did not appreciate this delicacy: for she was only hypocrisy and not tolerate it. The hatred for the father posthumously degenerate was such that it uncovered the grave to spit at those filthy remains. Had destroyed all the pictures with her face, and suggested to others, brothers and sisters, to do the same. He wants to erase his presence, even from its memory. A mention of Paul to the likely suffering of the mother to the inevitable betrayals of a satyr that was not found in Susanna compassionate understanding, and indeed annoyed indifference, 'their business', he said. As for removing delicacies of brothers and sisters, she was not sure that would have gratified: he felt more prepared to advertise the most sinister secret than to keep silent undeserved to preserving the memory of his father. So said in that memorable call (of course, with its lexicon el'abituale force "syntactic").
Paul reminded the confidences of the summer of '92 Susanna, on the father's health: prostate cancer made him suffer horribly. He would die a few years later.
* In his anguish, piombatale him above the many other misfortunes, the excessive accumulation was furious that makes a lively temperament. He could clear his life and the family context to another to do with it he would. Even at the cost of new NPLs, while not more dew that stifling morass. A father like that pollutes the entire family. Looking back in memory in the distant past and back, Susan was seen having a curse root, and root was poisoned that parent, that tender father so loved in childhood and adolescence. A handsome man to be envied by those who are least fortunate of the country, with a male face regular features, pull-blacks mustache kisses, a muscular body, height Mediterranean, on average, but well harmonized with the whole. What little girl does not love is the father? And when, growing up, if you appreciate the physical traits, especially the sort of falling in love sometimes the difficulty is overcome by the aftermath of immaturity. But while it is true love. When you find out so distorted by the subject, the confusion reflected on every feeling emotion family relationship. It is polluted everything each person each report.
At the time of writing we are not aware of other "secrets" incestuous man in the family, and in fact substantially towards the other children. If you did that awkward attempt with Susan, because he could not have done it with some of the other daughters? Susy was incomparably the most beautiful of the sisters? Without a doubt, but the others were not to be thrown away: all nice, all pretty, each in its own way. Of face and figure: the highest quality and what not, but all well proportioned, with beautiful legs and curves modestly in the flesh, with good breasts firm texture and opulence contained in short palatable Susy least for the vast majority of normal males, and not bogged in exequatur underlying aesthetic finesse.
We had tried other daughters? That is the question at the moment, but perhaps for ever, remains unanswered. Paul had not turned to Susan, of course, but if it veered somewhere in the brain. A Susy, however, had recalled another episode of their cross-section: the scene of Rinaldo in the field when her husband, thief of Paul's letter to his wife (already separated, and yet ignorant "under special surveillance"), had telephoned her family full of scandal and alleged suffering. He remembered, Susy, that outcry, the threat of some kind of slaughter? The clown, in fact, it came to be reflected even in a phone call to Paul with its request for clarification. A word had to make a descent to Sicania. If remembered, Susy? Sure, the remembered, yes, all too well. And said: "Yeah, the moralist, the noble defender of family honor, the untouched virgin daughter, who would willingly violated him. The swine! The infamous clown "
* The conversation between Paul and myself had lasted until the beginning of the night. The beautiful night marina, complete with a nearly full moon to scatter lies seductively on a placid sea incredibly sweet. Drew to a close, amid a sip of iced tea and the other, a cigarette after another on my part, and only a couple smoke from your friend, with his question on the likely suffering of his daughter Susanna also forced to destroy much of of his life: a father who adored already proves to be a monster. It is certainly not the least of the possible penalties provided in the copious well of suffering for the species wise.
In one of the many beaches on the immense beach ion implanted orchestra struck up a lively songs of the years Fifties and sixties. At one point, the Voice of complessino sang "Look at the Moon" Buscaglione, even imitating the vocal style with amazing grip. Paul allowed himself a few minutes amarcord: Speaking of college days, when they expected the afternoon classes in the city more or less filled chewing sandwiches, drinking, moderately, beer and popular songs popular in juke-box so ubiquitous. Recollection the evening on the beach with Rina, Susy, the brother of Rina and grandchildren, and the race running barefoot on the cobblestones of the beach. "Prustificò" other sequences, and when the item is attacked "What a wonderful thing you are" silent, all concentrated in the comparison between the words of the song and its distant experiences with Susy. Those other songs he had escorted by turntable with her and Rina, in her home of Zephyr. The
remember sadly incisive highest point: the disappearance was "contemporary" youth of two of his idols, never disowned: Albert Camus and, of course, Fred Hammond. Maybe a little soft united those two "monsters", but certainly not the same tragic end, the young, seductive charm, so different and yet very comparable utopia of happiness malgre tout. A true mutilation, in this beginning of the sixties, for Paul, who filled the diary. And ever since he began his writings camusiane, articles and essays, all published. But the book, no, miss. An excess of greed citatoria (see case!). Remain a forest of leaves, good food at short writings and recurrent outbursts. But thesis that a colleague had undertaken to settle for two graduate students separate into two distinct periods separated by a couple of years. And they were divided in half the fee, with fellow "tesiografo. Comforting, that I remember: that at least in the absence of the dream book, has remained something concrete to hard work. But it is not permissible to claim a payment? Certainly not in theory. In the division is a free market of "Cosi fan tutte". A version, of course, less hard by the film same title. As for me, never made a claim payment. Nor, as I know, Paul. This indirect involvement is the only case. This does not mean that we can write a whole thesis for a daughter or a granddaughter.
Whatever it is, lies between those two idols Susanna: a name, a context-rich and long-lived. "What a wonderful thing you are when I look at you, What a wonderful thing you are when you kiss ..."
* The telephone contact between Paul and Susan resumed after a longer time than usual average interval between a call to another. In it lasted, and thorny imbranante, embarrassed by the heavy secret. So many dropped opportunity to call:'s had developed a kind of fear, and did not call. Remained alone in the house and was trying to make his numbers, but always ended with delay: who knows, maybe Rina return earlier than expected, perhaps someone will find me children and I have to stop the conversation abruptly, and then, today I I feel fit. Etcetera: excuses and pretexts of grain, in other words. Finally, a mid-autumn evening he decided to break the spurious delay. He called her and the usual note dear hoarse voice replied. He did not need the conventional, "I am ...": his old voice, I wonder if much or little changed since the school was now firmly established awakened in the memory of Susy.
In this first call after the great revelation of other details were added to the composition of the case, but Paul escaped to ask questions to the spinal-sensitive adhesive of the thing. The new details relate mainly to the varied and changing reaction to the scandal of the family. So some response to reluctance piccata Susy brothers and sisters, grandchildren and in-laws.
And then the usual anthology of news disappointed over their lives, their professional collaboration with his friend, encounters more and more rare, the report weary, it is unknown how worn, although protected to some extent, the distance between the meetings and the mutual independence biographical and logistics.
* How many years were spent in this routine slow rhapsodic telephone meetings? I could not specify, but not many. Then there was the unexpected: a meeting "in flesh and blood" between the two lovers incorporeal. Paul was in Calamagna for a short summer vacation, guests, he and Rina of her brother, in the big house of Leticia Marina. One morning Paul, alone, went to Zefiria. She wore a bathing suit: he had a bath in the sea zefirese? He was not sure, and relied on the case. Stroll along the streets marked by his stay away, when he lived in those places. Never to find again that the only avenues: it was all residential upset. In the street Benghazi, on his way to the time of the "first Susanna" the area already occupied by the house and the annexed lawyer ortho Carolui housed, now a common six-storey townhouse condominium, certainly in part illegal (and who knows as healed in that environment widespread complicity between builders, politicians and mobsters). An exchange, of course: what, the apartment (or apartments, at least two, I suppose) lawyer? He was still alive, he? And his wife? Rosanna had been heard: he had an academic career, and at that time was already Professor of Modern History zanglese on campus. But the parents, Paul knew nothing. The house where he lived with his little family had changed too, but it was still recognizable: they had, among other things, walled up the entrance on the street Benghazi, which guaranteed the autonomy of the party Terrana rent. Remained intact was the house next door on the left side of the "proper", with its flourishing garden in front of the building habitable, but she, the buxom lady who lived there, always perfect coiffure, was still alive? Unlikely: he had more than ninety years. The house "garden" was only Terran, and the son of the lovely lady was a student of Paul in his first year of teaching government from alternate Institute annual sales of siderite. A photo of Paul playing at the center of a trio whose wings are the woman's son, Daniel Calvisi, and according to his pupils at the school but to another course: Carmelo La Grotta. The latter was dead. Paul had learned the bad news in unimaginable circumstances from the mouth of a kind his niece. It was, she, with her father elderly CHD among customers in the waiting room of a well known cardiologist liotrese: a university Baron, director of the Institute of Cardiology held in that city, and is still illegal, with visits in the mid-nineties, from 350,000 pounds in free sepia. An exemplary case of health insane. The former student, the girl's uncle, was killed by lung cancer. Only forty-eight years: the classic smoked like turkish. Paul, touched the strings of deep feeling, he began a story about that meeting and its emotional implications. He thought that his hapless student, who had so much in his life magnogreci early on that young nubile niece, sacrificed beside her father, who came from so far away land of dirty money to pay the rapacious gullets of that masked by Cerberus physician and son of a brutal Hippocratic ideal upside down. He thought the return of the young couple in a remote village in the mountains of Limington, in the middle of the night decembrina. In short, there was enough material for a story vibrato and multifaceted. But, like many things my friend, was suspended from the first word-folders. Maybe, someday, will come out, however, made and finished: who knows. There are many papers left behind by this prodigal graphomaniac. Of last sample as well. And the outline. *
zefirese But back to the meeting. Paul continued his nostalgic tour of places rich in personal memories. Until they decided to make a trip to the beach. Advancing toward the waterfront envisions distant scenes: the first meeting with Susy after seven years with no news of the dark distance, the time that you found on the beach, the beach, she with her children and Paul and Rina Giampiero. Then "visualized" the meeting of the "ninth grade" (ie, the sixteenth of the maturity of her) had been there, now "inside" the most central waterfront from the entrance. Other times, irrecoverable and crystallized in mythical remnants of all, as I say, unproductive. And he was now an almost old professor. After all, why deny a whiff of sentimentality? "Those who do evil, who do I write that?" And he advanced towards the stretch of beach that had seen them together, Full of family in the hot summer of 1973 remote. Advancing
, winked to the likely area of \u200b\u200bhalf-year. At one point he had the impression that the ghost of his imagination frapponesse between his eye and the reality: more or less in the section saved a woman in a bathing suit reminded him of Susanna had been raised going towards a local shaded present on that segment of the waterfront. A hat, sun glasses and defended from the fury heat wave blacks did the same service for the eyes. Which therefore were not visible. However, as he approached the similarity of the more astonished. Similarity and body movements, first, that the face was not visible. Of course, not was the cool girl in the past three decades, and it was not the mature red lady met the ministry of labor, and yet he remembered the two. It was uncertain up to a meter away from her, for her part, had not been spared: that purpose will probably watch a bald old man with a ridiculous hat on white skinned? She landed on the waterfront, went up on the sidewalk, approached the local trees, entered. Paul looked at the scene and waited for the mystery woman came out of the bar with his bottles of orange juice and Coca Cola in their hands.
The woman had had time to perceive that rigamarole ambiguous (gallant? Voyeuristic?) And responded to the attention of the elderly with look wroth of quizzically. A few seconds of stunned uncertainty, and the small miracle occurred: Professor, you! Susanna, you! And as ever, and it is this strange case, and that we do here, and what are you doing. I did not ask Paul to specify the duration of the chirp sprained running between the two veterans lost the good and the bad old days. Let us remember that Paul corrected soon Susy: What, me of her and you? E 'for a moment that she was being returned to the pupil of the master, who, in public, she's had to give you or the teacher. And then he felt alone, but who could know? Perhaps in the vicinity was Rina, who could hear and see. He could not remember, Susanna, Rina if she had accepted, in those years, not nearer, to meet and frequantarsi (albeit in the narrow as possible), his Latin you turned to her husband.
There was no one, with Paul, Rina had gone shopping with the sister in the mountain town of Leticia Jonica, and he had made that leap in a entirely solitary Zefiria memorial and sentimental. Letizia was in the Navy, the guest with Rina and her brother cognatina chatty, fond of gossip (we are back in vogue this year: gossip, no rumors. As fitness, not ...). No, there were no children or grandchildren with them. And you, Susan, why was the last place on earth where he imagined? Indeed, in the country where he repeated several times and swore never come back again? Here's the explanation, walking, little magic, and yet far from alien dall'alone magic. There had been a death in the family: an aunt, mother's sister, had died a few days before. She had a debt of gratitude to this aunt (who had brought in good part) and had come to collect the last horn. Not judged by the presence on the beach: what's the point pretending and playing a greater grief of the real? And then, in the village who had to account, after three decades of healthy, double the distance? Judge? It was the last thing the euphoric and frastornatissimo friend could think of. Rather, it is still groping in the rosy mist of surprise to those coincidences, forecasting so difficult, but graciously declined in reality. It had not yet unraveled the skein, had not read other threads as well as unlikely a probable very low simply meeting in the place marked. Why
Susy was right on that stretch of beach, and not further north or further south? The response of the woman's blood turned his share of electric charge. Trust, Susan: "I do not know how, I do not know why - I transcribe and summarize a pocket notebook of Paul - this morning, on waking, I was reminded of the time we were together in this part of the beach and then in this place, only three of us, you and Rina and I alone, already separated (first phase) from the gentleman of my husband. Do you remember? "The idle questions (even so sweet to the palate of emotional memory)! If you remember him? Paul had not forgotten anything significant to their case. Only details of pure outline. At least, so he believed. And so he recited in the ears of Susanna.
"I remember (even if, after twenty-three, in condensed form). I remember your confidences to Rina, my ostentatious pretense of indifference to your charm still in action. Tell your marital mishaps and troubles of your health and small. "
" Forget My Name charm, which was already almost out ... "
" And imagine now, no? But this is not true. It was not true then, at the time of the meeting here, when your beauty shone almost intact, despite their suffering. It is not entirely true even today, rising with difficulty from a benign backdrop of cruel attacks on clinical and existential, but not yet extinguished, only modified, attenuated, if you want, but do not tell me off. "
course, the transcript does not exactly Here is how brutally he was paid in the ears of unprepared Susy: words and simple sentences had to precede the coquetry of this development in orality Litter (intended, perhaps, for further treatment). Susanna answered (more or less).
"Maybe. Maybe only in your eyes. And if not the whole truth, at least comforting to know gallantry. E 'state, one of twenty-three years ago in this place, their first encounter true and sincere, after the storm impact in your in-laws' house. "
" Yes, I remember the coldness of punishment, but so much suffering, Rina, your escape in the corner of the balcony above the garden, your tears
...." "Oh good, I see that you have secured the episodes of our history."
"Have you forgotten that I'm writing our story? I have taken note of all the important facts in my diaries. And sometimes even the minimums. I the most significant I have described fairly extensively, although often in coded key. "
" figures, like? What does that mean, exactly? "
" It means, masked, screened ... "
" From here we arrive, but it is a bit 'generic, no?
"I insist. Most often, the truth was hidden in ironic phrases translated and philosophical argument for a game of smiling anti-metaphysical. As you can see, the main intention was to escape the proper interpretation of Rina, in my case a distraction had allowed the access to my diary. "
No, Susan had not forgotten the commitment of the novel. In fact suggested to him to hurry to finish it, or maybe only a first part, if it was too long (as he had mentioned in one of their phone calls) to be more likely to read it - he said. Given that he smoked, he did not feel sure I can touch the age of the parents. The suggestion was blown out in the penultimate call, Susanna and now he repeated it, believing it was the first to say so.
So she came to view that "peaceful chat." He did not know how and why. Perhaps, he ventured, had a dream on the subject, and did not remember. At a certain age often do not easily forget the dreams. Now that was induced to think about it, but yes, a vague sensation of having dabbled in a dream these characters floating in its "tattered memory." And so it came in that double intentionally place, the beach and the local, to try again, somehow, that moment of serenity in the reconstructed friendship, after seven years of "total darkness and cold." Of course, many things had changed "since that time now legendary. There was no one of the old owners, probably dead, and even that was not the same stretch of beach. The place, then, had enlarged and embellished. How, indeed, the entire waterfront, in the long tarmac and ended with a delightful grove of various flora, especially pines, comforted by inviting wooden benches, a few tables and chairs surrounded by fast for any picnic. The sylph
Coincidentally, while she spoke, she had worked in the mind of Paul stirring other emotions. He too had come in that segment of the beach and then moved by the same local memory. He preferred to call "revival Proust," so intense and vivid, and so were those emotional gush clear some of their unexpected images. It jumped off a strangely alien engraved: "That's why playing the lottery a few times, and even super-enalotto. Our meeting was more or less the same probability of a lottery or a "top five" to the super-enalotto. Yeah, the same. More or less.
After you paste this queue Allotria amarcord the tender sentimental, Paul felt a sense of discomfort (he wrote in his notebook pocket). As a jarring. But, he says, the inclusion slipped innocuous comment on a smile a bit 'ironic Susy. Who wanted to remember: "I think that in our days, do not play, and considered Popular weaknesses, or - as you said? ah, yes - these petty-bourgeois pursuit of happiness. "
" You know what happens, you become more sympathetic to human weakness, with growth in the years on the rump (or Groppino that is). Just do not be overwhelmed and always act with restraint. So do not There is no shame to defy His majesty, divinity indeed, necessary, adjust the final decision of many human affairs. "
As it was blatantly obvious in the most amazing coincidence implications: a death brings Susy Zephyr, Paul is in Calemagna; Susy came alone with Zephyr, left his mark in Milan, bound to work, Paul is moved to a memorial wandering up and down only Zefiria, Susy is on the beach, a dream-oriented stretch of seafront, opposite the local of 1973, Paul also reminds him of twenty-three years before that meeting, and chooses the same segment of the beach and promenade. It takes, like to gather a bouquet of improbable coincidences and achieve partial total.
Paul could not avoid questions about the relationship between you and that he: had difficulty putting together two names that gem "Susanna" next to the "Marco" robber's disturbed peristalsis. Neither Susan convinced that questions were "neutral." He, predictably, it hoped, first, that those relations be exhausted and Susy (yes, better than the contraction, so fragrant, delicious plums) remained free again, but on the other hand, feared the event as a misfortune for her what she would do without that job and that "subsidy"? He could not help her in any concrete way: his meager finances were the responsibility of senior, as always, to the wise Rina's hands, vocationally inclined to save wisely, and his "personal monthly, calculated for modest costs (petrol, some newspaper and book budget price, a cup of coffee a day, and the like) it could fluctuate within narrow margins: to avoid stressful and exhausting fighting interrogation by the wise (and relentless) the households. And then, Susy would accept that help? Idle question: was not sure. Not in those conditions. In other (very different!), Perhaps yes. In fact, of course, because "maybe"?
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(1) A disclosure later than usual Cossiga, mine secrets pudendal (and some chance of interpretation), the fire rekindled the flames of controversy and interest back to lingueggiare around Ustica. Here he revealed the secret, beautiful and round: The objective of the "fuss" was Gaddafi. Who, not being stupid, had provided a trap for his hasty hunters. It went half that thick of unsuspecting innocent: an ingenious trap, then, that Fox is wrong and does a terrible slaughter of lambs. In other words: yet another test of political cynicism.
