2010 Nostalgia of waiting .
The entrance bright and vibrant Villa Sorriso seemed worthy of the name. At the reception, the lady from the heavy physical reassuring familiarity about the welcome and made me spontaneously cordial
- Good morning, madam, are the Corriere Teo Mariani. I have an appointment with Mr. Giorgio Carlini.
- Ah, Mr. Mariani, what a pleasure. I am Teresa Galli, spoke with me. - She raised her with difficulty but corpaccione momentum. He wanted to give shows efficiency the well-known journalist, a little 'itself is a bit' out of pride of belonging - Come go with that. It '... down the hall - came out of his closet and I became close, closer than is usually granted - Excuse me know, but at least I had time for a compliment for his articles, so fascinating. I do not lose one. Mica are interviews, novels. You must be a psychologist Bavo, as it does to leave the best memories and deep from the soul of the people.
We walked side by side and as always played to please the admirers.
- Thank you, Teresa, but they are wrong. If you read my pieces I have noticed that almost no questions. I recognize not only the ability to stop you talking. Even if he is silent. For half an hour, because who is silent for half an hour, knowing that I'm listening, has a mind that works and works, digging herself in silence. And I know more than most that I shall distillate. Just wait patiently. This is perhaps not by all. And she likes you, Madam, how like most fortunately, because men are different in size, but the more we go in deeper than we are alike, the closer we get to hear that one that binds us together. So sometimes people finds itself, in my interviews, almost believing that we are all one soul. And this is comforting for many.
She slowed down to my every word, looking from the bottom up until stumbling in a chair in the corridor but ignoring the impact to continue without embarrassment.
Finally we reached the great hall.
I was stunned by the spectacle of a large window that gave the Apennines, and exceptionally bright view.
I thought instinctively that "retirement home" in that place had a value of active, dynamic. A creative rest, what I wanted almost every day, compressed by the rhythms of the work that would not give me time to devote to my passions as I wanted.
- Here it is, our George - Teresa found its materiality as a shoulder to lean man in a wheelchair, he apparently lost watching the horizon, but with an inclination to direct more of those valleys that blue ridge far away.
I saw the weight, but I avoid the imposition of languor, at least in the approach.
- Thank you, Teresa, I will mention his fidelity to my soft words.
The effects of this promise of fleeting glory and everyday, I had always seemed mysterious, but once they arrived on time, a smile lit up her skin making it appear younger and smoother. Ah, if women really knew what love knows unleash the sight of a single moment of joy.
- Hi Teo - I anticipated a surprise Carlini without turns. He was more alert than I had thought at first sight and I lifted a box from the fear of tiring and panting.
- Hi, George. It 'a little' no see, eh?
- A little bit 'of years - and finally looked up at me - just the rest of the case, could have brought us together. We were never still, the two of us. At most we could meet at a motorway or airport.
- I see you finally managed to stop
- Yeah, I was stopped too. If I knew that fate wanted me to take home at all costs, I would have said "okay, there is need to push and I would come back with my legs. So now no more already ran. And you still run?
- Yeah ... I run again, although I have not found what I wanted - I said, surprised at my sadness.
- At least you knew what you mean. I have traveled the world without showing anything in the end. Deceive me to reach some kind of degree of fullness wise, a higher level of consciousness, the journey as a rite of initiation and many other illusions. Instead I was all over again, after each return, unhappy and incomplete. People, places, sunrises and sunsets, music, smells and tastes adventures, true love and false love, in the end make a smoothie which can no longer distinguish tastes.
- For this, I'm here tonight. To find whether it is worth starting.
He seemed to run out of breath, then let go.
- is it really true that you read the thought - was silent again before adding: - okay, let's see if we can understand each other. You see that oak tree over there? - And pointed to a big tree on the hill in front of it was not difficult to identify at first glance, so impressive in his solitude. - As a child I lived in the neighborhood below, and we could see well from my bedroom window. For me to enjoy the best scenery, so to speak, my mother told me: "You see that oak tree over there? See that pile of loose soil that lies beneath? There, every night, every night, after dark, the Porter Black brings bad children, those who do not want to go to kindergarten by the nuns, those who do not obey the mother, the father, the sister, the teacher, those that do not respect the rules. " And his basic rules were the infamous Ten Commandments. The nightmare of my life. I have violated them all. Starting with the women in the other, the only ones I ever wanted. My life has been an escape, I felt ever closer to a place but to get away from another. From my alleged responsibility, the duties to which I never wanted to submit, by the truths of a predetermined fate that others had designed for me and that inevitably would have been concluded under a pile of earth. Away, away, disgusted, I had to escape. It 's easier than you think. And I did. It is not a matter of places or people, but how long it remains. Diffile understand when it is not time to go: there's the usual custom, the first form of rules, the "ius commune". Habit is a convenient suicide, run away from before you choke. And would you go wandering around forever, but the tradeoff often hits you alive. It makes the gluttonous appetite and the lustful impotent, blind and deaf artists musicians. I nailed me to a wheelchair, condemning every day to fix that heap of stones from which they fled. I give up. I want to be buried there, in a hundred yards away from my house, yet the only one in the world where they have never been.
returned to lower his head. The break seemed well placed to act.
- Maybe it's down there, the answer to your question - I tried to suggest.
- now do not look for more answers. Perhaps the one you look back and see if I had forgotten something in the beginning. Once you have left your mother is always there that you want to return. She said "do not break the rules but at the same time I had given a place to return. And the way I had also suggested, just do not follow his advice. He stopped his reasoning
and had a sudden illumination:
- Who knows, these threats were merely a ruse, were used to wean completely and make me a free man, out of the shell breast. But a guarded place, the place of nostalgia, where everything originates and ends. Not a danger, therefore, but the promise of a wait.
- The nostalgia of waiting - I repeated pleased - after all even this can be a definition of life. We'll title and conclusion. From you I know you do not tell me names of places or people, travel books do not interest me, anywhere in the world has been revealed and described to autopsy and not even know that you'd like. I, even before the reader, I feel feelings, those moments when the conscious flow of time is a pain that rips the heart from the happiness that you could live if everything remains as is. If the woman you love to shop so, if the coolness of the ditch continue to go up to the meadow where you are lying down the fragrances of the forest, where it was evening you could not ask the other stars are falling, if in the back passing to an alpine hut you could always smell the hay, whereas at the end of all this happiness disappears and turns into pain.
- Ouch - did George with irony - but you came to interview me or look for consolation?
We laughed for a moment, then He seemed to darken behind quell'assunzione of responsibility that I had just delivered. I let the silence that followed another silence, then I heard him say:
- The Melancholy of living is a curse for people like us. Never leaves us, it's like the herpes virus that emerges on the lips when the immune defenses are lowered. Every place is good to draw metaphors of disillusionment and death. When I heard the disintegration of the pack at the North Pole already saw the world end up in a hot fire cathartic. And in that silence inhuman your sense of hearing is attenuated up to believe in vain, looking for other consoles that this is not schricchiolante advance on the settlement. So you think you
that the comparison with the immensity of the natural environment will crush and seek refuge in the big city trying to confuse you and disappear among the millions of people, but even there you are you. Meet, talk, love and are loved. Life is a bit 'less than yours, divided and shared, but nothing changes: the smiles and laughter that you see appear hypocritical illusions only good to drive away ghosts but they are even more true for those who can see where they lurk. There is an Arcadia where
refuge, if you do not have within you. But if you want a final comforting know that I am now well and peaceful, because I no longer need to look for and why I now know that under the oak there are no bad children.
naughty children do not exist.
I greeted him with a hug, no other words.
.
