III
after breaking up with Penelope intascai the last salary and fled from Rome disgusted by mankind. You know those times when you happen to anyone meneresti shot and not doing anything to prevent it happening? Here, those times there.
To find serenity returned to Castellammare di Stabia, my hometown. Taken possession of my room after about two years. My father, however, it gnawed. I had failed, he said. I wasted no time in those two years spent in Rome is not built anything concrete. My father was haunted by the fact that I did not have a job and therefore I was not yet able to be independent. Twenty-five years it was time to take away from the ball, but did not dare to tell me loud and clear.
Unfortunately, I was back with his tail between his legs and this strengthened his position and certainly not mine. I had no strength to fight back and replace the words that I invested. There are times when you take off the weight of defeat is hard, hard, and it would take much more than a father who preaches and break the balls. It would take understanding, affection, unconditional love. But what you want is not always easy to obtain, and especially about feelings, it just rarely gets.
I should in any case a period of peace and the only place where I could shelter was home. And then I say, do not deny hospitality to the prodigal son, or of the Christian family was the fuck?
And do not believe I've avoided talking about it, I say the fact of taking time to reflect on the future, to understand what I wanted to do in life and everything else. Lost time. I had not dug a hole from Cecil. For my father it was worth even enlist in the Foreign Legion had not been provided with folded hands.
I pointed out (not that I was grabbing fruit) that at my age already had two children to raise, a house and a steady job. And inflation, "Take as your sister. It is arranged in time. Who respects you? "
My sister, she was a fine example. Sure. From what I can remember his ambition was the family. Is determined as a mule seemed a predestined motherhood. Carmela began attend the boy who was fifteen years old, married and behaving as if it were too old: she stopped going out with friends and hobbies using the time turning to the guy in motion as soon as possible and complete their compulsory education. Since then the house was like having an aunt who was visiting from time to time, and a sister. After five years of engagement, the guy just got a job as a teller at the bank, got married, gave birth to twins, and lit a mortgage. Just twenty years his life was complete. Carmela
That day came to greet me along with his two creatures playing with rubber dinosaurs. He found me in the kitchen for breakfast. It was noon.
I gazed with a look pity, as if I had attempted suicide or had done something reprehensible. After a while, 'he said at last:
- Saints', as it exits a place in the bank do not worry. I get settled.
- I do not want to work in the bank - said the net.
- Uh actually, and what would you like to do in life, make me feel?
And here broke my defenses.
When there was to deal with this question, my swagger disintegrated into tiny specks of dust. Sbatttuto like a carpet. What I'd like to do in life? Dear Carmela if I knew, like you, who are born in one piece, do not stay here again in Rovello brains. I admire you, little sister, because you are exactly who you are: a mother who raise children and keep at bay the house. Happy despite all the troubles that others doubt you will not go up. While I still have to start living, you're already come to an end. You know what I was cheated on me? I have read a lot. Yeah. All the fault of those damn books. Here's my trouble. I stayed as ignorant as you and your father now lavorarei in carpentry, I too am a son, a wife, I lost time at the bar with friends, smoke a joint every now and then, and the game on TV Sunday. But who knows, maybe all this is false. Perhaps you are right, and sparasentenze here, still did not understand a shit. I do not know who they are. Carmela
Yet, in my head, right here, a hurricane of understanding that you do not even images. I just have to deal with them. But it is difficult, because Jesus is hard to deal with them. You suffer, you know, damn, in not knowing exactly what to look for something. See it, here, but it is fleeting insight. Adorno says that I should go, travel, to find my way and loose my ass. It is then, goodbye. And not because I have an irresistible desire, only do it to come out of this hole, and everything else! This
I wanted to tell Carmela, my sister in one piece. Rather not say anything, convinced that he could never understand.
have coffee, exchanged a few trivial chat at work, the bank, then went to the grocery store. He had time.
Soon after, as precise as the Marquis, he called my father to make sure I give them a move.
- So, find anything?
- I have an interview with Telecom next week. Take it again.
- Forget the Telecom. I spoke to the common place, no? Do not miss the Occasion, the regret. Can I put in a good word. The captain is a friend.
My father would see me as a good traffic cop.
- I do not know. I would think before you decide - I replied.
- Do you still want to waste time? You see? In Rome you have not done nothing! Stop with this story of writing and be an artist. For you, it takes something quiet. Put your feet on the ground a good time. Listen, now go to town on my behalf and speak with the captain Pisariello. It is a safe working environment. Places you. What do you want more? Others would pay for you to have that place!
There was no hope.
- You're right. Today I go to the municipality. Captain Pisariello. I scored. Promised.
- Bravo. You settle down, it is now.
I attacked.
I made an orange juice and we thought about it.
always my father is convinced that my aspiration is that of a quiet place and proceed as Carmela sent to the family and everything else. Although I had taken other roads I had never considered otherwise, stopping at the threshold of his expectations. I had moved to Rome to demonstrate that they are able to do without the woodwork and become a writer. Unfortunately, although I had worked hard, he could just keep using the call center.
In short, the few years spent in Rome, well I worked hard I spit it sucks to start over. Since I had freed the use of grace to the call center was sleeping and dreaming in color. I did not know what I wanted to do in life, honest, I was really confused, but I'd rather lose your hearing instead of lifting the handset again, and the traffic cop did not seem a big change. I dreamed of finding something better than to give way and prepare reports. My father would have said: "Thanks for the help, but now do not talk back to the front. Do not make haste, by a few segments for a living I do. I need time to reflect on my condition, "but after talking avergliene, foreign legion, undertaker or Alert, the important thing was to work.
invent some better to keep it good. Sorry I lie, but I had no alternative.
between us in the family there was a communication problem. I had tried many times to put it in terms of feelings, emotions, mood, without ever receiving the slightest understanding of their own, that I had stew. I counted up to ten, I told a lie, and let go. Yet it was useless to try to speak like a dry tree trunk, worm-eaten those that crumble easily. My father had his head in the dust. He worked in carpentry. Manufactured fixtures, tables, cabinets and the like. Ran the woodwork with his brothers. He was the eldest of four, all boys. Of those there were nothing but brotherhood. Each one went straight to his way as if they worked on their own or employed by a master. When the brothers were discussing between them seemed to listen to four strangers, four different countries, who did not know each other's language. In fact the business of carpentry is constantly held up brink of bankruptcy. And none of them seemed to notice.
The day my father lost a hand due to a circular saw instead was taken to withdraw from a strange impulse to show that they work great also impaired. In reality he would never leave those three debauched the family business. And so every day, the same sad life running after the death slowly. The morning she went into carpentry, he made her help with the grappling hook mounted on the stump, and finishing the evening he came home in front of the TV, the only source of entertainment and knowledge. An aunt gave him every evening to find a cold plate on the table. A gratitude for no apparent reason, since this aunt did not show up for ever I had never seen the house or talk about something. Brought him dinner and then disappeared. And it was easy to see how I go there in the middle of the story lack of communication.
It takes guts to live that way. It takes courage to commit suicide so slowly. I'm not that heroic. I do not have the temperament required for these businesses. I am looking for a way to combat the melancholy, one that goes up when I imagine they still overbearing mother happy to give an account which, with a hard head of Aries. Dreamers. My way short. I
then when he died. Incurable disease, doctors said. For me it was treatable instead. Curabilissimo. My mother could not die so young. My mother was immortal.
It was only three months after his burial, when one evening I went home drunk and trovavai my sister and my father nailed to the TV as idiots, that's grabbed it lost forever. Not that he had great knowledge or excelled in any field or playing instruments or was capable of arts and crafts details, but when I was interested in something, they were red onions or a new linen skirt, because those eyes were shining and red onions linen skirt that represented something special at that time, as the feast of the patron saint, and there was to be taken into account. The things that you became fond of diamonds to un'orefice, the money to a banker, a dew to the grower. Those onions or that skirt filled the eyes of life and passion. Here the flame is lit for something else and so on. Every day there was to do out there in the sun, where the eyes were shining brightly, and moved, chat, clutching shopping bags with one arm and waving a friend with another. That vital passed it to us, that we seemed united even at times, and a certain harmony reigned in the house.
"I fell in love with him, I can do about it. At the bottom is a good man. "So said, alluding to his sweet dark half.
you enlighten us, and just passed away, we were thrown into darkness.
I remember my mother always recommended to tell the truth. In any case. Eh what was wrong! Following his advice the more it grows the more I got into trouble. At school. With friends. With the girls. The truth was not appreciated. Indeed it was dangerous. I remember one day we were in the gym when one of my companions ascent with a window shattered world. The professor asked me. I told her simply that during the game Edwards had sputtered with one of his guns from outside the box. He had done it on purpose. Prof. Edwards suspended for two days. And he tried to beat me in revenge for the whole quadimestre. As long as we could. Not happy he did it a couple more times, becoming a whim.
Since then grabbed the utility to invent a story instead of Busca. I became a liar and cunning. And my life improved.
Fortunately my mother was buried years ago. A time not to notice what kind of beast I have become.
In every way, was preparing a clear day. My father had settled, my sister was gone, I ate a hearty breakfast, and mood was holding just above the edge of suicide.
I left the house. I climbed on Vespino spacial and threw me in traffic, breathing part of my daily smog. I took the road of the Water of Madonna, one that leads from downtown to the beach resorts.
Castellammare di Stabia is fascinating and frightening at the same time: Mount Vesuvius, the Gulf, the blue sky, open their hearts. Then there's everything else to ruin.
arrived at the beach. It was dirty. The conflict between enchantment and filth made me afraid. Then I jumped back in and went up for sale in the hills, the forests of Mount Faito, abandoned and dirty even worse than the beach. And from there on I saw the sea again. What did houses. And that made me really sick. Because each of those buildings in a family led a normal life and not imagine it was at war with the world.
dismounted from the wall and turned around aimlessly on a Vespa. The wind in your face and the sensation of movement was enough to distract me. I had to make a decision. I had broken the fucking sick.
went home made evening. My father
was there to watch TV sitting on the couch. Row straight into the camera. Not all was lost. I gained a decision during the day spent on a Vespa: I would leave. He was determined. No doubt.
Through a round of phone calls I got the number of Gaetano, an acquaintance who lived in Amsterdam for some years.
I called him: "I am looking for accommodation for the first time," he said.
accepted without batting an eyelid, "Uagliò, mo 'salts that bring me two friarielli!"
The next day I was in the agency and bought a ticket. I informed
Penelope departure: "What is not embark on a journey, an escape. And you will not need to escape anything. It is within you that you have to find the answer to your torments. It is by force of will that is beyond sadness. "
Yeah. Easy to put it. I do not know what was inside her, perhaps cooing white doves with an olive branch to the beak, but inside me, right in the middle of the heart muscle, the storm thundered. With whom I should speak up?
My father wished me to get a job quickly, he shook my hand, and implied that if I came back home again without having accomplished anything would be trouble. I will never forget his eyes moved to pity. Cazzzotto than I wanted to give it a face.
Adorno warned that excited said, "Finally!"
Before you set foot on the plane I remembered a phrase of Celine: a place to stay too late at around the smells of dead people. He
damn right.
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