I wrote this story for the Prize Santamargherita 2009 edition
Don, Don, Don . The church clock strikes the hour touches. Conto, are the six. I have to wait two hours and then you, my angel, will be here. It 'Wednesday night and they are ready. Oh my God, there really does not take much to be ready when you are always the same cloth him. But when her appearance is Wednesday and I want a public toilet and the few things that I wash myself, I rarely try to find some 'of that dignity that I lost some time now since I live down the street. Not always succeed though.
Today it is a special day and I am anxious.
"Ringo but as you are beautiful! well you smell of perfume. What are you waiting, your default? "Mario Here the railroad, which breaks down as always. "Fuck you!" Cry, and I move.
not very cold tonight, feel the fresh air and the city seems more beautiful. But I think I'm stupid. E 'Wednesday, Wednesday' Cup and the kids are ready with scarves and flags for the great challenge Milan - Heerenveen. Once, when I had a nice house and lived alone in philosophy, I thought at the time and space, research, expected on Wednesday night to head off to take a break and watching the game while sipping wine. No, no beer, I'm for good things, to be savored slowly, to taste, to smell, to live.
Here, I've seen. Moves forward with his walking a bit 'heavy, earrings and bracelets jingle, the long skirt of black velvet dance with her. Com 'is beautiful! My heart is in disarray, it beats, the blood pumping through my temples and I miss your breath away. I'm not a kid, I do! and you could be my daughter. But then I'm a bum, and she is a volunteer. Nothing
eros, just pure love. I did not think more. I mean love, to women, but she has disrupted my order daily street. Not that he did anything, please! I was treated by a person, though, I spoke, stopped with me, to listen, to know me and I touched the soul. He caressed, has closed the gap, touching, shaking my hand. It 'was a simple gesture, spontaneous, but broke my shield, my protection and made me feel alone, more desperate than ever.
No one had touched, no one was more cherished. How long was it? I do not know more, do not want to think.
"Hello Ringhio, look che ho portato per la nostra cena!” Il suo sorriso mi scalda e mi allunga una bottiglia di buon vino rosso, il mio preferito. “Ottimo” dico. Ci sediamo come sempre nel nostro angolino, al riparo dai rumori della città ma dove c'è una luce morbida.
“Ho cucinato la pasta con le melanzane, una follia pura! Ma lo sai quanto costano? Mi sono dissanguata, ma per questa sera si può! Volevo portarti un po' dei miei sapori, della mia terra del Sud. Sai, io penso che il cibo, il vino, siano piaceri della vita, sono da gustare, condividere e noi oggi dobbiamo festeggiare e tu mi hai fatto una promessa, ti ricordi?”.
Già! In tutti questi mesi mi ha tormentato per sapere il mio nome, non quello di strada, non Ringhio come mi chiamano tutti, no, lei vuole sapere il mio nome vero. Ma io ho voluto difendermi, tenere alta ancora un po' questa barriera. Il mio nome è la mia storia, troppa sofferenza, troppa tristezza e ho avuto paura che rivelandolo potessi contagiare lei. Se l'avessi persa!
Così anche per lei ero, sono Ringhio, il duro, quello che non piange mai, quello che non dice mai grazie, quello che non ride mai! Cazzi! Io piango quando non mi vede nessuno, nella notte, abbracciato ai miei stracci. E ho paura, paura folle di morire qui, per strada, senza che nessuno sappia chi sono, chi ero.
“Dobbiamo bere e brindare” dice “ Lo sai, questa sarà la tua ultima sera in strada, tomorrow we start again with new life and you commit yourself. Toast. "
and drink the wine goes down with a few tears.
Farther hear screaming kids: Gattuso, Ring scored. AC Milan is winning.
calabria, Ndrangheta, the mafia, stories, women 
0 comments:
Post a Comment