BARBARI - CAPITOLO CONCLUSIVO DELLA TRILOGIA DELLA COSTIERA The night was plain as a Bottani.
been years since I wanted to start with an incipit that.
I heard the owl with his left around the house and shake your heart. The old record player working again, who would have thought. It seemed therefore a good time to put on the Masonic Funeral Mass K 477 Amadeus of the divine. The favorite piece from my great-grandfather George Louis Philippe Roncalli. I even had the good idea to hire a vampire movie that I had begun to ischemizzare the first quarter of the ventricle, rather than the Mauerische Trauermusik with surround sound and volume galore. Add to that also this: My girlfriend left me permanently, discovered correspondence with Mme. And this: the play-station was flown into the hands of his grandson scassaminchia. And this: on the pc I did not miss the first version of Supermariobros.
Pacman? you say. No, not Pacman.
Sazio ? I was on a diet for two weeks.
Money? Dismissed with a kick in the pants.
Well guys, I was in pieces, worse than Harry.
I got up at four. As expected, I opened the fridge. Even
Gee, my dog, opened one eye and seemed to curse me for the crash. "Bau Bau Bausch, what the fuck bai at this time," read the liquid in that eye. Fuck Gee, after all the legs and chicken wings that I was sipping pounds of private breast to feed him, also had the courage to look that way. I flashed the thought of a piece of spaghetti with garlic oil and red pepper, freckled face of my dietician. But I remembered that it had not even a cherry color. That dish was not even a cherry? I gave up. I put in the pan 12 mini-hot dogs and me scafai them all. I had the poster hanging in the kitchen of Pulp Fiction, Uma Thurman and, as thin as a plate of boiled vegetables, seemed to look quite disgusted with air, probably because of those mini-hot dogs.
- Fuck you too, - I said.
Stappai also a Bud.
E bariccolo where is it? say the children from the banks of the fund.
Be patient, it will come.
The mini-hot dogs had turned the smart move. Yarns were smooth at the valves conniving and had already taken the first duodenal loop of the fast before the big chicane. They feasted in the colon and lacked only the cutlery. I had returned to happiness, a word without meaning in those last weeks. I decided to
mandare un sms alla mia ex:
Dì a quello scassaminchia di tuo nipote che si può tenere la play. E a tuo padre che l’ultimo passito di Pantelleria secondo me era una fregatura.
Ma che motivo avevo? Rabbia? Offesa? Decisi di godermi la vita e di non farmi trascinare in circoli viziosi e sentimentali. Intanto era passata un’ora. Le cinque. A quest’ora molti uomini si alzano per andare in fabbrica e portare il pane a casa. Le donne invece si alzano per fare più comodamente la pipì. Gli amanti si separano per non essere sorpresi dal giorno. La luna cede il passo all’alba omerica dalle dita rosate e qualche gabbiano è incerto se gracchiare o restare in silenzio per non disturbare la quiete. E io invece I just want someone to break the bales.
I called the first number I had marked in address book, saying loud and clear:
- Alarm clock, the hour of irrevocable decisions has come to completion. One hour flying in the sky marked by the destiny of our homeland.
waited a second, I had done it. It was five o'clock in the morning, eh. After a while, 'I heard a voice from the grave:
- Sigrud? But I was fucking ciriveddro I fuck the burglary at this time of morning? Obviously I was caught, unwittingly, the inspector Salvo Montalbano and unfortunate friend.
- What the fuck you want?
- I called Livia.
- Veramenti?
- I swear. Sui sacramenti.
- E che ti disse?
- Mi disse cose ingloriose sul vostro rapporto, ma che si dava speranza assai ad una tua ambasciata a Torino, dov’ella ti aspetta forse a braccia aperti. Commissà, ma come fai a sopportarla? Ti faranno una statua a Vìgata.
- Speriamo. E perché minchia ha telefonato a te?
- Una cosa a tre, è quello che vuole.
- Sigrud non ti allargare. Ma che ci fa Livia a Torino.
- Hai mai sentito parlare di relazione adulterina con proprietari di scuole di scrittura creativa?
- Ma che mi dici Sgrud? Non è la manera giusta questa di diri le cose.
- Commissario, non mi far parlare assai. Sono cosi delicati. Parliamoci aperto, faccia a faccia. Prendi il primo Attain trip to Turin, I'll be there in the afternoon. I will run to greet a friend and we're all happy. Livia in a special way. We're two big boy or not?
.
Montalbano was waiting near a phone booth. He was unshaven and reeking of cologne. Only his whiskers gave him an air of respectful.
I greeted him and made him quick to point out what would be the first pang in my heart the day. A stone's throw from Central Station, a huge billboard depicting Livia half naked, with a scroll in his hand and below the inscription:
The young Holden is waiting for you. Subscribe to include yourself in the legendary school. Learning to write is not never been easier since we are there with our twentieth-century rules.
A red pepper would have been less of the bald head of Salvo.
- What does this mean I Sgrud?
- means that Livia was sold to the highest bidder.
- And who is he?
- I know, I know. I organized a meeting for this evening. E 'willing to fight in the ring for her. You put it on the canvas, Livia stop doing the bitch, I'll put a lid on it and do not talk about it anymore.
- when I put the rug?
- Tonight.
- And why hold an event in style to make it black?
- so he has decided, he likes a spectacle of it all.
- Sgrud But the last time I fought was for a dish of sardines with fennel that Pepe Carvalho! I had
ringalluzzirlo.
- And here's a pepper fennel gliel'hai dates?
- a thrashing.
- There, see? I knew it.
entered the arena that had made nine. It was a hellish inferno, as it should be.
The stands were lit and a crowd of spectators, rigidly divided into castes, drummed with their feet and welcomed the entry of the forces. Unless seemed excited.
- What? - I told him.
- my heart beats. I did not want
docile and softie. It was time to pull out the nails.
- Oh, but keep in mind when you here the heart beats, beats Livia here ...
- Porcomondo that made me think.
Porcomondo yes. We were in the midst of a quagmire, if we had needed to get us out matters worse at the price of humiliation.
- See how many people came to see you? There is also Fazio and Catarella ...
- Sgrud Oh, there's even my grandfather Andrea Fan Club!
Fan Club was recognizable because it was the only one to stay in the smoking compartment, without air conditioning.
After a while, 'he said - Sgrud, you saw that group down there? Look, all have hand in my latest book, My Life as a warbler !
- Oh yes Salvo. Those come from all parts of Italy. They are the aNobiani. People whose distrust, are worse than the leech. Accustomed as they are to live the lives of others.
Unless it gave me a straight, a greeting to which he would give four stars instead of fixed and aNobiani applaud and cheer, responded with the way that most deemed adequate and appropriate to their status: they started writing all those who commented on a notebook .
Empathy was at maximum levels.
Suddenly the lights went out and left the music Eye of the Tiger .
Someone said: - What raw!
the ring fell a platform shaped like a ship and inside was the team Holden. Piovvero pomodori dalle tribune.
Bariccolo era avvolto in un mantello leopardato di ciniglia. Salutava e offriva smancerie a destra e a manca. Ogni tanto qualcuno gli passava del succo di idromele e lui inghiottiva senza dir parola. I muscoli mi sembravano troppo pompati dall’ultima volta che lo avevo visto e conclusi che erano gonfiati a botte di anabolizzanti. Anche la bariccolessa del resto, vestita di raso dalla cima dei capelli alla punta dei piedi, esibiva molte rughe in meno. Tutto sembrava pronto.
L’arbitro, il vecchio Pietro Citati, cercava di mantenersi in piedi e dare avvio all’incontro. Disse: - In nome di Gadda, non facciamo pasticciacci con le regole. Niente colpi bassi. Il primo che mena un colpo basso s’impara a memoria una cantica del paradiso.
Bariccolo non ci stava. Dante era roba antiquata. Ma il vecchio Citati, con la rigidità che gli era propria, sembrava inflessibile e fece no con il capo, respingendo le sue proteste.
Si fremeva per il gong iniziale. Gli aNobiani misero mani ai loro taccuini, i Camilleriani iniziarono l’ottavo pacchetto di sigarette. Il cronista alzò la voce e disse a chiare lettere che Livia comunque fosse andata sarebbe stata nel cuore di tutti. Salvo allargò le narici e mi disse invece che voleva spegnergli tutti i neuroni dell’ippocampo con un bel diretto a quel tizio, altro che cuori di tutti. Suonò il gong, erano partiti. Il mio uomo si teneva defilato e studiava l’avversario. Barick cercava di meravigliare the audience with an impressive series of pirouettes. He tried to do the moonwalk as well, but unless he was on with a volley of punches in the ribs. Barick denounced the coup and lifted his eyes to heaven with carefully designed to face comedian. Rained the first insults: - Shame! Thief! Cheater!
He was not listening, the girls were on his side on the benches as lookouts and ponponneggiavano Nantucket. Unless I motioned to the corner to get close and I suggested not to overdo it. Barick absolutely did not want to pass from the holy life with a martyr's death.
- I want him alive and well, you just tingle like a bell being stoned. Unless
smiled and nodded made. The crowd was in delirio. E anch’io ero su di giri.
- Scatenagli una demenza vascolare.
- Che minchia dici?
Proprio a quel punto Barick partì col suo attacco, ma Salvo si scostò lesto e fece finire il suo avversario con la faccia spiaccicata sul palo dell’angolo, steso a terra di fronte a me. Gli sputai in un occhio, potevo forse resistere? Lui con l’occhio acciaccato mi disse: - Sigurd, che tu sia il più maledetto tra i barbari.
Citati si rassicurò sulle sue condizioni e fece riprendere l’incontro. Salvo gli teneva testa. Barick chiese dell’acqua. Sudava da tutti i pori come mai in vita sua. Salvo da vero poliziotto gli stava appresso come un segugio. E continuava a ballare attorno senza menar colpi. Barick si difendeva bene, e non si lasciava penetrare. Ad un certo punto si avvicinò al mio uomo cercando di spingerlo contro le corde e di sfiancarlo con mosse e mossettine. Quando colpì Salvo al fegato, dalla tribuna dei Camilleriani si alzò un grido di dolore. Camillerozzo stesso in persona scese giù e si avvicinò al ring. Venne da me e mi disse: - Sgrud, chiamami quel frocio!
Lo chiamai e lui si avvicinò all’angolo, si girò e vide suo nonno: - Nonno!
- Scimunito, che minchia facesti? Mi son giocato cento stecche di MS per te! Più sciolto come un gabbiano devi essere, non un cane di terracotta!
E qui si fermò per scatarrare.
Danny Lemon dalla astronave cambiò registro. Niente more Chopin, was the time of the Mephisto Waltz.
Save those words and the music went down as a blessing. In the third round a right hook Barick reduced to a vegetable and Livia, which hitherto had been quietly put her hand to her mouth. I did the wink and said, with the lip: PREPARATIONS You Take My Breath Away.
the beginning of the fourth round, only a handful of Salvo moved the air but it was enough to bring down miserably Barick the carpet. The aNobiani had tears in their eyes, after all had at least one of his books. Unless he too seemed to repent and collapsed after Cited had solemnly declared the winner. It was time to act. I motioned to Livia that deft like a cat jumped on the ship. I was the behind. As soon as we were inside, Livia took a fake and she shut the oar at the head of Danny, who fell unconscious. I sat at the piano and began to play as the legendary Freddie, the first notes of We are the champions. The whole audience was silent when Livia flicked a lever and the ship is lifted. We flew away. I could see from the square of the ring and Camillerozzo approving. Only at that point unless you notice the scam.
And then, with his last strength he had left, he stood up and shouted with all my heart
- Sigurd! You know who you are tuuuuuuuuuu son? Are you a figlioooooo grandissimaaaaa puttaaaaaa ara ra pa pa pa pa ... paaaaa ara ra pa pa pa pa ... paaaaaaa
END
UN CONFRONTO My Dear visitors, I want this space to reflect with you on an analogy. Read here:
Maybe one morning going into an air-glass, dry, turning, I see the miracle: nothing behind me, the emptiness behind of me, a drunkard's terror. Then, as if one be screen, and pitched Gitte trees hills homes for the usual deception. But it will be too late, and I shut up I go among men who do not look back, with my secret.
Now, if I ask you too, also read here:
If any rider emaciated and consumptive was hounded relentlessly for months around the unsteady riding on a horse in front of an audience tireless, reinforced by a ruthless director of the whip, while she continues to throw kisses, hissing and moving his hips on the horse, and if this performance to continue over an hour until the gray of a future that promises endless, from the incessant noise of 'orchestra and fans, accompanied dallo smorzarsi e dal riaccendersi dell’applauso, dello scrosciar di mani che in verità sono tanti magli a vapore…allora forse un giovane spettatore della galleria si slancerebbe giù rapido per la lunga scalinata, farebbe irruzione nella pista e urlerebbe – Basta! – tra le fanfare dell’orchestre sempre pronte ad adeguarsi alle esigenze dell’istante. Siccome però le cose non vanno così; siccome una bella signora vestita di bianco e di rosso fa leggera il suo ingresso fra le tende che i superbi valletti le schiudono dinanzi; e il direttore , cercando devotamente i suoi occhi, le alita in viso come un cagnolino fedele; premuroso la solleva fin sul leardo bianco pomellato, come si trattasse della nipotina amatissima che sta per intraprendere un viaggio rischioso; non riesce a dar il segnale con la frusta; infine vincendosi, lo dà con uno schiocco; prende a correre a bocca aperta accanto al cavallo; segue i balzi della cavallerizza con occhio vigile; trova quasi inconcepibile la sua abilità tecnica; (…) ingiunge, furente, agli stallieri che reggono i cerchi di star ben attenti; prima del grande salto mortale, scongiura alzando le mani l’orchestra di tacere; alla fine solleva la piccola dal cavallo tremante, la bacia prima su una gota e poi sull’altra e ritiene inadeguata qualsiasi ovazione del pubblico; mentre lei stessa, da lui sorretta, sollevandosi sulla punta entro un alone di polvere, con le braccia distese and pours her head back, wants to extend his own happiness as the whole circus ... well things are going well, here the viewer of the gallery and put her face on the balcony, getting lost in the march as if in a dream painful cries of a cried unconscious. The poem is a 'cuttlebone', but so different from the rest of the book by Montale that what is in this poem is almost absent in the other is redundant: the element of nature. There's abstractness, the unreality, the languor of the dream and nightmare. The camera has a memory Foscolo, like all of you have heard and remembered. L’altro è un breve racconto (riportato per intero) di Franz Kafka. Uno dei racconti più belli e, invero, più tristi del pianeta (chi l’ha detto, infatti, che la bellezza abbia come attributo esclusivo la felicità?). Io ho sentito una somiglianza e una differenza tra i due. Sono due componimenti che si affacciano sull’orlo dell’abisso, del vuoto, facendolo splendidamente. Lettori non possiamo non provare una leggera vertigine, come un ‘anello che non tiene’, mentre vediamo (o meglio, intravediamo) l’inganno consueto, le case i colli gli alberi che si ricompongono per ‘il niente di nuovo sotto il sole’; mentre sentiamo l’irrealtà, the atrocities of the deception circus - the rider who plays the part of happy riding, the director who uses his whip to silence the orchestra for the great leap, or call the grooms to pay attention to the sweet girl. Everything is muffled, fake and tragically we have left is to lay his face on the railing and cried tears of that terrible unconscious. Alone. Among men who do not look back (why? Cowardice? Or ignorance?). The difference, perhaps subtle, perhaps nonexistent, and that makes Kafka's story, a story without hope, as opposed to "Maybe one morning going into an air-glass", is the inability to find a flaw, a mistake, however, the miracle Montale, leading to a redemption of slight, albeit ineffective. The intolerance of being as never before had been highlighted, Kafka has taken to extremes. How would Benjamin, Kafka thinks for ages. Ere the whole man must move in the act of distemper, in the act of making even the slightest gesture. It 'a terrible endless. His cry is not a cosmic tears, inconsolable crying is because the world of Kafka's world is a cruel and solidarity. Montale tells us his secret, the revelation of the deception, which can not share with men who do not hanno visto; Kafka non ce lo dice, perché non lo ha visto nemmeno lui, e quel che è peggio, è che però continua a sentirlo, intimamente, intollerabile, infinito, colpevole.
DISTURBI DI PERSONALITA' 
E' da un po’ di giorni che Bruni cerca di introdurre il discorso dei disturbi di personalità ovunque. Si fa la spesa, e scappa lo Schizotipico. Si va in the post (there is a line, uh, what a surprise!) and presents the Paranoid. We eat at the table, lots of eggplant stinging my esophagus I hope not finger, and slips stealthily an actor. The Borderline check like mushrooms from a shop window looking in the new summer shoes and a Scratch & Win that says you do not win, but you have deceived me a lot and buy new ones. The fact of abuse Scratch & Win and BDZ (benzodiazepine please, do not be confused with benzoTiazepine, which are calcium channel blockers and risk of collapse. Some things have to be categorical) are the rule in these cases. And narcissism? (A mirror llo) Cabbages, hair that looks perfect to me come today. I had cheekbones higher, I would recommend to Dolce Gabbana.
Obviously, a man lying on the couch on Sunday night, watching tv, football matches and holding an ice cold Bud, has the Antisocial lurking behind him. Only a fool will not notice it.
When can I avoid like the plague.
Last night there was no mention at all of these things. It was a pleasant evening. There was also a slight breeze on the terrace. I wanted to see me Citizen Kane. That famous "yellow metaphysical," as Borges.
- But it's great, great idea. I have to find out what personality disorder haunted magnate.
I told her that not all men are plagued by problems of personality. That there are tempers.
I looked at her with his gaze. His own eh! Lightning. The idea is leaked. It must have been at times so that Napoleon has matured and took out the march in Russia. And I said something that apparently was preparing for days:
- You, for example ...
Mmm.
- Have you ever heard of Cluster C?
- my guess is the Cluster - I said.
- Of course, while we belong to some cluster. Avoidant personality disorder. Fits you perfectly.
Read: a personality disorder characterized by a pervasive pattern of behavior of social inhibition, feelings of inadequacy, extreme sensitivity to negative judgments against it and the tendency to avoid social interactions.
- Do you know what you see?
- No.
- Do you prefer to go to big shopping malls to try on shirts and jeans. Suffer orders. And their opinion. You are clearly an APD, avoidant Personality Disorder. - But even if I've got a blog!
- Exactly. Legitimate my thesis.
- Of course.
Since yesterday, therefore, as a burden I carry this diagnosis in the body.
So be lenient. And do not judge. Now you know what I suffer. And you do not hope to escape the old cluster, we are in it up neck. Word of Bruni.
CIAO MIMMO and then one morning you're not smarter,
I wanted to tell you that I'd left
face a fierce row,
me that you would have paid
again.
hair pulled them to us we really
remember?
and did not fall alone.
I know, not my pain that counts, the soup
rummage the living who remain
and you know the saying.
But what if you leave only one hand close
is telling me a heart attack?
left for me?
This was your last fragility prima di dirci ciao con tre dita
non abbiam saputo più nulla
di quello che pensavi
persino la porta chiudevi
se parlavi col prete.
Ci ha detto che
attendevi l’imbarco
coi sospesi.
E ora non una scusa, fratello
non un biglietto messo sotto
gli occhi di tutti. Solo i cerotti
di morfina sono rimasti
appesi al chiodo. Erano
gli ultimi guantoni
con cui hai picchiato
la vita.
L'INCONTRO - CAPITOLO SECONDO DELLA TRILOGIA DELLA COSTIERA Cara Madame,
Rive sfiorate dal vento del nord. Sabbia a perdifiato. Pallide ninfette riparate dal sole dei tropici da ombrelli a flowers. Air fried sensitivity. Here is a disease that infects everyone, even the critics starched.
And everything is as you left, Madame. Only quell'orsacchiotto father died Pluche, eating too many croissants. Did you know everyone. Plasson instead continues to break the bales. Bartleboom we always try, with every woman who stops here. They have wasted nothing, thousands of visitors.
I write to you, Madame, from where you are healed and always come back.
to heal.
Adultery.
But it cures your illness? I wonder. A
if firefly, firefly remains. Do not you think?
was walking the other day with Alex. I know, I know. You may ask how I did it to meet Holden Caulfield?
Long story, Madame. Suffice it to this: Alex and I walked on the sand. A barefoot. Without leaving footprints. Is not it a miracle? He pointed, with slow gestures, a hill, the horizon line, jaunty wave. Then his fingers went up a path right up to the chapel of Saint Amand.
- There are frescoes made with sea water in the chapel - he tells me. - Do you want to see them?
I pretended not to hear and I pointed out a dark spot in the middle of thick trees - what is there?
Madame, you had to see it. The face was illuminated.
I said - Oh Mr Mr! You can not imagine how proud I am of that bright spot there. I had not told
bright. Oh well.
- That is my greatest creation together with the raft of the Medusa: (triumphant) is the Locanda Almayer!
All names borrowed, I think to myself, inevitably.
- Names borrowed,
Mr Mr Here, in fact.
- So much frikkettoni.
I can only ask: - Do you feel frikkettone, Mr. Holden?
eyes wide, stick my arm, madame. He too began to cry. E 'prisoner of himself. He says: - It 's my destiny. And 'because of that evil woman. She made her so.
- Who?
- My mother. I
close to the heart. She, the bariccolessa.
Vorrei aiutarlo.
Un mucchio di anatre starnazzanti ci passa affianco, gli si fermano davanti. Sembrano sorridergli, almeno loro. E’ sempre il giovane Holden, cazzo.
Aiutarlo sì, ma dopo aver messo giù un boccone.
Gli dico: - Non faccia così! Si dia un contegno. Che cucinano di buono alla Locanda?
Gli si riapre lo sguardo. Inizia a balbettare per l’emozione.
- Un po’ di tutto signor Sig. Un po’ di tutto.
Che al paese mio vuor di’: tutto e niente. Vabbè.
Ci avviamo.
Alex ha insistito. Vuole camminare sul bagnasciuga. Ok. Siamo a casa sua.
Gli domando, indicando l’acqua: - Sa che non ho ancora capito?
- Cosa?, - mi he says.
- What is this exactly? Ocean or Sea?
arrived at the inn.
of it I was surprised by the yielding walls. But the mole. The plant has an octagon and vaguely tetragon from afar. I was going to say "... reminds me of an abbey."
- Everything is borrowed here. Remember.
I'll remember, and you too. I hope.
Despite the gloomy tone, the inn was the sound of jazz orchestra. He put in a good mood. The pianist then we could do.
- Oh I know he's thinking about Mr. Sig!, - He tells me. - He's wondering who plays the piano so well! True?
I had read his mind. I said yes.
- E ' Danny damn stingy. Danny Lemon. Eventually we convinced him to fucking get off that ship. We had not ever done!
- Why?
- People just want him! and threatens us ... We can not do run away, you understand me. The fact is that it takes a lot of money, the bastard!
- Azz.
- Contrabazz, I say. There is also the contrabazzo, that is. The result? Salaries of 350 Holden. Burned. For a bunch of crooks.
Things not to believe. He had my full support.
Shortly after we entered the inn. God, that clouds of smoke that noise, that foul language. You could not understand a shit. But I had the eye long, I do. I recognized one by one. It was the band Upon completion of the Pickwick Club.
How wonderful!
shook hands with everyone. How are you, Mr. Pickwick? And you Mr. Winkle? What Goduria. I did drag in to the sound of revelry whistles and began to feel a lot of different ladies buttocks that night. And you understand, Madame, I was under the influence of the band of Mr. Dickens. I was among friends.
Mr. Holden motioned me to join him at the table. With deep sadness I separated from my friends and I joined him.
I said - like something I guess!
Yeah, I had come here on purpose. I forgot.
I was too excited. I needed a dish that I ammosciasse adrenaline.
I said: - Of course Mr. Holden, I'd like a plate of Sardinian warbler.
The music stopped. Everyone looked at me in the eye.
Mr. Holden Alex raised his eyebrow, rage.
I said a mistake?
Yes, I said just fucked up.
- What do you think? To stay in Vigata? No one here has ever talked about Sardinian warbler. And now: OUT! That fat
of Bartleboom held me from behind. It pushed me toward the door. My friends, paid them well, they pretended not to see me. In less than no time I was out the door of the dismal Locanda Almayer. Everything for a plate of sardines warbler. Such is life.
Night had fallen. The band had begun to play a melancholy swing. The party continued.
Later, under a small bridge, I noticed a figure from his broad shoulders. I approached, and in light of the moon recognized the Master. The Master! Joseph Conrad! And dressed in rags.
I told him: - Master, here you are!
- Nobody is a prophet in his homeland - he repeated.
recognized in his voice majestic tone of the written word.
- Who are you? Almayer's you, my son?
Now I understood. The Master had been abandoned, rejected by his own son, the 'administrator Inn (Mr. Holden was the president). Put out the door as a raft of parking.
not heard me to deny him a smile. After all, how many I had given him with his words? How much happiness?
Dissi:- Sì, padre. Sono io Almayer.
Ci abbracciammo, lui commosso per aver trovato suo figlio, io commosso per aver trovato il mio Maestro. La luna era incantevole sul mare.
In lontananza, vedemmo i fuochi di artificio sparati in aria da una nave all’orizzonte.
Mi godevo lo spettacolo, tanto più che mi sentivo così leggero. A pensarci bene, era stata una grande idea mandarmi via dalla Locanda.
Senza quelle sarde a beccafico sullo stomaco, potevo dormire sonni tranquilli accanto al mio capitano.
ILIADE, OMERO. ALEX BARICCO - UN REGALO - CAPITOLO PRIMO DELLA TRILOGIA DELLA COSTIERA Ieri pomeriggio ero stravaccato sul divano, in preda al torpore.
Mi ero scolato già la terza lattina di coca-cola zero and therefore had nothing to repent.
While napping, however, I had nightmares. Appeared in the dream my daughter, I recognized by the slowness of movement, a family brand. He must have eight or nine years. She was holding an autographed copy of the Ocean Sea, and asked me to read the steps.
The nightmare did not end here. Insisted he wanted to hear the piece of the painter. What paints the sea with sea water. Deus meus!
I had eaten a sandwich with mortadella. He must have helped a lot. A coalition of saturated fat sapped my mental stability.
So I was between sleeping and waking when the phone rang. I feel it, ergo I'm alive, I thought. You imagine a paradise in the form of angels that are crying out for readings bariccoliane? Ok, I did not distress yourself. So to speak. I rose with difficulty from the couch. Here comes my sister gave me the cordless phone and tells me: - It 's for you, a call from Torino.
From Turin?
I mind the local part and be familiar with all these years with the cast of Centovetrine not know anyone in Turin enough to receive a phone call.
I prepare, should be a matter of work. Of polyps on his vocal chords give me the right touch of hoarseness for making brilliant. In these cases it is essential to phone and I I've always played the card baritone. I settle metaphorically tie, two little cough, and then respond with all possible figaggine: - Ready.
- Sigurd, finally.
woman's voice. Anzianotta. Breast sagging.
In one fell swoop I clear the sex, age and status.
- Who speaks?
let a few seconds, you wait, play with the times, makes smart. Then suddenly beats solemnly
- I, the Bariccolessa.
Porca Executioner!
me through well thought of her: - The mother or bariccolessa bariccolessa wife?
had not said!
- Do not get smart with me, young man! The son can also cheat, but I do not fool me! I, the grandmother of Danny DDT Dabadan Dabadan Bim Bum Bam Gatorade Lemon Plus, better known as ...
- Novecento.
- Exactly.
- Exactly.
- Do you know why I called you?
- No, sir.
- I knew it, I do not even know Alex.
Alex must be the homunculus.
- I'm all ears, - I say.
- My son is struggling with his work final.
- Hey, I can not but rejoice with her for this decision. Final final?
- There is little to rejoice Mr.
- Do not deny it.
- I revealed some background. The plot is bad.
- I had no doubts.
- Talk of a bitch.
- Original - I say. It looks seriously worried. The Trojan intrigues me.
- I would have a minor role. I should be the second wife of a prime. In short, a war breaks out for a whore.
- I understand. It must be very sad.
- Mr Mr Mr sad (crying). But the fact is not that. You know what?
No, I would say. But I have a hunch: I do not know what it is, then ... I stopped.
- E 'cocks that are bitter. The image of women do not come out beautifully, Mr. So our focus was all about the youngster. I do not want to ruin everything he has done for a provincial mignottella. And send them to hell all Boodmann, and Baldabiou Bartleboom (so original) of this world. Above all, I would not begin to rain mud on fandango.
What bariccolismi. I was thrilled. She was nice lady BacoDaSeta.
also began to cry with the sound of wailing bariccoli the world. It was recognized, it was her mother. The moment was of maximum tension. And was caught on the fly. Like mother, like ...
then I let soften.
- And I then? What should I do?
- Sir, it strikes me that your tardezza. But it's obvious is not it?
was obvious, of course.
A harsh criticism in the bud. This brought me.
- Alex takes it to heart your comments. Publishes avoid that stuff.
I said yes. But I asked him something in return. What he wanted. As a souvenir. To my daughter at least.
I said - I have something for you, now that I think we do.
The emotion was a thousand.
- Should I see in the basement of Holden ... ah yes, of course. How about a painting of a painter who paints the sea with sea water? We are giving half the price. Do you like?
- makes me a very happy man, ma'am.
- And then go to the canvas! Greetings my dear Mr. And please!
- Greetings to you and the family. I'll keep this, do not worry. My greetings also the son. And tell him to relax '.
closed, almost with tears in his eyes.
believe me?
After all were good people.
