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thousand centuries of silence. (Part 2)

And the silence was more dense, day by day, in homes, the streets of the terminus. Dolores But Cecilia went out with a leash, dressed in red, with two red shoes to the feet and sang. Anyone who watched her, almost everyone knew her, Dolores, but at first glance, before realizing that she was, everyone felt that the creature did not belong to this world, at first glance, almost no one knew who he was saying, even if you known for years.

was spring and Dolores took the first cherries to the square and had to barter for something else to serve his mother, Adela, at the Inn. He loaded the basket on the back of the goat and sang with that red satin ribbon in her hand.

not thought that far, that Dolores was jumping with a goat on a leash. But she did not like that Adela said no more. She did not like that on the streets, marching soldiers who knocked on every door, which, if not open, I threw down the door to kick it. Soldiers, slowly, slowly they were taking us all away. That left only women and some children. And from the last war had not returned anyone. She did not like that never return any of those who were brought forth. She did not like the look that had people, as was that of Adela: there is nothing you could see inside.

Dolores, in the midst of all that silence, singing. Despite all that silence.

Taking the right to break the silence of others not

is quite a feat, which is saying a

just sing when everyone is silent. Singing, when they are making silence a thousand centuries, never before.

At the terminus all carry the weight of a thousand centuries of silence.

not really know how much time had passed, but had began to call them that those wars that do not even know where you felt you did not know and even when everything happened, I do not saw the wreckage, the body, blood, worms in the entrails of the corpses, the stench, the dead do not you saw them. That, at least, this would be something, would be an outcry. No. Instead, only the silence remained a thousand centuries of silence.

Taking the right to break the silence of others is no small feat, no small thing to sing when everyone is silent. Sing and do not understand their silence, sing anyway, and not being able to avoid.

Knowing that this is a shard of glass in the water.

is one of those things that nobody can explain, one of those things that you would know not to talk and did not know exactly if it is of strength or courage or even of nerve only. The fact is that you can not see if you can not do. It is like falling in love: walking with two red shoes to walk on the balance of a thousand centuries of silence.

Dolores walked on the red shoes, preceded by some petals of the flowers in her hair wearing

and sang.

Some 9999 soldiers of the platoon marched down the wide road, it took women to the crumbling walls of the houses to watch them pass.

At the central square, the square of the market, broken lines for a while 'resting after years of endless journey, before leaving for the front.

General Fernando Della Riva was riding his white horse, with a grave and proud, he thought. In miles and miles of travel had collected hundreds of soldiers and, following in the footsteps on the beaten track for centuries by the platoon, army after army, had come to the city of Terminus. Soon they would be left for the front.

He started as an ordinary soldier, she was just eighteen years old when recruited, through his village in the mountains. But in years and years of walking, had careers, had always been on the right side and, with his companions, he was good at, him. So, once died of old age General Diego dart, the successor of General Marino Palma, the Government sent direct from his own want to see the lead, Fernando. It had been several months of the appointment, and his power, was now never consolidated.

knew about, General Fernando, always knew what to say and had them convinced they had been convinced that all was right, he could not get otherwise, that, you had to get that far in front, not to make rooms, years and years of the sacrifices of comrades in arms. He said that war must be won for the women and children, to return them the splendor of ancient times, of which, someone, still narrating. Before the decline, before the war, before the terminus and the first face. Before.

You only win the war and everything would be back, "said Fernando.

Fernando knew about but did not know what to think. It was hard to know what to think. It was difficult to have the responsibility of the thought of a platoon. Overnight, there was been no one to tell him what to think. He was bewildered. All he knew was that you had come to an end and get that damn train, that was what he knew. He had to lead them all to the train, without letting anyone get away, by hook or by crook, they had to get on that train. That was the task due to him: take them all at the front.

Do not think, Fernando ... it was said, from time to time, when demand ... Why are you doing? begins to beat too strong in his temples. It was losing that sense of everything, nothing remained to be saved, and nothing that would save, in all that silence. Therefore necessary, as control, without thinking, as control.

broke the lines of platoon 9999. Trotted a little round the square, as he watched his soldiers who were piously fed by some old lady of the place.

Trotta a little longer and a little off and people-watch. He noticed that the more the years passed, unless the people they met, she spoke. They seemed almost in a trance, at times, were staring into nothing, and you saw that her lips were cold, pale, empty.

around Trotta, Fernando, increasingly annoyed by the silence of those roads, made restless by ecstatic that air that was gathering in the streets. He was a man of action, or if nothing else, so he was told that had to be and could not stand all that quiet, it was not for him, he was told.

He began to gallop along the empty streets towards the river, Fernando, fast, very fast, until he thought he heard singing. He braked suddenly and turned the corner.

down from a road a girl dressed in red, with lots of flowers in her long black hair and wore a goat on a leash. A petal Fernando came in that did not move in one step. He was motionless and looked closer.

The girl looked completely indifferent, as if he had not even noticed the presence of the General, proud, riding his steed. And she continued to sing.

Fernando, for a while, almost think I had a vision, it was as if he could not really comprehend that presence. It seemed a dream, an apparition light and thin, like a nymph or a fairy, a spirit of fairy tale. It did not seem to belong to the reality of the senses, seemed to be part of some elsewhere, higher or more away, but not the dust, not the road, not the silence.

She passed by him, passed him without so much of a look, smell and spreading flower petals. Fernando remained motionless for a few seconds, then when he realized that he was losing, instinctively, the races below.

- Miss, Miss ... forgive me! Miss ...

She turned and, at last.

- Miss ...

- Tell me, Lord. Want some cherries? They're good, you know. I cultivate the roof of the Inn. Look, that's Inn, the high thirty-seven floors, with seven sides, built on the river bank. See the branches sprout up there? The cultivation there. Want some cherries? But what you give me in return?

Fernando was lost

- Yes, I would certainly ... its cherries. Ten, take ten of her cherries, Miss. And his name, I would.

said blushing, General.

- My name? And what do you do with my name, sir?

- I would like to know, Miss.

- And when do you know? What are you doing, sir?

He wanted to tell you that, at least, knowing his name, he could call it the dreams that he would, he knew clearly that, moment until the end of the world, there would have been one night, one thought, one vision, one fantasy, one image of his mind that he would not belonged to that creature. He decided that not a fiber of her body, not a shred of his soul would be excluded From that possession, to give as a gift and then fed to the two red lips of a child and nothing, nothing on earth could prevent it.

yet answered

- When I know myself I can remember to return to ask other cherries, Miss.

- I give you my cherries, but you, what have you got to give me in return?

- My horse! Look, it's nice and strong.

- agree, sir. Mom will love to your horse, there are only a few, and those soldiers will have only you. Here are ten cherries, Lord, with my name: Dolores. That's how my name, Lord.

- Dolores ...

- Yes, Dolores ...

Fernando dismounted and held the reins to the girl, staring into his eyes very black. She pressed her hand, returning the gaze of that strange-looking man clear.

He said:

- I will call it Bizarro.

- Who called Bizarre, Miss?

- the horse.

- Why?

- Why so reminds me of you.

Fernando did not know exactly what to say. It stood as a stone, while Dolores was beginning to walk towards the central square, undecided on dafarsi, merely to run again below.

She asked him if he wanted other cherries, he said that it was she wanted.

A Dolores thing seemed very funny man and more and more bizarre. He laughed, saying only that the shooting was fine and his song with him that he walked next door.

came to the square and she began to carry out business as usual.

He, meanwhile, thought there wanted to go to the front. Why should he? There was no one to tell him what he was thinking and thought that go, it was a huge millstone. Why would he now that he met Dolores? Did not know that for some time, but it was certainly a valid reason to stay.

was what the General thought the clear eyes, that was what he thought when there was nobody to tell him what to think.

Now, however, could not imply the platoon 9999 his intentions: he pretended nothing until ten o'clock the next morning, the train would have pushed the entire platoon on that damn train, he would have taken up all, to the end, it was his duty, and he, he would remain.

Nobody would have noticed, not in time, at least.

could not leave. She sang. He had heard singing in all that silence, after many centuries of silence she sang.

could not let her go, losing the creature to die in cries after a lifetime of silence. He could not die in a cry after all that silence. He could not accept. Not now that he had seen that, after many centuries of silence, there was still a little girl who sang.

is a girl who sings, when the world is not nothing left but silence, is a girl who sings in spite of everything that will push you to stay, when it would be easier to die.

Dolores loaded the proceeds from the barter of cherries on the back of Bizarro: matches, wood, cloth and rags, candles and vedtiti. Then, towards sunset, he walked back towards the house singing into a horse by the bridle and a goat in a red satin ribbon.

But, seeing that the gentleman does not follow the most bizarre, Dolores turned around

- not come with me, Lord?

- Want to come with you, Dolores?

He said, at last giving you, without fear.

- Yes, I would like, I like the way you walk beside me.

- And I like to walk beside, Dolores, since not even imagine. Come back to you tomorrow morning, I will come to the Inn. If you do not see me return, however if you see me, just remember that my name is Fernando.

- Thus, in dreams, I can call you by name?

- Yes, exactly.

Dolores Fernando turned and smiled and sang, almost in tears. It had to do it, should escape this war. Then he would have fled away with her. It would have been perfect. Would go away, to the ocean. As a child my grandmother always told him that if he'd been running for years to where the sun was setting. After running for years, always behind the sun, he found the ocean, telling him he would find the border, there, where did not live any more, only a few fishermen who had never even heard tell of the silence of the Terminal, Front and the many centuries of war. In a few remembered the road to those places, few knew that the ocean existed, but his grandmother, he said, his grandmother had been born and told him a thousand times of sand and salt and the sun was reflected on the waves before he died and foam and sailing boats and fishing nets with dark skin.

Her grandmother had kept in mind the road, when, with mum and dad had had to flee inland because of a dispute between the powerful families of the coast. He had taken decades to mind every step of the walk, because he wanted someone in his family, someone came back to the ocean. Simply return. Return to salute all up to greet him at the end, drop by drop, every drop to say hello to the girl who, on sailboats, she had been.

new platoons would be run off before it came down to the terminus. It would be gone forever among the fishermen of the ocean, now that he was free to think, he did not think that Dolores and this was enough to risk being condemned as a deserter. But it would not happen, No. In the position where it could afford it: they have all taken up and then it would be gone.

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thousand centuries of silence. (Part 1)

Last, rusty train came screeching to the front, the mark of the State Railways red light faded into the sunset.

Italy was at war again!

trains, ships, aircraft and industrial equipment: by now had lost the knowledge needed to build them. If that had been destroyed, another art of ancient times would have shelved forever.

Andrea descended from the old train with his head down after dozens of hours of travel, fell from the train, so long as to seem infinite. He went down with the other thousands of men. They brought in his own melancholy eyes, his own fear, they understood, as the train progressed, watching the streets, hand in hand, appeared littered with mutilated bodies: from then on would be cannon fodder.

ONE.

started from here, Andrea. Andrea was leaving me. From that city, from our city. From the heart of our city.

This city, which is now only an immense heap of ruins: Memories of crumpled grandeur of one another.

This city of the world hath been forgotten the name.

that day, like today, in this city, is known only to be the terminus.

Here are the last stop. From there the soldiers were leaving from this station was ruinous and was that damn train.

The last train. The train that I had taken Andrew, who took away all that we tear them from her arms. At the terminus we remain alone with your hope. We cry every floor, all of us cried plan. It was inevitable. They know.

remains the only hope of seeing them return, but the train never got anyone because they went up to the terminus. We saw them only ever go up. There is no one who returns, only women who live in the neighborhood, returned there to wait for a while ', for a time by starting him

came back to let those memories come back. Each in the exact where, the last time, had tight. The exact point, no never wrong. The same look.

They returned in the exact spot where they had broken.

The train went off again and no one ever.

The war made us similar. It is one thing I saw there, in the bottom of the eyes.

The war gave us the same look, it was inevitable, we all knew.

You've been waiting for.

You know what will go a long time, perhaps all eternity, and know that He will not be. There will be a very long while, perhaps for all eternity. Nothing can avoid it and you just have to wait, the only thing that is granted: wait. And wait for the absolute silence within. Bring in the most absolute silence.

It's like a circle. Or a ball inside, perfectly set. Inside.

Nothing else. There can be no more.

The waiting is the absolute silence, here at the terminus.

For sanity, we made silent.

As a break. A pause in the song. As if a string quartet had been stopped, stuck there, maybe on the crescendo of notes. Stopped. You do not know if it will resume playing.

The bow is still on the ropes, still on the ropes. Fermo.

As if a string quartet was the victim of a dream: that was the war to an end.

In the eyes of the people was perfect stasis. Iris: a perfect circle. Set in the soul, the sphere of silence.

He left when it rained. It was ten o'clock one morning in September. It was raining hard.

We left the station in the same spot where he always returns. We did not have many words and stare into his eyes: my parents were wet, his were not the same as always. I remember with clarity unbearable, because he wore a look that I had never seen him and I knew not decipher.

I do not know what he thought while watching me cry.

You never know what you think, man, when I see you cry, when I see you cry for him.

- I'm waiting for you, Andrea. I'll wait. Were to move like an eternity whole, I'll be here waiting, I promise.

He got on the train.

- Goodbye.

I looked into my eyes and I knew not decipher.

The train left.

It was raining hard.

We went home and all. We were many. Some wept again, the one on the shoulder other. Others already had the eyes of silence. Many had come back just to see if someone, this time, would be dropped from that damn train. I turned our eyes to the ground.

only heard the rain pounding. Incessant. About me and the city we stopped calling them by name.

Rain. The sound. Roaring, ticking ...

I went back to the inn.

was owned family for centuries. High thirty-seven floors and narrow, with seven sides, built on the river bank and white, a whiteness unchanged, always white, ever since I remember.

always empty.

I went, my mother threw herself into the ground, the broom and ran to hug me even though I was soup rain.

- How are you, little girl?

- do not know.

- 're soaking wet.

- raining outside.

He gave me his old sweetness, my mother, with those eyes of blacks old animal, to look out a little better.

- Want to Talk?

- is happening at all, Mom. There is little to say. It's war again, Mom, and we knew that would happen, did not have said no, but we knew it. Was nothing left to do.

- I know, baby. The father also said that would happen sooner or later, before they take away. It was so long we have been waiting, that time also. We did not say never before. But we know when the time comes. Just a moment and you'll find them at the door, come from afar, with the result, a procession of other convicts in front of that drag behind from who knows where. Sends them to the Government, they say, and we take them away again. They come in many, little girl, so come and bring them to us via our men on several occasions, after a little and take them to the train ...

- Until no one will, Mom. Will not be anyone.

Dolores, my sister came down the stairs. Held in his hand a basket of fruit.

We were lucky, on the roof of the inn the sun beat down forever, all that day. She was tall and the Inn was good dad, before they take away the last war, we had a vegetable garden and orchard, on the roof of the inn and we had built a house and taught the tricks of the right to raise chickens and take care Cecilia.

Cecilia was the goat.

wandered freely around the house, up and down the thirty-seven floors, quiet as a cat and burned on the patio or on the lawn of my father, on the roof. Cecilia was well educated and no one could tell what was old. In family said to be with us at the Inn, the outbreak of the first series of all this eternal conflict, but the first of this infinity of war, not a soul that would lead memory.

We had Cecilia's milk and eggs, chicken meat for special occasions, fruit and vegetables.

to trade were also neighbors, friends of the mother, from time to time. In return they gave us in that dress, covering, wood, matches, candles ...

Cecilia us the envy of all.

Maybe life was more in campaign easy. Maybe. I do not know we could. Those were years that no one knew anything.

The city was too big, no one knew where it ended. Those few who were leaving to go see if we came back, they were left standing, if returned tell only knew that there were old houses in the rubble, a few inns and a few craft shops, all the same for endless distances, it was always all the same.

elders had taught us that there was in Italy, not knowing what it meant, had taught us, we were told that there was also the government, somewhere, but nobody knew where.

knew that the government decided everything.

If only we knew where was the government, we could ask him the reason for all this.

Maybe this guy, this government, he knew.

We often wondered who this government, cursed and damned in any case, by all the people, but it was like to blame God or fate. Who knows how far it was. Now never, it seemed that this was the natural course of things, of all things: the war. All our lives, every life, in the inexorable spiral of happening.

The truth is that, to no avail

and forever, all the time remaining, we will ask ourselves if we have any real blame for all this evil, or, if they could avoid.

We ask a thousand times if we really were we to impose this sentence.

Forever we will ask ourselves if we really, all this ruin, somehow, that we have a choice.

If it is true that history which we were told that we, we men can choose, we can always choose. Forever,

for him to always ask, because if you really had the choice, if we could ...

Why ruin all this happen?

Why all this happens, if we could choose?

is that perhaps this is a design,

a path already defined and perfect, one track, one wanted ineluctable, irrevocable. A figure, a profile to bring to an end, a perfect finiteness of which we are just a germ of skin.

Dolores, my sister came down the stairs, held in his hand a basket of fruit.

was born a few hours after the departure of father to the front, on a rainy day like this.

Dolores was beautiful, much prettier than me or any other creature I had ever seen. There is to be human who has not turned to look Dolores passing.

He was fifteen years in those days and did not seem to belong to the streets, no, no No, she seemed to belong to those piles of concrete collapsed onto itself. It did not seem to belong to rubble or hunger or cold winters. It did not seem that his clothes were dirty, even after hours spent tilling the earth, and his face did not seem to ever get tired. He slept with a smile, Dolores and seemed not to suffer anything.

Dolores belonged there.

His eyes were large and blacks, like those of her mother, milky skin and hair, raven long ankle.

She was beautiful, but a different texture, as if his presence was of petals in the air, the previous one when it came, snatched from the flowers that slipped between the braids.

From time to time, Dolores, took Cecilia and at the collar, the knotted a red satin ribbon as a leash, take her with him on the streets to walk or to the square for the market.

(It was one of those days that he met General Fernando Della Riva.)

Dolores, my sister came down the stairs, held in his hand a basket of fruit.

I only said

- Hello, Adela.

I answered and I am not surprised by his complete lack of punishment for the departure of Andrea. Dolores was as if at birth and had been anesthetized for ever: the world could not hurt. Not even pretending.

That morning, he wore an old linen dress purple, narrow waist. With all its usual beauty passed without me worthy of a look.

I went out on the patio, this circular garden surrounded by the ruins of other ancient buildings and still raining.

poured, ticking ...

I stood under the portico, Dolores was lying in the mud in the middle of lawn.

rollai me a cigarette and smoked slowly. I began to cry without tears, just tears and rain

roared, ticking ...

even a hiccup. Silence. I did not go crazy for silence, not a breath from my lips, not even a breath, not to go crazy: silence.

Dolores got up when the rain stopped, clean, fresh, as if he had not even touched the mud. I passed by the dress and a thousand drops stuck to the skin on his face, entered the house while I smoked one more cigarette smoke braids and the last drops still fell from the eaves of the porch. That I said nothing.

I saw smoke coming my hit by a ray of sunshine orange, suddenly, that I had not even noticed and already faded.

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18 years ... Blanc de ta Nuqui! :)

here I am! ... Are OLDER , folks!
fuck .... is one of those things you waiting for a life ... and then ... poof! magic! you wake up and the wait is over!
really is not that much has changed since yesterday, but did not sleep a wink last night idea!

and think that last year I woke up in the morning and at first I did the cards, said: "Congratulations for what?" bad .... :)

whatever ... the point is, today I received the best gift that I had never been done ... the Gugly posted some of my poems in his blog.
is wonderful for me to be read! I will delusions of leadership, but it makes me happy to say the least ... also if it is not only that, but now I'm not going to dwell ...
rather ... while you're at ... going to give us a peek! ;)

address is: golfedombre.blogspot.com

a infinite THANKS to Stephen, but already know that I owe him everything! :)

a kiss to everyone!

Patty!

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this story


daughter, because dancing alone on the deserted runway last night's failure, among men already gone and I long imagined? That time has your heart sick of being slow and presumption, to get more time useless? Do not even expect your glory and my pride will die of starvation. Both the lenient punishment for such waste. And noticed the angel who watches over our solitude. Libero Parri

If it was not an atheist and a socialist was just for lack of time. It was found a couple of hours to learn a bit 'and it would become. In the meantime, he hated the priests.

It 'important to see how people choose their names. Dying and give names - there is nothing to sincere probably all the time that bell.

if you love someone who loves you, do not ever expose his dreams. The biggest and illogical you are.

That feeling while I was playing in the countryside. Not
forget it.
Be careful not to live completely free of any sweetness. presume to eat only
Clemente. Repeat the word a thousand times lenient. Clemenza.

invoke the mercy of a gracious time.
A gracious response.
I'll be lenient.

are the requiem that sounds to your door campaign in your mind that the disease comes from far away are the dust in the eyes and the black under the nails - are the requiem beautiful lips to kiss - are princess and prince, dragon and sword - is a night of fire to tame am a requiem princess. Amen.

are scribbles.
No, he says.
What do you see?
attempts, he says.
Attempts to what?
space to summarize, he says.
What does summarize the space?
means to have, he says.
And what do you do with the space, when you own it?
You put in order, says
Space is messy?
Yes, he says.
The space is cluttered.

Why are you always sad?, I asked him.
I'm not sad.
Yes you are.
not what I said. He told me he thought the people live for years and years, but in reality is only a small part of those years that really lives, and that in the years that can do what she was born. Then there is happy. The rest de4l time is time spent waiting or remembering. When issues or memories are neither sad nor happy. You look sad, but it's just that you're waiting or remembering: it is sad that people expect, and even what I remember. It is simply far.
I'm waiting, he said.
What?
I'm waiting to do what the cone was born.

But maybe it's true what he says, and every path is circular, and does not lead anywhere, but within himself, because the fog is too dense and illusory fear of our roads seem to lead elsewhere.

Writing, I wrote a lot. But writing is a sophisticated form of silence.

But he had the shadow of gold, and she was in love with him. It still is. It will never cease to be because that's why she was born.

two of us we have not loved anyone else. It was ugly, strange, unapproachable. But we always knew in his shade of gold salvate.Lui we would have reconstructed the world every time we have it split, and beside him was possible to be ourselves. And so it was.

was definitely the woman of his life.
-Why?
-Because it was bad. He was mad, bad and all wrong. It was true, if you know what I mean. It was a crazy winding road, and ran in the open campaign, never to return without worrying. Without even knowing where he was going.
He made a small break.
-was one of those roads over which it kills.
They stood there, holding hands, and the man was saying something about him. Something that was just from afar, from a very inside of him.
-E 'I've never had no option but to be a good child. I knew this was to save the system.
appears to be trying something in his eyes.
-But perhaps not.

Alessandro Baricco.

Ver Vídeos Gratis Alexis Texas

my poems

the gesture. without saying.
without making the track.
bring me your hands? or:
thousand nights without sleep while she is there to lead me

ending arc.
again and again while I sanded.

preserve the essence and the drops.
what remains in the pigment and the voice of
look,
fragment and the light when

forget how you call me?
and I still
and more. I walked the stretch with

exact color of your past.
plan. I plan
contract
each layer. I thought.
undone each cloth.
waiting
was always too late.

not this is in our tears.
this is heading. identical charm.

ending when you want?
this is not what is left.
she brings delight
of my groaning.
the thrill. I confess: I repeat

the mirror principle. form.
the vision of the passage: I did not think
. Yet I stay.
but for how long? well believe.
I can starve. forever embodying
fiber cabinet.
feeding on the touch? degenerating.
you something else. as
swallow.

this is not the pond.

hell else is there that is breaking.

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something had happened

that this place is a of the many wonderful stories of Dino Buzzati, part of the collection "the collapse of baliverna.

I decided to post this story because, for me, for years has been an obsession!
all started in eighth grade when the teacher gave us to read photocopies of the house with this story printed. the task was to make one of those stupid things that make you hate literature: write the ending! I remember clearly that, for me it was so perfect, that would have crippled by ending it. I remember thinking that this story was delightful, which was not touched at one of its commas!
not made the task Home and did not even answer the questions, the following day the teacher gave to do in class. things like: "What for you is the train that runs to the place from which all run away?". I refused, but just to be subversive, but because I did not know what to say ... but I did not even say why I could not! also taken a note ... well ... neither the first nor the last in my school career! :)
whatever ... I did not know what to say ... There was a reason!
is a complete idiocy groped to rationalize totally abandons plot. This story is feeling. is nothing but feeling. perfectly interwoven between these lines there is anxiety. this is terror, panic, loss ... the most comprehensive real or interior, that is.
is a metaphor for something else unspeakable, the end itself, does not want to be the moral of the story! this is not a fairy tale.

but does not end here ... Time passed and I forgot the story. from time to time, at night, but ... I dreamed of me. I dreamed this story. not in a conscious way (I did not know to dream Buzzati), sometimes more and sometimes less clearly, but I dreamed the same feeling that causes me to read this story.
came to me the desire to read it again, but I had forgotten the author and title, I was therefore impossible to find him. I asked him not around much and it went in my fading memory, although, again, sometimes I dream.

few days ago, our Gugly gave me to read a collection of stories, just Buzz. Many of them had already read the first and second ... more like "the Colombrita ... a bit 'here and there. to arrive at page 175 ... something ... something, in fact, happened to me!
I could read again after 5 years the ridiculous story that had bothered me so much!
was a great pleasure to be able to get back in your hands! I'm happy! :)))

Leggetevela here ......
I assure you that it's worth it!

Besos! :)



The train had traveled only a few kilometers (and the road was long, we would stop only at the distant destination station, it ran for ten hours straight) at a level crossing when the window I saw a young woman. It was a case, I could look at so many other things instead gaze fell on her that was not beautiful nor pleasant shape, really had nothing extraordinary, for some reason I happened to watch it. It was obviously leaning on the bar to enjoy the view of our train, superdirettissimo expressed North, a symbol for those uneducated people, billion, an easy life, adventurous, beautiful leather bags, celebrities, movie stars, once a day this wonderful show, and absolutely free too.

But as the train passes in front of her did not look on our side (but was there to wait maybe an hour) but kept his head turned back while making sure that a man came running from the bottom of the street and shouted something that we naturally we could not hear, as if in a rush accorresse to warn women of a hazard. But it was a moment: the scene flew away, and here I was wondering what trouble could be reached, by man, the girl came to contemplate. And I was about to fall asleep to the rhythmic swaying of the car when by chance - certainly it was a mere combination - I saw a farmer standing on a wall that name was called into the country becoming a spokesman of the hands. It was once again a moment because the direct way but I was spinning in time to see six or seven people who came through the fields, crops, alfalfa, no matter if stepped on, had to be something very important. Who came from different directions from one house, some of the hole of a hedge and those from a row of vines or something, to direct all muriccioio above with the young caller. They ran, damn if they ran, they would be frightened by any such warning sudden terribly curious about them, removing them the peace of life. But it was a moment, I repeat, a flash, there was no time for further comments.

How strange, I thought, a few kilometers in two cases of people who already receives an unexpected news, at least I assumed so. Now, vaguely influenced, scanning the countryside, roads, hamlets, farms, and presentation and anxiety. Perhaps

depended on this special state of mind, but most watched people, farmers, carters, etc., the more I felt there was an unusual animation everywhere. But yes, because quell'andirivieni in the courts, anxious women, those wagons, cattle that? Wherever it was the same. Because of the speed was impossible to distinguish good and yet I could have sworn it was the same case everywhere. Did you celebravan festivals in the area? That men have to reach the market? But the train went, and the country were all in turmoil, judging from the crowds. So I put the woman in relation to the level crossing, the young man on the wall, the comings and goings of the peasants: something had happened on the train and we knew nothing about.

I looked at the fellow travelers in the compartment, those standing in the hallway. They did not realize. They seemed calm and a lady about sixty years before me was about to fall asleep. Or is suspected? Yes, yes, even their were restless, one by one, and they dared not speak. More than once he caught them, turning his eyes sudden, gazes out. Especially the lady sleepy, she, peering between the eyelids and then I immediately checked if I had never been exposed. But they were afraid?

Naples. Here the train usually stops. Not today, the direct way. Marched hugging us the old houses and courtyards and dark we saw the lighted windows in those rooms - was a moment - men and women bent to make bundles and close bags, so it seemed. Or maybe I was mistaken and they were all fantasies?

were preparing to leave. Where? Not an auspicious news so electrified the city and countryside. A threat, a danger, a warning of dogs. Then I thought, but if there was big trouble, they would have done well to stop the train and the train but found everything in order, ever-clear, perfect trade, as a maiden voyage.

A young man at my side, looking to stretch, he had risen to his feet. Actually wanted to see better and bent over me to be closer to the glass. Outside, the countryside, the sun, the dirt roads and street carts, trucks, groups of people on foot, long caravans to shrines such as those that draw on the day of the patron. But there were so many, more and more dense as the train approached the north. And they all had the same direction, down about noon, were fleeing the danger while we are going directly to the meeting, mad speed we rushed to war, revolution, pestilence, fire, what could ever be? We would not have known that in five hours, upon arrival, and perhaps it was too late.

Nobody said anything. Nobody wanted to be the first to succumb. Each perhaps doubted him, as I did, if all the uncertainty quell'allarme was real or simply an idea crazy hallucination, one of those absurd thoughts that arise in the train when it was a little tired. The lady in front sighed, pretending to have awakened, as if coming out of sleep and looks mechanical lever, so she raised her eyes fixing them, almost by chance, to handle the alarm signal. And we all looked the bomb, with the same thought. But no one spoke or had the audacity to break the silence or simply dared to ask others if they had noticed out of something alarming.

Now the streets were swarming with vehicles and people, all the way to the south. Regurgitant trains that we were meeting. Astounded eyes of those who saw us go from the ground, flying in such a hurry to the north. And wedges stations. Somebody did mention, we were screaming the other phrases which you feel only the vowels as echoes of the mountains.

Mrs. in front began to stare at me. With hands full of jewels tinker a fazzo1etto nervously and meanwhile his eyes begged: speak, finally, they rise from the silence, you say the question that everyone expected as a grace and no one dared to do it first.

Here's another city. As the train entered the station, slowed down a little, got up two or three not resisting the hope that the driver stop. Instead he went, roaring turbines along the docks where a crowd restless yearning huddled in a convoy departed, including chaotic piles of luggage. A little boy tried to chase with a packet of papers and waved a black who had a great headline on the front page. Then with a sudden gesture, the lady in front of me leaned out, grabs the paper was able to race but the wind snatched it away. Between the fingers remained a fragment. I noticed that his hands trembled in the act of explaining it. It was a triangular piece. You read the title and the large head only four letters. ION, it said. Nothing more. On the back, indifferent news stories.

Without words, the lady got a little snippet that everyone could see. But everyone had already watched. And they pretended not to notice. Growing fear, stronger in each check that was done. To something that ends in G we ran like crazy, and had to be horrendous if, at the news, whole populations were given to immediate flight. A new fact powerful and had broken the life of the country, men and women thought only to save himself, leaving behind homes, jobs, business, everything, but our train no, the damn train was marching with the regularity of clockwork, the way the soldier's honest dating military defeat in the crowd to reach his trench where the enemy is already camping out. For decency, a respect for human misery, none of us had the courage to react. Oh how the trains look like life!

was two hours. In two hours, on arrival, we learned the common fate. Two hours, one and a half hour, already down in the dark. We saw from afar that the lights of our city and longed for their property a yellow splendor reverberant alone in the sky we gave back a gulp of courage. The locomotive whistled, the wheels rattle in the labyrinth of trade. The station, the black curve of the roofs, the flash-lamps, signs, everything was fine as usual.

But, horror!, The even went very direct and I saw that the station was deserted, empty and bare the docks, not a human figure as you wanted. The train stopped at last. We ran down the sidewalk, toward the exit, the hunt for some of our similar. I seemed to see, in the right corner at the bottom, a bit 'in the shadows, a railway worker with his berrettuccio who eclipsed by a door, as terrified. What happened? In the city we would not find a soul? As long as the voice of a woman, very high and violent like a shotgun, gave us a thrill.

"Help, help!" Screaming and cry was echoed in the vitreous times with the empty sounds of places abandoned forever.