Viva la vida (english version) Read online

9. Photos

  August has arrived as every year, warm, dampness and load of the usual expectations.

  The last day of job before the vacations I have realized as my productivity it had been being nearly for a week nothing and how much the only efforts I/you had done them, for other succeeding us, in the constant attempt to avoid every contact with Doctor Pigozzi, with heads and foreman you launch and with that big bastard of FdP.

  I shunned every concrete appointment delegating or postponing the smallest duty to my return, remaining in the office as a nonexistent shade, immovable in front of the computer, the fixed face and falsely assembled on projects by now had been approving for months. I have spent the last day of job escaping from the curiosity of FdP, closing the windows of jobs already filed in the case it drew near to my posting and reopening not her as soon as you/he/she had gotten further. I was delighted me in to feel me more awake than him, so much that I have opened a text file and I have begun a fierce description of mine hated colleague, composed by all the insults that came me to mind to represent him/it. When De Bridges you/he/she has gotten up with the excuse to ask me a technical opinion, I have hastily closed the page and I have tried a thin to like in to make him/it fool, even though in so childish way. Then the plays with De Bridges you/he/she has stewed me and I have felt stupid at least how much him. I have begun then a long job of revision that I had programmed to have been starting to the reentry for the vacations, knowing that I would never have been able him/it to end considering that it missed mezzora as soon as at the end of the man day. I/you/they have gone on the same, even though to slow footsteps. You go off the 17.00 I have closed everything and I/you/they are gone out of the office.

  To the exit, in the parking lot, I didn't have the rejoicing air of the students a last day of school, neither the happy comradeship of the soldiers to the supper dismissal. There was only the tiredness given by my small daily punishment that would have been to wait me after few days there, again.

  I/you/they have precipitately returned home and it was as if I had hurry to arrive. I/you/they have entered and I have undressed up to remain with I wear only the briefs. I have put the shirt and the pantalonis in the basket of the cloths to wash despite they were clean and, for a few minutes, I have walked naked afoot for the small apartment disseminating imprints sudaticce on the floor. Then I have opened the refrigerator but there was no anything, really nothing. I immediately would be due to go out for shopping, but I/you/they have gone to race.

  I have made the slope that brings to the beautiful belvedere above the lake, a place where once a so luxurious restaurant that you/he/she had closed after few years was. For me and for the others that had always been a special place, where to sixteen we found us every afternoon on elaborate mopeds that caused trouble and where, a few years later, we hoped to succeed, helped by the beautiful panorama, to make the love in car, each with his/her own conquest.

  To arrive us four kilometers of comfortable curves.

  I have begun the slope with light footstep and with the music of the reader mp3 in the ears, but after few you draft my march you/he/she has gotten heavy on the warm asphalt of August, the sweat is mixed to the gel of the hair and you/he/she has begun to bother me the eyes, the sweater it is me completely wet and stuck I set. When I/you/they have arrived I was tired and unloaded, but from the tall one the whole country was seen and threw a thread of breeze that the sweat dried me.

  I have bewared of the belvedere the whole underlying space for different minutes, the breath you/he/she is slowly slow down and the heart has returned to beat to a normal rhythm. Admiring from the tall one the places where I was grown, I thought to how much in effects I/you had been born in a country for old. A country like so many in Italy, but situated in an anomalous outskirts of summer holidayers and of too much long winter colds. A closed place, hunted from the hills to the shoulders and stoppato from the lake that forever it bathes the feet. A road to arrive us, one to leave.

  It seemed that everything was immovable, been equal for centuries, and I considered how much to be born in a hull of the kind imposed in effects a clean choice: to remain or to leave.

  We had remained all and five and the things you/they were never changed, we was never changed.

  Then the new light has come to mind in the eyes of Mark when he/she spoke of his/her own future,

  the relationship with Chiara already to the shoulders and Mario that it reproached me to give me too importance.

  I have felt again melancholy, damp of lake and lock, in attended.

  Attends him it was in absolute the component of my life that I would have eliminated forever. Mine is the generation of the hurry after all, that of the fast ultra adsl, that he/she buys the cherries in February to the supermarket. Accordingly, the patience of the attended me I had never had her.

  Yet really in that days I realized as in the life I/you had not made nient'altro that to wait. It seemed me to have spent the years waiting that happened something that modified the inactivity of which I was imprisoned. How many times I had attended an occasion, an unexpected train, also an abrupt shock. How many times I had dreamt that marvelous things happened me, advantageous working opportunity, amazing meetings with perfect women, even unexpected inheritance or sudden wins. Had also happened me to build very negative thoughts on what would have waited me in a life, in my life. Me scervellavo on as I would have reacted to the sudden death of a darling, of a relative, of a friend. I calculated the impact that a tragedy or an accident or a physical impairment would have been able to have on my person. I had come even to imagine as a cataclysm or the burst of a war you/they could modify my small existence. I thought and I waited, the best and the worse, and to lengthen attends him I held me in movement.

  I would not know how to say from how much time, but I felt me as an unaware hamster that races in the wheel and, for how much it bothered me to think of me so fool and fool, considered the job, the loves dragged with inactivity, the superfluous social relationships, the evenings in the disco to kill him of Long Island as an immense wheel in which I had started racing attending that for some completely unknown motive it opened my gabbietta.

  What had I done for shifting me from that numbness? Nothing, absolutely nothing.

  I complained me, I analyzed the things that were not all right me with endless complications, but I was not but an immature paranoiac that refused to grow a bamboccione.

  While I was thinking continuosly about for the nth time, the air has begun to make to dry me the lips and the sweat and the gel of the hair you/they have started to throw me on the skin of the cheeks.

  The lake went inverdendosi, I have understood that it would have rained and accordingly I have taken back the road to return home.

  It has rained, rain of August, rain that when it comes down desire of buttarcisi it comes under to challenge its strength. I like the summer storms, those that a" fourth of ago it was now beautiful time and now it seems night", those with lightnings and maddish thunders that if you are in the house you throw down the blinds. To say the truth however, that afternoon I have taken so much water that the skin has come me as a duck and the desire has passed me to challenge the strength of the nature.

  Arrived home I have left the suits on the door. The shoes unthreading you/they have made her a rubbery noise, they were full of water and I had the soft and cold toes as raw canes of fish. I have immediately slipped under the shower.

  I love taking the shower, there are periods of the year in which I/you/they am able of to do a day four of it. They are not one of those people that are had to wash so much because they have a bad odor. They are not one of those that if they are 10 minutes to the sun they know about Taleggio. Chicken is one of those. Chicken is one that if you take together us a trip in car, you go down that it seems yourself to have passed the whole trip to grigliare tomini. Me the shower I do her/it because it relaxes me, it reinvigorates me, me calm. I have read on a magazine that who washes ago often it t
o purify himself/herself/themselves from his/her own guilts, it seems me you call effect Macbeth. It will be, but I consider anymore it a moment of quiet, an antistress; as when I masturbate me.

  To the respect, I have to say that with to spend some years the frequency of my sessions of auto-eroticism you/he/she is decreased but I have to admit that I still use me of this practice. Not as Chicken however. Chicken was able of to masturbate 3, 4, 5, turned a day. From world title.

  The beautiful one is that it told you everything, also the things that nobody would ever have told. Even it reached the" Wine cellar" touching the package anchors him exclaiming conceited:

  «Today 3 following!»

  Us, when that gruesome stories happened, we had a good time also asking him the smallest details: where, with thing, thinking to whom. We set questions of an absolute reservation, to which Chicken responded with disarming purity.

  Mythical Chicken, of him I know things inenarrabili: that it learned to limonare inserting the language in the bottles of glass and that, teen-ager, had sexual relations with different types of sock. A phenomenon.

  Despite pits August and it made a lot of heat, I have washed as always with hot water and neutral soap. When I have ended to rinse me however I/you/they are given me a tap of lukewarm water and then, disdainful of my limit, I have turned the handle grip on the cold, completely cold. To today I have not understood yet if the done shower" to the Scot" both a healthy practice or an idiotic custom, but I/you/they are gone out of the shower rigid as a codfish from cell, with two grapes of grape to the place of the testicles and a prawn frozen in mean. I have warned an almost immediate feeling of comfort, to confirmation of the goodness of the Scottish routine, even if, the day later, among a gargle of anti-inflammatory and a tablet for the throat, with the ardent tonsils I have cursed whole Scotland.

  However gone out of the bath with, tied up in life the stolen white towel to the hotel" Lilac" of Rimini, I felt me a lion.

  I have opened again the refrigerator and it was still obviously empty.

  In effects I had done him more as automatic gesture, is not that I hoped that in my absence someone had filled him. I have dressed for going out and to go to the supermarket but, while I was looking for the keys of the car that" I am sure they were them", Chicken has made me a ring on the jail cell.

  I have called him back, imagining that as usual the bum didn't have credit.

  «Excuse I didn't have money.»

  «And when you ever have them?»

  «From the, where are you? I have to talk to someone.» It was serious.

  «Thing has happened? Is it an important thing? Not do do joke me because me incazzo!»

  «Nothing jokes, tell where you are that I reach you.»

  «They are at home, I was going to shop. Always if I find the keys of the car. If you have need aspect to go out however» I have said before the look fell me on the keys that were really where I was looking for her without finding her.

  «You also go out, we see us in front of the supermarket in 10 minutes.»

  «Beh, but if you want you also come to house...»

  «No, I wait you to the entrance, move you. Hi.»

  «Ok, arrival!»

  It was strange to feel Chicken with the so serious voice, also because the last time that had had the same serious tone in the voice had been when you/he/she was left with Monica. You/he/she had left him/it she, betrayed him/it from months and me I knew him/it. I had almost gathered her red-handed, hand it walked in the hand as nothing happened with one companion of his of university that possessed a motorboat moored to the dock and a German auto by 180 horses. You after all to the epoch it studied law and from good future lawyer it began to train himself/herself/themselves to the astuteness. To Chicken I didn't have and I have never said anything, but considering that as I befriend I felt me a worm, I had somehow tried to address I pour him/it the unquestionable truth that Monica was a big puttana. And it was not him/it because it betrayed him/it, rather it was him/it because went saying that he was in love of Chicken for his/her joy and for his/her simplicity and then it didn't do whether to diminish him/it and to make idiot feel him/it in every occasion.

  When he went out to couples it was unbearable to see how it treated him/it and with what epithets it apostrophized him/it. To understand us, once in tail in the cinema you/he/she turned to him this way:

  «Interdict, doesn't see that you/they have opened another box!»

  Says with a stupid voice that I would have broken her teeth on the glass of the box-office.

  Chicken despite everything was in love of Monica and you/he/she would never have left her.

  We believed the brain you/he/she was drunk, but we have never made great things to open his eyes, everything it was happy this way. When Monica has left him, he has called me and we has gone to smoke us a cigarette to the usual belvedere. Monica had given as him some cruel absurd motivations. You/he/she had told him that it had need to think only about herself and the study and that he took her too energies. You/he/she had also sworn him not to have any other man and that if he/she was seen beside someone in a future it was alone with him. Two weeks later Gianca has seen her go down from a motorboat and to climb on a sporting car: raged, you/he/she has not adopted my same reservation and it has rendicontato the everything to Chicken that you/he/she has remained really badly clearly there.

  I repeat, Monica was really a big puttana.

  Pleased to have found again the keys I have closed the door of house and I/you/they have been climbed in car.

  Nevertheless the trill of the jail cell has still stopped me, it was again Chicken. "Lasciaperdereneparliamodopoadessostounposolo." It made me become furious because he/she wrote the smses without spaces among the words. It did him/it to save characters, also when it was not necessary.

  Me has not even passed for the head to favor the message of Chicken and to go as nothing happened to shop. The road that brings to the belvedere have taken, the same one that I had done a little first racing, the same four kilometers of curves comfortable, even if very fatiguing to cross in car.

  As I had imagined Chicken it was there, sat on the guardrail with the supported feet as soon as, it seemed a baby in swing.

  I have parked to few meters from him and I/you/they have gone toward him.

  «I knew that would have found you here! Can you/he/she be known now that cazzo you have? Before call me looking for a shoulder, then you tell me of lasciar to be. You are really everything fool. Do you now tell me him what has happened or no?» I have begun.

  Chicken is turned of release and at that time account that I/you had reached him is made perhaps only. It had an expression that was not neither sad neither angry, rather absorbed and distracted, stunned.

  «My father has a stain on the liver» you/he/she has announced syllabic.

  I/you/they have been firm and silent, in unstable balance among to pronounce sentences of circumstance and the to lavish me in consolatory gestures. He has taken advantage of my silence to make sense of better himself/herself/themselves, with a clarity that frankly I didn't do him.

  «It was not well, it always felt him tired and my mother has convinced him to make some examinations of the blood that the doctor had commanded him. I knew him/it that to fury of you shout above us that accursed large head he/she remained. When you/he/she has made the cazzos of examinations, the doctor has seen that the liver went badly. He/she thought about the cirrhosis and you/he/she has prescribed him to make an ultrasoound. It has a stain. A great shade as a lemon that could be a tumor. A malignant tumor.»

  «From the, it is not said!» I have exclaimed trying to open, who knows because, small openings of possibilismo.

  «It is not said? An alcoholic as him that it has all the examinations to puttane, it is badly, is it tired and does it have the holes in the liver that has? The tonsillitis according to you?» you/he/she has realistically beaten Chicken.

  «And does he kno
w him/it? Has you/he/she talked to the physician? How has you/he/she picked her up?» I have asked.

  Nient'altro had not come to mind if not that stupid question from the bitter obvious answer as. How can a person be felt to which diagnose a crab?

  The fact is that I was always interested in the human lapels of the facts that happened. If I talked to a person to which you/they had stolen in the house, it didn't interest me to know how much you/they had brought away him, rather I felt like asking as it felt it about seeing his/her own things turned upside-down.

  I was still thinking continuosly about on how much the question had been idiotic when Chicken has shocked me.

  «Who rubs of as has picked her up! You know what it cares of of it as you/he/she has taken her that alcoholic of the cazzo. What was it waited? A prize? Do you destroy yourself for twenty years with liters of wine per diem and does thing deserve yourself a cup? I think about my mother, after Dennis it didn't deserve him a life so, it didn't deserve him to remain with the wrong child and with an alcoholic husband.

  Yet my mother has always known how to go on and you/he/she has spent all of his/her strengths to hold standing a family that doesn't exist. Now that my father will die what he remains also her? Me? I don't even want there to think. I don't want this responsibility, but I don't even want to leave her/it alone however.»

  I didn't understand what I saw in the eyes of Chicken, if it were hate or contempt or anger, but there was something, something that I had never seen and that I didn't succeed in clearly reading. Years of reflections and personal meditations, intimate considerations of which I would ever be imagined me. Has happened that in an only instant, a person with which was grown practically sharing all, it became an extraneous incomprehensible.

  Dennis is dead an evening of August.

  The Cagiva Mito 125 redhead embraced to a platan, him sedicenne forever. Of that event I possess a purely mental image a personal elaboration built on what I have felt to say. I was nine years old, Chicken ten.

  I perfectly know instead how much, from that moment, Chicken is considered a wrong child, unjustly survived, an error of the evolution. I have never believed that you/he/she had matured that conviction for responsibility of his/her family, of his/her mother or of his/her father, rather Chicken had elaborated only a merciless analysis and certainly unfair of the facts. Dennis was a beautiful boy of almost 80kg that it aimed to swollen sails toward the electronic expert diploma. Titular doorman of the under 21 regional, it was with a beautiful girl of whom traces are found in still the about ten scattered photos some anywhere in the house Chicken.

  When the ambulance the most greater brother of Emanuele has arrived you/he/she had already died. Yet nothing was not seen after the impact, any sign, seemed that he/she slept, with the broken neck, it seemed it rested on the lawn. I know all the particular because from children, while we were playing to Metroid with the Nintendo 8 bit, happened that the father of Chicken reentered to prey house to one of his/her alcoholic deliriums and told every thing between a hiccup and the other.

  The father of Chicken drank for a long time and a dead child was not but a pretext to do him/it without being then too convict. Not that pits one of that troublesome drunkards that beat his wives or his/her children and not even one of those sticky that while they are annoyingly pushing you they ever tell events successes. The father of Chicken, Mr. Giovanni, was to low and red hand, with the beard ingrigita that made him/it similar to garden dwarf. Taciturn and absent, it gave of him a benevolent idea, built on about ten funny episodes. As when you/he/she had sprinkled fatally in the house and for five minutes of clock a toxic insecticide with the objective to destroy a whole ant hill. Defeasible job, compared satisfied himself to Hitler and the fact to the holocaust. Memory shouts her of the mother of Emanuele and the laughters polluted by the gas of us two. The beautiful thing is that of ants in that house nobody had ever seen the shade.

  Among us friends we often spoke of the vice of dad Chicken. We did him/it laughing us, as with the whole rest. To Chicken you/he/she has never bothered. Himself, in the ignorant evenings where a glass throws the other, it sometimes went out toasting:

  «From the that we become all as my father!»

  Instead some death of Dennis has not almost never spoken. Some for delicacy or fear, some because even Chicken considered only her as a belonging event to its infancy, away from his/her own life. It tried to see her/it as a thing ever happened and, at least up to that moment, I thought there you/he/she had succeeded.

  After having listened I discharge him/it cold of Chicken I didn't know really thing to say.

  I have tried to elaborate a consolatory discourse to say the a little convinced truth. Fortunately I/you/they have departed with the wrong foot and him, that it didn't feel like feeling nothing if not the silence of the wind, has instantly slashed me.

  «Manu I think that you would owe...»

  «Not to call me Manu that is from fennel! Offer me a cigarette and it throws some the breath, cantastorie of the cazzo.»

  And we have remained to smoke there, with in the eyes the panorama of the belvedere and that lake that we bring engraved us inside as the feeling, as old as the first man on the earth, not to understand from where he arrives and where he goes.

  To look far us from, in perspective and with the correct colors, we would have been able to be a picture expressionist. A picture that the author would have had to call" Souls of lake."

  After a few minutes, almost embarrassed in to upset the so pleasant silence, I have asked to Chicken:

  «You are sure to want to depart? If it is not the moment we postpone, we wait.»

  «In this moment there is not what that want more whether to go from here» you/he/she has answered flat.

  We have still chatted some, then I have greeted him when you/he/she had recovered by now the coglione face that it marked him/it, even if with the eyes more determined.

  I have continued the afternoon shopping and I have disbursed well European centotrentasei and twenty-one cents: a capital.

  Hate when gives me the accursed centesiminis of rest, they don't serve to anything and they also stink.

  The first times in the supermarket I spent exaggerated figures and it seemed me not to have bought anything. The problem was that I acknowledged only me the value of my purchases when I arrived home and I emptied the envelopes: I was systematically a dissatisfied buyer. That time however, when I have emptied the envelopes, you/he/she is seemed me to have become better.

  Only mole, not to be able to foresee the attack of the desires.

  I sometimes wanted comparable to those a pregnant woman and suddenly desire of Coconut had come me. I have made up for cutting the melon, nail sends away nail.

  I have turned on the stereo connected to the computer and I have put to smanecchiare in the musical file: almost ottomila titles illegally unloaded. Flowing with the mouse, I have selected different traces, the most proper for the moment, and the casual reproduction is initiated with": Who knows if in sky they pass the Who", always of uncle Luciano Ligabue.

  I have taken an album of photo and I have started skimming through him/it.

  Despite the digital cars, the albums on cd and the loaded photos in the social network, my more beautiful photos I have her all printed ones.

  I like to think that my generation will be the last to have the photos on the paper of the dwarf that did" ciribiribì." I like to think that ours will be the last generation with the printed memoirs.

  I have opened the bulletin-board and I have begun to flow the pages lens.

  The attention was crystallized here and it on particular almost irrelevant: The suit of Gianca, horrible and verdino, that his/her mother imposed him on Sundays; the sandals of Mark, brought with the white stockings of sponge respecting him/it stereotype of the typical German; the lawn of the oratory, always full of stones and cacche of cat; the ball of European 92' with the red and black rhombuses; the doorman
gloves of Chicken, that seemed in everything and for everything those of Walter Zenga, but they cost 10 thousand liras; the dusty hair of David.

  You/he/she has given me a thin pleasure to contemplate some the memoirs and to see how much we were grown remaining always after all the same and, without understanding as, I have fallen asleep.

  When I wake up I was sweaty and sticky, but I had the feeling to have made an illuminating dream, only that as usual I didn't remember anything. Grown foolish, I have waited that finished" A sense" of Vasco, then I have extinguished stereo and PC and I am thrown in the bed.

  The following week we would have departed for ours" trip to the bachelorhood."