All In Mid-August
Page 15
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Emiliana
13 August, 15:00, Saturday afternoon
Last night on the terrace was demolished. Now she had difficulty to restrain the mind. Enough! She decided to go out, take a walk, dispose of oppression. She went down in the square, sat down at the table in the ice cream parlor and ordered a cocktail of citrus and rum. She usually do not drink alcohol, but in the summer, a sip of rum liked. She sipped through a straw immersed in the great chalice, as he thought the way to go for a walk. She had not walked more than the path along the canal and the railway. She walked in the underpass. The passing train sent under gloomy sighted in the tunnel of red brick Bologna. The dark rattling pushed past him to run to get away from the noise deafening and the nightmare that was associated in his mind. It's true, among the many thoughts, she also had to call it quits, forever, so no one would have noticed. The rattle of the trains also arrive in his attic and in the darkest nights and endless had thought to call it quits. She imagined the scene. Disappear into a thousand pieces unrecognizable in the night. You could see in the white shirt, as a ghost, barefoot between the sleepers of the ballast. Then the train arrived fast. Then she disintegrated. She went into a thousand shreds unrecognizable sunk. No cemetery, just peace. Here, now, was started on the old dirt path towards the railway station device. At a brisk pace, under the scorching sun and the alcohol fumes which was not used, exceeded cloves of fields and fruit trees, inventories of a campaign in which she had enjoyed walking with his hand close to his mom. She did not know to interpret his life. She stopped. She was suddenly matured. She had changed the concepts of self, of others, of the city. She felt misunderstood in their own pain. It had all happened too suddenly. The real cruelty had made her understand the essence of things. The death had suddenly become an inescapable certainty. She did not exist without the loved ones. Who was it? His little world of trust, affection, strength, safety, had collapsed. His certainty was the trust in Divine Providence and prayer. They had sustained at all times and continued to do so. Just them she found the strength to get up in the morning and go on. She walked and thought and tortured. The discomfort saliva and grew frantic pace. She arrived near the station of San Ruffillo. Now she had a sweet, distant, memory. In the early hours of the winter afternoons on sunny days, her mother took her for a walk. Were standing there at the Cippo. The steps of selenite warming themselves in the sun, while the marble remained cold. Emiliana put his finger in the recordings of the epigraph and walked the letters, could not read. It was a place of memory, of meditation, he perceived it. Her mother aspic with simplicity, that there had been no mass shootings ruthless, in World War II. The Cippo the " Memorial of St. Ruffillo " it documented. Mary could not hide, compassion for those strangers, his neighbors who, in Naples, were caught and shot in retaliation. Mary was already a citizen of the world. She was beautiful then her mom, young, long, thick hair died, a thin layer of lipstick on her lips and eyes smiling pointing to a better future. That face of her smiled now. Now, when the whistle of the fastest passenger train in transit, the surprises her behind.