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That evening, the breeze coming from the north accompanied a thin cloudy blanket. The people of Montevecchio had been assuaged by the torment of the last canicular days.
In the last times, Pietro Troise had not spent day, minute or now in which doesn't was not wander about in front of his eyes the image of that monster to embrace and to tighten his/her daughter to itself Geneva. You/he/she had been an event difficult to accept. Only he realized now than hypocrisy belonged to the human nature. It came him easy to commiserate the least fortunate ones and to stigmatize who was ghettoizing the world. You acquitted or it condemned with carelessness when you/he/she was not directly interested. But now his/her daughter and the things there was middle they changed. You/he/she had been amazed also him in to discover that Pietro Troise was able of to be racist. You/he/she would not have believed before never us up to few days. When it lent service in the mobile battalions, a commander lombardo named Ambrogio Lazzari called him/it every time" terrone." They were almost come to the hands. Pietro had sworn that if a day had become marshal or commander you/he/she would not have put aside never someone for its origins. Yet, with Lucio you/he/she had done very worse already and despite inside of itself he/she knew well to be wrong, you/he/she could not allow that Geneva saw that being again. No, you/he/she would not have granted him/it: she deserved more him. Few would probably have lived and for this the right sacrosanto was conquered to receive every desirable gift from the life. An abortion of husband was not really the most beautiful gift that could be dreamt to receive, but this was what he/she believed him.
A rhythmic whirring of fruscoli to the wind played in the air as a distant musical tool a life. Accompanied by that sound, Pietro left the guesthouse to the shoulders. You penetrated in the middle of a pineta that served as windbreak to the sporting field and it laboriously climbed him toward the top of the hill. Where the brushwood was grown in way spropositato the stamberga of Lucio he eclipsed, marginalized by the whole rest as its master.
Pietro didn't have well clear thing us same going to do. For the time being it was enough for him to reach her/it, then you/he/she would have decided the to make himself/herself/themselves. The roofing of reeds that mantled the hut of Lucio sprouted from the bushes of corbezzolo. The lamp was power on. He was awake. Pietro distinguished his/her enormous shade from the window. It almost sinuously fumbled. It was an intangible outline and his/her shade the fruit of a shrewd game of Chinese hands.
Pietro took a seat giving the shoulders to the residence, setting himself/herself/itself on the trunk of pine more strong than he saw. It feared that the other more slender plants could not sustain the weight of its anger. It unthread from the pocket of the pantalonis a withered packet of cigarettes: national without filter. It curled the nose ascertaining that there were only two of it to the inside. They were the last, then before again smoking some good tobacco you/he/she would have had to attend the progress of the war or even the final result. The maritime traffic was diminished, the smugglers were not even risked more for the Mediterranean one: it was too much dangerous. Pietro already knew that in lack of other you/he/she would also have smoked the leaves of eucalyptus. It smoked from when it was thirteen years old and you/he/she had never succeeded in stopping. You/he/she had tried us two or three times but you/he/she had withstood at the most for a week. It smoked more before now. Geneva had proposed him to try with the candy to stop; quickly he had responded her to have tried us but the candy you/they had not wanted to know of it to ignite.
It dragged a match on the gang of paper implicit glass door in his/her wrapping. The small fiammella sparkled as a fatuous fire in the obscurity. From up there he/she succeeded in perceiving in full the elegant structure of the guesthouse. It inhaled a mouthful of cigarette. When it expired, the image of the building became confused as in a dream, darkened by the stagnation of the haze. You still remembered the luxurious offices and the lodgings of engineers and executives of the mine decorated to the limit of the modesty.
After the memory, Pietro granted the pleasure of the present. In the façade of the guesthouse a zoccolatura in stone detached him up to an earth meter and a frame to the quota of the windows it contained her/it. Tent roofs with finishes in tiles marsigliesis crowned a gilded frame that mantled the three levels of the building. That structure and the comfort that it guarded screeched with the poverty of the miners as a nuraghe emerged to the sudden one by the depths of the sea.
Two sentinels piantonavano the avenue of access in the guesthouse: to the ragamuffins of the mines you/he/she was not even allowed to pass to lowered head in front of the wonder of that building. It was a microcosm of which they didn't make part and to which didn't have access. Windows give the unreal blaze of that place it was perceived. The delicate refolo of the god Eolo pushed up to the hill the dance music played by a gramophone.
Pietro shook the cigarette making to fall the ash to the ground. It didn't dissuade the look from the windows illuminated to electricity, not from lamps to oil as in the rest of the country. For an instant it envied those people that gaily if they enjoyed her/it to the face of the war. You reformed trying disgust for that thought: he/she didn't want to have nothing to whether to do with that noble rabble. If you/he/she had not been for the pact with the engineer. and for his/her daughter.
Once he had been invited to also stop an evening in the guesthouse by Evaristo Santoni, an executive that a favor had asked him, or better, that had pretended him. In the ample counter of the cafe, fottendosene of the prohibitions of the Duce, he was tracannato so much of that Whiskey to intoxicate colonel Basthuberr's whole company. The ladies dressed sumptuous suits. With their constant foul smell under the nose they had the power to make to go out of hinges any man endowed with a speck of dignity.
The peak of the party was palpated in her/it" room of the mirrors." This way the favorite of God called her/it. It was a room endowed with anything a man it was distantly able only to imagine: tables from billiards, poker tables, tavolate stracolme of food, pictures, clocks, wine glasses of crystal and silver silver wares. There were also flaming models of radio balilla and of radio roma,oltre that an object able to project in the future: it was a wood box that contained a crystal, that for a hour per diem it imprisoned small fascist. They called her television. With the war you/he/she had not been turned on anymore, because it was said that its transmission interfered with the issues of the plant of landing of the airplanes, but it was there always ready to still amaze.
To discern the room from the whole rest, however, they were really the mirrors, prepared in enormousness along every visible recess. The inhabitants of the guesthouse seemed to undouble him in that eccentric place. You specchiavano assiduously, to remember as continually their magnificence to him same and the others was great. Pietro had eaten tartine to the caviar, drunk French champagne and Scottish Whiskey. You/he/she had chatted of politics of business and of women. You/he/she had danced with attractive women and he/she was seen far a mile that you/they died from the desire to know him/it more approfonditamentes. You/he/she had lost fifty pokers liras and you/he/she had won to black one hundred of it jack. Any man would have considered that memorable evening, instead Pietro had gone away from the party with the nausea, drunk and disgusted by everything and everybody. That herd of stupid they swept his wives each other without the least respect. But their true obsession was to display his/her own wealth to the exhaustion, coming to lick up the fetishism. With the maids and the sguatteres there was not even instead need to ask. Them same were often granted, with the hope to find a more dignified job. The superior plan you/they had been climbed to, where the lodgings were. «He/she wants to favor, marshal?» Evaristo Santoni had asked him, that he was already opening the braghetta. In front of them there was a beautiful naked girl that shook the culo for air. You/he/she had been at that time that you/he/she had decided to leave the party.
Disgusted equally of that evening, Pietro turned to the sudden one, as if y
ou/he/she had decided thing to do. The lamp of Lucio still burned. In the air a vague sign of damp earth was perceived, from some part it was raining. The summer storms were rare but very dangerous. If Pietro had intention to do something, you/he/she had to do her/it to the quick one.
You/he/she had perhaps been climbed until up there to frighten Lucio, telling him in face as the things they were, he/she thought. A secluded regurgitation of humanity originated him from the depth, imploring to arrest him/it that sudden scorribanda.
A blinding lightning showed the whole valley and the authoritative din of a thunder it let Pietro jolted. A pluvius drop struck him/it to the face, then another and other anchor, up to that it didn't find again him in the middle of the downpour. Another thunder. Nearbyer. To Pietro him accapponò the skin. The wind increased, forcing the pines to stoop himself/herself/themselves in respect to its strength. Their points trembled fast. They tried not to give a point of fixed reference to the arrow that the clouds were about to unload on Montevecchio.
Pietro was wet rotten. Water strained on his eyes veiling its view. Was the residence of Lucio to few footsteps and Pietro you/he/she would have been able to ask shelter, but as you/he/she would be introduced? «Excuse me, joke of the nature, had come to recommend to leave you my daughter alone, otherwise to attend next time you in the wood will find a pellet hammered in head. Did Ah, forget, it is not that you would entertain me up to the term of the storm?» That possibility was unthinkable, better coming down and to ask hospitality in the guesthouse, even if in that place they existed some well more dangerous monsters of Lucio.
By now the ground you/he/she was reduced to a mud and it made the descent an action to complete with extreme caution. Pietro went down for about twenty meters seizing himself/herself/itself to a trunk of pine and then to another. You stopped for taking back breath and it took advantage to rub himself/herself/themselves the hands on the pantalonis in the attempt to polish up her from the residues of bark and resin of it. It made a painful grimace and it cursed: you/he/she was remembered to have inserted the packet with the last cigarette in the pockets. Chaotically it patrolled their fund of cloth. Its face gave the idea to have lost forever a ring of inestimable value. It was enough for him to feel the wrapping with the point of the fingers to understand that that last cigarette had gone to make to be blessed. He/she succeeded in extracting that that he/she remained of the weakened packet and it opened him/it. The cigarette was still entire, even if damp and wrinkled and so much was enough for not being able to be smoked. The tobacco after having been to contact with the water acquired a disgusting taste. It unthread the cigarette from the packet in desolate way: a death row inmate felt him to which the last desire had been denied also. With anger it gave the object of his/her only vice to the animals of the wood. «Merda!»
The fiery illumination of the guesthouse succeeded in clearing its walk. Pietro still launched from a pine to the other and felt him burn the hands. The irregularities of the bark had hurt him/it provoking him some excoriations. You found again in a point in which the presence of trees was spaced out. Now it was forced to come down without grips for an almost double line in comparison to the mistakes. It tried to sideways reach the pine to him adjoining. To little distance, a shine invaded abbacinante the obscurity, a series of segments voters engraved the film of the sky and they came down jagged up to the ground. A boato made to tremble the earth shaking the shoots of the trees. Senseless, blinded and deaf from that to follow him of lights and sounds, Pietro it lost the balance and it slipped prone toward the feet of the hill. You/he/she was dragged by a fall of water and mud. With the lengthened hands it tried to protect himself/herself/themselves from the obstacles of stone and wood how aggressive as the sows that feel threatened his/her own pups they tried to bite him/it. To his/her passage, a delirium of mud squirted for air without control. He/she saw the shrunken face of the death emerge behind every tree and to try to clutch him/it with skeletal hands. His was the petrified face of whom knew where it brought those slip. After the guesthouse there was the deep void of a precipice. A strong trunk of pine cut him the road: there was an appalling crash. Pietro felt a pain that had never tried, so acute not to be able to be even never imagined. The last feeling that tried was as to be stabbed to repetition on a side from an assassin that it intended to be certain to have killed him/it. But it was nothing in comparison to the terror of the descent to the dark, to the fear not to see anymore his/her daughter again. Lost the senses and the river of deposits that it raged on the hill it dragged downstream it.
Times later, an incomprehensible harmony, then a delicate hit they craved to tear Pietro from that state of blessed drowsiness that wound him/it. Him mugugnò something but there was need of other to definitely escape him/it to the claws of the doziness. It was as if that feeling of peaceful relaxation had abducted him/it and it demanded a full-bodied ransom to return him/it to the world of the thinking ones. Pietro was well, you/he/she felt him close to his/her wife. An energetic jolt spurred him/it and the first thing that felt was an atrocious sharp pain on the left side. Disclosed the eyes and it grinded the teeth for the pain. Plain Pian its sight took back transparency. In front of him there was the doctor Saints that it stared at him/it worried. Pietro arched an eyebrow in interrogative way. That was not the house of the doctor Saints and tantomeno his. It supported the hand to the pallet trying to rise himself/herself/themselves and he/she heard the dry sound of the pagliericcis that you/they broke him. An odor of rotten vecchiume oppressed the room. To earth there were three aluminum casseroles and a chamberpot: they picked up the water that infiltrated him in from the ceiling of reed more points. The clay floor was wet and seemed the bed of a porcilaia. Pietro twisted the nose for the disgust. In an undone fireplace there was still some trunk of residual chestnut tree in the winter and a deep crack it marked the wall that was of forehead. A mouse passed to big speeds and was sheltered behind two shelves of table on which some cups of can and two dishes of pretense were systematized porcelain. Pietro was astounded. It did for getting up and another sharp pain struck him/it forcing to remain him/it in that position. It scrutinized the face of the doctor Saints and shake the head. «But where are we and does thing do us here?»
The doctor placed behind him a hand on the breast and one the nape, accompanying his/her body up to the pallet. Pietro didn't have to get tired himself/herself/themselves, you/he/she was too soon still. «Yesterday night she has been caught in the act by the storm. You/he/she has made a beautiful flight and you/he/she has cracked some ribs, over that gotten series excoriations. But you/he/she has been fortunate because you/he/she could go worse, very worse.»
Instantly, as if an unknown entity had uncovered him the skull and thrown to the inside a knapsack of memoirs, Pietro it remembered what you/he/she was happened him. In his/her reason the images of that whirling fall quickly perceived, as if it were him the principal actor but somebody else. He/she remembered the purpose of the climb on the hill and the deformed face and ghignante of Lucio it took possession him for an instant of his/her thoughts. The muscles him they benumbed him causing him the nth violent stab. It opened the mouth but the pain it worked from cork and it allowed him to send forth only a hoarse and smothered complaint. «Doctor, has answered only to one of the questions that I have done you. Do I repeat her, where do we find us?» To pronounce those thin words was seemed his greatest work of his/her existence.
The doctor smiled widening the braccias. «As I have told her before, you/he/she has been fortunate. The river of deposits has dragged downstream her over the guesthouse. You has been aground in a bush of broom but you/he/she would have remained him/it for few. before falling in the void of the precipice. You/he/she has been Lucio to find her/it and to bring her/it in safe to his/her house. Only after you/he/she is raced to tell me what happened. I have put there some to understand what wanted to tell me but at the end I have decided to follow him/it and I have been this surprise.»
Pietro covered the
face with the hands, you/he/she was seen indeed now the greatest work of his/her existence: to accept that life had been saved him instead by a man that him it had even thought about being able to kill. «Him where it is now?»
The doctor pointed out the door. Some second remained in that position. With the other arm along the side it seemed a scarecrow mutilated by the wind. «Lucio is out there, I believe that is defile for leaving you calm.»
The mind of Pietro went to tumult. Lucio had saved him the skin yet, despite the heart it told him to be him thankful, he/she didn't succeed in accepting that it frequented his/her daughter. «Doctor, begs her/it, does him/it enter!»
Saints it set out toward the door. Its footsteps to the eyes of Pietro seemed, or you/he/she would perhaps have liked that were him/it to postpone what by now you/he/she was become necessary. The hand of the doctor opened the door and a colossal shade incombette on the room. Lucio entered, behind of him there were the fears and the remorses of Pietro. The giant was dressed with the same pantalonis of velvet usurato that wore the last time. An undershirt, that once had been white, mantled its torso defined to the excess. It almost frightened. Two-headed and three-headed bulgy they showed a branched interlacement of greenish veins. It drew near to the pallet. It tried to shake the hand of Pietro that instinctively it withdrew her/it. Lucio remained marveled by that to withdraw himself/herself/themselves disdainful and a veil of regret made capolino on its face. A melancholy smile didn't succeed in concealing its state of mind.
To Pietro it didn't escape the sad light of that face. «Thanks!» he/she succeeded in saying. And that only motionless word was suspended in the room, as if his/her promoter had pronounced her without being really convinced to want to send her/it to target. The doctor Saints it gave two affectionate pat on the shoulder of Lucio to encourage him/it. Pietro, reformed, it lengthened the hand toward Lucio, that tightened her/it and smiled; this time it dealt with a cheerful rice.
«Doctor, would like to reenter to my house, Geneva will be in punishment!»
The doctor Saints it shook the head. «Coop calm, marshal, with Mrs Loi, Geneva is in good hands. However I have already told in barracks that the sergeant comes in auto to withdraw you and to bring you home. It will be here to moments.»
In the head of Pietro they crossed thousand of thoughts that had the power to mislead him/it as in a sorcery, then sergeant Podda's voice stormed in the room. «How he feels, marshal?» he/she asked, after being him first raised the pompous policeman hat.
Pietro turned almost afraid. The silence with which the sergeant was introduced in the room had surprised him/it. It usually caused also trouble to lace him the boots. «Bruised but entire, I would say, sergeant!»
The sergeant Matteo Podda had thirty years and the bicyclist physicist: dry land and minute. You/he/she had been Pietro to choose him/it among about twenty pretenders to the degree of sergeant and him it was not able whether to eternally be him thankful. The father of the sergeant made the laborer and for years you/he/she had hoed the vineyards on behalf of others, receiving few more than the dust in change. If Matteo Podda could eat something different from the bread and chicory it was worth of Pietro.
The sergeant set apart him with the doctor Saints. «The torrential rain of last night has swept away the only carriage path. I have had to park the automobile in front of the guesthouse. It is necessary to transport the marshal of weight up to valley.»
The doctor twisted the mouth and. «The marshal has taken an ugly blow and you/he/she is very weak, you/he/she would be better to avoid too many scombussolamenti.»
Pietro saw the two confabulate. To be kept in the dark of what personally concerned him/it it bumped him/it in exponential way.
«Hey, you two, thing done think, that I/you/he/she am a child with the mucus to the nose? I would appreciate to be partecipe of your discourses, always if trouble doesn't cause too much you.»
The sergeant twisted him the hands, you/he/she always did him/it when you/he/she felt him embarrassed. «Marshal, is necessary that we transport downstream down you until. The landslide of the ground has caused the collapse of some trees that have obstructed the only carriage path.»
The doctor Saints it was inserted among the two interlocutors. «I don't believe that I/you/he/she am the thing.» Pietro hissed before you/he/she could dispatch in full his/her opinion. «It doesn't interest me as but I intend to return home and I won't stay more here one minute» it announced nervously tightening with both the hands a bunch of pagliericci.
The doctor Saints it lowered the head and it felt like sprinkling him/it to him of ash. «As it desires her, marshal!»
They went out of that hovel. The sergeant held Troise for the legs, the doctor Saints for the braccias. But if for sergeant Podda's thirty years the weight of Troise was notable but sustainable, for the sessantacinques of the doctor Saints that few meters all it took is for exhausting its giacenza of energies. «My boy, believes not to make her/it. I already feel braccia and legs that tremble me» he/she confessed Saints folding up himself/herself/itself on the knees and panting.
Lucio saw them in difficulty and didn't make him pray to give strong hand. It grabbed Troise loading him/it to him in shoulder and it started to come down from the hill with the agility of a goat of mountain. The sergeant Podda and the doctor Saints were immovable to contemplate that strength of the nature. Without revealing some work, Lucio transported the seventy kilos of the marshal as if it had in shoulder a baby of few months. It abandoned him/it on the back seats of the balilla 1100, the automobile that, furnished by the weapon to all the departments, you/he/she had saved the future descents of the policemen. Before those autos, the fugitives were pursued among the mountains, in saddle to of the hacks or with some shattered motocarrozzettes, and many testicles were ended squeezed in the bumps.
Closed again Lucio the counter without receiving thanks. The sergeant climbed fast in auto and you/he/she inserted her/it before. The automobile departed toward village you Rule. Pietro succeeded in perceiving the outline of Lucio from the car window and despised him considering to the inevitability of the gesture that had done; his had been a pathetic thanks. And disgust did even more him, because after what Lucio had done for him, its grudges were not enfeebled. And if you/he/she had not been able to kill him/it as a dog anymore, it was sure that if you/he/she had still caught him/it with his/her daughter you/he/she would have shot however, even only to hurt him/it, but you/he/she would not have spared him/it. "But what kind of man six, Pietro Troise? Able to shoot he who has only saved you the life because his is not a face from Casanova" it repeated him in continuation the echo of the conscience. The shade of the great leccis saddened him/it; closed the eyes and he/she thought about his/her daughter together with a beautiful blue prince. The sergeant premises the foot on the pedal of the accelerator. Not to be lacerated by the pain, more mental that physical, Pietro fell asleep; by now you/he/she missed few and you/he/she would have returned home.
Silently, the auto was parked in front of the villetta. They went down and, sustained by the sergeant, Pietro entered the residence. Mrs Loi him he made meeting distressed. Its fears had not sprung only from the conditions of the marshal, there was also another motive: Geneva was hardly taken back by a strong epileptic crisis.
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