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- Are you coming? Antonio asked, looking out, as alleles.
"No, thanks.
- You, Giovanni?
"Maybe later.
"Whatever," said Antonio, waited a moment before leaving. Giovanni saw
lost behind the door and then looked up, and from there I could see clearly the forms of Antonio recorded in the mesh of wires and springs and blue bunk mattress (attributed them to his brother, but probably were for many trips). Suddenly noticed that the forms of Antonio had always been on him in clothes that Antonio received because no longer were, like shoes and socks, in his treatment of the same teachers, in the footsteps of path that he traveled to Mary ... Mary ... Giovanni extended hand under the sheets and took the Bible that night had taught Liberato.
- You know, kid? I remember every word.
"What do you mean.
"That was drunk, but I remember every single word I said last night that I mean. Liberato
thought of nothing, or in his account of the cow, or anything after the cow was looking for words, perhaps Giovanni responded to the fear of silence, the echo unrequited ...
- What word? Giovanni
not talked to Liberato, actually talked himself into a stranger's face, demanding attention circumvented, discernment of reasons, he believed, did not correspond to their thoughts. It was an intuitive approach, the one who knows that reality requires thinking but dare not acknowledge him; the books and the words of the books were gayness and did not fit in the mind of a working man, an honest man and entrepreneur, a man like him, but was the idea and was Mary, the excuse of that idea ...
-... I remember every word, I remember I asked you to teach me to read and write and remember that you told me was possible.
- Do you remember that I grabbed my book?
"I remember, and for that I apologize, but Lucio, who has been tossed. But remember also that I showed you a book that belongs to me and promised me you use to teach.
- Why did you happen to learn to write, right now?
Giovanni, eyes closed, feeling the tropic sun coming through the window and began to hurt in the skin, was found by repeating his name aloud: "Mary
said
- How?
-To write to my Mary.
-La strange.
"Very.
"And what would you say in your letters.
"Well, I do not know, I was never very good at talking to her. Not even the day I asked to be my wife. She also talks too much, but we do not care about words, Liberato, reaches us with being one along with the other, anywhere, and so were ....- paused briefly but that seemed endless, we are happy. Now that we're apart, I guess words are needed. I promised I would write, well, actually, I told you when we find someone willing to write for me ... I thought that you were going to America to help with letters, but then I thought it was too much sea between us and people would also: we could not be me with my Mary. I would write that we got to America, we get land, that life was fortunate that I have the money for her trip to meet me, I would say that I hope with money for new clothes and shoes, which America on the food and you can invite your friends ... all that I would tell my Mary in my first letter. So we have to learn to write, Liberato, you think you could? Do you think you have time?
Liberato, distracted in thought, hearing his name said: "Maybe
, Giovanni, maybe.
- Could start today with the lessons, if you please?
"Maybe, yes, after lunch.
"The book will, it was my Mary, she would read it at night, especially before you leave. I think she thought I was afraid, so I talked about God.
I do not understand why you bring a book if you did not know read and thought was not of men devoted to words.
"Because I gave my Mary and has her scent," responded without hesitation.
"I wanted to write," said Liberato. "You know
write.
"But I do not know who I should. It's strange how are things, you who have who do not know how, I know how, I do not know who or what I write - (Giovanni Maria thought) - and today I thought, as he climbed the ropes mast, cow, that fate was pushing me to write about the cows, because all signals were talking about cows, but in the height I was afraid, I chickened out and somehow knew that cows should not be the reason of my stories ... Sometimes I think, actually, what I is not writing, but having a room filled with my writing, a story already made with my stories and my novels to be able to devote only to read, yet that is impossible at sixteen and without writing a single word, is not it? There is still much time to build that history ... It is true that a person's life can change overnight, but good things never happen suddenly, unexpected changes are always disastrous. So tomorrow, or within a minute, it is possible that we are forced to fight against the sea because the Fioravanti has foundered, it is very probable, but it would be impossible to suddenly find a writer with a thousand stories written ...
- You think I have time to learn? "Said Giovanni. Liberato
opened his eyes bent down to look at: Giovanni was covered with sheets up to his neck, looked somewhere vague, absent.
"If in the next minute we are not fighting against water or fire.
- How? "Said the other.
"That itself, Giovanni, but require much effort on your part.
"Yes, of course, effort," said the other, returning to its previous state, "effort, what else is asking you for life: effort and more effort. What else, what else, what else, what else ...
-Living.
-What else ... Liberato
looked
out and on the day that began so perfect and clean found the source of his strength, his joy, his need to live and have life, but that life in a cow hide, or post anything o. .., it felt so good, even recalling that he had been stripped of that book was his most prized possession, even with heavy ballast Giovanni ... I could not even be bound to a slight discomfort in the certainty that the other needed it a supportive partner and sink ...
"Come, Giovanni, let's go, let's take the sun.
Chapters Twelve and Thirteen
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