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- Who catzo be?
-Guido, please swallow your rudeness.
"It must be a crew member.
- Do you think, at this hour?
- I open, Dad?
-MA
your father knows nothing, let me open.
"Good morning.
- Francisco, buddy!
-How are you, Antonio.
"Well, well, Don Guido, the man here, a English top, is a good friend of mine.
-One of the best.
-No more, what happens. What brings you here, man?
"I heard the conversation lively and dared me to hit.
-did well, did well in our house are always welcome friends of my friends, but man, how well you speak Italian.
"Well, there are many friends I made at home.
-Madonna santa, Guido, beware of the shirt, you've poured half a cup of coffee.
"No, do not worry, I'm standing here well.
- Do you serve coffee?
"Francisco is a very cultured man, read books as our friend Liberato. And smoke
good snuff.
's going to install a printer.
He said that America is doing well these types of businesses.
And he gets the best snuff.
-Regina, Achieve a cookie to the Lord.
"No, ma'am, no bother.
"It's annoying, do not mind.
-Virgin Mary, how hot you are doing.
"Because we are in the area of \u200b\u200bthe tropics.
"This guy has taken me a great burden.
-A big wheel, you mean.
-Haha, yeah, that's it, is a large tooth-puller and certainly will do very well in America.
Hope, why not go out on a moment while ...
"Mamma, mamma, when I go out I stay, I want to stay where I go ... "Let
Dona Carmela.
- Sure, let, as in this cabin on the space!
"Well, in that case ...
"But no, my friend, Carmela did not say it for you ...
- What do you do in America, Don Guido, if I may ask?
"Boy, you let him anything, I owe my life.
"Last night I heard footsteps as rats.
-Regina, Regina.
- And what to spend?
- How do I say your name was, you, boy?
-Francisco.
-Á, Á, I am familiar.
-smoke a good snuff.
-ago, if you have to smoke, you must do it the best way she is able. So a printer?
"Yes, actually, and poorly functioning, has installed one of my partners.
"If God and the Virgin want, probably will do very well.
"I think so, ma'am, but I doubt that God or the Virgin have some interference in my decision and my actions.
- Any what?
-Mom, Carmela, do not stop the young man where did you know?
"Oh, a long history, Don Guido. Here Francis is a very generous man.
And smoke the best snuff, you must be age, I note toddler.
"But it's very handsome.
- Regina!
Carmela, Carmela.
"Yes, I believe that a press should give his good dividends.
- Eh! And what I say ... but you did not go to the saga with the job so well played.
-We thank, thanks, how about you, Mr. Guido, what they spend in America?
-Don Guido, beware of the shirt, for the love of God.
"Let God quiet on the subject, woman.
"We ought to leave it alone on several issues ...
(Silence)
-Haha, these English, these English.
-hahahaha.
Hope, have you seen the sky? It is daytime and you see the moon.
- Oh, yes? Well, Don Lucio, do you serve more coffee?
"Do not call me Don, Hope, I do not deserve.
"Boy, you deserve everything. Tell me, Don Francisco, would you ...? Carmela, what you do with that now!
"It's time the Holy Rosary.
"But let this woman, we have visitors and we are celebrating.
"God is the one who should be celebrating.
"I was going to ask you something, Mr. Guido.
"Yes, I ... well, I forgot.
- Do not like the moon, Hope?
"Yes, it is round. "But
now is fading.
"Sounds like a unit, right?
"Yes, it seems a Unit.
-do want to smoke a good snuff.
- I can offer mine?
-Of course.
"Anyway, accept it, I feel flattered.
"If so, just come.
-Hail Mary, full of ...
- How much you think you take?
- will be hot, like here?
"We're in December, midwinter. Ta
-... Mary, Mother of God, pray ...
- Need a light?
"No, thanks.
work -... death, Amen. Hail Mary ...
- So tell me, Mr. Guido, you do intend to do in America?
"I have planned a ... eh, Carmela, prays in a low voice that I interrupt your thoughts.
-... And blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus ...
-Bah, go to hell. -...
pray for us sinners ...
- What he told me, boy?
"Dad, do not look like a United?
"Mom, what, Esperanza.
"The moon, Don Guido.
I have enough self-moons and raving ...
-... IN THE HOUR OF OUR DEATH, AMEN. HAIL ...
-La found Antonio.
"Very good, very good this snuff. "When
like.
-Of course.
-... THE LORD IS WITH YOU ...
, Mom, right now? -...
AMONG ALL WOMEN AND BLESSED ...
"You better pray that we do well.
- And what do you think engage, Don Guido?
- Do you like it, Hope?
-Y ... now I look ...
quiet
"Look, look no escape ...
-rich, very rich, is that usually the imprenteros good snuff. -...
AMEN. OUR FATHER WHO ART IN HEAVEN ...
"I do not generalize, Lucio, each person lives as best you think it should be like always ...
"I agree, Don Francisco, is not it, boy?
"And saying so, Mr. Guido. -...
ASI ON EARTH AS IN HEAVEN ...
"It's a pity that people do not understand well.
"I understand, I understand. -...
Forgive us our debts, as we ...
-Submitted to foreign wills ... each must act as you think best, everyone knows what to do or not do ...
"Sure, that's what the laws ...
-... And lead us not into ...
"No, no law, I mean ... -...
DELIVER U.S. FROM EVIL, AMEN. OUR FATHER WHO ...
- Why will the whole night, Antonio?
"If you ask me, I will make it look like you want.
- Hope, come here!
-I, Aunt, I go.
-laws only serve to ...
- "Where the press works?
"I told him to ...
"Here the young man could do some good leaflets ... "Lucio and Antonio, dentists, tooth-pullers."
"Yes, of course, pamphlets ... -...
THY WILL BE DONE ON EARTH AS WELL ...
- Finishela, Carmela!
Twenty
Air, at last! Not be easy, will not be easy. Francisco shook the remaining ashes of his pipe and trying to comfort himself, was said not everyone would be so, there would be some willing minds, or at least in need of someone to give them a certainty: yes or no hope or absurd, but certainly the end. Francis was wasting his time, no, could not always be the case, a world of people too simple or too complicated, too rooted in their routines wrong, too identical to one another, but so different from Francisco, the only true all the same The Fioravanti. In a glimmer of the ship, and if not on the boat at some point in Buenos Aires or Rosario, or wherever, Francisco find men who want equality, true equality, men should be brave, also because it would not be as easy separated from God, much less of the Nazarene, that boy so consistent ... Perhaps he had achieved? He liked to believe that yes, he liked to think that the years he had dedicated to his company had not been in vain, that dreams, their own, still has some meaning, that of all peers would find a different understand to be equal . He liked to draw strength and feel a free man oblivious to the idea saying, God, and he liked to taste the pride he felt when vain by gestures, subtext and innuendo, life has given him permission to be a man, a man like all individuals ... but only, only; clear that to reach this permission was not needed, in fact, not an order, just as he turned away from God because he wanted to, because he said he could do, and explained how, and told by what, and left him at his discretion but without any options: however, had decided it and then look at the sky like a rebellious son who defies the authority of the father. Was that: a challenge? No, it could be a challenge because God was nothing, nobody, and a challenge is made to someone, a person, a something along ...
loaded the pipe and lit it. Took a deep breath ... If indeed there was a God would not have allowed to happen all that hurt, God was merciful and their word could be love. A God who demands love himself above all things, even above the individual and the like of that individual, could not be a good God, good God. That he had told his guide, and he believed. And read what the guide gave him, and read that book that someone had said that if God did not exist would have to invent ... was clear God was an invention ... Francisco looked at his pipe and thought his pipe was because someone had made, and in turn someone else far away in time the pipe was invented and the concept of smoking, someone came a cigar someone who had discovered that could snuff could burn and smoke, because someone had created a plant after someone called snuff y. .. To all those someone unknown, but could nevertheless form an ontological idea of \u200b\u200balmost all of them, although there was one, the first in the chain ... That someone is losing ... It was absurd, of course, life was absurd, so it was necessary to invent the concept of pipe and pipe, and the concept of smoking.
And the pipe was, like the snuff, smoke, and the concept of smoking.
And that, in Francisco, basically made him happy. Twenty
could say, I could scream, but when I thought of Alma and the girl, when I saw in his mind the image you tried to avoid addressing the Maria Fioravanti, reliability is going to hell and there was no promise of better snuff or smoke curtain deliver him you could not see beyond. Beyond forward and backward beyond. The future fell in the middle of the ocean, and the past was stalled in the image of Alma and the girl repeated infinitely. It was an incomprehensible image and oppressive, distressing, just like the sea, looked just like freedom. Did you know where he went? America would, of course. But did you know? Would she? Perhaps it would have been better stay and die but stay hungry and sad, because now I was sad and it would be with guts full or empty, with or without snuff.
Every evening was the same, every evening of his life were exactly alike. Just disappeared the toss of the morning and when it appeared that night and nothing would have changed, the soul was going to sea or land, or mountain, or wherever he was. Wake up with anxiety that lasted from the night before, but with the first sun did not know what was a strength and faith that drove him to his feet and whistle as he would wash, and began life, routine, and arrived at noon with mood still intact, but as evening fell, when the declining sun warned that more would soon that night and would be there, where it had been yesterday, then to the floor, the devil, the chest was closed and I could not breathe. It was not even at night, was not even death itself, was the fear, the closeness, frustration, and guilt. Because there were also guilty, or is that maybe the fault was all there was. That was Alma and girls, unapproachable image of the sea. It was screaming America! and making them scream America! You could say it and I could scream, but ...
may have been better to stay and die there lifeless, but still there, would have been better, because now died and was in some unknown place from which the name, is that the world was so great ... To get to America had to cross the ocean, and even boarded the ship knowing it would take time, now it seemed that this trip would never end. It was like going to the next village, so far, ten kilometers. And it was so far, so tiring to walk there! Liberato was a young man, for he was well distances, but Lucius was past thirty, and when thirty was passed too late to start to travel, to hope that a day that starts not going to end well.
And yet the next day wake up, and whistle while would wash. And America could scream! And it could snuff smoking wishes for a better, knowing that America could find supplies. And do not worry about the late, because as usual, just that every day, believe that the forces would accompany him to the end. And so until death, and so crying and thinking of Alma, and the girl, or if any left wanting in Italy when he finally be with him. And so, Lucius, till the end. ***
The cabin was cool despite the sultry day. Giovanni turned the pages of his book without understanding a word, perhaps suspicious, or remembering badly assertions fast and commitment of the priest Calogero, back in the village where the drowsiness of siesta removed any mood to answer questions from kids. So Giovanni was satisfied, confused but happy that God of the mass of the books he read, the sun on the rocky and dry moors, but this he did not know, or suspect. The thin pages, one after another, yellow, unreadable, enigmatic left piled on the edges spit, flap, flap, echoed in the silence, waiting for the sound Liberato reached translated as Giovanni wanted. Why not dare to stand, why did not dare to say they started at once. Why Liberato expected to understand for yourself what Giovanni had never understood anything. Flap, flap, waiting a few seconds with a focus on the boy and finding settled indifference, repeated the operation, flap, flap, pages fell increasingly thicker portions, a flock of scattered pages contemptuously, insignificant, sound, very sound, a new pause again as before, and each replication, Giovanni Liberato left alone, just like him, and got into pages of mystery, his tongue and ignored in graphics, black spots on paper musty sepia and Mary, and Genoa home of Mary and the priest Calogero and Mary, and their memories and Mary. And as the smell of dust anthology, the presence of Mary wanders past and disintegrate in the same indifference that before the boy gave him, so he also forgot and gave him his moment, now, the signs, the stains were those signs, letters, letters that had seen them many times on posters, in other roles in the passage, in the bow of this ship called Mary Fioravanti and therefore these Five brands had mean Mary, as his Maria, and tested in the air like a translucent page five brands was remembered and drawing by hand with a finger, with the mind, with the intention, and one by one, overlapping and clumsy, gave way to Mary and the signs that he knew meant Mary, and then to understand that the first three gave sea, because the first was the "mm", the second "a" and the third the "rr", was nothing more than a step, a giant step, a joy that tickled my stomach and energy moved through the veins, the left in the hands, legs, chest and minds, and mouths an immense desire to cry "Mar, I can write and I can read Mar Mar", without knowing, or wanting to forget that if I learned what I learned was because he previously had the intention, the will , then the action and well read and wrote Mary of Genoa, the expected and now surely cried and cried, and cried for him. ***
Antonio was speechless, Liberato was silent, the silence was absolute. But Liberato Antonio thought and thought, each in its north, in his carrots, in their desires. Without awareness, perhaps, thought that the words and images they saw should they hold their own stock as a center, involving the other, and chained and solidarity invented, without even knowing it, but helping each other, complementing each other, to each other in this apparent isolation. And so the greatest of T., as he fixed his eyes on the piece of nail embedded in the blue sky in the afternoon, and later becoming increasingly blue, was remembered at the age of Liberato, so innocent, so gullible, so childish back in Italy, and this guy here on the boat, carried by the same adventure, but he sixteen and T. with thirty-three. Liberato was ahead seventeen years before his death, however he was already in limit, had come to Calvary and at the time of his crucifixion. Thirty-three wasted lives, where nothing of what had happened to him to suppose that the following thirty-three would open the gates of heaven would have had to accept the temptations of the devil, there, in his Lenten fast, but chose the path that led him to the moon, and found only grass, dirt and stones, but no moon, no grace silver and round, perfect, nothing ... Now I sensed a new moon, and at times and wished and believed him, so I was ready to get back on track, but when he looked at his hands pierced by nails, he fell in realize that the time had passed and the calvary had arrived, and that Pilate and washed his hands, then felt an urge to mourn, because the cross was heavy and he did fall. Instead Liberato was young, I had another life before death. Liberato, sixteen, seventeen, alone in a boat, only in America, poor boy, poor boy, at least Anthony had his cross. At least that, and sang and was good. That was OK because there was the nail growing white in the night sky growing increasingly heaven.
The war might be a good topic for a first story. Wars were always a good topic for stories initials. Liberato may write about that instead of writing about pipes, or cows. The cow and it seemed a bad idea, and the pipe is not convinced, could not find the right words that would serve to write a story about pipes. Wars instead gave an amplitude or cows or pipes, in war as in love all worth, and for some reason I could not understand fully, Liberato supposed to write about war and love would be more or same thing. Anyway still knew nothing of love, although it had some wars reference (too many for their taste), then it would be a war and that war would fight Antonio. No, Antonio not because it was indefinable, so no special features that stand up to the pile of uniformity. Giovanni was instead perfectly with the profile of a soldier, were needed for the history and ideas of the story the protagonists, rather than the character and action. Giovanni was the right one, was in itself the figure of a soldier not a general, not even a sergeant, the main character would be a soldier, one of the bunch, with slight differences necessary to establish equality, the archetype unknown enemy in a war which would be beyond the uniformed troops with clothes of different color: the enemy would be life. No, life, life was too beautiful to impute an enmity, Giovanni wage a war against the existence itself, against the existence would be the thing. And what could be said of this war? The general good, I had read, should be covered by a credible doctrine for full acceptance of the pendulum of time keeping, a knowledge of the terrain, for her leadership, and discipline of his troops. But Giovanni was not a general, even came out, he could not explain the tactical details of a war, Giovanni was a soldier, the soldier would be their first pages and fight against the existence of obedience and not by choice; yes, he was with the profile of the man who required his story, but still did not know if you write victor or vanquished.
And no one dared to ask.
*** So, little by little, lost in the thoughts rumbling, it was night, and everyone seemed to be sleeping there, in the Maria Fioravanti, where existence was limited by a floating ropes and a rusty iron bars. Over and over here, the ocean beyond the promised and desired life promised by the wishes and desired because of the promises, and now it was, pretending to sleep, nor desired nor accepted, but it was life and was now, he weighed who would weigh, and that no one thinks to ask who was heavy, because there would be no Christ would not lift his hand.
Chapters Twenty and Twenty-Four
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