Lead Petals

by Quelli di ZEd

  2

  Four years later, the complaints of the funeral vigil were the howl of the siren, that echoed up to the eighth level of the well Amsicora. That sound infiltrated him up to the most impervious firesides of the mines of Montevecchio.

  Hung to the walls of the gallery, the lamps to carbide emitted thread-like shines that intersecting a cobweb of light was plotted. Two oblong shades were projected on the ground of pebbles. Emilio Masala scrutinized perplexed the look of his/her most trusted companion: Luigi Zedda, the same lanky type that a few years before the ears were covered for not hearing the bloody words of the doctor Saints. The expression of Luigi was crafty. It shook the shoulders being him of it silent.

  Emilio and Luigi showed up among the little that had succeeded in holding him the name of baptism. Dad Tainei and dad Isanzu had given them the name of the grandparent, continuing a stock that to alternate generations you/he/she would be extinguished only when the seed would not have given children anymore males. To Montevecchio if you called yourself Carmine you became Gramminu, unless I was not lower than a meter and fifty, and then you would have been Grammineddu. If you called yourself Felice you became Ciu, if instead of name you made Raffaele you were condemned to be Arraffiebi. For a long time it went this way. To evidently cripple the name from Emilio in Emiliu had not filled to sufficiency the palate of the fellow townsman, and so Emilio was held his/her name. Instead Luigi had been Luizu. It hated that name that made him/it more" sardegnolo" of that that it was already. Luizu had lasted up to when Luigi had understood that the cazzottis worked better than the complaints. But to Montevecchio there were also cacaredda, conchemallu, pappamusca, nasciustancu and so many others, that had inherited the nickname of family. Emilio was of Guspini and his/her nickname peideproccu you/he/she had not followed him/it up to Montevecchio. Instead Luigi was a de is puligheddas, the half saws, nickname buckled to his/her trisnonno because you/he/she was said that idler and indolent person you/he/she was so weak to be had to call his wife to make himself/herself/themselves hold up the bird when you/he/she pissed. The motive for which nobody called more Luigi with the nickname puligheddas was the same that had made to disappear Luizu.

  To Montevecchio you felt yourself call with your true name after few days of life, in arm to your father in front of the official of the registry. The second time that happened was the voice of a priest to pronounce him/it for the baptism. Two only times in the whole life, three for the one whom he/she got married. After that they called you with the name of baptism for the last time: you there were, but you could not feel him/it, because the coffin of your funeral was made out of strong wood.

  After the death of Giuseppino, Luigi had shown his/her philanthropic side. It was already the last of five children males parties all for America from years. And the only person was not married to which could lend attentions you/he/she was his/her mother. They also died among his hands the chicks of colombo. You/he/she had never been good to mind nothing and perhaps for this motive you/he/she had heard the necessity to help somebody else. Maria, the wife of Emilio, had been less strong than that that you/he/she was waited for to be and you/he/she had not succeeded in leaving him to the shoulders the loss of his/her/their child. You was buscata a nervous breakdown. To be nearby her, Emilio had been forced to lose himself/herself/themselves numerous days of job and you/he/she had risked to be outcast away from the mines. They would have him/it certain fact if Luigi had not covered him/it with his/her nonsense. «But how many grandparent does it have this Emilio?» you/he/she had asked the group leader to Luigi, in one of that absences. In that period to Emilio it was dead his/her grandfather five times, his/her grandmother four and at least once every his/her dozen of uncles and cousins. You/he/she had also passed of all: from the measles to the cholera. Finished the sample of illnesses, Luigi had come to say that Emilio was taken the mildew. «But the mildew is not an illness of the grapevines?» you/he/she had asked marveled Giaccio Statzu, the employee to the control of the to plot fascist.

  «Note, Emilio has drunk a glass of wine gotten by contaminated must and you/he/she is taken the mildew» Luigi had answered.

  I lie Statzu it didn't even have the first elementary and he/she still believed that earth was flat. If someone had told him that on the top of the Linas mountain they grew the mussels on the trees, he would be raced to pick up her with a tied up coppo to the sides. From that time all it took is offering him a glass of wine to make to run away him/it among the brambles hurriedly.

  When if they didn't wait for him more, Maria had been pregnant and Franco had been born. To Montevecchio every time that a child was born you/he/she was a new bud of hope, a fist of damp earth among the hands of a farmer after years of drought.

  Maria was thirty years old ten less than Emilios. Its bottom had also remained very hard after the pregnancy and the breasts, now that nursed, you/they were inflated even more. To Montevecchio if a man won his/her ten year-old wife, and a second child reached distance of so much time, the least one that could be done was to attribute to third that pregnancy. You/he/she was said that that child was Luigi's, then of the arganista, then of the butcher. The voices were stopped only when the eyes of the small Franco had taken the unmistakable color green emerald of those of Emilio. «Your child is! Eccome if it is him/it!» you/he/she had been the comment of the gossipy crows dressed of black.

  Emilio and Maria had also thought about calling the Giuseppino child, but you/he/she would have been as to try to replace him/it. Emilio had hidden to his/her wife the true motive for which you/he/she could not accept that name: every time when you/he/she had called his/her child, that Giuseppino would be remembered there was not more; and there was not more for his/her guilt, that for two carboys of water if the era lost of sight. For the first time. For the last time.

  In all that four years, Luigi had always been of side to the family Masala without asking nothing in change, apart the sanguinaccis of pig with the raisin and the almonds that Maria sent him every month of November.

  Behind Emilio and Luigi it detached a calendar slightly softened by the damp. Its lines synthesized the existences of the miners, scribbled with clipboard on the worked hours, quantity of drawn out metals and crosses of countersign. These were in effects their lives: the lead and the zinc of the mines, their extraction, the crosses on the calendar, one day in more lived and one in less to suffer. The last of those crosses pointed out the date of June 10 th 1941. It was departed one year demanded from when to Rome the Duce Benito Mussolini, from the balcony of Building Venice, had announced the entrance in war of Italy beside Germany. One year: period in which he over threatening tremiladuecento that populated Montevecchio had tried to instruct his/her own eardrums to distinguish the different resonance of the siren. Before the war the siren had announced only the white deaths, but now you/he/she was everything different. The exercises of evacuation followed him and it were necessary to learn to the quick one to distinguish the sound of more obstinate alarm, that he/she invited all to conceal in the shelter of Gennas, dug in the heart of the Jeweler mountain. Sardinia had not known until after all the horrors of the war yet but it was only a matter of time.

  Emilio and Luigi didn't even have the possibility to cross a second time his/her own looks. A horde of afraid miners emerged from the bowel of the fifth level definitely dissipating the doubts on the reality meaning of the annoying melody. Emilio inserted him in the middle of the group succeeding in being among the first ones in front of the entry of the metallic cage. Luigi had less fortune and you/he/she was forced after all to the line.

  The metallic cage was the mean of transport used for stirring in the various levels of the mine. Six ropes from the steel soul wove him in an only wide band, the only grip that prevented the metallic cage to fall. You/he/she had been made a will in approximate way for the maximum transport of nine workers. That inaccuracy made to tighten the culo to everybody less that to Farrucciu Altea, the pecks at some cemetery. In the unexplored depths
of the mine, years of falls had created a small human ossario able to simplify the job in cemetery and Farrucciu you/he/she was been able to please in the art that more he liked and more he/she succeeded him: to do nothing all day long rather than to make himself/herself/themselves come the hernia of the disk to dig ditches or to transport dead in shoulder.

  The level in which you/they were found stopped the miners was situated to centocinquanta meters deep from the exit of the well; an ample, yet less distance incolmabile of that that separated them from the happiness of a calm life, without hunger and war.

  The miners begged the God of the skies, but it were Foffu Dessì their God in earth. Foffo made the arganista and was the only one to have the abilities to drive the imposing mechanical capstan. One wrong manoeuvre of his could sweep away the lives of the passengers ferried in that elevator for the hell. The capstan was fed by a presser powerful Sullivan and, as all the things to the state-of-the-art one, originated from the United States. Its form was similar to a locomotive and painting of a lost black it aroused fear; to listen to its whiffs brought the mind a distant trip, up to the Icelandic geysers.

  The telegraph croaked. Foffo contemplated that marchingegnos of antiquariato and lifted the look in sign of surrender. To communicate had been him promised a telephone, even if by now you/he/she was resigned to the idea to receive him/it for the month of ottembre. Foffo used the code it and had the possibility to hold him in close contact with Gigi Medda, Toti Pinna, Loi Burroi, Grain Frau and others, that made the ingabbiatoris of work. Toti Pinna, out of the mine, it had eight hunting dogs. It held them free in a ground encircled by the boned thread to make the watch to the hens that rummaged to the wild state. The dogs were the legionaries of a cucciolata trained with the kicks not to touch the feathered ones; those that you/they were absent, after having tasted the meat of chicken, you/they had made the knowledge of his/her/their brothers rifle and lead.

  When the dogs barked more than the due one, Toti picked them up to lashes with a pole and then it confined them in a cage of plate and grid. «If not you bark I don't make you climb in the cage» you/he/she had gotten used to say mocking the miners to the place of his/her dogs, and it was waited indeed that from a moment to the other one they barked. From the day in which Boricheddu Satta, after having barked, an arm had bite then him leaving him as I remember the tattoo of its denture, Toti had not said anything anymore.

  Foffo Dessì not at all to the world you/he/she would have thrown on the cage without to have first received the order by one of the ingabbiatoris.

  The miners quickly withdrew him on two files as the waters to the passage of Mosé. Walking to rilento, sure that without him the cage would not have stirred of a centimeter, the most experienced group leader of the mine appeared. Also Toti Pinna removed him, seniority had to be respected. The group leader looked straight at it in the eyes. The same miners, that up to few instants first was almost I taken to fists to conquer him the precedence on the metallic cage, suddenly they kept silent and the words of the group leader resounded as the yelps of the dogs of Toti Pinna in the nights of full moon. «It deals with a true alarm bombardments or is it the usual exercise? I would like to know him/it because there are some ready explosive positions to shine» churches in annoyed way.

  Toti Pinna prevaricated, he/she didn't know what to answer. That morning had been communicated him that there would have been an exercise but the orders of the direction, her" Montecatini. Montevecchio", you/they had been clear: the exercises were worth as the bombardments and it were necessary to preserve the human material.

  «I regret it, Secci, to this question I cannot answer. Among thirty seconds I send on the cage. Prepare you!»

  To an old marpione as Anthony Secci, group leader from over trentacinque years, the few words of the ingabbiatore were enough for understanding that it dealt with an exercise. It turned the back to the hole in which it had center the cage for the transport and it announced: «Boys, are the usual exercise, therefore you climb on the cage nine for time and quietly do you him, so much French or the English won't insert today even us a rocket in the culo.»

  A buzz was unraveled along the galleries; it was a laughter reassured by the exhilarating wisecrack. Also Toti Pinna laughed, yet there was so little to be rejoyced. The life in mine didn't leave a lot of space to other and the pay it didn't allow you revel. A generic worker that had stipulated a fixed contract to times perceived the poverty of winds or twenty-five liras a day, but at least you/he/she had the faculty to be able to sometimes beat the weariness. Zemiro Biancu, was for example famous to succeed in also shirking himself/herself/themselves inside the dens of the mice. Emilio Masala and Luigi Zedda belonged to the category of the jobbers instead and they were paid in base to the quantity of drawn out metals. To be assumed you/they had been forced to dig with the drill, to load carts and to bring them up to the mules under the control of the timer. The direction, following the intuition of a bastard French engineer, Bedaux or something of the kind remembered Emilio, to assume pretended that the workers were able to complete the" 60 of footstep": a quantity pre-arranged of job, for every different duty, to reach in as soon as sixty seconds. To succeed to have us an entire physicist was necessary and a speed above the average. There was people that had tried us more than ten times and at the end you/he/she had released. With this system, to get a dignified pay they worked as slaves. It sometimes happened to be himself/herself/themselves to dig in so poor veins of metals whether not to lose the day was necessary to also stop himself/herself/themselves for thirteen or fourteen hours inside the well. Once Emilio had been given even for lost.

  The continuous exercises burdened really on the shoulders of the jobbers, that you/they saw day by day to be reduced himself/herself/themselves the quantities of drawn out metals because of the thrown time. Cianu Farris was one of the few happy for those interruptions. He was a laborer with the contract to times and it spent the whole day to break himself/herself/themselves the back shattering blocks of granite with a club sharpened by seven kilos. It was not quite been sorry to suspend the job for a few times. «God pays him/it to him!» it exclaimed smiling.

  Luigi accused him/it. «You yes that you are well. So much jobs or you don't work the salary it arrives to you the same.»

  The smile did soon to fade away from the dirty face of Cianu. «If you want from tomorrow we do to change.»

  «And which would the problem be?»

  Cianu made a disgusted grimace. «You jobbers you are all equal ones. You believe of more than the others to work. You if you give yourself to make harbors to house a good pay, instead I can also kill me that a lira I don't take more.»

  Luigi raised the dose. «I have not seen one of it of you to kill him of job yet. It seems me that you have swallowed a whole beautiful iron crowbar.»

  Cianu puffed angry. «What cazzo you are saying? What does it enter it the crowbar now?»

  Luigi sought complicity in the look of the other jobbers that you/they assisted to the dispute, and you/he/she got her/it. «The crowbar that you have swallowed is rigid and prevents you from folding up the back» he/she explained.

  Laughs smothered there, all of the jobbers.

  «Think of her/it as you want. I wish you to never try to shatter blocks under the control of tziu Saba. That vecchiaccios it is a crazy person, it doesn't even give us the time to lift the head. It seems desire to leave from the mines.»

  Luigi laughed, a team of forced laborers imagining himself/herself/itself to work looking himself/herself/itself at the feet, with tziu Saba that checked them tightening in hand a whip to whip the horses. It squeezed the eye. «Not to heat you Cianu, wanted only to prick you some.»

  Cianu smiled in turn but it was ashamed to have reverted in the nth trap of Luigi.

  Toti Pinna assured the chain that wanted to be safety and it turned the crank of the telegraph for four times: it was the signal. The mechanical capstan started. The band, tightened by the alarming phoneme
that the weight imposed her, it started to clean dust from its imperceptible pore.

  Emilio belonged to the first trip. It always had a minimum of fear: draws her with the cage they were extremely dangerous. To infuse him trust he/she took to sing one of the popular trallalleros,canzonis of sfottò in rhyme. The other miners that traveled with him found together the amusing idea and all they tuned up the refrains deriding himself/herself/itself to story. The time went by and technology advanced, but to come unharmed to destination always had the physiognomy of a twelve to the game of the dice.

 

  3

  The marshal Pietro Troise left in hurry and fury the barracks of Montevecchio to go himself/herself/themselves to village you Rule, one of the small communities of the Linas mountain that entertained the miners and their families. A little before the ruler of house had reached him/it and alarmed on the conditions of his/her daughter Geneva.

  Pietro had been born in the outskirtses of Caserta. To eighteen you/he/she had chosen the military life and to twenty-three it was already marshal of the policemen. His had been a rapid career, built with so many sacrifices and, despite someone he/she thought him/it without any spintarella. You/he/she had lent service to Naples with the mobile battalions, participating in many clashes with the insane demonstrators that, incited by the political ferment, they knew how to be extremely wild and dangerous. Pietro had made a will him/it on his/her own skin. You/he/she had done some courage his/her strength, but when the fascist empire had sent him/it to the delicate recapture of Empoli, something you/he/she was happened that had marked him/it. You/he/she had been encircled from hundreds of communist red watches and for the first time you/he/she had trembled of fear. From that clash you/he/she was gone out uninjured only his/her physicist; a phase was followed in which had believed to be able to release everything. After some months you/he/she had arrived to him the injunction of transfer in Sardinia. You/he/she had twisted the nose, account making himself/herself/itself not to be still ready for the calm life of country. As you/he/she would have done, then, without the pizza of his/her brother Ciro and the Neapolitan pastiera of grandmother Rosalia? The only thing that made him/it proud was to be able to practice in the earth in which the history of its uniform had been born. His/her distant predecessors had been the men of the Sardinian army, select as first policemen of Italy.

  The barracks of Terralba had been assigned to, a small country of cinquemila souls, anticipating by chance what would have happened him however more before. The policemen's weapon with the advent of Mussolini had been marginned to the rural zones, while it was growing to excess the consistence of militia and police in the great cities. The Duce feared the great fidelity of the policemen toward the monarchic power. Pietro Troise exactly represented the type of person from which you/he/she would have had to look at himself/herself/themselves: a man everything of a piece, in love of the country and of his/her work.

  In the calm of that place of province you/he/she had known Barbaric. Pietro told that they were still him in love before meeting himself/herself/themselves. Theirs had been a love at first sight, of those reported in the fables. You/they were gotten married later as soon as four months of knowledge, ignoring the common custom that imposed years of alone engagement to be able to be welcomed without murmurs in the house of his/her/their in-laws in Sardinia. Bernardino Ariu, his/her father of Barbaric, if the tied up era to the finger and you/he/she had forgiven that alone sgarro when Geneva had been born, the most precious gift that could receive.

  Pietro and Barbaric they were happy when they walked with Geneva in arm for the plaza of the country filled of people. In Sundays in summer it never missed the trip to the pond of Marceddì. Bernardino was a fisherman. They departed of good morning from the costiscedda with on ciu: a boat without proper keel to sail in the low backdrops of the lagoon. On ciu it was of a painted wood of green and blue. On the left broadside, under a cancellation of black shade, it brought the new name that Bernardino had given her": Geneva", so you/he/she had rechristened her. The gulls detached the flight from the wood stakes to which the boats were berthed and they chirped in front of the mullets that jumped out of the turbid waters.

  The mighty spallates of Bernardino pushed the oars in the dark water of the pond up to Head Branch, the most extreme point before the open sea. The algas of posidonia and the mucus of pond were aground in the oars and then they lost him behind the wake of the boat. Bernardino faced twice the same crossing at least a week. After that language of earth, inside the creels bigger lobsters of the lobsters were fished and, if he were well equipped, you/they could be taken to the hook tunas that cut the hair of the water as dolphins.

  To Head Branch water was crystalline as the distillate of elder and the so white beach that, with its soft summits, it seemed an I mix of meringue worked with thin sugar and egg white of egg. There were days in which the African wind he brought behind the sand of the desert. It was so hot that prevented to hold the open eyes and it dried up the lips more than the artichokes.

  Pietro and Barbaric they remained the whole day in water, passing himself/herself/itself of hand in hand the small Geneva. Bernardino observed them happy. It had a slender physicist, with the hoary hair and a fascinating face still: it seemed an actor. Contrarily, his/her wife Stelvia was very nice but incredibly ugly. Its features were spigolosi as those of a man and the masculine behaviors they made still her less female. If you/he/she had put some cosinzoses to the feet and worn pantaloni of velvet with a sweater of orbace, you/he/she would have been enough for her to hide his/her long tail of horse inside a barritas to have exchanged for a balente; you/he/she would be been able to push to challenge to it will die her/it the shepherds of the Gennargentu without arousing the least suspicion that was a woman. Even her, that never went over the water to the ankles, to hold in arm Geneva also exaggerated bathing himself/herself/itself up to the breast. Not that he/she wanted then us very, considering that the seventy years had wrinkled its breasts as the salty and annoyed tomatoes to the sun to make is pibadruas. Inside the undershirt they went down so much to cover her navel. Another po' and you/they would be ended inside the mutandonis of raw cloth, making difficult to understand if they were in effects breasts or haversacks.

  To Head Branch the Mediterranean stain went down from the rocky hill and almost arrived inside the sea. The red oxen didn't fear the man and they were sometimes seen to walk calm behind the beach. The strong odor of cisto and tamerice he/she invited to close the eyes and to listen to the whispers of the sea, that he/she caressed the beach with his/her backwash and it gave peace to every thing.

  Behind the beach there was a great salt pan from which it never missed to fill the pouch of salt for the whole week. To see her/it, the salt pan seemed a frozen lake on which to skate free. Under the layer of big salt it hid a mud that was worse of the mobile sands instead. Sometimes we remained dry someone of the red oxen; the great horns of their skull and crossbones sprouted from the mud as a warning. Bernardino and Pietro, assisted by the men of the family Coa, you/they had also succeeded in saving one of that oxen. Life was marvelous. "How beautiful you/he/she would have been to stop the hands of the time"!, he/she thought Pietro every time that riaffioravano that memoirs.

  Then the illness had arrived of Barbaric. Unexpected and stranger had burnt away all: dreams, hopes and life. Not burnt life but life, because when Barbaric it was dead, with her the soul of Pietro was dissolved also. You/he/she had not even served to anything the trip of the hope in a clinic in which he was studying that unknown illness. You/they were pushed thin in Hungary, in the city of Csejthe. Later one year of false hopes and promises ever maintained had decided almost to reenter to house. To the illness a strange name had been attributed and almost unpronounceable: epilepsy. The opinions of the physicians were discordant on the consequences of the epilepsy and it didn't exist the certainty that the crises brought to the death. Barbaric you/he/she had risked to strangle him with his/her same language in more
than an occasion. Yet death arrives in the most mocking way. Pietro had found his/her wife in the bath, you/he/she pours again to earth in a puddle of blood. Barbaric it had lost the senses during the crisis and slips to earth. Its skull in the impact with the ground was fractured in more points without leaving I escape her. And so many years you/he/she had employed the small Geneva to understand that the words of his/her father were not anything else other than an utopia: his/her mother from that long trip would not have returned anymore.

  When you/he/she had gotten sick Barbaric, the sleepless nights had been the companions of Pietro, that with the lowered head on the books you/he/she had looked for in every way of finding a solution. A lot of times, the morning, Barbaric it found him/it dormant on the desk with the face crushed on the books; books that would be been able to rewrite thousand times if only the tears of Pietro had contained ink.

  Pietro had analyzed so many theories on the epilepsy, some of which maddish or even ashamed. Casually comes upon in the writings of a pathologist, a some Caesar Lombroso. Over whether to boast to be able to go up again more or less to the nature criminal of a subject analyzing the characteristic lines of the face of it, Lombroso it sustained the possibility that every crime was the result of a connected epileptic attack with the folly. But Lombroso didn't know Massimino Peddis, a blacksmith that frightened only to look at him/it, but that it brought every evening instead bread and fave to the kindergarten of the orfanellis. And above all it didn't know Barbaric, that beautiful as a sunset in summer admired by the lagoon of Marceddì, rather than to crush the flies pursued her for the whole house trying to address her toward the open windows. "It was this the connected crime with his/her epilepsy?" you/he/she had wondered Pietro. If you/he/she had not been some that the buttocks would have irritated him, after having cacato you/he/she would be rubbed the culo with the pages of that book: a stupid polished up by the stronzates.

  Time later, when you/he/she was starting to accept the death of his/her wife, you/he/she had also gotten sick Geneva and it seemed to suffer badly some same unknown that his/her mother was brought away. The same physicians that had been impotent during the long hospitalization of Barbaric you/they had started to sketch archetypes of cares, more fruit of experiments that of you found searches. The origins and the causes of the epilepsy didn't result clear and they were still it I lead the cares able to neutralize her/it.

  The family Troise was not rich, nevertheless it enjoyed of an acceptable economic situation. All useless, considering that the skirmishes of the war had swept away the value of the money. The medicines had still disappeared before the conflict instigated him. Pietro was not even sure that his/her daughter had strength need of that medicines but so much you/he/she was worth to try. From five years you/he/she had been transferred to the barracks of Montevecchio a village of mountain that made even more complicated to follow a care.

  The marshal brusquely braked the motorbike military green Guzzi on the road excavated that you/he/she unthread in front of his/her house; in the air you/he/she got up a dense dust cloud. With the foot it threw down the easel firmly parking the motorbike so that it didn't fall. But he would have cared then thing of that motorbike. The heart bounced him in throat almost crushing him the esophagus. He/she lived with the fear that every instant passed with his/her daughter could be the last. His were the same fears of so many people: of his/her children that saw his/her own fathers approach himself/herself/themselves in mine, of his/her mothers that cried while his/her own children departed for the war. The brittleness of the human beings was cruel: one day there six, that later who knows.

  Pietro advanced fast up to the small staircase that conducted to the landing of entry. It put the boot on a step and it was given the rush. The leap allowed him to overcome all and four the stairs of granite. Concerned in front of the stipite of the door. It was open. The room in Geneva was found after all to a long corridor that departed really from the entry. Pietro saw the light of the power on room. Crossed that I treat with the feeling not to have placed the feet in earth and it entered the room. It heavily troubled and it was almost forced to bend himself/herself/themselves on the knees to take back breath. The ruler was a pair of meters away from the bed with a hand in front of the mouth. Its eyes were blocked from the terror.

  Geneva had the pupils turned back to the and its eyes seemed those some devil. A foamy drivel escaped abundant from her mouth. Its body stiffened him jerky, then it waved crossed by thousand electric shake. It was a death row inmate during the execution on the chair. On the right side of the bed, the doctor Saints it confusedly tried to revive her/it.

  Pietro was immovable on the door, petrified by the eyes of his/her daughter Geneva, invested for an instant of the powers of the mythological Jellyfish. Gradually, the body in Geneva relaxed him and taken back conscience. You urinated I set; to stain of oil, the present damp shade in its suits was also propagated on the sheets. Happened at the end of every crisis that Geneva if it did her/it I set, the relaxation of the muscles prevented her the control of the stimuli.

  «Dad, has happened still me!» Geneva exclaimed, with a so weak voice to be resulted imperceptible.

  In fact, apart a smothered complaint, the ruler and the doctor Saints they didn't feel anything. It was not so for Pietro Troise, that when he/she spoke his/her daughter it turned him into a to be able of to also perceive the lowest frequencies. You fell of side to his/her child and it tightened her strong the hand, smiling her. «Hi, adorn with stars! I am here now there me, not to worry you about nothing.»

  Geneva tried in turn to give a hold to the hand of his/her father. Pietro turned of release to stare at the ruler. «Mrs. Loi, prepares to warm bath for my daughter, The beg her/it. It has need to relax himself/herself/themselves and to rest.»

  The woman nodded and hastened to reach the kitchen. It poured some water in a tub of pond and with a match it set the brushwood of dry sarmento that rested in the fireplace on fire, crushed by some trunk of leccio. The ardent fires put us few to arrive. With the poker the ruler pushed some of it from the fund of the fireplace toward of her and you/he/she put us above a tripod of blackened iron. The tub settled her/it above to work, because it weighed as the sacks of potatoes that reached twice the month from Guspini. When water was to the ideal temperature, it transported her/it up to the bath with a copper pot of lighter aluminum of the tub. The tub was filled for half. «The bath is ready!» he/she called shortly after.

  Pietro gently took in arm Geneva and conducted her/it up to the lavacro. Geneva was twenty years old, yet it didn't feed the least embarrassment in to appear naked to his/her father. You allowed to help to undress himself/herself/themselves and when it entered the water warm churches to Pietro to stay with her. Her liked immensely to listen to the stories of his/her father while she was to I release in the warm water, to steal the foam from the edges of the tub. He/she adored the histories on Caserta and on the distant relatives but he/she preferred when Pietro told her memoirs of Barbaric, his/her mother that almost you/he/she didn't remember anymore.

  In the saddest moments of his/her daughter, Pietro lied her telling her that some physicians had almost succeeded in finding a care for the illness. It was a lie and Pietro it needed to express her as Geneva to feel her/it. You knew that his/her father lied, perhaps to also make strength to himself, and you/he/she was all right this way. It found beautiful to feel to be said that you/he/she would be recovered: a beautiful dream.

  The night, only in his/her bed, Pietro cried. He/she cried for his/her daughter as you/he/she had cried for his/her wife. How much coward had been the destiny attacking himself/herself/itself on him a second time.

  Pietro was of middle stature, with complexion, eyes and dark hair, to the antipodes with his/her daughter. Geneva was very beautiful, more beautiful than his/her mother. So beautiful that his was an objective grace that escaped to the rules after all of the world, for which the sorrow of the subjectivity was in force. It was tall and with the cl
ear skin. Long shining hair of black and great green eyes that would have made to lose the head to any man. Pietro tormented asking himself/herself/itself because generating energy had lavished so so much beauty to a girl that would never have been able to preserve living for a long time her. It was a waste: there were so so many horrendous girls on which to make to revert that cross.

  «They are already ugly as the hunger, it would miss us that God had condemned her also doing her epileptic» Mrs Loi reproached when Pietro showed the racchies of the village.

  After two years that were found to Montevecchio, Geneva to the sudden one was not wanted to go out anymore. For three years to admire his/her beauty was become a privilege of few people: of his/her father, of the ruler and of the physician Santi. Perhaps tired, perhaps aware of not to be able to fight alone or simply resigned to the course of the events, you/he/she had reacted. You/he/she had started over frequenting Montevecchio, at first only to shop in the place of the wine cellar, then you/he/she had known Daniel Minghetti. Daniel was the unique child of Phillip Minghetti, the head of the direction of the mines, the most powerful man of Montevecchio.

  To brief, Daniel and Geneva would have fixed the wedding. Pietro was not certain that his/her daughter loved Daniel Minghetti, yet you/he/she strongly supported their union: the pact not writing that Phillip Minghetti had proposed him you/he/she strongly went beyond his/her doubts on the nature of that love. It was vital that Geneva and Daniel got married.

  The problems were complicated to be hidden. Pietro tried us. Every day abandoned the illness of his/her daughter inside the domestic boundaries. You/he/she had been for protecting Geneva that had refused the comfortable adjacent to setup the barracks of Montevecchio, opting for that house in the country twos kilometers from the country. Its private life didn't concern the geese of the country, he would have minded his/her daughter without arousing compassion indesiderata.

  Cradled by the words of his/her father and risucchiata by the sweet warmth of the water, Geneva it fell asleep. Pietro contemplated that angelic body and for an instant you/he/she seemed him to see his/her wife again. Only God knew how much you/he/she missed him.