last moon

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venerdì 8 luglio 2022

Recuerdos de un Italiano en Londres-13


Pero si Soho es el corazón palpitante de Londres de noche, el turismo es el gran negocio en el resto del West End: un gran centro comercial y comodidades en cuyas venas corre un río infinito de personas, motorizadas y con dinero, que atrae a un reemplazo continuo de nueva vida de las arterias invisibles del inmenso metro subterráneo de la metrópoli de Londres. La presencia de esta masa de plancton metropolitano había permitido en esas calles el surgimiento de una variada fauna de vendedores, incluidos los puestos de frutas, que se establecían principalmente a lo largo de Oxford Street. Sus frutos, tan hermoso y llamativo que parecian falsos, se destacaban más por la calidad y la forma que por la cantidad. Los "vendedores de fruta" en realidad vendían a los transeúntes, lo habitual para un "almuerzo rápido", o para turistas ocasionales, una manzana roja californiana, una "Granny Smith" sudafricana verdosa o incluso un pomelo siciliano, un plátano o , quizás, al más sofisticado, un avogadro cortado en dos mitades, provisto de sal y cuchara de plástico. Mientras que las pocas amas de casa o restauradores en la zona, que se encuentran en la calle Berwick cercana, encuentraban precios más baratos y mejores opciones. La "London Fruits Sellers Company" (de la que dependían estos vendedores de frutas en particular) era sin duda una empresa con todos los documentos adecuados: permisos de comercialización municipales; Licencia de ocupación de suelo público; tarjeta de seguro médico e incluso pagos regulares y sustanciales al Gran Socio Estatal: el voraz Fiscal de la Corona. La cumbre corporativa estaba compuesta casi en su totalidad de financieros judíos, eternos y expertos, siempre en busca de inversiones y ganancias, mientras que la organización en el campo, por así decirlo, estaba en manos de los ingleses. Todos los vendedores ingleses venían del barrio "East London", una ciudad en la ciudad, el mejor Londres, para aquellos que eran legítima y auténticamente londinenses.

La concentración en el este del Támesis de los descendientes de los antiguos habitantes de Londinium había ido junto con la expansión de la capital inglesa.

Expulsado hacia el este por la ampliación del núcleo antiguo de la ciudad (así como de Holborn, Seven Dials y Covent Garden), que se convertirá en los siglos en la rica milla cuadrada, desalojada del oeste para hacer espacio a ricos y lucrativos edificios, la gente más pobre de Londres encontró refugio cada vez más en el lado este de la ciudad, fusionándose con los descendientes de los hugonotes, los judíos, los romaníes y los ingleses más pobres de la actualidad, mudandose a Clerkenwell, Finsbury, Shoreditch, Wapping, Limehouse, Hoxton, Stepney, Bethnal Green, Whitechapel, Shadwell, Aldgate, Millwall, Hackney, Rotherhithe, Mile End e Bow, que se convirtieron en otro Londres, el único real y original, en contraste con los ricos y turistas de Londres. Y mientras Harrod's, Selfridges, Marks y Spencer y los bancos más grandes de Londres estaban ubicados donde una vez ellos vivieron, encontraron refugio en el East End, lejos de la caótica y contaminada Nueva Frontera. Y cuando cruzaban esa cortina invisible que los protegía hacia el este, entraban en la "Ciudad" o la "Ciudad", pero Londres ya estaba detrás.

giovedì 26 maggio 2022

The real story of Patrick Winningoes-4

 


https://www.amazon.it/real-story-Patrick-Winningoes-Salvatore-ebook/dp/B0B244SFNQ/

During the war I had the opportunity to deeply analyze the causes of those disastrous events. I had been, it is true, in the years immediately preceding the war completely devoted to my studies, in a way that I could call purely scientific of the phenomena which stand at the base of the human life, but it was not certainly in the fore coming years of war that we had to seek its reasons and inmost causes. The roots of hate and evil sank their extreme appendixes in the most tangled and lavish meanders of human mind. These deleterious feelings, so inherent to human mind, were to be conceived like the principal causes of that huge bath of blood.

 

From this premise I puzzled out that the basic beliefs of the national socialist philosophy were correct: the humanity, in order to be saved, needed a superior race to be raised over the others for leading them to salvation. But German race could not certainly be the chosen one. Not even any other among the existing races could be that, because it had to be a race who didn't know, in their hearts but goodness and love.

 

With a greater fury than before, I addressed all my energies against the hateful enemy: I challenged death ten, hundred, thousands of times, always defeating the adversary.

 

Little by little, I started perceiving what role it was reserved to me in the history of the world and the contours of my destiny assumed more and more its clean and precise outline.”

 

While pronouncing his last words Mr Winningoes, who had gradually been increasing his excitement during the narration, lifted up the right hand, tensing his forefinger as an accuser, and his eyes rotated a couple of times halting eventually in an insane expression of craziness depicted on his face. He remained for indefinite time with the lift forefinger, staring into space, with his muscles tended as if they had wanted to get out of standing. He seemed a statue of marble, immortalized in a grotesque pose. This sudden explosion of apparent madness came unexpected. Before we had the time to interact, however, the man seemed to recover himself. He looked around, lost and embarrassed and, grabbed a glass of water, voided all of it in a hit. The water seemed to calm the man. His eyes showed now a serene light and he looked like being almost absent, lost in his thoughts or perhaps looking for recomposing the interrupted line of his story. He pulled the refreshments trolley and picked up a carafe filled with a golden colored liquid.

 

- Have a drink, please. It is cognac from Charente, one of the few things that I appreciate of French people.”

 

This way saying he poured some of that liquid in a short, carved wine glass, explaining us that a cognac, to be really good, has to leave, if slightly rotated, a thin layer of color inside the glass.

As soon as I had drunk, I immediately felt a comforting warmth. On the warm’s alcohol wave I thought that that man surely knew so much indeed about life. His theories, nevertheless, yet quiet abstruse to me, showed however a sort of suggestive charm.

I imagined my brain imploding together with George’s, melting with it and flying, as a winged rocket, in the endless universe.