The Dreamer

 

https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B0CQDFK2JW

Chapter 2

In order to relax I recalled the preceding events, starting from the moment I had firstly met my friend George.

I had known him early in the summer 1979, in a little snack bar of the centre, in the beginning of my London stay. A snack-cafe not so far from Piccadilly Circus, where they made a slightly drinkable coffee. I used to go there, because it was the only place where the coffee was served in the small, classical, Italian cups, and even if it was served with no cream, was still better than that watered black soap that almost all barmen sell off for coffee in England.

The bar was housed in a large rectangular room. On the right of the entry there was the counter with the coffee-machine, while both on the left and the opposite wall, in front of the entry-door, there was a wood bench, lined in plastics of brown color, and, straight above, lined in the identical way, a same long but narrower shelf, plenty of sugar-bowls and ashtrays.

The left wall, for the whole length of the bench, beginning from the shelf and finishing to the originally white-painted ceiling, was made of a thick transparent glass that, giving brightness to the place, allowed the visitors to enjoy a wide outside sight where, just in front, it was well visible the entrance of a theatre with an ample and luxurious atrium.

It was there that George seemed to stare up his look, over the round glasses (like John Lennon’s, I had thought). His olive complexion, the chestnut hair and the black moustaches didn't make him certainly look like a probable Queen’s subject, but I questioned him, this not less, in English. Also because, after all we were in London. What other idiom was I supposed to speak?

He burst into laughter, hearing my question. Not immediately, but after turning his head to look at me, with a funny expression on his face, while with my hands I repeated my request for fire, rubbing, at the same time, my right forefinger on the palm of the left hand.

Lighting his own cigarette, as I stood close and steady, much more interdict than angry, because of his crazy laughing, he told me in a strongly stressed, though smooth, Italian language:

- «Sorry for laughing, but Italian people do make notice of them, when they speak English. You come from Rome, don’t you?» -, he suddenly added, smiling with satisfaction to my sad, affirmative answer.

The place, beside the two of us and a girl sitting on the other side of the bench, was empty. The barkeeper, behind the counter, was preparing a great copy of sandwiches, with cheese and tomatoes, lettuce and meats and a few others with all four ingredients together, according to the best English taste.

- «And you, where do you come from?» - I asked him in some annoyed tone for that reference to the Italian’s accent and particularly to that of the Romans, whose noble descendants I am still proud to belong.

-« I am not Italian» - he answered to me with peaceful voice «but I have lived quite a lot of years in Italy. So I know your customs quite well, and also your accent» -, concluded laughing again tastefully.

This time his laughing, however, didn't upset me at all. Those few words had been enough to make my anger fade away; or maybe I was just only glad to talk to someone without squeezing my brain to translate my thoughts from Italian into English language.

to be continued...

 

 

 

 

The Dreamer

 

https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B0CQDFK2JW

First Part

Chapter 1

 

«I will soon be back, make yourselves at home, please» said the man going out. We looked at each other, George and I. It had only been from the morning that we didn’t have a chance to stay on our own.

«That’s a real story of madness! » he burst out taking a seat in one of the four wood armchairs that were around a circular table in the center of the small room. «This man must be crazy! Let's put him off as soon as is back and let's escape from here, until we are in time», he added while I was taking a seat in front of him.

«Just a moment, George, maybe it will seem strange to you, but I don't feel afraid of this man! He inspires a sort of trust in me, despite his strangeness».

«But do you realize what you are talking about? Have you gone out of sense too? This man must have some extraordinary powers: hasn't he hypnotized us just slightly before? Have you also heard him talk of super-races and brain's experiments or have I dreamed of it?», George attacked me nervously.

«Be quiet, please, George», I told him in a calm voice. «First of all, I don't believe he has hypnotized us, just before. Secondly, if he is really so powerful as you say, what could be his reaction, when we try to immobilize him? Make a point on it:  when we arrived here, we were both sleepy. If he wanted therefore to use us as guinea-pigs, two punctures were enough for him to knock us down!  I have not seen yet neither cats resembling mice, nor men with a square brain!

 

 Who can be sure that the old man is not inventing everything? It would not surprise me if this story derived from the imagination of some fantastical writer. I want to go to the end of all these circumstances. Don’t you also want to know what kind of job's proposal Mr Winningoes is going to make for us?»

George gazed for a long time into my eyes, thoughtfully. Then, without answering, he relaxed on the back of the chair, releasing the muscles and breathing deeply.

He stood with half open eyes crossing at once the feet and the hands softly on the womb, with the right hand covering the palm of the left one. He seemed to me almost slept, while only the breath animated his body.

Won by all those unexpected and subsequent emotions, I also imitated him doing my best on sitting comfortably on the wood ancient chair.

 

 

Traveling in spacetime with Virgil

 

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0BTCCPJTQ

 Traveling in  space-time with Virgil

A drama in a prologue, three acts and forty four scenes

by ignazio salvatore basile

 

 

Characters

Virgil:  a Latin dead poet

Dante: an   Italian poet still alive

Men from  Hell

Tommaso Cosimo Caccini,   Lodovico delle Colombe, Niccolò Lorini,

Claudio Acquaviva, Benedetto Mandina , Jacopo Aldobrandini

e don Pedro de Vera: Judges  Inquisitors of the Holy Inquisition in the Galileo’s Trial

Witnesses and Guards at Galileo’s trial

Alberto Tragagliolo: a timeless Florentine

Five Devils of Loudun

Sneezy, Freezy; Slippy, Drippy, Nippy,Showery, Flowery, Wheezy,

Bowery; Hoppy, Croppy, Poppy: Dwarves of French revolution;

James Morton and Lord Digheels: two damned from hell

 

Ferdinand Walsin Esterhàzi, Eduard Drumont, Major du Platy de Clam

and General Mercier and Alphonse Bertillon damned in the Devil’s Island

 

Harold Frederick Shipman,  Irving Roy Cohn, Censors and Gunmen: Sinners from the Great Circle

 

Reverend Jones Marshall Herff Applewhite Jr, Jim MCelvane, Judy IJames

 and  Joyce Touchette: People of the Temple

 

David Berg Karen Zerby and Kathleen Maddox: other guests in the Hell

Ealk : Great Beast, guardian of the Ante Hell

Waitress

Eleanor of Sardinia and  Brancaleone Doria: good people from Purgatory

T.C.B., J.L., J.H., J.M., J.B., B.M.,S.B., B.J., M.D., E.P.,J.R.

and  L.H. : guitar players and other musicians from Purgatory

Angels from Paradise

Beatrice: a beautiful celestial lady.

 

 

Prologue

Somewhere in the space  the Latin poet Virgil and the Italian poet Dante meet again, after almost seven hundred years, for starting a new journey on the universe of human vices and virtues.

Virgil will lead Dante Alighieri, as a guide, across the space-time, through as many different  levels of the human vices, as many centuries have passed by from their first journey.

They will travel  together  through the hell of  desperation up to the hope of repentance of purgatory. At the third level Dante eventually meets Beatrice who will lead him to the true love shore of Paradise.

Scene 1

Dante and Virgil

An aseptic room. On the left a door communicates outside. On the right a spiral staircase leads upside where the spaceship awaits for Virgil and Dante to go. In a total darkness the creak of an opening door. Dante will desperately call for his master Virgil.

 

Dante (a frightened voice in the darkness): May I come in? Is anyone there…? Schoolmaster!!! Are you there? Please answer me… for God’s sake…

(After a short but heavy silence’s time, a scrubbing sound of a lighting match will be heard in the darkness. Then a candle will light an old man sit down at a table covered by piles of books, papers and maps.

Virgil (after reawakening,  he lights the candle ): I must have fallen asleep…Who is in there???

Dante (still trembling): Is it you, master?

Virgil: (going to meet Dante, hardly recognizes his friend, lighting his face) Dante…? My son!!! Why are you so shattered and distraught??? What happened to you???

Dante (getting closer to his master, almost crying in a mixture  of joy and relief ) Oh, Virgil, masterly teacher of my trembling soul… if you only knew what I have gone through…

Virgil (placing his candle on the table, embracing him with protective affection): It’s all right now, my son…

Dante (falling on his arms, starts crying and sobbing): It has been really very hard outside there, in the darkness… I saw death in the face…

Virgil (l.b.): Please, take a sit, my son… It’s all over now…

Dante(reacquiring some trust): Thanks to God I’m with you now…

Virgil (l.b. pouring a glass of water from a jar on the table) Of course… It will be all right now… Please have some water…

Dante (drinking with desire the water): I have escaped three horrible beasts…

Virgil: Have you?

Dante (trembling again and looking afraid at the door): Yes… A tiger, a serpent and a monkey persecuted me up to here…

Virgil: Be calm now… they can’t surely get inside here…

Dante (reassured he looks gratefully at Virgil): I know they can’t my sweet master…

Virgil (with a gesture of affection): Forget about everything now…Are you still determined to take over our journey?

Dante (with a sigh of relief): More than ever master! With you by my side I can face anything fearless!!!

Virgil: (pointing out the spiral staircase)  Don’t you fear to face a long and risky journey  through the Universe with that spaceship?

Dante: Not at all, master!!! I told you: I’m ready to go anywhere with you by my side!!!

Virgil (taking a map on his hands): Let’s talk about it then! Everything is ready… I’ll show you…Do you know what is this?

Dante (bending on the map): Well … I see two cones turned upside down …

Virgil: Come on! It’s an astronomic figure!!!

Dante: I’m sorry…It might be a double cone diagram …

Virgil: That’s better. The bottom cone  represents the past and the  light cone, instead, is future! The point where the apices meet is the present; so we are here now , can you see it?

Dante (pointing the map): Yes master, I surely can! But what is this kind of spiral down here ?

Virgil: The Great Spiral contains all the human’s history, since our brain can retain trace of it…Every concentric circle corresponds to a century time… the inner you go to the center, the nearer you get closer to our ancestral roots, do you get me?

Dante (with a thrill of excitement): That’s makes me feel a bit lost…It’s all so stately… so magnificent…

Virgil: Of course it is! We are talking about the space-time…That’s what the spiral really represents…

Dante (like lost in the clouds): That’s would be fantastic…

Virgil (preventing and reassuring him ): It’s out of our route to travel the warped direction… we’ll walk  the expanding  direction instead…  with our spaceship we’ll intersect the space time right here (he points up with a finger the map)… at the beginning of the fourteenth century and from there we’ll continue towards the present;

Dante (surprised and excited): But that’s the anniversary of my exile  from Florence!!!

Virgil (with an accomplishing smile): Of course! Right the 1302… Don’t you want to know what happened after your left the town???

Dante (enthusiastically): So I’ll be able to see my beloved wife???

Virgil (beating him dear on his head): Have you forgotten we are going to visit the Hell??? You’ll see her in Paradise!!! Or at least in the Purgatory realms…

Dante (disappointed but thoughtful): I’m sorry master… I didn’t forget it but for a while  I thought it might me a sort of passageway in the way to hell… ‘you know?

Virgil: Not at all, my son. Look! All along the spiral’s arms we’ll find the different circles of Hell; in its last part we’ll be in the so called Ante Hell; but here (he points  the map again), where the final part of the spiral almost touches the present’s point we’ll aim the peaks of Purgatory…

Dante (with lively curiosity): so I may argue that the Hell is in the same dimension of past life?

Virgil (complying with satisfaction): That’s right my dear learner. As a matter of fact the right established punishment for the sinners is to stay in the unhappy condition of human life forever, without evolving in a better life like we’ll see for the Purgatory and, above all, for the praised of Paradise!

Dante: I see…

Virgil: Don’t be disappointed. Can’t  you imagine a worse punishment than sharing your own time only with the evil without any good at all?

Dante (positively thoughtful): Of course you’re right…

Virgil: Put it this way: you’ll be able to see your enemies… those who exiled you… lost forever in their thirst of power, in the vacuity of  their nothingness… and those who betrayed you…

Dante: I’m not sure to want such a revenge…

Virgil: That goes to your praise and merit…Aren’t you curious about the destiny of the big priest Boniface? Charles landless Valois? And what about Raniero Zaccaria?

Dante: (sadly) I would prefer to forget them!

Virgil: You don’t have to stop forcedly with them…We can decide the first stop   in advance by the on board controls…

Dante: Do you mean we can land anywhere in the spiral lines of space-time?

Virgil: That’s exactly what I mean!

Dante: I fear to face events too close to my own story…

Virgil: There’s no problem, my son. We can go straight way to any of the circles of any century!!!

Dante : As far as I know something about some good guys I could really go further..Can I know only a few names before we go?

Virgil: Go ahead with the names please!

Dante: (thirstily) Giovanni Boccaccio,  Cino da Pistoia, Pieraccio Tebaldi, Bosone da Gubbio, Geoffrey Chaucer, Johannes Gutenberg  and his  pupil  Johann Numeister!

Virgil: You’ll find them all in the Purgatory or maybe  in the eternal joy of Paradise!

Dante (with a sigh of relief): I think they deserve it, don’t you master?

Virgil: It’s not up to me to decide, not even to discuss such matters…

Dante: I’m sorry master…

Virgil (overflying any argument): Have you got any other name?

Dante: Can you just tell me something about a certain Francesco, the son of my friend, the notary Ser Petracco?

Virgil: Despite everything he has deserved to play another chance to reach Paradise..at least for literary merits… Don’t you think so?

Dante (bewildered, pedantly listing ): Well, I surely prefer  Rinaldo Cavalchini, Menghino Mezzani, Manuello Romano, Giovanni Quirini, Angelo Poliziano, Luigi Pulci, Lorenzo di Pietro, Giovanni di Paolo, Cristoforo Landino, Franco Sacchetti, Leonardo Bruni, Francesco da Barberino and …

Virgil: (cutting him straight) That’s ok, my son! I have got your point of view!!! May be you would like to make our first  stop further in the fifteenth or in the sixteenth century…

Dante (changing attitude, almost apologizing): Oh, the sixteenth  is my favorite one..so full of art…discoveries…new ideas…

Virgil: I’m with you… you can start from there our journey… if you want to…

Dante: Well, it depends from the people we might find over there…in the lines of the infernal spiral I mean…

Virgil: You can make some names, if you want…

Dante: I have a great number in mind…

Virgil: Make ten of them… just to start…

Dante: Let me see… I would start with… Martin Luther,  Nicolaus Copernicus, Leonardo Da Vinci, Niccolò Machiavelli, Michelangelo Buonarroti, William Barker, John Calvin, Sandro Botticcelli, Tintoretto, Luca Marenzio…

Virgil: All in Paradise!!!

Dante: That’s good!!!

Virgil: Any more names?

Dante: Oh, I’ve a great copy… Why don’t you tell me,  master, some names worth to be heard? I would be so grateful…

Virgil: (surprised): Well, there are really plenty. What do you think of Hernan Cortes?

Dante: Do you mean the Spanish conquistador?

Virgil: That’s him, my son…

Dante (a bit upset): Speaking  about Spanish people I would prefer to talk with Diego Guillén de Avila,  Pedro Fernandes de Villegas or with Pedro de Padilla, ‘you see?

Virgil: Well, of course I see, but they are all guys of Paradise…

Dante (quite mortified): I’m really sorry, master…

Virgil (with resolution): Never mind! Do you have any  other names?

Dante: if I were assured about some other figures I would ask you to start straight to the beginning of the seventeenth century…

Virgil: Whom would you like to know of?

Dante: Raffaello Sanzio, Giorgio Vasari, Sir Francis Drake, Amerigo Vespucci, Giovanni Bellini, Adriano Bancheri, Anne Boleyn, John Calvin, Catherine de Medici, Mary Queen of Scots, Charles the Fifth, Nostradamus, Ivan the Terrible, GianPierLuigi da Palestrina, Michel de Montaigne…

Virgil: All of them out of the Great Spiral except for Francis Drake, Nostradamus  and Ivan the Terrible!!!

Dante: (very thoughtful) I’m in two minds… I’m not sure I want to stop just for three names…May I ask for any others?

Virgil: Come on with your last names then!!!

Dante (in one breath): Oliver Cromwell, Johannes Keplero, William Shakespeare,  Cervantes, John Donne, Francis Bacon, Renè Descartes, Thomas Hobbes, Walter Releigh, Mazarino and Richelieu…

Virgil: Only Richelieu and Mazarino have got trapped on the Infernal spiral! But all these names lead us straight to the seventeenth century!!!!

Dante: Very well! I’m ready for the 17^th century now!!!

Virgil: Let’s go then!!!

(while they go towards to the staircase which leads to the spaceship the lights will be off)

 

 

 

 

 

Lost in the House of Dawn

 

https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B07H44DYF7

Ehi, Mr Shadow

Would you please tell me

How has gone away

the age  of Aquarius?

That story full of love,

Hope and romance!

And why  now

cannons balls

Keep on flying?

Please, tell me

 where the best minds

Of your generation

Are resting now?

Talk me again

Of peace,

Speak again of brotherhood!

Aren’t you

used to live your

Own life anymore?

Or you’ve really got lost

In The House of Dawn?

Now I know what’s love

 

https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B07H44DYF7

Now I know what is love

Not the sudden passion

that turns off soon

and then rises again 

Not even your eyes

some sincere

But not eternal

Not your vain, fallacious promises

But the Word that never betrays

It's true love!

Alone thinking of Elem

 

https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B07H44DYF7

Alone thinking of Elem

 

 

Don’t pass by on my street

‘cause I could think

She’s coming to me

 

Don’t knock at my door

‘cause I might think

She comes for asking love

 

Don’t call for me anytime

don’t look for me anywhere

don’t ask for me to anyone

 

Just leave me alone

thinking of her.

Profeti, politici e cialtroni

In questo periodo prelettorale in TV impazzano i dibattiti politici.

Le elezioni, chissà perché, mi fanno pensare al principe della risata Totò.

Lui, con le sue risate amare, era riuscito a mettere a nudo le velleità e la pusillanimità dei politici italiani. Non molto è cambiato dai suoi tempi. E se qualcosa è cambiata, è cambiata in peggio.

L'estate mi fa pensare anche ai concerti che, magari in replica, mandavano in onda le estati scorse, quando almeno non eravamo afflitti dalle presenze invadenti dei politici in TV.

Un vecchio post mi ha richiamato il concerto "La Notte di Vasco" dedicato al cantante di Zocca, Vasco Rossi.

Ho ripensato ai concerti ai quali in passato ho preso parte in prima persona.

Mi sono rivisto in mezzo alla folla oceanica, con le mani al cielo, cantando a squarciagola, ballando e muovendo la testa e il corpo a suon di musica.

Non si vivono quattro decenni di successo per caso. Vasco ha incarnato i sogni e il malessere di più di una generazione. Certo il suo successo è da attribuire anche ai grandi musicisti che lo accompagnano sul palco.

Ma i suoi musicisti veicolano sulle splendide note di chitarre, ottoni, tastiere e percussioni i testi che incarnano i sogni e le fantasie dei giovani di ieri e di oggi. Che poi sono i sogni di coloro che ritrovano se stessi più nei riff di un chitarrista e negli assolo di un clarinetto che in un mondo incapace di trasmettere emozioni.

Una fuga dalle banalità di un mondo materialista, fondato sul consumismo, che ha perso nella massificazione delle menti, delle notizie e delle vite votate alla produzione e al consumo, in nome del dio quattrino e di Giove PIL, ogni sensibilità spirituale.

E l'uomo senza spirito non sa vivere, sente che gli manca qualcosa; qualcosa che egli recupera in quei versi strazianti che parlano di libertà, di solitudine, di uno straniamento che è anche e soprattutto ribellione a ogni consuetudine e perbenismo.

Qualcuno un giorno ha detto che non si vive di solo pane.

Se a qualcuno non piace Vasco Rossi dovrebbe ricordarsi che senza spirito si vive male e si cade inevitabilmente prigionieri di profeti e duci che non sempre guidano al bene.

Ma chi l'ha detto che ai nostri politici e ai governi del mondo interessi il benessere spirituale dei cittadini?

Abbandonare il materialismo in nome dei veri profeti comporterebbe rinunciare al potere dei soldi e delle poltrone facili.

Meglio aggrapparsi alla materia e al potere lasciando che i sudditi governati sfoghino il loro bisogno spirituale appresso ai profeti fasulli di turno, magari affogati in qualche sorta di sostanza che li alteri un po' sino a dimenticare, almeno per una sera, la fatica di vivere una vita senza senso e senza valori.

Ma è meglio seguire un profeta, ancorché cialtrone, oppure un duce ancora più cialtrone?

Se fossi giovane non avrei dubbi: sceglierei un profeta cialtrone.

Recuerdos de un italiano en Londres-19

 

https://www.amazon.fr/Solo-como-una-piedra-Recuerdos-ebook/dp/B09Z6C5LKC/

La tranquila vida diaria de Oxford Street a veces se veia interrumpida por la aparición repentina y casi fugaz de los "contrabandistas".

Eran personas acechantes del este de Londres, menos malvadas y deshonestas de lo que su apodo podía suponer, que eran capaces de improvisar una venta en la calle de articulos de lujo falsos más adecuados para la comedia de Goldoni.

Por lo general, actuaban en grupos de cuatro, cada uno de ellos con un papel definido.

Llegaban a la calle Oxford en una hora topica (entre las 11.30 a.m. y las 16.p.m.) después de estacionar en su camioneta en una de las calles adiacentes. Por lo general, ocupaban un segmento de acera entre dos barras transversales; dos de ellos actuaban como postes en cada una de las dos intersecciones, por lo que nunca podría suceder que una patrulla se acercara inesperadamente y los otros dos dispusieran la caja con la mercancía en el centro del pavimento (perfumes, billeteras, bufandas, encendedores, relojes joyas, que variaban según los días, pero siempre eran marcas de lujo pero falsas).

Uno de ellos, el orador, sentado en una de las cajas de cartón, volcóada como asiento, elogiaba la calidad y el precio de los productos expuestos a la venta,, con voz exaltada en ese incomprensible dialecto de Londres, que a su vez era un espectáculo imperdible.

El cuarto compliz, el provocador, estaba colocado detrás de la multitud que regularmente se detenía alrededor del orador, atraída por ese espectáculo improvisado, y luego,  empujando el dinero, visible entre sus dedos, gritaba "... ¡Compro tres de ellos!" , "¡Quiero dos!", "¡Tomo cuatro de esos!" Arrastrando consigo a docenas de compradores que a veces daban el dinero sin siquiera saber lo que estaban comprando.

Una vez uno de los dos de guardia, consciente de la llegada de un par de bobbies, dio la alarma. En cuestión de cinco segundos, sin haber previamente tranquilizado a los clientes ocasionales sobre sus honestas intenciones, los bienes, el dinero y las cajas ya habían desaparecido, tragados desde el callejón frente a la dirección de llegada de los policías. Y después que la patrulla londinesa, completamente ignorante, desaparecia de la vista aguda de las guardias contrabandistas, en el mismo punto se iba  reformando el mercado de ventas fraudalentas. Y debe agregarse que la interrupción no le hizo mucho daño a los asuntos de la banda.

En reversa, el miedo que la banda mostraba de haber por la policia, ya sea cierto o falso, podría haber convencido a la gente de que los negocios propuestos tenían que ser muy rentables.

¡Qué bendita ingenuidad de los británicos y los turistas de Londres!

Recuerdo que mi padre solía contarme acerca de los sinvergüenzas napolitanos que vendían a los compradores ingenuos relojes de oro falso,  desde la época de la Segunda Guerra Mundial, fingiendo que eran el botín del último robo del siglo. Aunque todos conocen el Teatro Napolitano, es algo diferente de la comedia inglesa.

También recuerdo que Bob una vez me confesó que se había ganado de vivir en ese estilo, durante un tiempo, y que sabía que los que lo practicaban eran todos muy buenos chicos.

Recuerdos de un Italiano en Londres - 18

 

 

https://www.amazon.fr/Solo-como-una-piedra-Recuerdos-ebook/dp/B09Z6C5LKC/

The Evening News era en realidad solo una imitación del Evening Standard más famoso. Este último venìa publicado en múltiples ediciones desde las siete de la mañana. hasta altas horas de la noche, con una frecuencia entre las dos y las tres horas. De una edicion a otra, solo cambiaba la primera página para atraer a los lectores a noticias brillantes. Se distribuyìa con una red de distribución realmente fantástica.

Las entregas llegaban en una camioneta negra y amarilla, y desde allí, con el motor encendido, sin descender de la furgoneta, volaban los paquetes de periódicos.

The Evening Standard no tenía una fisonomía política precisa (al menos no en el sentido que los italianos le damos a esta expresión) y tal vez alternó su afinidad ideológica con los partidos políticos al gobierno en el cuerpo administrativo más grande de Londres: "The Great London Council" .

Todos esos vendedores me daban una impresión extraña: que siempre habían hecho ese trabajo. No solo por la voz sibilante que los caracterizaba, sino también por su ropa muy sucia. La piel de su cara se veía oscura, casi sucia, debido a la exposición al aire insalubre.

También me parecia que siempre tenìan fríos, incluso en verano, como si en sus huesos hubiera penetrado la humedad y el escalofriante aliento de las corrientes de aire heladas procedentes del Metro.

Usaban guantos que dejaban los dedos expuestos para agarrar fácilmente dinero y periódicos y se calentaban con una taza de té con leche que compraban en el bar más cercano.

A pesar de su aspecto, que en los días de intensa niebla se mezclaba con el paisaje circundante, convirtiéndose en un elemento característico, como las columnas rojas del Royal Mail, las cabinas telefónicas y los taxis negros, las sensaciones que transmitían eran muy positivas.

No digo que fueran alegres, pero puede ser joviales. Una serena y resignada jovialidad, como si la difusión de los acontecimientos londineses y del mundo entero, contenidos en sus periódicos, los hiciera impermeables a las emociones, colocándolos por encima de los acontecimientos humanos, como mensajeros imparciales de los dioses del subsuelo.

Cuando pasaba por allí, donde estaba trabajando, nunca faltaban de asentirme con simpatía, al mismo tiempo emitiendo un sonido que quería ser un "¿estás bien?", Pero uno solo podía escuchar un silbido, como el viento que había entrado en sus cuerpos, consistiendo en tres, tal vez solo dos sílabas, veladas en la garganta.

Recuerdos de un Italiano en Londres -17

 

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Bob y los otros comerciantes, incluidos sus dos hermanos y una hermana, habían abandonado la escuela poco después de haber resuelto sus obligaciones escolasticas; de hecho, muchos incluso antes de ese término.

Rebelde y refractarios con las duras reglas de los profesores de la escuela inglésa, preferían la vida libre de la calle; sin supervisores jerárquicos invadiendo o reprendiendo y sin ningún tipo de obligación (no era raro que cambiaran las malas palabras con algún cliente demasiado exigente o desafortunado). Y con un gran sueldo sobre las ganancias promedio de los trabajadores y empleados de las oficinas encerradas.

Otros vendedores ambulantes eran los vendedores de periódicos. También ellos procedìan casi exclusivamente del este de Londres, pero era muy raro encontrar jóvenes entre ellos. Trabajaban al aire libre durante todo el año, ocupando las esquinas a la salida de las estaciones metropolitanas más importantes, usando una simple caja metálica dentro de la cual estaban los periódicos, y una mesa con silla de metal, y de allí emitieban algunos sonidos incomprensibles que se fusionaban con las corrientes que salìan de las entrañas de la tierra, a través de los infinitos meandros del metro; y en esos sonidos ya no se podían reconocer los nombres de los diarios Evening Standard y Evening News, que pronunciaban en una forma corta y deformada por el hábito, similar al traqueteo de una bestia herida, para atraer la atención de los pasajeros distraídos y apurados en tránsito hacia las entradas de los túneles subterráneos.