Mrs. Vanda clean the worn marble steps that enters his shop. It 's a spring evening with the lights turned on and people are sparse. Down the street, Mrs. Vanda is more than ten years. There was affezzionata those two cases of white neon always half filled. They seem to get into fights with neighbors of many small and expensive souvenirs nothing left in the sanctity of a memory. The Séderon contained in that melange skirt-to-well moves with a kind of grace bred to need to form more than content: it is vaguely of that generation after the war, Mrs. Vanda, you have to be happy even when you would cry and is wrong even when there is nothing wrong. The burgundy sweater the weights despite the efforts of the look in that spot on the worn marble that stubbornly refuses to disappear. A little 'as the laborious inis of his mind. In addition to orchids and grace, Mrs. Vanda raises smiles and masks. Could not express their despair when Pepper was alive. It was so much a good man, and as such did not want the complications of a woman, even when menopause would give a valid reason to stop to describe paradoxes. When he left her alone, selfish in death as in life, Peppe convinced her that her hours would be the only security shop, stealing to guilt and fear that even those years - few or many - to Mrs. Vanda remain. And like every woman who can not let their fears, Vanda has also started to love them, treat them, cleaning the marble steps worn that they enter. The visitratrici of Vanda are the guardians of its conscience: Iris runs the little bar serving white at all hours, and Bea, the owner of the banquet of souvenirs that home front. They look like the heads of the Bermuda Triangle, in whose corporate limits with other really compassionate silence sometimes poisonous, you lose your thoughts, so that from head to mouth what comes out is never what comes out. There was a time when Vanda believed he had done something good so that was imposed on the Peppe while choosing his name, Julia, as a child because his uncle had told her that that was the name of the noble, illustrious people. And Julie was the little thing to its western most famous of all. Mrs. Vanda had taught her to list things to do and those from which the refrain, in a proportion that would have probably done it before to tell her to leave and there was good and right nothing. Look for this or for whatever other reason (Vanda we had spent the night in tears asking this question, if only to exclude the possibility of being wrong nemmenoleisacosa) the fact is that on the day of the Giulia diociottanni happened to the house a girl full of iron and signs "bumpkins" - as the Iris said why do not you remember the word "ethnic" - on the shaved skin and hair and gave her the greatest of all despair: the unnatural! You Faith, we love .
What was that? A shot? Perhaps a step down in the square. What had esplosu a noise so intense? He had heard about those poor people, but no Julia. The Julia had to graduate, get married, have children ... She bursts into tears, the Vanda, with rain like a clogged pipe that broke out after twenty years of emotional neglect, and many of the most emotional of rust. All words scream inside his head, but they are so many that I could not bring out any. Only images, only the faces and judgments and fears, and the passage of time without stopping: a pink ribbon, a nursery tune, some balloons, a cingomma ground, a clandestine lipstick, a few drops of coffee ... drops, stains on that step that serves no hands to scratch despite the stink of leocrema and bleach. The Iris greased laughing from behind the counter facing the door: Vanda, what xeà? Vanda what is it? Bea also extinguishes the cigarette sociologist and expert on the necks as if he could get there without walking. What xeà, Vanda? Spots, here's what's there. Stains everywhere, of every type and shape and color. Only stains to remove, scratch on the steps that lead in to all things ... spots that look good, oh my goodness, are not dirty. Are lines and circles and shapes and deep veins of marble. Why suddenly the Vanda is a thought, as the lightning flash of an old Polaroid. Vanda thinks that it is not an easy name. what he had in his mother's head? Vanda! nd v AA AA .. So the mop it falls to the ground and we lack that little step from getting the bucket on the floor does not give the oily water of a lifetime of damage. It remains there, the Vanda, staring at the cathedral illuminated where hundreds of pilgrims for centuries have laid down their prayers, asking forgiveness and rest salvations ... stares as you set a vision, for all we know ourselves. As if someone had called that way. It no longer feels the Iris repeating What disgrasia, diobono that digrasia! when he tells of Julia. It no longer sees the Bea who shakes his head, nor Peppe who tells what to do if you do not want to do a very bad shape, if you do not want to go to hell. From the church on the square, which approaches the dot is holding an umbrella. E 'Giulia who cares: he does not want to come home alone with the time that comes up. And that's where Vanda sees again like the first time: a little girl, a woman, a life. His illustrious and noble daughter, she has done, that thing there, she and a creator do that everybody talks about and nobody listens. We are the first swallows are protected under the porch. And there is the scent of fresh air. The Julia arrive but do not have time to ask why the bright eyes, that the Vanda is embracing. close, strong, piano, sweet. much I love you, honey. I love you well as you will . How are you, Julia. How did you Vanda. And you close the gate on the step of stained marble. Closes slowly. Just as it is.
What was that? A shot? Perhaps a step down in the square. What had esplosu a noise so intense? He had heard about those poor people, but no Julia. The Julia had to graduate, get married, have children ... She bursts into tears, the Vanda, with rain like a clogged pipe that broke out after twenty years of emotional neglect, and many of the most emotional of rust. All words scream inside his head, but they are so many that I could not bring out any. Only images, only the faces and judgments and fears, and the passage of time without stopping: a pink ribbon, a nursery tune, some balloons, a cingomma ground, a clandestine lipstick, a few drops of coffee ... drops, stains on that step that serves no hands to scratch despite the stink of leocrema and bleach. The Iris greased laughing from behind the counter facing the door: Vanda, what xeà? Vanda what is it? Bea also extinguishes the cigarette sociologist and expert on the necks as if he could get there without walking. What xeà, Vanda? Spots, here's what's there. Stains everywhere, of every type and shape and color. Only stains to remove, scratch on the steps that lead in to all things ... spots that look good, oh my goodness, are not dirty. Are lines and circles and shapes and deep veins of marble. Why suddenly the Vanda is a thought, as the lightning flash of an old Polaroid. Vanda thinks that it is not an easy name. what he had in his mother's head? Vanda! nd v AA AA .. So the mop it falls to the ground and we lack that little step from getting the bucket on the floor does not give the oily water of a lifetime of damage. It remains there, the Vanda, staring at the cathedral illuminated where hundreds of pilgrims for centuries have laid down their prayers, asking forgiveness and rest salvations ... stares as you set a vision, for all we know ourselves. As if someone had called that way. It no longer feels the Iris repeating What disgrasia, diobono that digrasia! when he tells of Julia. It no longer sees the Bea who shakes his head, nor Peppe who tells what to do if you do not want to do a very bad shape, if you do not want to go to hell. From the church on the square, which approaches the dot is holding an umbrella. E 'Giulia who cares: he does not want to come home alone with the time that comes up. And that's where Vanda sees again like the first time: a little girl, a woman, a life. His illustrious and noble daughter, she has done, that thing there, she and a creator do that everybody talks about and nobody listens. We are the first swallows are protected under the porch. And there is the scent of fresh air. The Julia arrive but do not have time to ask why the bright eyes, that the Vanda is embracing. close, strong, piano, sweet. much I love you, honey. I love you well as you will . How are you, Julia. How did you Vanda. And you close the gate on the step of stained marble. Closes slowly. Just as it is.
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