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Diary

“Pani – Bobbe – Pum – Tina!”
My mother said these were my first words (obviously, along with “ma-ma”): “Aeroplani (airplanes) – Bombe (bombs) – Pum (boom) – Cantina (basement)”.

“STUPIDITÀ”  – STUPIDITY – according to the Italian dictionary TRECCANI, means “a state of torpor, insensitivity, and stupor,”  or more commonly, “Scarcity or lack of intelligence,”  or “Unintelligent behavior, action, or speech…” 

The etymological root of the word WAR, in romance languages such as Italian – GUERRA - as well as in English and some Slavic languages, lies in the Old Germanic WARRA, which means CHAOS. War is chaos.

The readers’ cry to us writers is: 
“Comfort me.” 
“Amuse me.” 
“Touch me.” 
“Make me dream.” 
“Make me laugh.” 
“Make me shudder.”  
“Make me weep.” 
“Make me think.”  
Only a few chosen souls say to the artist: “Just give me something good in any form that suits you and your mood best …” 

Ecclesiastes: “Many indeed have killed sadness, and there is no use in it.”
The Book of Proverbs: “Like a moth in clothing or a worm in wood, sorrow gnaws at the human heart.”

“I am the greatest man ever born, and in so many professions… I’m the top man in the world!” And as if that were not enough: “I wanted to create a sound of priceless wonder on Earth.” And then there is still more: “I was born free, and I wanted to stay free… I wanted to be mine and not belong to others, and whoever wanted me would have to come to me and ask…”

This short story, published some time ago in an abridged version, stems from some readings and consequent sad thoughts on historical events in Italy. These events are not well known and have been rigorously omitted from teaching in schools. 

I’m fifteen years old. It’s summer. Vacation. Early morning. My twin sister Silvia and I go to the river. She’s fond of insects. She’s always on the lookout for them, and then she studies them. When she grows up, she’s going to be an entomologist. I don’t know what I’ll be when I grow up. Right now, I like going fishing and spending my time with her.

The nineteenth century killed an impressive number of men of genius in pistol duels. How many trivial men were struck dead? That has not been recorded.

Hercules was looking after a herd of cattle when a disobedient, unruly calf ran off.  The mythical hero had no choice but chase after it. In its escape, the animal galloped across a peninsula shaped like a leg stretching out into the sea.

It is February 13th, 1278. We are in the center of the Arena di Verona where over 200 human beings are tied together in small groups of women, men, and children. Among them is a woman of 85 years who was born in 1193, far away from Verona: her name is Azelaïs Pauc. White hair, gray-green eyes. She was captured along with the others in Sirmione, the last stronghold of a heretical Christian current. Today in Verona, in the name of the true religion, one of the great bonfires in Italian history is being lit. Alongside old Azelaïs, 200 scream among the flames and the smoke rises to the clouds.