Fabrizio Ulivieri - TrendSetter

At ninety-four, Silvano was only trying to resist. To force the body to do what it could no longer do and the mind consequently had difficulty keeping up with the will. Sabatina was confined to a wheelchair. She barely could walk and hardly. She was too fat. So many times he had told her she had to lose weight. — Me ​​fat? I only have a swollen stomach - she answered. She did not see herself fat. Quite the contrary. In that old-age-fog that enveloped his brain (high blood pressure, prostate, varicose veins, medicines in large amounts) he tried to find his way. To reorganize his vision that he felt close to be extinguished. He understood that if he switched off that vision he would lose contact with the rest of the world. It was the last link between him and the outside world, that vision which desperately he grabbed. And the past years he had fought to keep it alive. Until the collapse of Bettino Craxi had been a lion. A fighter, a beast. He never gave up. He could fa...

A novantaquattro anni Silvano cercava solo di resistere. Di forzare il fisico a fare quello che non poteva più fare e la mente di conseguenza aveva difficoltà a stare al passo della volontà. Sabatina era confinata ad una sedia a rotelle. Camminava poco e a malapena. Era troppo grassa. Tante volte glielo aveva detto che doveva dimagrire. — Io grassa? Ho solo lo stomaco gonfio — rispondeva. Lei non si vedeva grassa. Tutt’altro. In quella nebbia di vecchiaia che gli avvolgeva il cervello (pressione alta, prostata, vene varricose, medicine in quantità industriale) cercava di trovare la strada. Di riorganizzare la sua visione che sentiva spengersi. Aveva capito che se si spengeva quella visione avrebbe perso contatto con il resto del mondo. Era l’ultimo legame fra lui e il mondo fuori, quella visione. E aveva lottato negli ultimi anni per mantenerla. Fino al crollo di Craxi era stato un leone. Un cavallo da battaglia, una bestia. Uno che non mollava mai. Che tornava da Roma la notte ...

Of those days spent in the farmhouse before leaving to Verona and trying to take the train to Florence Silvano remembered one morning. The sun was already high, and it was hot even though it was September. The sky appeared full of bristly and white cirrus like goat's milk. Twenty girls on bikes had gathered in the Cascina. They wore light dresses that assumed dark shadows under the sun filtered by the cirrus clouds. In the distance, in front of them, stood the a far countryside and a linear white road that stood out as if it was carved against the plain. Silvano stood under the stable's shed and looked at them like one usually would observe a painting. That image of fresh youth, of flesh exposed to the sun, provoked him. Even now the memory of that day made him feel such a strong emotion that even at the age of ninety it could become excruciating. It was the same emotion but a deaf pleasure of his flesh, now. The prostate had been tormenting him for years and only go...

"Odyssey? It is a myth about the nostalgia of returning home, a longing to return home suffered during the long years of "naja" by Italian soldiers taken to fight away from their families, by their worries about how they will return home after the war, by the fear that assaulted them in their dreams and overcome them with the thought of never being able to return, because of strange obstacles that arise on their journey. It is the story of September 8, the Odyssey, the story of many others September 8: the pain and the dread to go home on makeshift vehicles, along countries full of enemies. " (Italo Calvino) - Silvano ... Silvano ... - hissed the comrade from above, to warn him of the gunshots. From below Silvano beckoned him that he had understood. Gunshots were heard in the distance. On the other side of the barracks, in front of the dormitories there was a colonel with a gun in his hand and two soldiers dead at his feet, to whom he had fired becau...

Quando Badoglio annunciò l’armistizio, tutti credettero fosse la pace. L’impulso fu di una gioia sfrenata. Di ritornare a casa. L’Italia si dissolse, l’Italia militare soprattuto. Anche Silvano fuggí. Tutti fuggivano. Il sentiment d’ordine generale era: ritornare a casa. Che altro fare davanti a quel sentiment collettivo che anteponeva la propria pelle a ogni onore? Davanti alla sfaldamento generale di qualsiasi apparente ideologia A Bologna Silvano prese finalmente il treno. Riuscí a prendere quel treno per Firenze. Non vi erano stati controlli particolari a Bologna. Con sua grande sorpresa tutto filò abbastanza liscio. Nello scompartimento, nella panca di legno davanta lui stava un ragazzo di circa vent’anni, che mangiava avidamente pasta asciutta da una specie di gavetta. Il ragazzo si senti osservato. — Che vuoi? — gli chiese senza mezzi termini. Silvano notò il suo sguardo. Non era lo stesso sguardo di tutti i disertori che aveva finora incontrato. Non era lo s...