Читать книгу The Mistery Of The Book - Angelo Grassia - Страница 6

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Paki reached the beach and, like every morning, he lounged under the umbrella, he began reading the various newspapers. By now he had calmed down, the effect of Sabrina was almost vanished: only his lips were ripe, they still felt the desire to savor the sweetness and the scent of Sabrina's fresh and velvety lips. He usually stayed with the family on the beach until seven o'clock, but that day, for too long, he decided to return home earlier; also because he had the desire to lie down on the terrace on his terrace, with a panoramic view over the whole gulf of Gaeta. He liked to see the ferries that were leaving and arriving from Ponza, not only for him it was a show to see the Canadair (those small yellow planes taking water from the sea to extinguish the fires occurring on the nearby mountains). He is having fun as a child watching the planes flying overhead on the roofs of the city, arriving on the mountains, throwing water on the flames, and returning to the sea to take another, continuing until sunset. Sometimes flying on its terrace leave droplets of brackish water that give a little cool.

At four o'clock, he left the beach to go home. As he walked along the Caboto sea-front, he saw the classics antiquaries market tents, or rather fleas, as in ancient times today there is nothing more. A market that, instead of monthly or weekly, was held every day in that August. He is a great fan of these markets (because he always hopes to find a Van Gogh or a Picasso, which unfortunately never happened to him), knowing that this was not an antique market, but a simple merchandise market, he decided to pull on. After passing the last stand, however, he felt something in his heart that pushed him to stop. Was it the thought of being able to meet Sabrina again? Without even realizing it, he found himself reversed and returned to the first stall. He parked the Vespa and walked quietly to give a look. As he walked amongst the stalls, he saw from far away a refined picture of the four seasons of master Giuseppe Ciavolino, a well-known Neapolitan painter born in Torre del Greco in 1918 and died in 2011. Giuseppe Ciavolino is also known abroad: in fact one of his work is even exposed to MoMA, the New York Museum of Modern Art. In this museum, among the rare works, there is only one cameo engraved in "sardonyx" (the most precious piece of a shell); and it is that signed by Giuseppe Ciavolino. Paki, who is a great admirer and great collector of this painter, quickly went to the canvas to look at it closely. Love for the works of Ciavolino was born in 1993, when he saw for the first time a picture at the antique market held in Naples, near the municipal villa in Caracciolo rue. At that time, he used to go to the market with his wife Sally, and together they looked and decided on the items to buy. That day Paki has not forgotten it yet. In fact, as he walked with his wife, he saw a small opera 24x30 by Ciavolino master. Paki looked at this enthusiastic opera, this painter unknown to him attracted him, and remained staring at the picture for a long time. He liked it, he wanted to buy it, but the price asked by the seller (250,000 lire), at that time not a bit of money, made him think. He was enchanted by the picture, that picture was like a magnet, attracted him, attracted him inexplicably. He was almost about to end the deal when his wife made a desperate blow, and he went away grimly, murmuring, "Do not you see how bad it is, let it go, and where do we put it?" As he walked away, Paki constantly rolled his head in the direction of the picture, inside he felt as if he was leaving behind a piece of his heart. It was the last time he looked at the stalls with his wife. From the next market they started to turn separately so Paki could decide in total autonomy and no hurry to buy. Too much, at the market that was held the following month, Paki did not find the little painting that had so excited him because it had already been sold. Paki remained very bitter and very upset with his wife who had distanced him from buying.

Sometime later he went to a frame-maker to order a frame for a picture. At the entrance there was a picture of the master Ciavolino: a little bigger than what he had seen at the market, but much nicer. Luckily that day he was alone. He asked for the price, and without turning a hair, he bought the picture, perhaps even to make a mistake to his wife, who had not made the picture on the market, and he paid him much but much more. After a week he returned to the frame-maker and bought another one. His wife, meanwhile, had realized that he was wrong and to remedy, secretly, she informed about the painter, who he was, where he lived. She then found all the information and in the days preceding Christmas 1994 she went to the artist's house and bought a beautiful 50x70 painting to give to Paki. Sally, in order to be forgiven, thought to make a great surprise at Paki and, to make it more beautiful, she had the idea of making two packets; in the smallest she put only the catalog of Ciavolino's works and she put it under the tree; she hid the picture under the couch. When Paki opened the smallest package and found the catalog of Master Ciavolino, his eyes began to shine, he was very happy. He asked to his wife where she had found it, embraced her tenderly and kissed her. After the enthusiasm had passed, Sally invited Paki to get up from the couch, shifted him and, expressing his own jubilation, exclaimed, "Here is your true gift, love." Paki saw that parcel coming out of the couch, took it in his hands and immediately realized that it contained a picture. He fluttered frantically and when he saw a really beautiful Ciavolino canvas, he moved. But the strongest emotion was when on the back he saw the dedication that had been made directly to him by the master, behind his wife's suggestion. It was the nicest Christmas of his life.

Later, having known the master's address, he often went to his home, establishing a great relationship of friendship and starting a collection of works. He was so strong in the emotion he felt in observing the paintings of Master Ciavolino, who on his eighteenth birthday made him a big surprise. He went to the advertising agency of the monthly Art and published three pictures of his paintings, under the following dedication: "To You, Great Master, you are able, with your works, to make me dream day by day."

When the Master became aware of what Paki had done, he was very pleased. The joy and the emotion were such that, in order to dissipate, he gave to Paki a beautiful canvas with the following dedication: "To Paki, great admirer of my works". Even today, when he sees a canvas of Ciavolino, he remains enchanted and scrutinizes it with passion and love.

After the contemplation of the painting, Paki passed to the next stall, and here he was attracted by a wardrobe who sold, among other items, silver coins. Paki, who is also a numismatic expert, decided to stop to give a check. He took one of it watching carefully to establish its authenticity. As he twisted and twisted the coin in his hands, his attention was distracted by a vow that came from behind him. He turns and he sees the warden, a cheerful chubby man, who with a sarcastic laughter read to an acquaintance the contents of a sheet he clasped in his hands. The wardrobe, accustomed to Paki's amazement, approaches him and, with delight, informs him of the situation.

"You know, it is a holographic testament I found by emptying an attic." Paki looked at him amazed, he did not understand what he found so pleasant that will. Then the wardrobe continued: "In the testament it is written," Dear children, I leave you beyond my own house, all I have been able to put aside during my life, that is a good fortune of 80,000 lire " ».

Paki looked upset, unable to understand what to laugh.

"No!" He continued, "is not over. The funny thing is that at the end there is a post scriptum in which the de cuius makes a rectification, namely that after the war events that have arisen and because of the black bag his savings have fallen. " And, continuing to smile, he said, "I imagine the face of heirs, ha ha ha."

Paki remained speechless. The warden, noticing that Paki did not share his sarcasm and was only interested in buying the coin and going away, told him: "Do you collect stamps too? Because in the same attic where I took the will, there was also a box full of letters. " And with his hand, he pointed at Paki a cardboard full of letters with postage stamps from the '40s to the' 60s well preserved and held together with beautiful colored ribbons.

Paki replied no, and impatiently he paid the coin and he was to leave when the merchant told him: "I like you, you know? I want to present you this book that comes from the same house, it's a book that was written by the master's son in honor of his father. "

And showing him a book quite thick with the blue cover, he gave it to him. Paki, embarrassed, at first refused, but seeing the insistence of the merchant, almost reluctantly, he thanked him, he took the book and left. He was very annoyed, as he was aware of carrying a further cheating at home and that surely that book would never have read it.

When he arrived home, he placed the book and the coin on the table on the terrace and ran for a refreshing shower.

Then he made a pink grapefruit juice and went to enjoy it on the panoramic terrace. As soon as he finished drinking, he lit the classic cigarette and took the phone to find the coin he had bought on Internet, which he usually did after each purchase to check if he had or did not make a deal. He stretched out his hand to take the coin on the book, but strangely laid it on the table and took the book in his hands.

Perhaps pushed by curiosity, he looked carefully at the cover of the book, his right hand unintentionally leaned over the book and opened it. Paki found himself so suddenly with the open book on the front page and did not know how he started reading. He had never done it, because after three hours he was still reading. He interrupted only when his wife invited him for the third time, more and more brutally, to sit at dinner table. Paki stood up, ate fast and returned to reading.

The book was handwritten, but it was, in fact, not a book published by publishers, but it was a simple typewriter bound by a small artisanal workshop. On the blue color cover, imprinted with gold characters, we read the words "One Man to Remember". The book was made up of about 250 pages. Paki read it greedily until the end, and when he came to the last sentence, he found himself with a knot in his throat and his tears wet with tears streaming down from his eyes. He was so touched reading that story, who was sobbing for several minutes. The odd thing is that Paki in his life had read a dozen or so books and when he started reading he finished them after a week. That night he read the book all in one. That book had been written by a certain Vittorio, resident in Rome, to remember his father Luigi to those who knew him and esteemed him for his tenacity and for his courage in dealing with any adversity; and to make known to other people a man whose dignity is an example to many.

Paki was very pleased to have known, reading the book, that lovely and dear father figure.