Читать книгу Memories Of Our Days - Chiara Cesetti - Страница 12

1 Chapter VIII

Rudi and Fosco in Milan

Fosco was waiting for him at the central station in Milan. Rudi was standing on the running board of the train and saw a lanky person towering over the crowd who was quickly looking at the carriage windows.

-Fosco!- he shouted his name, waving his hand.

His friend turned around and lifted his stick to greet him, smiling.

He was still limping.

-Old pirate, I thought you were not coming anymore. I am happy that you are here. How are you? How is everyone back home?-

-Yes, thank you…how are you? When are you going to get rid of this piece of wood? Or maybe it is a distinguishing feature….I bet it makes you look more interesting-

- For sure, all the beautiful girls in Milan are after me, especially those who are married!-

- Is there anyone left for me?-

- Don’t worry, I’ll spare someone for you-

They walked to the way out patting each other on the shoulders and laughing together like those people who have been waiting a long time to meet up, while the cold night on December 1st was slowing lit up by the lampposts along the road.

Fosco lived on his own. The house was located in the old part of the city and it was a small flat with three rooms, with books and magazines all over the place, it was a holy mess which perfectly matched the owner. Despite his objections, he insisted on giving him his bedroom: he was happy enough to sleep on the couch in the study where he would often fall asleep and spend the whole night there.

-How long can you stay?- he asked

-A few days, I’ll have to be back to the Headquarters in a week-

-I am not going back…- he said solemnly- my leg is still hurting…I don’t think it will ever be the same…bloody Yugoslavians!- This statement was customary now and had the power to chase away the saddest thoughts and put a smile back on his face.

-It’s late, let’s go out for dinner. There is a lovely place down here. I ‘m a right disaster in the kitchen-

The kitchen area was in fact dreary; Rudi did not turn his nose up at a good meal and was quite happy to go.

The family-run restaurant was quite close to the house, just at the corner of the road. It was a small restaurant with a lovely family atmosphere. They sat at a table beside the wall. Rudi watched the pictures on the walls: sketches, caricatures, inscriptions, there were so many of them that they nearly covered the whole wall.

-Painters leave them there to pay for their bills- Fosco explained- Totò, the owner, does not mind that, he says that sooner or later some of them will be famous and he’ll make up for the others with his painting-

-Totò is great!-

-He is nice, but he is from Naples and knows very well what is doing. Do you like the meat? It’s quite a lovely dish-

Totò went up the two steps that divided up the kitchen from the dining hall and showed up at the door.

-Good morning sir- he said to Fosco. His friendly manners well matched his stocky body. His round head and virtually without neck was straight up and alert, framed by hair which was a bit long, black and curly. His eyes were big and dark, and were able to take a quick general look of the whole dining hall and had stopped on them. It was true that you could see that he was a smart business dealer that people appreciate because he was not doing it behind the scene but it was openly showed.

Fosco replied in a tone that was equally friendly.

-Good morning Totò, I have a friend with me today. I’ll get the usual, for two, and red wine, the good one, though!-

-In your dreams!- the innkeeper replied laughing and went back down below.

He sat down keeping his stiff leg over the stick which was across the room. He did not eat very much but he drank quite a lot indeed, he spoke the whole evening about going back to work at the newsroom and he hoped to work as a reporter again. He said that he was trying to write what he saw and experienced. He wanted to put them together with the articles he sent when he was at the front to try and make a book out of it.

They spent the four days that Rudi was in Milan sightseeing. His friend would show him areas that people did not know of, which reminded him of personal memories, tragic or funny events. He was a good speaker, witty and lively who would easily draw people’s attention and curiosity. Rudi was in line with his apparently easy-going picture of the world. He realised that if you look just a little beyond that façade to see in him a true wish to know and analyse the events, an ability to commit oneself to the fullest leaving behind all personal needs.

They spoke about the latest news about the war, the horrifying things they saw and Fosco passionately reiterated the reasons that led him to support the non-intervention in a undertaking that cost a lot of sacrifices.

They split up at the station. Fosco looked more peaceful, as if in those four days he could relieve his mind from visions and words which had been long restrained. As for Rudi, he was aware to have discovered a territory unknown to him up to now and to know now who the right guide was to get to know it.