Читать книгу Loose End - Eva Mikula - Страница 11

My path and my life path were once again crossed by bad people. I was getting the idea that there could be no peace for me. Another oppression, a pure evil was waiting for me around the corner, which took shape through the madness of a person who hurt my good faith towards others.

I lived in a large building, but the needs deriving from the increase in the economic commitments undertaken, the higher real estate expenses at a time when the sector was in crisis, and other personal events (a small girl, a son of whom I tok care for my economic part, the expenses for the babysitter, the mortgage) pushed me to transform the property, obtaining a very nice small two-room apartment, with an independent entrance. In November 2014 I decided to put it on income and looked for who to rent it to. An Italian couple showed up, sent by a local real estate agency to which I had granted the mandate. They made a couple of visits and looked carefully at the small apartment. They seemed immediately interested, the real estate agent told me. In fact, after a while, they called me to confirm their interest and they became my tenants. I handed them the keys on December 12, 2014, I explained in detail all the features of the two-room apartment, they paid the first month and the security deposit as if it were a trial period, with the agreement that upon expiry they would confirm whether to stay, and then sign a long-term contract, or leave.

The numerous work commitments would often take me out of Rome and, in any case, with very busy hours: practically I always returned home very late and went out shortly after dawn. Also, at that time, I often commuted to London. These rhythms, mandatory to cope with everything that can weigh on the shoulders of a single woman, also gave me management problems with my daughter. Today I cannot explain how she at the time was able to get by, untangling myself between professional and family commitments, however I managed, with the strength of a mother, all this tortuous path. I only remember that I often took the baby with me.

One day my mobile phone rang: it was Lucia, a neighbor. I state that I got along very well with the whole neighborhood. Relations were cordial, sometimes even friendly. They appreciated me for who I was, not for the past or for the stories told about me in newspapers and on TV. Lucia told me: “Your tenant is on the balcony yelling with his partner. He wants to attract attention by shouting unique phrases about you”. “On me? And why?” I asked her. “He makes very bad statements about your past” Lucia replied, “it is really shameful” she continued, “I don't even want to repeat what he is screaming. Please do something, call him back”.

Instead of calling the tenant, another solution came to mind. I had learned little shrewdness, with everything I've been through in my life. I told Lucia: “Do this: record his words. Then I call him and ask him what the problem is”. And so it went. On the phone, he pretended nothing happened, it was to be expected. I urged him: “They tell me that you are screaming, disturbing the quiet of the building”. He took on a mortified tone, to try to reassure me: “No madam, nothing special. I had a little argument with my wife. But now everything is fine”. He didn't have the courage to repeat to me the insulting phrases he shouted from the balcony, he didn't say any of this.

The next day, Lucia called me back on the phone. Unfortunately I was out and about and didn't have the ability to manage what was happening at home. She turned me the recording of the umpteenth scene of my tenant. They were all insults to my person: “That is a criminal, a delinquent!” he repeated at the top of his voice on the balcony, “surely she was the cashier of the gang. She will have bought the house with the money from the robberies”. Then, turning to his wife, he continued: “But do you realize who we rented the apartment from, whose house we are?". These utterances continued the following day, due to a question of parking.

He had parked his car in a space owned by another tenant, who when he pointed out that the parking spaces were all numbered, was verbally attacked with words and insults also addressed to me: “It is the lady who told us that this parking lot was ours! You see, she is not even capable of being a landlord? Let her go back to her country!” And so other racist and discriminatory insults. So it was that I called him again, I wanted to understand what his problem was and at the same time protect myself from this subject. But he made a second silent scene, then I took the initiative and told him: “Listen here, if the property, despite you and your partner having viewed it far and wide before giving the monthly salary, does not match your expectations, given the vehement complaints you would have made in front of the neighbors so that they would hear them loud and clear, you are free to leave; not only that, I also return the monthly payment already paid”.

I stopped for a few moments and then resumed determined: “On the contrary, I'd really ask you to leave, I wouldn't want to have to see you every month, because in case you want to stay, in fact, we would have to stipulate a long-term contract”. I was very angry while talking to him, however I kept a certain calm. However, I wanted to tell him something: “You must not allow yourself to make statements about my person and about my past. I don't have to explain anything to you, you think as you please, but don't involve people in my private sphere, who certainly know me better than you, don't disturb my life anymore and go elsewhere to read about me on the internet. Don't create any other problems for me”.

So I thought I had silenced him. Instead, he changed the focus of his rants to add to the dose of slander and began listing alleged anomalies of the house: “You rented me the apartment without doing any maintenance. Every evening we smell gas from the boiler, there is certainly a leak, the television is not visible, the antenna must be replaced, there is an electrical outlet in the kitchen that has flying wires. How did you dare to rent a house in these conditions?” I was surprised the technician had assured me that everything was in order, as was the cleaning lady, and then I was present on site when I entrusted the property to the agency. However, faced with these complaints, I made the commitment to review any defects complained of and asked for an appointment the next day to go with the technician. The tenant told me that he had to stay at work late and gave me trustee permission to enter the house. While the technician did his work and I inspected every corner of the house for faults or imperfections, his eyes fell on a sheet of paper placed on a shelf in the living room.

He had hit me because I had read my name on a sheet of letterhead from the financial police. I read it without touching it and amazement assailed me. It was a complaint against me filed the previous day. He had insinuated that I was a scammer, because, according to him, probably I was not the owner of the house and I had collected the rent, without issuing the payment receipt. “But how can someone be so mean and liar?” - I wondered.

He seemed to have discovered a fugitive delinquent in me and wanted to prove his good faith as a model citizen. The same day I rushed to the Rome Provincial Command of the Guardia di Finanza where a complaint was recorded, providing all the documents at the same time.

I was intent on making a counter-complaint for slander, but I wanted to consult with a lawyer first.

Meanwhile, at home, the technician had not found the defects that the tenant complained of, except for a door to be adjusted in height and a burned-out light bulb. No problems with the gas, nor with the antenna signal. The next day the tenant called me back and, with an almost threatening voice, told me: “Here the gas comes out every day, even from the stove, I smell the stench!”. Not happy, he continued with the personal offenses: “You had to tell me right away that your name is Eva Mikula and you are the one of the White One. I discovered it, however, from the Internet, there is a lot about your past as a criminal. I suffered damage because of you”. I could hardly believe that a person could talk to me like that, in what capacity did he do it? I couldn't understand where he was going.

It was him who made me understand. Money. He did not finish his delusional phone call that the answer to my doubt arrived on time. “For the inconvenience I demand double the deposit, plus the monthly salary I paid, because to leave I have to face expenses”. So I immediately got the idea that, in addition to being in bad faith, he might be a bit disturbed. So I closed the phone call, which like all the others with him, I had been recording regularly for days now.

I went to the carabinieri to formalize a complaint for all the crimes for which he was responsible: slander, defamation, attempted extortion, blackmail and telephone harassment with requests for money.

In the barracks I explained all the facts in detail, I had also transcribed the telephone records, I provided the traceability of the payments made by him and my proposal for a full refund, as long as they left the house I owned. When the next day he was notified of the complaint, the neighbors told me, he too railed at the carabinieri, insulting me once again out loud in front of them: “But how! Have you taken a complaint against me from such a person? But do you realize? But do you know who Eva Mikula is?”. The military personnel did their best to calm him down. “The best thing is for you to get out of this house,” they told him. He had the nerve to call me for the umpteenth time: “You reported me for extortion, are we kidding? You are a poor fool who only seeks free publicity by hanging out with criminals, from this moment on don't address to me anymore. Forget you frightened me with the complaint, we will stay at home as long as we like”.

His partner called me back to tell me that if I didn't withdraw the complaint, they wouldn't leave. I had entered a state of total stress. After two days, the couple left the two-room apartment. I gave him back what they had left and also the month he had paid; obviously not twice as much as they claimed. The important thing was that they went away forever.

I thought that my complaint would have followed the expected procedure, however, more than two years after the facts, despite the testimony and incontrovertible evidence, the prosecutor strangely asked for dismissal, which was welcomed by the judge. Basically, after two years and a month of investigation, the law had come to the conclusion that my tenant's actions had not been slanderous, detrimental to my personal dignity, extortionate and therefore punishable by law. Perhaps because the plaintiff was named Eva Mikula. From my perspective, however, this umpteenth episode that I had to close in the basket of my dramatic experiences, upset me and all the good reputation hard earned over the years. It had touched my neighbors with brutality and, in particular, it had also muddied my working sphere, especially the relationships with the real estate agency, with which I often collaborated, here in the area and which was managed by some dear friends of mine. It was an episode that affected my daily life, my acquaintances with people who appreciated me for my seriousness, humanity and professionalism. Fortunately, I kept their esteem intact.

However, I felt an unbearable anguish that threatened to undermine everything I had been able to build up to that moment. I also went to the doctor, who prescribed me some anxiolytics and, for a couple of times, I underwent sessions by a psychologist. I feared that all these events would jeopardize the achievement of my full integration into civil society. Once again, however, I found the solution within myself, it could not be external interventions, pharmacological or psychoanalytic, the tool to resume the right path of my path. The right medicine was inner strength, the one I had trained by bearing the enormous weight of the past on my shoulders.

I thought about what I had managed to accomplish by believing only in myself. Difficult episodes can happen to anyone at any time, always when you least expect them. Public opinion had crystallized a distorted image of my person, it could neither be erased, nor modified, nor colored, because many, too many, lies had been told about me from the very beginning.

When I thought about it, I felt small and squashed, tiny and helpless. I was afraid that all prejudices, in addition to annihilating me, could fall on my children. This heavy gray cloud hung over my head, and as time went by it grew darker and darker. “But, mind you”, I mentally repeated to myself “You can say anything you want about me, so it's all false. But stay away from my children, don't even try to touch them. They have nothing to do with it”. My anxieties and my sleepless nights pushed me to write, wondering what was the origin of so much bitterness towards me, of the falsehoods that concerned me publicly exposed in the press. So I got the idea of sending a letter of release, strengthened by my full awareness of the reality that surrounded me, a letter written to the Association of the victims of the White One. Gang.

The letter to the Association:

To the White One Victims Association at the President of the Ms Zecchi Association

I turn to you again, despite having received no response to my 2005 letters.

Reading in the newspapers, you hold me forever morally guilty and you are indignant at my every attempt to approach. It has now been 20 years since light was shed on the misdeeds of the “White One”. Surely you remember the details of those moments: the first news in the newspapers, how they were captured, because I entered the judicial and media limelight. I remember everything as if it were yesterday, I was between life and death as in the previous 2 years of living together, beaten and segregated in the hands of killer policemen.

I am attaching some of the first articles, and who better than inspector Luciano Baglioni and superintendent Pietro Costanza can confirm you, as they were the first to record my first statements, a flood that lasted 48 hours with the arrival of 3 Public Ministries from various prosecutors even at 3 am.

In what psychological conditions did they find me? A little girl, clandestine, threatened and terrified of death. I started helping to shed some light on the affair, when Roberto Savi, just arrested, was about to be released as there was not enough evidence against him. The other components were on the loose while the investigators were only at the beginning of the reconstruction of the crimes to be attributed to the gang. There were 4 people in prison: “the Santagata”, already convicted, who had been serving a sentence for years for crimes not attributable to them and released immediately after my confessions.

I was taken away and placed under protection by the State in a distant and secret place, watched for 8 months waiting for everything to be clarified based on my confessions, looking for other people involved that I was not aware of. Once the investigation of the gang was over and the Savi were charged with their crimes, I was accused by them of complicity in murder and other serious crimes in revenge, which charges were later retracted.

Meanwhile, I have undergone 7 trials in various degrees of judgment and I was fully acquitted. I was forced to do television appearances to pay my lawyers, to defend myself. I fought alone against everyone, I had only God, my 19 years and a clear conscience as a guide towards a justice that then came for everyone. I have never sought acknowledgments and thanks from anyone, I have put aside the controversy, leaving vent to your unquestionable pain. I was consoled by the satisfaction and sadness that enveloped me every time I followed your commemoration. I wanted to be present, in the last row, but to be there. Unfortunately, in fact, this never happened; but the worst did.

Public opinion has been subtly led to discredit me, to discriminate me to the point of making me an icon of crime, a character to be trampled on who only makes headlines in the crime news as it happened in June 18, 2010, when my name was used to give relevance to the arrest of a person unknown to everyone, even me, as divorced for 10 years when he was cleansed, I no longer knew anything about him and his life choices.

The news took off on all national news and newspapers. My requests for correction were not even considered. No body contacted me, no one corrected the news that, as a result, it only had a strong discriminatory pressure on me and my family. I am clean, without pending charges and lead a normal, modest and honest life as well as a mother of 2 children. To date, some people in my workplace, after reading the news featured on the web, driven by a strong prejudice, have insulted and defamed me in public, considering me a person involved in crimes, prejudiced and guilty of frequenting criminal environments.

Despite myself, I had to file a lawsuit. They will have to pay penalties and damages as per law, whose victims are they?... it is not an isolated case.

For 20 years I have remained in the shadows and at the mercy of the media but always in support of the truth and close to your thoughts and pain. The Savi are serving life sentences as confirmed recently, largely thanks to me, for my timely, assiduous and precious collaboration. Otherwise, I would have died before seeing Fabio Savi's handcuffs on his wrists. With your permission and understanding, I would appreciate you allowing me to join the White One Victims Association or, please, at least accept my silent and heartfelt presence at the commemorations of October 13th as a surviving victim of a fierce, absurd and unforgettable story. Waiting for your in-depth evaluation and understandable response, I renew my best regards.

Eva Mikula. Rome, January 28, 2015

The response from Mrs. Zecchi, president of the Association, was not long in coming: “It is a request that does not stand, I do not know on what basis you can make such a request”.

I was still of the opinion that at least those who had been closely touched by this story of the White One knew the truth about the capture of the gang. I was wrong, I realized, however, that this was not the case at all. No less angry was the reply of Valter Giovannini of the public prosecutor of Bologna, which no one had called into question in the letter, but evidently he felt compelled to put his seal with the reply: “Silence is enough to respect the victims”, as if to say to be silent so as not to raise questions already closed and sedimented in the procedural truths.

I felt more and more alone and marginalized, I was not yet ready to face and publicly reveal the truth about the dynamics of the gang capture. My daughter was still small, my energies were used to manage a life full of responsibility and I still had a step, a pawn to put in her place: to tell the story of her life, of her destiny, why she does not have a dad. But for all this I had to wait until she was at least 9 years old, as the child psychologist suggested to me that followed me in the single-parent education path.

The years passed quickly and on the right day made itself known without having planned it.

7.

7. Eva Mikula a selfie at home, 2011