Читать книгу Loose End - Eva Mikula - Страница 5

This story, my story, begins on August 18, 1975 under the sign of Leo and ends on July 28, 2020, the day of the turning point in the year of catharsis.

That day, between random web searches and what I read about my past, something clicked in me. As if a crazed embolus had circulated in search of all those emotions that each of us holds and keeps inside the soul.

I was surprised to see that my feelings: sadness, disgust, anger, joy and fear were all in total conflict with each other. Along its path, the embolus also encountered awareness, which in turn led to the search for consciousness. In this great confusion shrouded in the darkness of memories, my ego exclaimed: "Who are you? Who is Eva?". After a moment of silence and hesitation, the conscience spoke: "We must mend the threads between us, with all our feelings to find peace. To do this we have to take a trip back in Eva's life, do a bit of order without neglecting anything".

The embolus dissolved, vanished, Eva looked in the mirror, spoke again and decided: the truth will be our guide, as always.

The truth is not what you find on the web, written in the newspapers, said on TV or manipulated in certain courtrooms.

So, on August 4, 2020, after thinking about it for a long time and after reorganizing the first documents, I wrote to Marco Gregoretti, a journalist.

A dry and decisive email with which I asked him to get in touch with me.

Why him? I don't know, I felt I could trust. I managed to get his phone number too. I called him, I wrote him long messages that touched my memories, since I was a child. I have sent him complicated e-mails relating to some of my letters and others, which related facts that you will find in this book. I asked him to help me put them in good shape, in a more correct Italian than mine. In short, I tested him. I wanted to understand if my instincts were still alive in me; I needed confirmation and to know that I could truly trust him.

It was thus that throughout the summer we talked, wrote and exchanged opinions, thoughts and memories, even hard, very hard, like those of the events related to the infamous White One Gang, a brand of horror.

I used a thousand tricks to scrutinize his personality. But he too was cautious at first, incredulous that I had looked for him, without mediation. Then it didn't take us long to abandon our respective distrust to their fate. We talked a lot. I jammed his email with documents. I remembered some articles he had written about me; that of Panorama in the days following the arrests of the Savi brothers and the other members of the gang, and the one in the magazine of the television program Quarto Grado, where he only talked about me.

So I didn't have too much trouble starting to talk to him about my children too, about my personal, professional and sentimental events that have crossed my life.

When we finally met in person in October it was as if I have known him, not since ever, but very, very well.

He phoned me from the train to tell me that the B & B where he used to stay during his trips to Rome was closed. So he was a guest in my accommodation facility.

There have been many other meetings, real and virtual, also due to the limitations decided by the Government due to the coronavirus pandemic.

I told him everything I wanted to tell in front of a mirror. Even the most intimate things that happened to a woman, whose suffering began very early, as a child.

There is no present until the past is clear to you; where you no longer need to escape from the injustices suffered to get out of the woods; I just have to find the courage to accept my story, tell it to everyone, just like the story of Little Red Riding Hood is told to our children. Now I write my story for myself, surrounded by a beam of light.