This morning I got these new fabrics for the bright colors, makes me want to spring.
I do not know how to work it, but the panel is just delicious and I will definitely have some ideas.
You like?
Monday, January 31, 2011
Terry Lightspeed Wallpaper
WANT SPRING
This morning I got these new fabrics for the bright colors, makes me want to spring.
I do not know how to work it, but the panel is just delicious and I will definitely have some ideas.
You like?
This morning I got these new fabrics for the bright colors, makes me want to spring.
I do not know how to work it, but the panel is just delicious and I will definitely have some ideas.
You like?
Saturday, January 29, 2011
Qumili 2009 Per 8 Mars
The sfoglina
Today is the day of the blackbird and I about "merle" I'm desperately looking for inspiration for the three PAL merle. Meanwhile, I present my latest work done (and sold)
; The sfoglina Emilia ....
It 's a rolling-pin port, built with the help of my husband (who patiently eh!), Is a personal project and neither inspired or copied by others, of which I am very proud. It will not be a masterpiece but it is all mine.
The passion of the country has come from two factors: after nearly 40 years of honorable "service" too busy for anything but creatively I felt the need to let go of the hands and imagination dormant for many years, and it is not easy because suddenly seems not to have their own ideas. The second impetus came from the Apennines (Appennino Tosco-Emiliano), where by chance I saw the Christmas market Monteacuto of the Alps, where by chance I started to sell my chores. What satisfaction! 
Today is the day of the blackbird and I about "merle" I'm desperately looking for inspiration for the three PAL merle. Meanwhile, I present my latest work done (and sold)
It 's a rolling-pin port, built with the help of my husband (who patiently eh!), Is a personal project and neither inspired or copied by others, of which I am very proud. It will not be a masterpiece but it is all mine.
The passion of the country has come from two factors: after nearly 40 years of honorable "service" too busy for anything but creatively I felt the need to let go of the hands and imagination dormant for many years, and it is not easy because suddenly seems not to have their own ideas. The second impetus came from the Apennines (Appennino Tosco-Emiliano), where by chance I saw the Christmas market Monteacuto of the Alps, where by chance I started to sell my chores. What satisfaction!
Thursday, January 27, 2011
How To Become A Memberonpoptropica
PAL with timid surprise
is the first step of this experience, I enrolled in the Pal Milva merle and the other two.
And the challenge begins! 
is the first step of this experience, I enrolled in the Pal Milva merle and the other two.
All Nighter Wood Stoves For Sale
meanwhile are playing OK in some way, is my first experience of blogging and the difficulties are not few.
Now I'll try to put some of my work just to show what I do and to deal with you because the comparison is the most important thing. Then slowly but in the meantime tell me something I do not want to bore anyone.
Sample Of Handwritten Will
Hello to all who are passionate about country
I'm here too now, I've thought a lot before you open the blog, but I really want to enter this world country that I "took" a couple of years.
My name is Sonia, Trieste. But also live the Tuscan-Emilian Apennines.
I love the sea, sailing and my wonderful Dalmatian islands, but I also love the quiet forests of the Apennines and deer running around my quiet Ca 'May.
The love of nature led me to this passion, and then I started to paint and to sew all that is "country".
.
Sunday, January 23, 2011
Lease Confidentiality
Thanks to Cristina Bianchi, Andrea Dami and ... great-grandson of the protagonist to the mysterious Mona Lucrezia
Friday, January 21, 2011
How To Get A Ohio Canoe License
FESTIVAL OF YELLOW
January 29, 2011 ST GEORGE LIBRARY
THE SUCCESS OF THE YELLOW
COMEDY COMEDY 'IN YELLOW by Graziano BRASCHI
HUMOR TO WOMEN by Laura VIGNAL
detective BAR By Mark MALVALDI 
January 29, 2011 ST GEORGE LIBRARY
THE SUCCESS OF THE YELLOW
COMEDY COMEDY 'IN YELLOW by Graziano BRASCHI
HUMOR TO WOMEN by Laura VIGNAL
detective BAR By Mark MALVALDI
Deck Boats Ontario.ca
a new story DEDICATED TO TUNISIA
Catherine EA HOUBEB
El Awino hzina
(The plum sad)
I decided to leave for Tunisia on the same evening when I read the message from Anna. A clear message and peremptory, that left me no hope: "This place I do not mind. The work is at the limits of slavery, but one can see interesting career prospects. I'm sorry, George, but you better not look for me anymore. "
If I were a reasonable person would have realized immediately that my affair with Anna was irrevocably over and that there was no longer any room for recovery. But the idea of \u200b\u200bnot resign touched my even for a moment. It was clear that I was not going to disappear from his life. At least not without a convincing explanation on his part.
So the next morning after a night haunted by resentment, by nostalgia and mosquitoes, I rushed to the travel agency where he worked one of my former school friend and I booked a room in a hotel in the center of Monastir for a week ( € 300, including flight).
Fortunately, my friend had the good taste not to ask why in this round I decided to go on holiday alone. But his attitude a bit 'embarrassed including full well that he understood the situation and in solidarity in a discreet with my new status as single not resigned.
The plane took off at 21.35 in Tunisia at the point of leaving him under the hot runway of the airport "Galilei" in Pisa.
While the master would welcome the passengers, a young steward showed the use of life jackets. From my window seat absentmindedly watched the last light of the Tuscan coast receding mingling with the rippling waves of the Tyrrhenian Sea.
My mood was certainly not that of someone who is about to enjoy a well deserved holiday but I felt somewhat relieved to see that no passengers occupying the other two seats in my row.
now the anxiety of the trip had given way to a almost artificial sense of calm and I was too concentrated on my mind to make the case to my fellow travelers. But despite my lack of sociability, I could not help but listen to their conversations. Especially the comments of the young couple behind me who followed the path of the aircraft on one of the screens and little authoritative rebuke of a father dressed for the beach and tried in vain to rein in the unbridled exuberance of two children unbearable. Even the insistent chatter of two elderly tourists who were sitting beside me, on the other side of the plane, began to be frankly disturbing.
"Look here, 'Tilde - made one of two women facing the traveling companion who was sitting next to - we are sure that the plane stopovers before landing in Djerba Monastir? And 'you may go down and then back up? "
" What can I say, Carl? - Said the other impatiently, while gesturing with his fingers curled nails whose glowing flame - I was hoping that the agency had been wrong, but in the cheek I have confirmed that the flight takes two hours and a half and that we will stop at Djerba half an hour. A real DEEP boxes! "Then, sighing, very publicly, said resignedly:" However, it is better to go around anywhere rather than stay warm in Empoli. E then we are on vacation and we have no hurry, no? "
" Maybe it was better to choose another place. I'm not staying in the air at all happy. - Carla retorted angrily - However, now there is no alternative and must resign. At least we hope that you chose a hotel near the sea and not like last year in Palma de Mallorca ... "
" Quiet, Carlina, the place is enchanting. My nephew showed me pictures on the Internet. "
The other seemed reassured. S i gave up on the back of the chair, closing his eyes with pleasure, after having passed a thin layer of lipstick.
Tilde, meanwhile, had pulled out a magazine from her bag and tried to concentrate on reading. But with one eye, held in check all passengers within its field of view. From the dark-skinned and gray-haired gentleman sitting later that after being delivered in Arabic all'hostess, the clouds had begun to lay out the window.
Suddenly a smell of cooking spread among the seats. As soon as one of the stewards began to pass among the passengers of the truck with dinner, Tilde looks were all for him. The magazine was immediately called into the bag.
"What a beautiful boy you are! - Began with his plaintive little voice - You know Italian? "
Assistant flight, evidently accustomed to that kind of compliments, smiled condescendingly.
"What blue eyes you have! - She continued - not even seem like an Arab. In fact, you know I look like Kevin Costner? "
" Yes, of course - he replied, handing her a tray of turkey and vegetables, from which came the smell very uninviting.
The young man laughed again, showing a row of white teeth. The hostess who helped him, but maintained a friendly demeanor reserved. Tilde, however, did not seem willing to give up socializing with the crew: "I, if I were this girl, a guy like you not me I would really miss."
The hostess pretended not to understand. The young steward, however, had already decided to please the passengers belonged to a type well known to him. After all, merely to do his work: "No way, lady. I invited her to go out with me but you ... nothing! "
" Jesus and Mary, is not possible. Did you hear that Carla? Ah, if I were thirty years younger! Apart from that you could be my son but that does not mean anything. Even for love, you know, has no age. I bet there are many ladies who will make the short, eh? Yes, I mean short of proposals that make you ... "At this point the boy - as expected - passed confidences, supported by another colleague who's holding the game. So all the passengers learned of the central file of the advantageous offer of marriage from a mature traveler Dutch, owner of three hotels. But he took care to point out that he heroically refused the offer because it was not for sale.
"Sin." - Tilde looked disconsolate air.
I do not know what I would have given to be deaf. All that talk I numbed my brain. But above all prevented me from developing a strategic plan for the next day. The voice of my neighbors came to me with a volume so high that kept me from even doze off. I wonder how he was a grizzled man to take eyes closed among the din of children who scourged each other with their furry bunnies and the advances of two friends from Empoli.
"Where are you?" Again asked the young steward, adjusting the belt to better show the athletic physique.
"We're going to Monastir. - Said Tilde do with seductive, pulling back a lock of hair canary yellow "But it's not the first time we come to Tunisia. We've been to Hammamet and Madhava, Carla true? Me and my girlfriend travel frequently. On the other hand, to a certain age, with a little 'of disposable income, what we have to do better? We can not spend all summer at the club ARCI to smoke and play with burraco retired, right? "
The truck had meanwhile removed the dinner. Finally my exuberant nearby became quiet. The children were asleep with the terrible rabbit plucked from the arms and also the couple behind me was silent.
I breathed a sigh of relief as now I could let my thoughts flowed freely. And without annoying interference.
II arrived in Monastir almost midnight. But there the clock ticked back one hour. Amid the noisy stream of tourists, walked alone at the customs control. Shortly after I was able to retrieve my suitcase from dark Salesman. A case very different from the others that ran festive and colorful ribbon on the luggage and I imagined packed swimsuits and sunscreen. Well, mine was just a sad case. The worthy fellow traveler of a loser who persisted in running after a woman who did not want him anymore.
Outside the airport it was hot but it was a dry heat that was not sweat. I took a taxi and asked the driver to take me to Delphin Ribat, on the Promenade de la Corniche.
When we came to, I was tired and dazed but not so as not to be fascinated by the spectacle of the promenade that runs parallel to a long row of white hotels enlightened as hives. Opulent buildings, amidst palm gardens with swimming pool, which promised Western tourists unusual exotic entertainment.
just off the taxi, I found myself immersed in the midst of a colorful crowd that did the slalom in the chaotic traffic innocently unaware of any traffic laws. Beyond the Promenade, the sea seemed to be sleeping. In the background a row of red flags with the star and crescent, stirred by a warm wind that turned the palm trees in clumps of bizarre fans.
When I finally could relax on the bed in the hotel room with her suitcase on the floor and a bottle of mineral water on the carpet, I drew a sigh of relief.
At that point I would gladly sleep. If the agitation had not only prevailed over the fatigue of travel.
I could not deceive myself and tell me that I had come to that place to have fun like all those tourists who lingered at that time by the pool drinking and laughing. I could hear them and see the door of the balcony window, framed in a lovely little picture from the tourist brochures: the street lights reflecting off the water turquoise, flags waving in the distance and straw umbrellas with the desert sun that painted the their shadows on a green meadow, so perfect that it seems a synthetic carpet.
Fortunately, the air conditioning allowed me to breathe. I turned off the light and closed the window of the balcony.
Everything happened too fast. Up to three months before, Anna is even talk of moving to my house. It seemed that the idea of \u200b\u200bthe enthusiasm, so much that he planned to take a cat to the kennel. He had explained that it would be a black and white cat.
Then, suddenly, the lightning strike: the direction of the company where he worked had offered to go to Tunisia to take care of the production control. "It's called offshoring - is careful to explain - and is nell'impiantare a factory in a developing country, where labor is cheap and the high earnings can better address the competition and overcome the economic crisis."
E with this explanation, in a few days, was gone, putting the word "end" to our projects. But above all, not even conceive of the doubt that there had been bad.
The first month I phoned twice a day. Almost every evening we have Skype and talked with me late into the night, heedless of the fact that the morning would get up at dawn to go to the factory, there inside, about thirty miles from Monastir. A wasteland - she said - including camels bored and swarms of barefoot children playing in the dust. A place where the workers came to the back of a donkey or a kind of collective taxi that looked more like a cattle car that half the public. Through
I tell her every moment in the minds of his daily life, studying with affectionate curiosity every detail of his distant home, that I was familiar with and close to the computer screen.
But after some time, Anna began to find a thousand excuses not to log in: she was too tired, had to tidy up the house and cooking for the next day, he had fixed to go to coffee with a colleague or the connection was interrupted.
If I had been more polished and disillusioned, I immediately understood that my report had almost come to an end. Indeed, he was finally dead and buried already. But I was undaunted obstinately to tell egregious lies and pretend to believe the flimsy excuses of her.
Only when he reached the fateful e-mail had begun to realize. But, perhaps love, perhaps out of pride, I could not in any way to rework what psychologists call stated "the grief of separation." Absolutely demands an explanation and I was determined to extortion in any way. I thought it was my right.
So after my first night in Africa, passed virtually sleepless brooding my reasons, I got out of bed quite tired but strong enough to deal with the fateful meeting.
In the lounge, while I was having breakfast alone in my single table, I was in the same state of mind of the strategist who put in place the final details of the battle plan. I realized that mine was an unnatural stillness. The calm before the stress inevitably clash. So, just to stay in the environment and the necessary distinctions, I felt a sort of Scipio about to face the enemy Carthage. Only a few months before a meeting with the idea that Anna could resemble a battle would be really unthinkable.
Leaving the room, I took care not to cross Tilde and Carla. Yeah, because my petulant traveling companions - I had seen with horror the same evening of their arrival - they also stayed at the Delphin Ribat!
III
With the pants and shirt of white linen truly looks like one of those gentlemen French colonial era. But my vanity a back seat because it was to organize the day so as not to waste time. The first thing to do was rent a car. Otherwise it would have been impossible to reach the factory where he worked Anna.
address but I had no idea of \u200b\u200bwhere they are and how to get there. One of the employees of the bureau, I had drawn a roadmap, and he assured me, in good Italian, that in less than an hour I arrived on the spot.
So I walked on the sunny promenade. Without any desire to dwell on the beach where at that time already number of tourists roasting in the sun. I watched for a moment the boys with shiny muscles sculpted by sun raced to jump from the rock, and some women that would go off in the green emerald. The tourists in costume, those of the place covered from head to foot. A little farther on a frenzied music accompanied by a speaker an impromptu game of football.
walked on the asphalt hot, occasionally interrupted by stands with smelly sandwiches with mysterious ingredients and improvised banquet on which stood the pyramids of shelled almonds. One child came up to me with a basket, offering bunches of dried jasmine tucked into short sticks.
on Top hill, between the palm trees and flags, the sun shone between the walls of the city of Ribat, the monastery fortress overlooking the bay. I took the first road up the hill on the left, where a sign indicated in the French car rental agency. I passed over, heading into a miraculously driveway shaded by two thick rows of trees, beside which a small group of men lounging in cafes and barbershops.
But evidently I was wrong road because of car hire even a shadow. In return I ended up among the market stalls covered, among heaps of bananas and tomatoes, among bundles of mint and fennel. Stunned by the heat, strong smelling spices and dall'afrore bodies. I wandered po'fra for a crowd that was around bargaining, regardless of flies alighting everywhere. A piece of flesh cut from the marble of narrow shops.
Finally, after consulting my French tourist a couple of passers-by, the agency found. So I hired a car that at first glance, it seemed the dawn of registered motor but that was perfect for me.
IV Once out of town, the road was wide and straight. But definitely a bit 'too busy. And motorists not very disciplined. I did not have to do is follow the directions on the map, Juggling wrecks of trucks rattled loads of goods, motorbikes with no fewer than four people on board and carcasses of cars in battle. On either side of the road ran extensive olive groves, alternating with crumbling buildings, railways and the colonial endless rows of prickly pear trees and oleanders. Sometimes the thrill of putting a roundabout in a cold sweat and gave me a series of completely incomprehensible signs made me seriously doubt of being able to reach the goal. The yellow taxis were the most dangerous enemies: they appeared suddenly with extraordinary skill and darting left and right, dribbling miraculously cars and donkeys on their trajectory.
After about twenty kilometers in the heat, and finally passed after a truck carrying Libyan baby diapers (so at least I knew the writing in French), I found myself lining a large lake inhabited by flamingos idle, heedless of the planes that took off in the dust hovering noisily on track to their shoulders.
I began to fear that I would never come. Or maybe I hoped unconsciously.
However, I do not know how, but at some point, I miraculously found myself at the crossroads where I saw the sign indicating the country of the factory: Ben Hassem. I turned sharply, narrowly avoiding a prancing bull tied to a pole. Finally, I managed to miraculously turn and putting them on a dirt road full of stones.
Basically, I expected a group of dilapidated houses, with painted wooden doors of heaven, a child playing barefoot in the dust and the chickens, and an old woman in a cloth intabarrata dark. I stood on a ledge which was full of agave and got out. But where the hell was this factory? I plucked up my courage and tried to ask the woman in my absurd French-penguin, which, to my great relief, and not only saw the first but I also made a nod in the direction of two large warehouses, which goes down there, over the houses .
was then that I realized that Anna had to be very motivated to make its way up in an environment so degraded. Just that she hated the suburbs and could not do without the shopping center! It seemed absurd that he had renounced his comfortable in the hope of becoming a successful manager. Scacciai a doubt that had crept treacherously: and if he did get away from me? I preferred not to think about this possibility.
I must say that even before I was struck by the squalor almost unreal silence of that place. Where I had to knock to ask about Anna?
I had just a few steps when a female figure emerged suddenly from behind a dilapidated hovel. I saw the corner of the eye and the first impression I had was amazing. But also of concern. Unexplainable anxiety that prevented me from closer to observe better. She was a young woman dressed in a pair of tight trousers and a colorful jacket that reached to his knees. I noticed that his skin was darker than other women. Maybe it was not but a country of Tunisia to the south. I watched her best. Her hair was hidden by a veil turquoise, big eyes and dark lips and well designed. It was definitely a beautiful girl.
As I watched, trying not to do with noticing, she began walking up and down in front of the entrance of the first building. As if waiting for someone. I, for giving me an attitude, I began to do likewise.
In retrospect, I should be pretty funny. Walking in the wilderness as if I was in Nice, on the Promenade des Anglais, sweating in my white linen suit, surrounded by flies and by a series of rusted tin cans that someone had lined up on display, as if they were precious furnishings.
Suddenly she stopped and looked up at me. His dark eyes looked at me with a familiarity that made me uneasy. As if she knew me. Even seemed to notice a smile almost accomplice.
At that point, without thinking I went to talk to her in Italian: "Good evening, can not, by chance, what time they finish work in this place?".
To be honest, I wondered why I had not even talked to my instinct language. It seemed natural, that's all. Then I could not find out why.
She did not seem surprised at all, so I answered without hesitation. In Italian, of course: "They have already closed for over an hour. But you waiting for someone? "He was just a slight foreign accent. Seemed to have fun in front of my astonishment. He did not wait even that asked why he knew my language.
"You're Italian, right? You see it immediately. I worked three years in Italy. I lived in Rimini. Rimini know? Tortillas and ballroom dancing ... "And he laughed, revealing a row of teeth white as peeled almonds.
The ice was broken. Apparently fate had pity on me and had sent the girl to keep me in hell of losing heat and debris.
"Yes, of course I know her. Listen, since you're here, maybe you can help me. I try an Italian girl who works in this building ... "
" Ah! - She said the tone of someone who already knows about - my sister works here. "
" Then maybe you know Anna ... "
" Anna? Ah yes, the Italian girl with short hair, kinda cute! "
" Do not tell me you know it! "
" Of course, working in the office of my sister. But at this time if they are already all gone. In summer they a reduced timetable. "
Relief for tracked Anna gave way to disappointment for arriving late:" But who are you waiting for? "
" The Louage to return to Monastir. "
" Look here '- I ventured a bit 'embarrassed - if you have problems, you can give me a ride with the car I hired this morning ... We can get back together. "
imagined that rejected my invitation. Instead, immediately accepted and entered the burning car. Perfectly at ease. So much for the modesty of Muslim women reserved.
Along the way we began to talk like two old friends. Without embarrassment. He told me his name Noura and lived in the medina of Monastir with his mother. He opened a hair salon, but he missed Italy, where she was a waitress in a seaside restaurant. Not because I asked her why she returned and waiting for her sister, knowing that had already left.
was the tension of the trip will be fruitless, it was the sympathy of Noura, the fact is that I told her my story. She nodded in silence. So much so that I seemed to always know. So I should not wonder too much when he said he knew Anna could understand my state of mind.
"Anna is an intelligent girl who wants to become important in his work." Noura said as if talking a friend from whom he had picked up some confidence.
Needless to say, this attitude encouraged me to question her about Anna, nell'ingenuo attempt to have some other news about her. Actually, the scene seemed a bit surreal: I was speaking of my emotional problems with a stranger to whom I had accidentally offered a ride. And I did it without any restraint. As if it were the most natural thing in the world.
Once in the city, Noura me into a maze of narrow streets with dilapidated houses, in the midst of humanity that is much different from that of hotels and rooms for tourists. Men and donkeys crossing the road without caring about the cars, goods occupied the sidewalks and the usual yellow taxi sped through the crowd without mercy.
We stopped in a small square, overlooked by some houses with blue doors and tiles decorated with flowers chipped by time. We left the car in front of a coffee for men only, turn to a table where a wrinkled old man continued undaunted in its chicha smoke without bothering to look.
Noura went into one of the doors and invited me to follow
"This is my shop." He began to show me all proud and the diplomas that were attached to the wall crumbling. Those poor
framed sheets conjured up images of other seasons. It seemed to be on scene of an Italian film of the '50s. Even the photos of the crumpled models seemed to belong to an archaic world. A world away in time, which still retained some traces in some remote village folk of our south. O in the first documentaries about Italy's economic boom.
"I'm good! - Noura said, pointing to bottles of shampoo and hairspray worn-looking, old brushes scattered on the shelf resting on two wooden boxes and makeshift sink in a corner of the room. A mysterious curtain separated the shop from the rest of the hut. Yet
that place I was strangely familiar. There was something about me that made him known. If you look back, even now know why.
But I soon realized that the hostess did not intend to say goodbye yet. In fact, pushed aside the curtain, showed me into a courtyard, inviting me to climb up a staircase that led to his apartment. We went on a terrace that overlooked the city. The wind usually came from the sea made me get back. The echo of the muffled voices of the square came up there. I looked down: among the chipped walls of the houses and courtyards teeming with agave past an expanse of stones. Noura noticed my puzzlement and explained: "That's the cemetery."
went into a pet door that looked out onto the terrace. The house was far beyond my expectations. The living room was in order and also had a sofa a bit 'worn but dignified.
In the middle of the table stood a great crock pot full of dark plum-looking inviting. Noura noticed my look greedy. It took one and handed it to me. I will never forget the taste of the fruit, sour and sweet at the same time. She also took one bite and before he murmured with a look that seemed hopeless, "El Awino hzina.
"What does this mean? "I asked curiously. She looked at me and then laughed, again showing his white teeth: "'El Awino hzina'è' plum sad '. Can not you see that mine is different from the others? "
El Awino hzina "I tried to repeat slowly. It seemed to me that sound musical even if it evokes an image of melancholy. What an absurd idea ... as did a plum to be sad? That girl was really strange!
greeted her on the doorstep. Knowing within myself that I would soon be revised.
V
the evening, seated at a table in the restaurant Pizzeria "by Giuseppe" I was so taken by my thoughts that I appreciated as I should have the spaghetti with tuna or Italian restaurants I had been prepared with passion. Giuseppe was a lady about sixty, small, fat, Puglia and the air very managerial. It was to the case, prominently displayed a heavy gold crucifix on a generous cleavage. At first I told him word for word for all the events tied to his astonishing ascent professional in Africa: the envy of the neighbors to the fierce competition with the boss of the restaurant owners, who, fortunately for my enterprising fellow, was just been murdered by twenty-seven stab wounds. Meanwhile, the waiters around the blending complimentary, twirling with great skill dishes filled with Italian specialties, "Madame here, madame so on ..." You could tell immediately that
Giuseppe was a woman of character. Even
sea bream with vegetables was sublime but I could not forgive myself for having missed a week so stupidly. I knew that in summer the factory closes before Anna. But I was there at half past three. How could escape myself? Possible that if they were all gone before? And Nour? What was he doing in front of deserted warehouses? If she had come to take his sister, because she was not with her? Since I could not find any answer, I decided to organize better the next day. The next day Anna I would not escape in any way. I would arrive at the factory before and at that point no one would go by without my noticing.
I left the restaurant with the firm conviction that the next night I would sit at the table with Anna and we explained everything. Indeed, already imagine his surprise and his pleasure at seeing me. I tried to convince me that his was a tactic to prove myself and that, having successfully passed, I had the right to renew our relationship.
So I tried to kill time fooling myself.
I walked for over an hour on the waterfront. A bit 'to digest the dinner Giusy, a bit' because I feared that I would not sleep easily. I tried to distract myself by observing the families who were walking up and down, the lights were reflected on the sea and the usual flag waving among the trees.
When I turned on the light were two in the morning. My mouth was bitter and a weight on my stomach. I opened the window and sat in the balcony to breathe the air of the night. The incessant singing of crickets mingled with the sound of the air conditioner. I lit a cigarette, poured water into a paper cup and began to observe the night life beneath me.
I gaze soon fell on the mirror of turquoise pool that reflected both the light of street lamps that the shade of palm trees. In one corner, a pair of Nordic tourists he was lying on the grass gazing at the stars in the company of several bottles of beer.
Suddenly, someone slipped from behind a pile of chairs. I heard a chuckle and immediately discerned a renowned artist, followed by a black guy in his underwear glow in the dark with a thick head of hair rasta. Clearly hear the shrill voice of Tilde: "No, dear, we can not go to my room. Carla There is sleeping, and even if you have a heavy sleeper, I do not seem the case .... Why do not we do a swim? "The boy seemed convinced. He began to do push-ups and massaging the muscles. Eventually he fell into the water, not having pushed his partner that he began to fumble, squawking and laughing. The two Nordic tourists if they did not. While Tilde and her escort were left to go to noisy outpourings water, inhaled the smoke without much pleasure, hoping that the spaghetti with tuna Giusy you decide to dislodge from my poor stomach.
Eventually, after Tilde and her charming entertainer had emerged dripping from the pool for infrattarsi in the dark, stubbed out his cigarette in a glass of water and went back to bed, overwhelmed by anxious thoughts.
VI
The next morning I awoke full of good intentions. I had a coffee, I walked around the city center and then I would put on the road well in advance. This time I would arrive soon. Very soon.
I tried to sit on the Fly Coffee, next to the hotel. It was a really nice spot, one could sit at a table sipping a coffee or eat a crepe, turn on your laptop, read a newspaper or, more simply, enjoy the sea view from behind the railing of the veranda. And all this without that no one should bother. It would be the ideal place if I had not found the wait unbearable. My mood was expressed in a nervous tremor that I went up along the leg muscles and did not want to give me respite. I had an urgent need to walk. So I paid the bill and walked toward the center. But I did not want to slip into the chaos of the medina, so I avoided the maze of alleys and galleries dotted with mosques and steam and headed for the modern part of town.
I found myself in an instant to the mausoleum of Bourguiba and paths along the walkway under a scorching sun, already that was reflected on the flaming green and gold domes. I walked casually in the mausoleum, I stopped looking at some items that had belonged to the president, visited his tomb and those of his family. Since I was there, I might as well strive to be a tourist.
But the point I was thirteen at the wheel of the usual rental car and head, more secure than the day before, along the dusty main road, passing right by the truck that prevented me from running and using their horns as they did there. That is like a trumpet of war.
front of the factory still silence and dust. This time there was neither the woman nor the baby penguin-barefoot. Only a few turkeys and a quarrelsome couple chickens that scratched by slow reflexes between the hot tin cans.
I lit a cigarette but I turned off almost immediately: it was not necessary to add more heat to the heat. I got out of the car. It was then that I saw. Noura
emerged from the same lane, with the same veil turquoise and the same clothes the day before. As if waiting for me, I ran, with a cordiality that surprised me, but at the same time, I was pleased.
was glad to see me, "Today you have come before, eh?"
"... Yeah - I said - this time not escape me!"
"I'm afraid that even today you can meet - she replied with an expression of regret - My sister called me right now. He says that the Director has sent her and Anna in Monastir to take samples. "And to convince me that he had told the truth he showed me his cell phone. As if it could speak to confirm his version.
confess that the idea of \u200b\u200bbeing ripped off once again made me fall in complete despair. I began to suspect that all conspired against me. Even Noura.
Yet she looked in my direction. At least to judge from disconsolate and involved.
"Look, George, it means that you will see it tomorrow ... Meanwhile me a ride?"
"Of course I'll do. At least I am useful. "
car continuing the dialogue we had begun the day before. An affectionate and confidential dialogue. As if now we were a long-standing complicity.
And when she asked me if I was afraid that Anna did not want to see me, I did not know what to say. I thought for a moment and, while overtaking a cart pulled by a donkey, I answered as if you were talking to myself: "Good question, really. It 'clear that I feel afraid to say it's over. But I must say in the face. Tell me the truth, I bet you saw. Did he tell you something, right? It seems that you know very well his intentions ... "
Noura smiled sadly. Then he shook his head and said, "Listen George, You know very well that she does not want to meet you. Otherwise I would try, no? "
The speech did not bat an eyelid. I was going to replicate a po'risentito for his frankness, when a gray cat crossed the road and grazed the bumper. "Watch me," said Noura. Sterzai abruptly, managing to avoid it by a hair.
"life difficult for the Tunisian cats. - I said, wiping the sweat from his brow with his sleeve of his shirt.
"no worse than that of men, she said .- We-cats are thin but they are respected. The Prophet was very fond of cats. You know that once called to prayer, not to awaken that sleeping on a tunic, cut a sleeve? "
did not answer. I was too absorbed in my thoughts. Frankly, at that moment the fate of the felines Maghreb was the least of my worries. But Noura
seemed thoughtful. I was convinced that Anna knew much more than they wanted me to understand. And I had the distinct feeling that acted as a liaison between you and me but I did not dare to ask more.
Noura, for its part, was silent until he went back to Monastir.
As the haunting first, parked in the square in front of his shop. I got out of the car, as if this time I had tacitly invited. Entered the store, Noura pulled back the curtain and led me up the stairs. Again I found myself on the terrace and, finally, in his living room. But this time the table was set.
Without a word he began to trade in a closet next to that was to be the kitchen. I felt a tap open and I distinctly heard the sound of pots and dishes.
Shortly after we were at the table in front of a large plate filled with cous cous, meat and vegetables. But first he wanted to taste the harissa with olive oil, olives and tuna. And he laughed out loud when he told her that it was too spicy for me. At the end of dinner, by which time I felt almost at home, I remembered the plums of the day before and asked her what had happened. Then she went into the kitchen and returned immediately with the pot in his hands. "El Awino hzina" murmured to his lips a ripe plum. "El Awino hzina" eco feces, biting one too. As I left the house
Noura felt inside me a sort of nostalgia that I could not explain. Outside the cafe, the same old smoke with him staring into space while the poignant voice of the muezzin was lost away from the arcade space of merchandise, including the ancient caravanserai and quiet courtyards of the medina.
VII The next morning, sitting at a table in the Coffee Fly, I had already made my decision. The ambiguous words
Noura made me ponder. I spent most of the night to smoke on the balcony. Watching the shadows of palm trees and listening to the song of crickets, I concluded that my mysterious friend was right. It was obvious that Anna had wanted to close the story with no appeal. Otherwise I could have called on the phone or send me an email. I was carrying my laptop and check email every day, but also on the net Anna was woefully absent. By now I had left one last chance and I was determined to exploit it. Not that I had some hope. I just wanted that she was to remove all doubt. He demanded that I tell in my face that I wanted more. Then I would leave, I will not say happy but reasonably resigned.
Yeah - I said to myself as I sipped my smoothie fishing - now it was only a matter of pride. Possible that the resentment against Anna was stronger than sadness at having lost it? And what role he had friendship with Noura in the evolution of my feelings? Here I did not know what to say. One thing was certain: I wanted to see her.
This time I did everything calmly. Now the road had no more secrets. I seemed to know every line and looked with friendly familiarity the two camels that were dozing in the clearing just before the salt, pink flamingos and even a bull tied to the stake.
front of the factory, as usual, not be seen or heard. Except a big dark sedan parked between the tin cans.
It was three o'clock and I could not wait Noura's see .... I caught myself thinking that I waited anxiously as her Anna.
And perhaps because they do not expect more, this time Anna came out first from one of the warehouses. With a pink dress and sandals tied at the ankles. And she was not alone: \u200b\u200bhe walked to the hands of a stout. The two were looking very confidential. Let's just say that showed off some privacy, since she, after entry into the dark sedan, jumped into his arms and tousled hair with his hand. From my vantage point I could see all of their effusions. Is it possible that Anna had not seen me? Perhaps he preferred to pretend not to recognize me. Or, perhaps, he had noticed a stranger clothed in linen, who was standing on the sidelines waiting for who knows who ...
I must say that this sudden revelation, rather than upset, I infused a quiet unthinkable. It was a feeling almost of relief, as if I had done all that way to see what I already knew. Noura was right now I could finally put his soul in peace! Yeah, and Noura what had become? Why was slow to emerge from the usual alley between the houses?
I waited for over an hour, hoping to see her veil appear turquoise in the dust. Meanwhile, they were gone, even the latest workers. I do not just have to go back to town.
Almost mechanically, just come in Monastir, Instinctively I followed the road that I had learned.
When I parked the car in the square, the sun was setting and the muezzin called the faithful to prayer. The men-only coffee was strangely deserted and the door of the shop was closed Noura.
knocked repeatedly and called her by name. I was about to leave when the door opened and I saw an elderly woman wrapped in a long black dress.
"Excuse me, I try Noura ..." I began. But the woman did not understand. So I tried to make myself understood with what little French I knew, "Noura Noura ... Je cherche ..."
She looked at me like watching a Martian. Then he opened the door completely and invited me to join. The store seemed to me cold and lonely, even though everything was in place. The woman drew back the curtain and beckoned me to follow her. We climbed on the roof and entered, in the throes of growing disquiet in the living room they know. I comforted the view of the dish with plums who was quiet in the middle of the table.
"Aicha, Aicha ..." suddenly shrieked the old, making me jump on the couch on which I was seated.
A moment later, the kitchen door there appeared a younger woman who spoke to me in Italian: "Are you Italian? Are you a friend Noura? "Asked me in the throes of an obvious disturbance.
"Yes - I said hesitantly - I thought I would find the factory ... "
" What factory? "she asked, puzzled.
In looking more closely I noticed that resembled Noura, although it was less young and less beautiful than her. I had an intuition: "Sorry, you're sister Noura? Anna's friend? "
" Yes, I'm his sister, but I do not understand ... Why do you know Anna? "
" Noura told me about you - I said in a confidential tone - and he told me to work with my friend Anna ... .
"It is not possible. - Made her disoriented - My sister could not know Anna. When it happened, and I were at Rimini and Anna Noura is here recently ... "
Maybe there was a misunderstanding. Maybe the woman in front of me did not know my language well. Surely I had misunderstood. Now in the throes of a growing restlessness, I tried to explain: "I'm sorry, I just want to know where I can find my friend Noura. Aicha
sighed, then took my hand and led me on the terrace. "There is Noura - whispered pointing to the stones of the cemetery, which appeared whiter in the last glow of sunset.
"What do you mean?" I muttered to stone. Aicha
then returned to the living room and sat me down on the couch. Then, trying to find the words, he explained that two years before her sister had followed in Rimini, where she had a job. Nouraa she worked as a waitress in a restaurant near the sea.
"It was good to Rimini ... the people were friendly, and earned enough - here's voice broke Aicha -. Noura then began with the restaurant owner but he had another woman and when she knew it was very sad ... I mean ... ... hzina depressed, as you say. And one day he took all the pills and did not wake up anymore. " Aicha sighed, lowering his head in silence.
While she spoke, I watched amazed. I seemed to fall into a pit or having hallucinations. I did not have the strength to ask more. Aicha was
to see me hurt so bad: "I had met at a restaurant? We had given our address? What you saw was the hair salon he had before leaving. It was better if she stayed here ... "
Then, noticing that I watched mesmerized as the dish of plums, took him from the table and handed it to me, inviting me to take one. Like an automaton, I chose what seemed the most mature plum and murmured: "El Awino hzina.
El Awino hzina "Aicha repeated, surprised. Then she smiled with a sweetness that reminded me to Noura.
At that point I had nothing else to ask. I greeted her in a hurry is that the old house and went out of their own while the muezzin ended his litany. I went into the car and tracks, filled with an unreal calm, the streets of downtown.
I spent close to the mausoleum of Bourguiba, I passed almost in a trance "a couple of red lights and parked the car near the hotel. Strictly no parking. In the lobby of the Delphin
Ribat, Tilde and Carla, all dressed up like a country fair, is flirting with the animator rasta entertained, waiting for dinner.
hastily saluted the boy's desk, grabbed the key to my room and slipped on the stairs not the elevator to avoid having to greet anyone.
VIII
In room smelled clean. Like every day, the maid had put my pajamas on the pillow folded fan shape. But this time we had put on a yellow flower. I opened the window without bothering to look either the pool or its visitors at night. Then he lit a cigarette and smoked to the end. Until I pinched the throat. Eventually, I slowly undressed and lay down on the bed without wearing his pajamas, which moved on the cushion, taking care not to damage the choreography and not to crease the flower.
Contrary to all expectations, that night I slept deeply. I do not remember having dreamed. I opened my eyes only when the first light filters through the curtains. But once I turned the other part, let me sleep would win again.
Only when I sat at the breakfast table, among the trays of croissants and steaming cups, I returned to the mind images of the day before. For the first time I realized that he had become, in spite of myself, the protagonist of a story absurd. A story is completely illogical that even made me doubt my sanity.
Yet I was sure I did not invent anything. I was ready to swear that what had happened to me was true: the meetings with Noura, her house disturbing and mysterious, elusive to his words that made me ponder about my futile search for Anna and also the tragic story told me that Aicha. All this could not be figment of my imagination over-excited. Also because I was not the kind that evokes ghosts. No, surely there must be a rational explanation. Noura was a woman of flesh and bones. We had talked, we ate together and receiving even touched it. But above all it was she who opened my eyes and make me accept the reality. Before that I had avoided in any way put into question: I explained to every word and gesture of Anna as a function of my desires. I desperately need to model reality and illusion like I wanted it. Anna's feelings, his doubts and his undeniable good-bye they had no importance. There was Noura wanted to make me accept the idea that you can not imprison people with the excuse that they love. Or you think you love them.
Yeah, because it was just Noura told me: "You can not force a person to love you and miss you love those who do not want more. And neither do you want the best. Do you want just because you believe that you belong. . It is a story closed, George, and for you if they open new ones. Do not waste time otherwise they steal another woman. "
I felt I still hear his words. And right now I'd understand, I would have to accept that I must thank a ghost? If I had told this story to a friend, would certainly have invoked the mandatory medical treatment.
No, I could not confide in anyone.
others were still missing three days at the start. First, there were no other flights. On the other hand, I must admit that I did not mind at all because now the place had become a po'anche mine. While walking through the market I always thought I heard voices and smells. Even before the ears and nose, I had entered the soul. As if they were part of me always. It was incredible to say but I felt lighter. As if a crushing weight had decided to slip away from the heart and mind. Only the image of Noura put me on a poignant sense of loss, so that surprised me several times to look out into the street. Each young woman who could have passed her. And every time I felt accelerate the heart beat, until the disappointment took the place of hope.
Those three days went well, including a dinner and a drink at the Fly Giusy Coffee, including a walk along the seafront and a climb to the Ribat. The only place where it was returned as the square of the medina where there was the house of Noura. I knew that I would no longer come close to that place and I was deliberately away.
Finally came the moment of departure. I found myself waiting for the new airport in cheek, confused between the usual crowd of tourists who had traveled with me a week earlier. I recognized the gray-haired ladies, the couple on their honeymoon, children nuisance this time armed with plastic camels and the usual father tanned as a port of Livorno. And of course Tilde and her friend Carla, who greeted their melancholy animator rasta, promising to return at Easter.
while waiting in line to the control of documents, a sudden premonition made me look better in front of the line. It was then that I saw a stain turquoise confusion among thousands of other colors. My heart began to beat faster. With a leap I left the line and tried to approach the girl who wore the veil of that color. The I could see only from behind. Then I tried to approach her, but those in front of me looked at me and shook a phalanx of evil thinking that I wanted to infiltrate to move forward. It was a snap. The girl with the turquoise veil suddenly turned around and ... I saw it. I'm sure I have smiled. I even thought that grabbed my eye. It was she, Noura! I knew he would not let me go like that, without a greeting. I started to get there but its turquoise veil disappeared into the crowd. And do not see her again.
Soon after, sitting in my chair, I looked out the window the tail of the plane was moving slowly starting to take off.
I felt calmer now that I saw her again. Now I knew that I had not invented anything. And finally I understood the meaning of that encounter.
I was still hot and I was thirsty. I opened the bag that I held on his knees. But in trying his hand with the bottle of mineral water, I touched something round and soft that left me dumbfounded: it was a plum. I took the backpack and recognized it immediately. Caught by a sudden feeling of serenity, addentai just as the plane lifts off, muttering to myself: "El Awino hzina. That result had a flavor that was familiar: that of nostalgia and awareness of regret and consolation.
As the plane plunged into the clouds, the gray-haired gentleman who sat next to me smiled under his mustache with a knowing glance. 
Catherine EA HOUBEB
El Awino hzina
(The plum sad)
I decided to leave for Tunisia on the same evening when I read the message from Anna. A clear message and peremptory, that left me no hope: "This place I do not mind. The work is at the limits of slavery, but one can see interesting career prospects. I'm sorry, George, but you better not look for me anymore. "
If I were a reasonable person would have realized immediately that my affair with Anna was irrevocably over and that there was no longer any room for recovery. But the idea of \u200b\u200bnot resign touched my even for a moment. It was clear that I was not going to disappear from his life. At least not without a convincing explanation on his part.
So the next morning after a night haunted by resentment, by nostalgia and mosquitoes, I rushed to the travel agency where he worked one of my former school friend and I booked a room in a hotel in the center of Monastir for a week ( € 300, including flight).
Fortunately, my friend had the good taste not to ask why in this round I decided to go on holiday alone. But his attitude a bit 'embarrassed including full well that he understood the situation and in solidarity in a discreet with my new status as single not resigned.
The plane took off at 21.35 in Tunisia at the point of leaving him under the hot runway of the airport "Galilei" in Pisa.
While the master would welcome the passengers, a young steward showed the use of life jackets. From my window seat absentmindedly watched the last light of the Tuscan coast receding mingling with the rippling waves of the Tyrrhenian Sea.
My mood was certainly not that of someone who is about to enjoy a well deserved holiday but I felt somewhat relieved to see that no passengers occupying the other two seats in my row.
now the anxiety of the trip had given way to a almost artificial sense of calm and I was too concentrated on my mind to make the case to my fellow travelers. But despite my lack of sociability, I could not help but listen to their conversations. Especially the comments of the young couple behind me who followed the path of the aircraft on one of the screens and little authoritative rebuke of a father dressed for the beach and tried in vain to rein in the unbridled exuberance of two children unbearable. Even the insistent chatter of two elderly tourists who were sitting beside me, on the other side of the plane, began to be frankly disturbing.
"Look here, 'Tilde - made one of two women facing the traveling companion who was sitting next to - we are sure that the plane stopovers before landing in Djerba Monastir? And 'you may go down and then back up? "
" What can I say, Carl? - Said the other impatiently, while gesturing with his fingers curled nails whose glowing flame - I was hoping that the agency had been wrong, but in the cheek I have confirmed that the flight takes two hours and a half and that we will stop at Djerba half an hour. A real DEEP boxes! "Then, sighing, very publicly, said resignedly:" However, it is better to go around anywhere rather than stay warm in Empoli. E then we are on vacation and we have no hurry, no? "
" Maybe it was better to choose another place. I'm not staying in the air at all happy. - Carla retorted angrily - However, now there is no alternative and must resign. At least we hope that you chose a hotel near the sea and not like last year in Palma de Mallorca ... "
" Quiet, Carlina, the place is enchanting. My nephew showed me pictures on the Internet. "
The other seemed reassured. S i gave up on the back of the chair, closing his eyes with pleasure, after having passed a thin layer of lipstick.
Tilde, meanwhile, had pulled out a magazine from her bag and tried to concentrate on reading. But with one eye, held in check all passengers within its field of view. From the dark-skinned and gray-haired gentleman sitting later that after being delivered in Arabic all'hostess, the clouds had begun to lay out the window.
Suddenly a smell of cooking spread among the seats. As soon as one of the stewards began to pass among the passengers of the truck with dinner, Tilde looks were all for him. The magazine was immediately called into the bag.
"What a beautiful boy you are! - Began with his plaintive little voice - You know Italian? "
Assistant flight, evidently accustomed to that kind of compliments, smiled condescendingly.
"What blue eyes you have! - She continued - not even seem like an Arab. In fact, you know I look like Kevin Costner? "
" Yes, of course - he replied, handing her a tray of turkey and vegetables, from which came the smell very uninviting.
The young man laughed again, showing a row of white teeth. The hostess who helped him, but maintained a friendly demeanor reserved. Tilde, however, did not seem willing to give up socializing with the crew: "I, if I were this girl, a guy like you not me I would really miss."
The hostess pretended not to understand. The young steward, however, had already decided to please the passengers belonged to a type well known to him. After all, merely to do his work: "No way, lady. I invited her to go out with me but you ... nothing! "
" Jesus and Mary, is not possible. Did you hear that Carla? Ah, if I were thirty years younger! Apart from that you could be my son but that does not mean anything. Even for love, you know, has no age. I bet there are many ladies who will make the short, eh? Yes, I mean short of proposals that make you ... "At this point the boy - as expected - passed confidences, supported by another colleague who's holding the game. So all the passengers learned of the central file of the advantageous offer of marriage from a mature traveler Dutch, owner of three hotels. But he took care to point out that he heroically refused the offer because it was not for sale.
"Sin." - Tilde looked disconsolate air.
I do not know what I would have given to be deaf. All that talk I numbed my brain. But above all prevented me from developing a strategic plan for the next day. The voice of my neighbors came to me with a volume so high that kept me from even doze off. I wonder how he was a grizzled man to take eyes closed among the din of children who scourged each other with their furry bunnies and the advances of two friends from Empoli.
"Where are you?" Again asked the young steward, adjusting the belt to better show the athletic physique.
"We're going to Monastir. - Said Tilde do with seductive, pulling back a lock of hair canary yellow "But it's not the first time we come to Tunisia. We've been to Hammamet and Madhava, Carla true? Me and my girlfriend travel frequently. On the other hand, to a certain age, with a little 'of disposable income, what we have to do better? We can not spend all summer at the club ARCI to smoke and play with burraco retired, right? "
The truck had meanwhile removed the dinner. Finally my exuberant nearby became quiet. The children were asleep with the terrible rabbit plucked from the arms and also the couple behind me was silent.
I breathed a sigh of relief as now I could let my thoughts flowed freely. And without annoying interference.
II arrived in Monastir almost midnight. But there the clock ticked back one hour. Amid the noisy stream of tourists, walked alone at the customs control. Shortly after I was able to retrieve my suitcase from dark Salesman. A case very different from the others that ran festive and colorful ribbon on the luggage and I imagined packed swimsuits and sunscreen. Well, mine was just a sad case. The worthy fellow traveler of a loser who persisted in running after a woman who did not want him anymore.
Outside the airport it was hot but it was a dry heat that was not sweat. I took a taxi and asked the driver to take me to Delphin Ribat, on the Promenade de la Corniche.
When we came to, I was tired and dazed but not so as not to be fascinated by the spectacle of the promenade that runs parallel to a long row of white hotels enlightened as hives. Opulent buildings, amidst palm gardens with swimming pool, which promised Western tourists unusual exotic entertainment.
just off the taxi, I found myself immersed in the midst of a colorful crowd that did the slalom in the chaotic traffic innocently unaware of any traffic laws. Beyond the Promenade, the sea seemed to be sleeping. In the background a row of red flags with the star and crescent, stirred by a warm wind that turned the palm trees in clumps of bizarre fans.
When I finally could relax on the bed in the hotel room with her suitcase on the floor and a bottle of mineral water on the carpet, I drew a sigh of relief.
At that point I would gladly sleep. If the agitation had not only prevailed over the fatigue of travel.
I could not deceive myself and tell me that I had come to that place to have fun like all those tourists who lingered at that time by the pool drinking and laughing. I could hear them and see the door of the balcony window, framed in a lovely little picture from the tourist brochures: the street lights reflecting off the water turquoise, flags waving in the distance and straw umbrellas with the desert sun that painted the their shadows on a green meadow, so perfect that it seems a synthetic carpet.
Fortunately, the air conditioning allowed me to breathe. I turned off the light and closed the window of the balcony.
Everything happened too fast. Up to three months before, Anna is even talk of moving to my house. It seemed that the idea of \u200b\u200bthe enthusiasm, so much that he planned to take a cat to the kennel. He had explained that it would be a black and white cat.
Then, suddenly, the lightning strike: the direction of the company where he worked had offered to go to Tunisia to take care of the production control. "It's called offshoring - is careful to explain - and is nell'impiantare a factory in a developing country, where labor is cheap and the high earnings can better address the competition and overcome the economic crisis."
E with this explanation, in a few days, was gone, putting the word "end" to our projects. But above all, not even conceive of the doubt that there had been bad.
The first month I phoned twice a day. Almost every evening we have Skype and talked with me late into the night, heedless of the fact that the morning would get up at dawn to go to the factory, there inside, about thirty miles from Monastir. A wasteland - she said - including camels bored and swarms of barefoot children playing in the dust. A place where the workers came to the back of a donkey or a kind of collective taxi that looked more like a cattle car that half the public. Through
I tell her every moment in the minds of his daily life, studying with affectionate curiosity every detail of his distant home, that I was familiar with and close to the computer screen.
But after some time, Anna began to find a thousand excuses not to log in: she was too tired, had to tidy up the house and cooking for the next day, he had fixed to go to coffee with a colleague or the connection was interrupted.
If I had been more polished and disillusioned, I immediately understood that my report had almost come to an end. Indeed, he was finally dead and buried already. But I was undaunted obstinately to tell egregious lies and pretend to believe the flimsy excuses of her.
Only when he reached the fateful e-mail had begun to realize. But, perhaps love, perhaps out of pride, I could not in any way to rework what psychologists call stated "the grief of separation." Absolutely demands an explanation and I was determined to extortion in any way. I thought it was my right.
So after my first night in Africa, passed virtually sleepless brooding my reasons, I got out of bed quite tired but strong enough to deal with the fateful meeting.
In the lounge, while I was having breakfast alone in my single table, I was in the same state of mind of the strategist who put in place the final details of the battle plan. I realized that mine was an unnatural stillness. The calm before the stress inevitably clash. So, just to stay in the environment and the necessary distinctions, I felt a sort of Scipio about to face the enemy Carthage. Only a few months before a meeting with the idea that Anna could resemble a battle would be really unthinkable.
Leaving the room, I took care not to cross Tilde and Carla. Yeah, because my petulant traveling companions - I had seen with horror the same evening of their arrival - they also stayed at the Delphin Ribat!
III
With the pants and shirt of white linen truly looks like one of those gentlemen French colonial era. But my vanity a back seat because it was to organize the day so as not to waste time. The first thing to do was rent a car. Otherwise it would have been impossible to reach the factory where he worked Anna.
address but I had no idea of \u200b\u200bwhere they are and how to get there. One of the employees of the bureau, I had drawn a roadmap, and he assured me, in good Italian, that in less than an hour I arrived on the spot.
So I walked on the sunny promenade. Without any desire to dwell on the beach where at that time already number of tourists roasting in the sun. I watched for a moment the boys with shiny muscles sculpted by sun raced to jump from the rock, and some women that would go off in the green emerald. The tourists in costume, those of the place covered from head to foot. A little farther on a frenzied music accompanied by a speaker an impromptu game of football.
walked on the asphalt hot, occasionally interrupted by stands with smelly sandwiches with mysterious ingredients and improvised banquet on which stood the pyramids of shelled almonds. One child came up to me with a basket, offering bunches of dried jasmine tucked into short sticks.
on Top hill, between the palm trees and flags, the sun shone between the walls of the city of Ribat, the monastery fortress overlooking the bay. I took the first road up the hill on the left, where a sign indicated in the French car rental agency. I passed over, heading into a miraculously driveway shaded by two thick rows of trees, beside which a small group of men lounging in cafes and barbershops.
But evidently I was wrong road because of car hire even a shadow. In return I ended up among the market stalls covered, among heaps of bananas and tomatoes, among bundles of mint and fennel. Stunned by the heat, strong smelling spices and dall'afrore bodies. I wandered po'fra for a crowd that was around bargaining, regardless of flies alighting everywhere. A piece of flesh cut from the marble of narrow shops.
Finally, after consulting my French tourist a couple of passers-by, the agency found. So I hired a car that at first glance, it seemed the dawn of registered motor but that was perfect for me.
IV Once out of town, the road was wide and straight. But definitely a bit 'too busy. And motorists not very disciplined. I did not have to do is follow the directions on the map, Juggling wrecks of trucks rattled loads of goods, motorbikes with no fewer than four people on board and carcasses of cars in battle. On either side of the road ran extensive olive groves, alternating with crumbling buildings, railways and the colonial endless rows of prickly pear trees and oleanders. Sometimes the thrill of putting a roundabout in a cold sweat and gave me a series of completely incomprehensible signs made me seriously doubt of being able to reach the goal. The yellow taxis were the most dangerous enemies: they appeared suddenly with extraordinary skill and darting left and right, dribbling miraculously cars and donkeys on their trajectory.
After about twenty kilometers in the heat, and finally passed after a truck carrying Libyan baby diapers (so at least I knew the writing in French), I found myself lining a large lake inhabited by flamingos idle, heedless of the planes that took off in the dust hovering noisily on track to their shoulders.
I began to fear that I would never come. Or maybe I hoped unconsciously.
However, I do not know how, but at some point, I miraculously found myself at the crossroads where I saw the sign indicating the country of the factory: Ben Hassem. I turned sharply, narrowly avoiding a prancing bull tied to a pole. Finally, I managed to miraculously turn and putting them on a dirt road full of stones.
Basically, I expected a group of dilapidated houses, with painted wooden doors of heaven, a child playing barefoot in the dust and the chickens, and an old woman in a cloth intabarrata dark. I stood on a ledge which was full of agave and got out. But where the hell was this factory? I plucked up my courage and tried to ask the woman in my absurd French-penguin, which, to my great relief, and not only saw the first but I also made a nod in the direction of two large warehouses, which goes down there, over the houses .
was then that I realized that Anna had to be very motivated to make its way up in an environment so degraded. Just that she hated the suburbs and could not do without the shopping center! It seemed absurd that he had renounced his comfortable in the hope of becoming a successful manager. Scacciai a doubt that had crept treacherously: and if he did get away from me? I preferred not to think about this possibility.
I must say that even before I was struck by the squalor almost unreal silence of that place. Where I had to knock to ask about Anna?
I had just a few steps when a female figure emerged suddenly from behind a dilapidated hovel. I saw the corner of the eye and the first impression I had was amazing. But also of concern. Unexplainable anxiety that prevented me from closer to observe better. She was a young woman dressed in a pair of tight trousers and a colorful jacket that reached to his knees. I noticed that his skin was darker than other women. Maybe it was not but a country of Tunisia to the south. I watched her best. Her hair was hidden by a veil turquoise, big eyes and dark lips and well designed. It was definitely a beautiful girl.
As I watched, trying not to do with noticing, she began walking up and down in front of the entrance of the first building. As if waiting for someone. I, for giving me an attitude, I began to do likewise.
In retrospect, I should be pretty funny. Walking in the wilderness as if I was in Nice, on the Promenade des Anglais, sweating in my white linen suit, surrounded by flies and by a series of rusted tin cans that someone had lined up on display, as if they were precious furnishings.
Suddenly she stopped and looked up at me. His dark eyes looked at me with a familiarity that made me uneasy. As if she knew me. Even seemed to notice a smile almost accomplice.
At that point, without thinking I went to talk to her in Italian: "Good evening, can not, by chance, what time they finish work in this place?".
To be honest, I wondered why I had not even talked to my instinct language. It seemed natural, that's all. Then I could not find out why.
She did not seem surprised at all, so I answered without hesitation. In Italian, of course: "They have already closed for over an hour. But you waiting for someone? "He was just a slight foreign accent. Seemed to have fun in front of my astonishment. He did not wait even that asked why he knew my language.
"You're Italian, right? You see it immediately. I worked three years in Italy. I lived in Rimini. Rimini know? Tortillas and ballroom dancing ... "And he laughed, revealing a row of teeth white as peeled almonds.
The ice was broken. Apparently fate had pity on me and had sent the girl to keep me in hell of losing heat and debris.
"Yes, of course I know her. Listen, since you're here, maybe you can help me. I try an Italian girl who works in this building ... "
" Ah! - She said the tone of someone who already knows about - my sister works here. "
" Then maybe you know Anna ... "
" Anna? Ah yes, the Italian girl with short hair, kinda cute! "
" Do not tell me you know it! "
" Of course, working in the office of my sister. But at this time if they are already all gone. In summer they a reduced timetable. "
Relief for tracked Anna gave way to disappointment for arriving late:" But who are you waiting for? "
" The Louage to return to Monastir. "
" Look here '- I ventured a bit 'embarrassed - if you have problems, you can give me a ride with the car I hired this morning ... We can get back together. "
imagined that rejected my invitation. Instead, immediately accepted and entered the burning car. Perfectly at ease. So much for the modesty of Muslim women reserved.
Along the way we began to talk like two old friends. Without embarrassment. He told me his name Noura and lived in the medina of Monastir with his mother. He opened a hair salon, but he missed Italy, where she was a waitress in a seaside restaurant. Not because I asked her why she returned and waiting for her sister, knowing that had already left.
was the tension of the trip will be fruitless, it was the sympathy of Noura, the fact is that I told her my story. She nodded in silence. So much so that I seemed to always know. So I should not wonder too much when he said he knew Anna could understand my state of mind.
"Anna is an intelligent girl who wants to become important in his work." Noura said as if talking a friend from whom he had picked up some confidence.
Needless to say, this attitude encouraged me to question her about Anna, nell'ingenuo attempt to have some other news about her. Actually, the scene seemed a bit surreal: I was speaking of my emotional problems with a stranger to whom I had accidentally offered a ride. And I did it without any restraint. As if it were the most natural thing in the world.
Once in the city, Noura me into a maze of narrow streets with dilapidated houses, in the midst of humanity that is much different from that of hotels and rooms for tourists. Men and donkeys crossing the road without caring about the cars, goods occupied the sidewalks and the usual yellow taxi sped through the crowd without mercy.
We stopped in a small square, overlooked by some houses with blue doors and tiles decorated with flowers chipped by time. We left the car in front of a coffee for men only, turn to a table where a wrinkled old man continued undaunted in its chicha smoke without bothering to look.
Noura went into one of the doors and invited me to follow
"This is my shop." He began to show me all proud and the diplomas that were attached to the wall crumbling. Those poor
framed sheets conjured up images of other seasons. It seemed to be on scene of an Italian film of the '50s. Even the photos of the crumpled models seemed to belong to an archaic world. A world away in time, which still retained some traces in some remote village folk of our south. O in the first documentaries about Italy's economic boom.
"I'm good! - Noura said, pointing to bottles of shampoo and hairspray worn-looking, old brushes scattered on the shelf resting on two wooden boxes and makeshift sink in a corner of the room. A mysterious curtain separated the shop from the rest of the hut. Yet
that place I was strangely familiar. There was something about me that made him known. If you look back, even now know why.
But I soon realized that the hostess did not intend to say goodbye yet. In fact, pushed aside the curtain, showed me into a courtyard, inviting me to climb up a staircase that led to his apartment. We went on a terrace that overlooked the city. The wind usually came from the sea made me get back. The echo of the muffled voices of the square came up there. I looked down: among the chipped walls of the houses and courtyards teeming with agave past an expanse of stones. Noura noticed my puzzlement and explained: "That's the cemetery."
went into a pet door that looked out onto the terrace. The house was far beyond my expectations. The living room was in order and also had a sofa a bit 'worn but dignified.
In the middle of the table stood a great crock pot full of dark plum-looking inviting. Noura noticed my look greedy. It took one and handed it to me. I will never forget the taste of the fruit, sour and sweet at the same time. She also took one bite and before he murmured with a look that seemed hopeless, "El Awino hzina.
"What does this mean? "I asked curiously. She looked at me and then laughed, again showing his white teeth: "'El Awino hzina'è' plum sad '. Can not you see that mine is different from the others? "
El Awino hzina "I tried to repeat slowly. It seemed to me that sound musical even if it evokes an image of melancholy. What an absurd idea ... as did a plum to be sad? That girl was really strange!
greeted her on the doorstep. Knowing within myself that I would soon be revised.
V
the evening, seated at a table in the restaurant Pizzeria "by Giuseppe" I was so taken by my thoughts that I appreciated as I should have the spaghetti with tuna or Italian restaurants I had been prepared with passion. Giuseppe was a lady about sixty, small, fat, Puglia and the air very managerial. It was to the case, prominently displayed a heavy gold crucifix on a generous cleavage. At first I told him word for word for all the events tied to his astonishing ascent professional in Africa: the envy of the neighbors to the fierce competition with the boss of the restaurant owners, who, fortunately for my enterprising fellow, was just been murdered by twenty-seven stab wounds. Meanwhile, the waiters around the blending complimentary, twirling with great skill dishes filled with Italian specialties, "Madame here, madame so on ..." You could tell immediately that
Giuseppe was a woman of character. Even
sea bream with vegetables was sublime but I could not forgive myself for having missed a week so stupidly. I knew that in summer the factory closes before Anna. But I was there at half past three. How could escape myself? Possible that if they were all gone before? And Nour? What was he doing in front of deserted warehouses? If she had come to take his sister, because she was not with her? Since I could not find any answer, I decided to organize better the next day. The next day Anna I would not escape in any way. I would arrive at the factory before and at that point no one would go by without my noticing.
I left the restaurant with the firm conviction that the next night I would sit at the table with Anna and we explained everything. Indeed, already imagine his surprise and his pleasure at seeing me. I tried to convince me that his was a tactic to prove myself and that, having successfully passed, I had the right to renew our relationship.
So I tried to kill time fooling myself.
I walked for over an hour on the waterfront. A bit 'to digest the dinner Giusy, a bit' because I feared that I would not sleep easily. I tried to distract myself by observing the families who were walking up and down, the lights were reflected on the sea and the usual flag waving among the trees.
When I turned on the light were two in the morning. My mouth was bitter and a weight on my stomach. I opened the window and sat in the balcony to breathe the air of the night. The incessant singing of crickets mingled with the sound of the air conditioner. I lit a cigarette, poured water into a paper cup and began to observe the night life beneath me.
I gaze soon fell on the mirror of turquoise pool that reflected both the light of street lamps that the shade of palm trees. In one corner, a pair of Nordic tourists he was lying on the grass gazing at the stars in the company of several bottles of beer.
Suddenly, someone slipped from behind a pile of chairs. I heard a chuckle and immediately discerned a renowned artist, followed by a black guy in his underwear glow in the dark with a thick head of hair rasta. Clearly hear the shrill voice of Tilde: "No, dear, we can not go to my room. Carla There is sleeping, and even if you have a heavy sleeper, I do not seem the case .... Why do not we do a swim? "The boy seemed convinced. He began to do push-ups and massaging the muscles. Eventually he fell into the water, not having pushed his partner that he began to fumble, squawking and laughing. The two Nordic tourists if they did not. While Tilde and her escort were left to go to noisy outpourings water, inhaled the smoke without much pleasure, hoping that the spaghetti with tuna Giusy you decide to dislodge from my poor stomach.
Eventually, after Tilde and her charming entertainer had emerged dripping from the pool for infrattarsi in the dark, stubbed out his cigarette in a glass of water and went back to bed, overwhelmed by anxious thoughts.
VI
The next morning I awoke full of good intentions. I had a coffee, I walked around the city center and then I would put on the road well in advance. This time I would arrive soon. Very soon.
I tried to sit on the Fly Coffee, next to the hotel. It was a really nice spot, one could sit at a table sipping a coffee or eat a crepe, turn on your laptop, read a newspaper or, more simply, enjoy the sea view from behind the railing of the veranda. And all this without that no one should bother. It would be the ideal place if I had not found the wait unbearable. My mood was expressed in a nervous tremor that I went up along the leg muscles and did not want to give me respite. I had an urgent need to walk. So I paid the bill and walked toward the center. But I did not want to slip into the chaos of the medina, so I avoided the maze of alleys and galleries dotted with mosques and steam and headed for the modern part of town.
I found myself in an instant to the mausoleum of Bourguiba and paths along the walkway under a scorching sun, already that was reflected on the flaming green and gold domes. I walked casually in the mausoleum, I stopped looking at some items that had belonged to the president, visited his tomb and those of his family. Since I was there, I might as well strive to be a tourist.
But the point I was thirteen at the wheel of the usual rental car and head, more secure than the day before, along the dusty main road, passing right by the truck that prevented me from running and using their horns as they did there. That is like a trumpet of war.
front of the factory still silence and dust. This time there was neither the woman nor the baby penguin-barefoot. Only a few turkeys and a quarrelsome couple chickens that scratched by slow reflexes between the hot tin cans.
I lit a cigarette but I turned off almost immediately: it was not necessary to add more heat to the heat. I got out of the car. It was then that I saw. Noura
emerged from the same lane, with the same veil turquoise and the same clothes the day before. As if waiting for me, I ran, with a cordiality that surprised me, but at the same time, I was pleased.
was glad to see me, "Today you have come before, eh?"
"... Yeah - I said - this time not escape me!"
"I'm afraid that even today you can meet - she replied with an expression of regret - My sister called me right now. He says that the Director has sent her and Anna in Monastir to take samples. "And to convince me that he had told the truth he showed me his cell phone. As if it could speak to confirm his version.
confess that the idea of \u200b\u200bbeing ripped off once again made me fall in complete despair. I began to suspect that all conspired against me. Even Noura.
Yet she looked in my direction. At least to judge from disconsolate and involved.
"Look, George, it means that you will see it tomorrow ... Meanwhile me a ride?"
"Of course I'll do. At least I am useful. "
car continuing the dialogue we had begun the day before. An affectionate and confidential dialogue. As if now we were a long-standing complicity.
And when she asked me if I was afraid that Anna did not want to see me, I did not know what to say. I thought for a moment and, while overtaking a cart pulled by a donkey, I answered as if you were talking to myself: "Good question, really. It 'clear that I feel afraid to say it's over. But I must say in the face. Tell me the truth, I bet you saw. Did he tell you something, right? It seems that you know very well his intentions ... "
Noura smiled sadly. Then he shook his head and said, "Listen George, You know very well that she does not want to meet you. Otherwise I would try, no? "
The speech did not bat an eyelid. I was going to replicate a po'risentito for his frankness, when a gray cat crossed the road and grazed the bumper. "Watch me," said Noura. Sterzai abruptly, managing to avoid it by a hair.
"life difficult for the Tunisian cats. - I said, wiping the sweat from his brow with his sleeve of his shirt.
"no worse than that of men, she said .- We-cats are thin but they are respected. The Prophet was very fond of cats. You know that once called to prayer, not to awaken that sleeping on a tunic, cut a sleeve? "
did not answer. I was too absorbed in my thoughts. Frankly, at that moment the fate of the felines Maghreb was the least of my worries. But Noura
seemed thoughtful. I was convinced that Anna knew much more than they wanted me to understand. And I had the distinct feeling that acted as a liaison between you and me but I did not dare to ask more.
Noura, for its part, was silent until he went back to Monastir.
As the haunting first, parked in the square in front of his shop. I got out of the car, as if this time I had tacitly invited. Entered the store, Noura pulled back the curtain and led me up the stairs. Again I found myself on the terrace and, finally, in his living room. But this time the table was set.
Without a word he began to trade in a closet next to that was to be the kitchen. I felt a tap open and I distinctly heard the sound of pots and dishes.
Shortly after we were at the table in front of a large plate filled with cous cous, meat and vegetables. But first he wanted to taste the harissa with olive oil, olives and tuna. And he laughed out loud when he told her that it was too spicy for me. At the end of dinner, by which time I felt almost at home, I remembered the plums of the day before and asked her what had happened. Then she went into the kitchen and returned immediately with the pot in his hands. "El Awino hzina" murmured to his lips a ripe plum. "El Awino hzina" eco feces, biting one too. As I left the house
Noura felt inside me a sort of nostalgia that I could not explain. Outside the cafe, the same old smoke with him staring into space while the poignant voice of the muezzin was lost away from the arcade space of merchandise, including the ancient caravanserai and quiet courtyards of the medina.
VII The next morning, sitting at a table in the Coffee Fly, I had already made my decision. The ambiguous words
Noura made me ponder. I spent most of the night to smoke on the balcony. Watching the shadows of palm trees and listening to the song of crickets, I concluded that my mysterious friend was right. It was obvious that Anna had wanted to close the story with no appeal. Otherwise I could have called on the phone or send me an email. I was carrying my laptop and check email every day, but also on the net Anna was woefully absent. By now I had left one last chance and I was determined to exploit it. Not that I had some hope. I just wanted that she was to remove all doubt. He demanded that I tell in my face that I wanted more. Then I would leave, I will not say happy but reasonably resigned.
Yeah - I said to myself as I sipped my smoothie fishing - now it was only a matter of pride. Possible that the resentment against Anna was stronger than sadness at having lost it? And what role he had friendship with Noura in the evolution of my feelings? Here I did not know what to say. One thing was certain: I wanted to see her.
This time I did everything calmly. Now the road had no more secrets. I seemed to know every line and looked with friendly familiarity the two camels that were dozing in the clearing just before the salt, pink flamingos and even a bull tied to the stake.
front of the factory, as usual, not be seen or heard. Except a big dark sedan parked between the tin cans.
It was three o'clock and I could not wait Noura's see .... I caught myself thinking that I waited anxiously as her Anna.
And perhaps because they do not expect more, this time Anna came out first from one of the warehouses. With a pink dress and sandals tied at the ankles. And she was not alone: \u200b\u200bhe walked to the hands of a stout. The two were looking very confidential. Let's just say that showed off some privacy, since she, after entry into the dark sedan, jumped into his arms and tousled hair with his hand. From my vantage point I could see all of their effusions. Is it possible that Anna had not seen me? Perhaps he preferred to pretend not to recognize me. Or, perhaps, he had noticed a stranger clothed in linen, who was standing on the sidelines waiting for who knows who ...
I must say that this sudden revelation, rather than upset, I infused a quiet unthinkable. It was a feeling almost of relief, as if I had done all that way to see what I already knew. Noura was right now I could finally put his soul in peace! Yeah, and Noura what had become? Why was slow to emerge from the usual alley between the houses?
I waited for over an hour, hoping to see her veil appear turquoise in the dust. Meanwhile, they were gone, even the latest workers. I do not just have to go back to town.
Almost mechanically, just come in Monastir, Instinctively I followed the road that I had learned.
When I parked the car in the square, the sun was setting and the muezzin called the faithful to prayer. The men-only coffee was strangely deserted and the door of the shop was closed Noura.
knocked repeatedly and called her by name. I was about to leave when the door opened and I saw an elderly woman wrapped in a long black dress.
"Excuse me, I try Noura ..." I began. But the woman did not understand. So I tried to make myself understood with what little French I knew, "Noura Noura ... Je cherche ..."
She looked at me like watching a Martian. Then he opened the door completely and invited me to join. The store seemed to me cold and lonely, even though everything was in place. The woman drew back the curtain and beckoned me to follow her. We climbed on the roof and entered, in the throes of growing disquiet in the living room they know. I comforted the view of the dish with plums who was quiet in the middle of the table.
"Aicha, Aicha ..." suddenly shrieked the old, making me jump on the couch on which I was seated.
A moment later, the kitchen door there appeared a younger woman who spoke to me in Italian: "Are you Italian? Are you a friend Noura? "Asked me in the throes of an obvious disturbance.
"Yes - I said hesitantly - I thought I would find the factory ... "
" What factory? "she asked, puzzled.
In looking more closely I noticed that resembled Noura, although it was less young and less beautiful than her. I had an intuition: "Sorry, you're sister Noura? Anna's friend? "
" Yes, I'm his sister, but I do not understand ... Why do you know Anna? "
" Noura told me about you - I said in a confidential tone - and he told me to work with my friend Anna ... .
"It is not possible. - Made her disoriented - My sister could not know Anna. When it happened, and I were at Rimini and Anna Noura is here recently ... "
Maybe there was a misunderstanding. Maybe the woman in front of me did not know my language well. Surely I had misunderstood. Now in the throes of a growing restlessness, I tried to explain: "I'm sorry, I just want to know where I can find my friend Noura. Aicha
sighed, then took my hand and led me on the terrace. "There is Noura - whispered pointing to the stones of the cemetery, which appeared whiter in the last glow of sunset.
"What do you mean?" I muttered to stone. Aicha
then returned to the living room and sat me down on the couch. Then, trying to find the words, he explained that two years before her sister had followed in Rimini, where she had a job. Nouraa she worked as a waitress in a restaurant near the sea.
"It was good to Rimini ... the people were friendly, and earned enough - here's voice broke Aicha -. Noura then began with the restaurant owner but he had another woman and when she knew it was very sad ... I mean ... ... hzina depressed, as you say. And one day he took all the pills and did not wake up anymore. " Aicha sighed, lowering his head in silence.
While she spoke, I watched amazed. I seemed to fall into a pit or having hallucinations. I did not have the strength to ask more. Aicha was
to see me hurt so bad: "I had met at a restaurant? We had given our address? What you saw was the hair salon he had before leaving. It was better if she stayed here ... "
Then, noticing that I watched mesmerized as the dish of plums, took him from the table and handed it to me, inviting me to take one. Like an automaton, I chose what seemed the most mature plum and murmured: "El Awino hzina.
El Awino hzina "Aicha repeated, surprised. Then she smiled with a sweetness that reminded me to Noura.
At that point I had nothing else to ask. I greeted her in a hurry is that the old house and went out of their own while the muezzin ended his litany. I went into the car and tracks, filled with an unreal calm, the streets of downtown.
I spent close to the mausoleum of Bourguiba, I passed almost in a trance "a couple of red lights and parked the car near the hotel. Strictly no parking. In the lobby of the Delphin
Ribat, Tilde and Carla, all dressed up like a country fair, is flirting with the animator rasta entertained, waiting for dinner.
hastily saluted the boy's desk, grabbed the key to my room and slipped on the stairs not the elevator to avoid having to greet anyone.
VIII
In room smelled clean. Like every day, the maid had put my pajamas on the pillow folded fan shape. But this time we had put on a yellow flower. I opened the window without bothering to look either the pool or its visitors at night. Then he lit a cigarette and smoked to the end. Until I pinched the throat. Eventually, I slowly undressed and lay down on the bed without wearing his pajamas, which moved on the cushion, taking care not to damage the choreography and not to crease the flower.
Contrary to all expectations, that night I slept deeply. I do not remember having dreamed. I opened my eyes only when the first light filters through the curtains. But once I turned the other part, let me sleep would win again.
Only when I sat at the breakfast table, among the trays of croissants and steaming cups, I returned to the mind images of the day before. For the first time I realized that he had become, in spite of myself, the protagonist of a story absurd. A story is completely illogical that even made me doubt my sanity.
Yet I was sure I did not invent anything. I was ready to swear that what had happened to me was true: the meetings with Noura, her house disturbing and mysterious, elusive to his words that made me ponder about my futile search for Anna and also the tragic story told me that Aicha. All this could not be figment of my imagination over-excited. Also because I was not the kind that evokes ghosts. No, surely there must be a rational explanation. Noura was a woman of flesh and bones. We had talked, we ate together and receiving even touched it. But above all it was she who opened my eyes and make me accept the reality. Before that I had avoided in any way put into question: I explained to every word and gesture of Anna as a function of my desires. I desperately need to model reality and illusion like I wanted it. Anna's feelings, his doubts and his undeniable good-bye they had no importance. There was Noura wanted to make me accept the idea that you can not imprison people with the excuse that they love. Or you think you love them.
Yeah, because it was just Noura told me: "You can not force a person to love you and miss you love those who do not want more. And neither do you want the best. Do you want just because you believe that you belong. . It is a story closed, George, and for you if they open new ones. Do not waste time otherwise they steal another woman. "
I felt I still hear his words. And right now I'd understand, I would have to accept that I must thank a ghost? If I had told this story to a friend, would certainly have invoked the mandatory medical treatment.
No, I could not confide in anyone.
others were still missing three days at the start. First, there were no other flights. On the other hand, I must admit that I did not mind at all because now the place had become a po'anche mine. While walking through the market I always thought I heard voices and smells. Even before the ears and nose, I had entered the soul. As if they were part of me always. It was incredible to say but I felt lighter. As if a crushing weight had decided to slip away from the heart and mind. Only the image of Noura put me on a poignant sense of loss, so that surprised me several times to look out into the street. Each young woman who could have passed her. And every time I felt accelerate the heart beat, until the disappointment took the place of hope.
Those three days went well, including a dinner and a drink at the Fly Giusy Coffee, including a walk along the seafront and a climb to the Ribat. The only place where it was returned as the square of the medina where there was the house of Noura. I knew that I would no longer come close to that place and I was deliberately away.
Finally came the moment of departure. I found myself waiting for the new airport in cheek, confused between the usual crowd of tourists who had traveled with me a week earlier. I recognized the gray-haired ladies, the couple on their honeymoon, children nuisance this time armed with plastic camels and the usual father tanned as a port of Livorno. And of course Tilde and her friend Carla, who greeted their melancholy animator rasta, promising to return at Easter.
while waiting in line to the control of documents, a sudden premonition made me look better in front of the line. It was then that I saw a stain turquoise confusion among thousands of other colors. My heart began to beat faster. With a leap I left the line and tried to approach the girl who wore the veil of that color. The I could see only from behind. Then I tried to approach her, but those in front of me looked at me and shook a phalanx of evil thinking that I wanted to infiltrate to move forward. It was a snap. The girl with the turquoise veil suddenly turned around and ... I saw it. I'm sure I have smiled. I even thought that grabbed my eye. It was she, Noura! I knew he would not let me go like that, without a greeting. I started to get there but its turquoise veil disappeared into the crowd. And do not see her again.
Soon after, sitting in my chair, I looked out the window the tail of the plane was moving slowly starting to take off.
I felt calmer now that I saw her again. Now I knew that I had not invented anything. And finally I understood the meaning of that encounter.
I was still hot and I was thirsty. I opened the bag that I held on his knees. But in trying his hand with the bottle of mineral water, I touched something round and soft that left me dumbfounded: it was a plum. I took the backpack and recognized it immediately. Caught by a sudden feeling of serenity, addentai just as the plane lifts off, muttering to myself: "El Awino hzina. That result had a flavor that was familiar: that of nostalgia and awareness of regret and consolation.
As the plane plunged into the clouds, the gray-haired gentleman who sat next to me smiled under his mustache with a knowing glance.
Cervix Position Just Before Period
"AL HORIYA" (FREEDOM ')
"WORDS FOR THE ROAD" E 'A COLLECTION OF STORIES THAT HAVE A VERY SHORT FOR THEME ON MUTUAL RESPECT AMONG PEOPLES AND CULTURES indispensable precondition for any relations of friendship and peace (ed. THE WRATH OF BOOKS, COVER BROWN Zaffoni)
"Al horiya" ("Freedom")
It 's a hot July morning when I boot on the sunny promenade Monastir.Confusa in a crowd of colorful, hot asphalt path and while excess Banquet of shelled almonds and children loaded with bunches of jasmine, I can not help but think about the oddity of the case.
's only been six months of the wedding party happiest of my life and now here I am again. In the midst of an intense smell and heady spices, the shadow of the imposing walls of the Ribat and at the mercy of this dangerous army of yellow cabs whizzing fast, regardless of any rules of the road.
After the medina, down a maze of alleys, springing suddenly the white walls of the private high school "Al horiya.
In the midst of many dilapidated houses, the windows painted pink and the brass plaque on the door are a strange effect.
Professor Hammouda towards me, embraced me warmly and takes me to visit his newly renovated school. To see the freshly painted classrooms, desks with computers and the flag flying in the yard, I feel proud too. Not only because I am a teacher but also because I'd like to see the surprised faces of those people in my country that six months ago were so outraged by the choice of my daughter. Yes, I wish they were all here and admit that "Al horiya" is a very good school and that my son is a really good professor. 
"WORDS FOR THE ROAD" E 'A COLLECTION OF STORIES THAT HAVE A VERY SHORT FOR THEME ON MUTUAL RESPECT AMONG PEOPLES AND CULTURES indispensable precondition for any relations of friendship and peace (ed. THE WRATH OF BOOKS, COVER BROWN Zaffoni)
"Al horiya" ("Freedom")
It 's a hot July morning when I boot on the sunny promenade Monastir.Confusa in a crowd of colorful, hot asphalt path and while excess Banquet of shelled almonds and children loaded with bunches of jasmine, I can not help but think about the oddity of the case.
's only been six months of the wedding party happiest of my life and now here I am again. In the midst of an intense smell and heady spices, the shadow of the imposing walls of the Ribat and at the mercy of this dangerous army of yellow cabs whizzing fast, regardless of any rules of the road.
After the medina, down a maze of alleys, springing suddenly the white walls of the private high school "Al horiya.
In the midst of many dilapidated houses, the windows painted pink and the brass plaque on the door are a strange effect.
Professor Hammouda towards me, embraced me warmly and takes me to visit his newly renovated school. To see the freshly painted classrooms, desks with computers and the flag flying in the yard, I feel proud too. Not only because I am a teacher but also because I'd like to see the surprised faces of those people in my country that six months ago were so outraged by the choice of my daughter. Yes, I wish they were all here and admit that "Al horiya" is a very good school and that my son is a really good professor.
Messages To A New Baby
VIII
For whom does the hurdy
Monna Lucrezia is a dreamer. Dream since she was a child and he does it to escape a reality that is devoid of any pleasure.
Vanni, with his inventions, makes her feel extraordinarily alive. But above all, intrigued with the romance of what he saw. Or rather, he imagined seeing. She understood immediately that his adventures are largely the fruit of his fertile imagination, but she likes that her spontaneous and captivating storytelling. Stories to which you do not believe at all but she likes just because they are impossible. Even when he whispers words of love, Lucrezia knows that is not his bag of flour but laughs a laugh that breaks the silence of the Argentine salt desert Smilee.
"Lust is the cause of generation. Gluttony is the maintenance of life. "Whispers the painter, while he kisses her neck in the sweltering heat of the barn or in the shade of the fig tree, impersonating those who are his thoughts of his friend Leonardo.
Vanni has offered to give her a picture and Panciatichi, moved to pity by his clothes torn and his thinness, has done to commission the painting. In truth, convinced him above all the prayers of Lucrezia, who, poor thing, is bored to death relegated in that campaign that knows no other music and song of the crickets, or other dance outside of the fires that burn in the middle of the stubble.
Messer Simone knows she is old and too busy with his trade to meet the young and restless wife so different from women in her family. Only now he realizes that he was wrong to marry her. But it is late. It also does not want to give satisfaction to his parents who both have opposed this union with a woman from an enemy family.
So when she, blushing like a child discovering a steal cherries, tells those who are the whispers while the portrait is in the shadow of the tower, Sir Simon shakes his head and lets you take melancholy. So, to make her smile, I promise that before the end of summer invite guests and musicians. It will make a big party where she'll be the queen.
Vanni, for its part, does not realize that Sir Simon is not deceived by his flattery, and it is not so foolish as to believe that one day he will make him popular with his bride, representing it in a portrait that will compete with what a Flemish painter who has done many years before the merchant Arnolfini and his wife. At
Panciatichi not escape some eyes that the young accomplices addressed to his wife while she plays for an old hurdy-gurdy that found in a trunk. It does not escape the frenzy that even shake the legs of Lucretia: the joy that emanates from the instrument makes me want to dance barefoot. I would gladly, if not a temptation of the devil.
Simon understands and contemplates in silence. While fearing the vitality of his wife, knows that his wisdom senile must move away from the heart of every shade of jealousy. What evidence is rather a feeling of compassion, combined with nostalgia for his youth now fled. For this is so magnanimous as to let it intoxicate Lucrezia heat of the afternoon and that the red curls of her to be confused with the red fields of poppies.
Rainbow Sandals San Antonio
FRIDAY' January 21 THE VILLA Smilee Montale AT 21 00
AFTER YOUR Andrea Dami 'SUBMITTED sculpture "PAST-PRESENT" IN THE NORTH TOWER Smilee, The ballroom, CHRISTINE WHITE WILL', 'THE SIGH OF MONA LUCREZIA "OR THE HISTORY OF THE CASTLE VILLA Smilee veiled lady. 
AFTER YOUR Andrea Dami 'SUBMITTED sculpture "PAST-PRESENT" IN THE NORTH TOWER Smilee, The ballroom, CHRISTINE WHITE WILL', 'THE SIGH OF MONA LUCREZIA "OR THE HISTORY OF THE CASTLE VILLA Smilee veiled lady.
Bedroomi-catcher Console - Web Monitor
TRANQUILLONA DINNER TO: PERFORMANCE OF THE COMPANY ACQUAINBOCCA
ACTORS recited: "The Mules and the Lion" (by the anthology "RICE BLACK "by Graziano Braschi, ED. DELOS)," the LAST FOR EUROSTAR ANNA K "AND" DEEP RED " 
ACTORS recited: "The Mules and the Lion" (by the anthology "RICE BLACK "by Graziano Braschi, ED. DELOS)," the LAST FOR EUROSTAR ANNA K "AND" DEEP RED "
Mount And Bladewedding Dance
father's coat I
A suitcase covered with dust
sound of the gate house at four in a sunny August afternoon.
The garden is surrounded by silence, broken only by chirping of some cicada. For a moment, I doubt that it captures the terrible wrong time, or even the day of 'appointment. I turn to the Lucca's hills, dotted with cypress trees and I can not help but think that does not even seem to be in Quarrata. I could find - why not - under any macchiaiolo minor. A painter is able to catch the fun afternoon of Tuscan farmhouses. Those stone farmhouses that come out in the middle of the mantle silvery olive trees, crossed by only a few rocky path.
Behind me stretches the park's magic, with the Medici villa hidden in the countryside, steeped in silence, behind a sort of lemon. It 'a live scenario, although it seems dormant under the dazzling sun of August.
finally opens the door. Silvana greets me with a calm but cheerful kindness. So I understand to be expected. I'm not wrong day.
Franca greets me in the hall behind her sister. It gives me a hand with a narrow friendly. Without a shadow of formalism. I understand now
that I will not just be a courtesy call and that the sisters Nannini will not only show their home. In fact, since the early gestures, I realize, with a sort of chaste fear, I am about to enter a special place where the past comes to life in this through a sort of emotional communion between the living and those who are more.
I'm surprised to think that in the house tidy and elegant, you can breathe just what Foscolo called "heavenly match of amorous feelings." But maybe it's just a teacher of literature from professional bias.
"This house has built her father, with a cooperative of 'INA CASE. He wanted to return to the hills where he was born. He liked to cultivate the farm, hunting, make vin santo ... "
Silvana Franca and father's turn to speak. They do it in perfect harmony, complementing each other's memories with a deep empathy. Theirs is a surprising serenity. But even more surprising that this tacit agreement and harmony in recalling their childhood with discretion but also with spontaneous vivacity.
Silvana Franca and are able to revive their loved ones through the anecdotes and, above all, through personal items. Just entered, I felt immediately that this subtle complicity accompanies the polite words and actions of these "two girls in the first half of last century," as they themselves like to be called, not without a touch of affectionate irony.
I confess that I imagined the other sisters Nannini, certainly influenced by established stereotypes.
Instead, I find myself in front of two ladies educated and informed, which I proudly display an army of books lined up perfectly in the many shelves. I admire, not without envy a sincere, well-ordered volumes and free of dust. I'm surprised the presence of many novels and essays recent addition to the traditional and well-preserved old volumes of the '50s and '60s. Franca speaks some Italian and foreign authors and discover that we share many literary tastes. Above all, some dislike.
Silvana, however, call the my attention on the piano, to add next, with a hint of regret: "It 's not that much sound. I started seven years. Finished middle school, my father made me choose. I decided to continue studying music and prepare for the Conservatory. Then we were in Genoa. Unfortunately, when we returned to Quarrata, I abandoned the piano and began to work. It was at that time that France left the university. "
But, despite the unfulfilled dream of the Conservatory, we understand that Silvana, like his sister is proud, after many decades, not to deny any of his choices. One gets the impression that the sisters Nannini live no regrets at all . Indeed, their home, while jealously guarding the tracks of the past that no longer exists, exudes a palpable sense of passion and concrete interests. It soon becomes clear that those who did not choose to live close again to gaze upon the past but has consciously decided to participate with the tragedies of this commitment.
When I arrived, there was glass in the living room to the television on. Franca was watching the Beijing Olympics. And before turning it off did enthusiastically rooting for a Jamaican athlete about to cross the finish line. I was sorry to interrupt the show, because I never imagined that this lady seventy-three dry years, austere and almost monastery, was capable of passionate about a sporting event the same way as a teenager.
continue our pilgrimage through the silent rooms, while a cat is watching us from the comfortable position of the unperturbed sofa in the living room. Another crosses the hall but there does not seem troubled by my alien presence.
Looking at the many sacred images and devotional books scattered about the rooms, you might think that these two holy women pass their days reciting rosaries. But I find their comments, sometimes controversial, that their participation in religious issues is vivid and painful.
"How can you continue to think that war solves problems?" Asks indignant Silvana. Franca echoed with a hard opinion on modern imperialism hiding behind hypocritical flag of democracy.
seems to me that these two sisters, far from calling to mind the figures of the Gospel of Mary and Martha, a rather resemble Erasmus of Rotterdam and a Don Milani.
Among the many paintings and several lithographs hanging on the walls, I am struck by a picture vaguely naive. It represents a nun with her large white hat and a blue tunic that driving on the pedestrian crossing a row of little girls all dressed in pink.
do not know why but I think that the painter has expressed perfectly the climate of confidence that made you breathe in these rooms ...
As we enter in room I feel a strong sense that the presence of Marshal Joseph Nannini, born 1902, hovers like a guardian angel in every corner of the house. And not just in the living room with glass windows, which he himself chose it because it overlooks the hills.
His presence is felt when Frank shows me with the loving attention of a vestal virgin, the photo depicts the young police sergeant and his wife, shortly before the war. They look like a pair of cinema: he, looking vaguely confident, she pretty smooth with the wave of hair that falls over his forehead. And even when it imposes Silvana, smiling with a childlike sweetness, I am entering the living room with fireplace stone, emblem of a moral soundness of its past.
"Look - notes with pride - this is his sword of order and this is his shotgun. You know that I had with him when he went boar? "Silvana speaks slowly, his voice tinged with tenderness.
confess that makes me a little 'smile the idea of \u200b\u200bthis lady's gentle and pacifist who is armed to the teeth to follow the father on the steep trails behind its prey ...
But France has a great desire to begin the story. Not before, however, of showing me the precious memories that keeps stored in the attic.
So we go out into the garden and as we climb up the stairs outside, vineyards and olive trees is also the protagonist of the story.
"My father came from there, from the hills of Lucca. His family were farmers, and because there was so much poverty, his grandparents had emigrated to Brazil. But they had not had any luck and after a few years they returned to the country. His grandfather Charles was a simple man but he never tired of learning. I figured he knew by heart many verses of the Divine Comedy and also of 'Orlando Furioso. "
I can not help but imagine, as a kind of framework in the Flemish, the figure of Marshal child, during the long night vigils peasant squatting next the hearth. Who knows how it will have been disturbed by the end of the atrocious Count Ugolino! Or you will be listening to pity the tale of the unfortunate Pia de'Tolomei
... I think it has the features of this epic figure grandfather Charles, who, while pruning the olive trees and gave the copper to the screws, you pause to recite Dante and the triplets eighth of the 'Ariosto.
Certainly, the childlike fantasy of Joseph, the exploits of the heroes mentioned by the father will be invited to begin in the mind to other worlds, after missing the laurel hedge that bordered the estate of Lucca.
So, even without surfing the Internet, the penultimate of the seven children of Charles Nannini, was able to imagine a future free from the misery. The
my train of thought is abruptly interrupted by Silvana, which shows me with evident pride that remains of the cellar of his father: a double row of dark and dusty bottles lined up like soldiers on a shelf full of worms leaning against a wall.
"At one time there were the kegs for the vin santo. My father did it for themselves. But since he died, no one has opened a fiasco. "I said Silvana, visibly moved.
"Now it will become vinegar ..." add the sorry sister.
But the most poignant memory is locked in an old suitcase, all covered with dust, which Franca pulls down from a shelf with religious attention. The two "girls of the last century" the open in unison, as if afraid that the air could dissolve itself so valuable that object.
'm intrigued, although I already know what it is.
"Here, this is the coat that her father wore in Albania, when, after September 8th of '43, the German soldiers disarmed him and took him away along with many others. All went to Germany in Bremen Gemeinschafts lager. And with the same coat he returned home after two years of imprisonment. " Silvana's voice cracks with emotion.
It 'an old gray coat - green, worn and torn in several places. On the back is an inscription made with paint Red: IMI, which means "inside the Italian military." It 'an object that speaks for itself, without any comments. How many times have told the sisters Nannini and folded during these long years ... The
touch too, with a gesture full of shame and fearful, knowing that the stuff that has endured so much despair, is the most precious relic of a medieval saint. And they kept as a relic of the daughters. Indeed, in a gesture of infinite tenderness, sought to defend strategically depositing the bottom of the suitcase, some thin sheets of the moths. How to preserve the last strong evidence of a 'unimaginable tragedy individual and collective.
Together with the coat there are two other garments, or rather what remains of them: a haversack and a skimpy jacket, which the Americans gave to Joseph, shortly after his release.
Franca has tears in his eyes. And do not even try to hide them: "Look how small. Would to a child ... And to think that my father was a big man! When he returned he was unrecognizable and his hair had turned white. "
Here, now, finally, I understand why this man is still so present in the thoughts of his daughters, and between the walls of his house. And because his presence, far from being unsettling, it is rather that, reassuring and loving home to a species of Lara. And at the same time, seems to emerge as a witness in any way that will not be forgotten, that his story also serves to give voice to many who have not returned.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)