Racconto: "Memories and Stories" - parte 3

Tognazzi was not from Macerata, nor from the Marche. He came from Lazio, I think, and was the carabinieri’s marshal. He was not so nice. He tried to, but too many time he let that overbearing part of him emerge, and everybody saw him for what he was. As usual, someone liked him and someone did not. In our pub, most people didn’t.

The hatred that the pub costumers felt towards Tognazzi was long-dated. It had started with an episode happened a few days after the place was opened. It was almost two o’ clock, and Glauco was closing. The pub was empty, exception made for a man who stayed at the bar and chatted with Glauco, when suddenly the door opened and Tognazzi came in, and asked for both the two men’s documents. The voice about Glauco being openly disappointed in Tognazzi’s operate should have reached the marshal’s ear, ‘cause he started pretending that it was 2 and 20, so the pub was over it’s closure time. He tried to place a fine of more than six hundred euros, but in that moment Gino Muratti, a lawyer, came out of the toilet and, having heard everything, showed the marshal his mobile phone, which was satellite-connected and stated that it was ten to two. Tognazzi had retorted that no one should trust ‘those marchingegni’*, and then Gino started talking. He talked the lawyer talking. The words and tones of someone who is menacing you without risking to be accused of menacing. He did it only a few times in his life, and always sounded terrific. He told him about how it would be an uncomfortable situation, if three people witnessed that he lied on the time, and a long list of other bad things. Tognazzi went out of the pub with a red face. That night he made a trip among Macerata and placed a fine in every local he could reach. But not Glauco’s. He had never forgotten that night, and every time he could, he went searching for something to complain for, especially something that allowed him to attach a fine to his complaints. Fortunately, Glauco was smart enough to avoid any problems.

While we were smoking, Glauco told us what he had been able to understand about the woman inside the pub.
One year ago, Tognazzi had divorced. We all knew this. What we didn’t know was that he had thrown his wife and his newborn son out of the house. This time, we all screamed blasphemies. This is the dark side of the Marche Moon. There’s much humanity, but there are also people who force their daughters to get an abortion (talkin’ personally... a friend of mine who was practically dragged to the clinic) to prevent from people talking behind the family’s back. You got to know the people I know to keep your faith in humankind, when you hear these stories.

As far as Glauco knew, she had lived in the streets of different towns all the year long, and recently came back. Tognazzi had allowed her and their son to sleep in a car in his garage. Glauco had found her and the child begging for money on the street. As far as he had understood, Tognazzi didn’t like the idea of people finding out about her and told her to leave again.

« I want to find her a job.» Glauco told us. He was adamant while he talked. « I told her that she can sleep here, if she wants. But I cannot afford a new worker here. Do you know everyone who need someone?»

Unfortunately, the crisis had its weight on everyone. We didn’t know anyone, exception made for Luca, who had some friends that maybe could hire her, or help her find another place.

« Just make me know if you find someone, ‘kay?» concluded Glauco, and went inside.

We finished our cigarettes without talking, and went back to our table. We kept chatting, and totally resisted to the temptation of looking at the woman. Meanwhile, Luca was texting on his mobile phone. It was maybe an hour, later, when he sat up and reached the woman. Glauco asked something to the child, and the children disappeared behind the bar. We saw the woman crying and muttering what was unmistakably a “thank you”.

When Luca came back to our table, we asked him where did he send her. He told us that he had a friend near the square who needed a cleaning lady.

We didn’t talk anymore about it, and half an hour later we tol each other goodbye and went home.

While I walked, I kept thinking about the story of the woman. If it wasn’t for Luca, I would have been in a very bad mood. But once again, I had the proof that despite all the assholes who lived in the world, there was also a huge amount of people who would make your day better.

But the best was yet to come.

I reached home, and sat at the table. I tried to write something on my notebook, but again, after a few words, I renounced and went to bed.

Si scopre finalmente chi è la donna della settimana scorsa. Potrà sembrare esagerato, ma purtroppo la sua storia è vera dalla prima all'ultima riga, tranne per il fatto che la persona a cui è ispirata non era la moglie di un Carabiniere, e che il fatto non è accaduto a Macerata ma in una cittadina nei dintorni. Fin da quando l'ho sentita, questa storia mi è rimasta dentro, e tutt'ora è una delle pochissime cose che mi fanno venire istinti violenti.
Ma cosa terrà in vita la fiducia del nostro protagonista nell'umanità? Lo scoprirete in seguito!
Ci vediamo questo sabato per il primo video del "Mese dell'Ukulele"!

---MICHELE GIULI---