A fragment 
I'd like to use names, because I know them. Nor is it because they are not known: there were half a book and a book full of stories hard. And painful. And true. Tell a young journalist who had built the imperative to reconnect the wires, which he did. It was not wire simply broken, but broken wire. They had not broken alone. Do not write them here, those names, perhaps out of prudence, perhaps out of shame. And perhaps, too, for other reasons I'll keep for me, not least because I was in front of belonging that I have decided not to invade, albeit minimally. This, actually, I felt changed, different. Neither better nor worse, just another thing from what I've been.
A crowded room, where I have been so many times. A place that I absolutely normal. What is not perceived was the usual silence, and who was on stage was talking about. On other occasions, also important, there is a growing a buzz, not Saturday night. The presentation of a book, you already know the existence and had tried: impossible. Exhausted. A book that, at a time like this, can only receive advertising underground. People who talk about it online or around. A piece posted on a website. A couple of reviews. It's the story, rather they are stories of a group of teens or so. Stories of rebellion, revolt and armed struggle, is the only direct quote I grant you, this subtitle. Two hundred pages full of everything.
On Tuesday evening, in that place, the assembly takes place. Not the author, but one of the protagonists of those stories, he felt the need, so softly, to participate to ask that the presentation of the book to take place there. I was there. The silence has started there, because we all knew who was asking for that thing. At the specific request followed moments, very long, as if no one is heard to say anything, and, at least I suspect, not because someone wanted to oppose. Because we felt something that went far beyond that place. None of us knows what was and what it is, the armed struggle, not even those few who present, by age, were conscious and politically in those years. Who was talking about, was instead done twenty years in prison for armed group, discounted entirely. He had seen die a miserable death ten comrades. In a group which, as stipulated in the book right away, looked back to the wretched of the earth . Hence the silence. Then a strange thing happened. At meetings on Tuesday evening, I take the word more rarely, had presented the problem of the very few days that would have occurred, to a minimum of publicity, dissemination of the initiative. I spoke to say that the book now turned more than a month, maybe a month and a half. That advertising and the spread if it was already done by itself or through those who had spoken on the network. Looking for in a town library, the clerk told me that the four copies received had flown away in an afternoon. On those Damned della Terra, in questa città e altrove, sembrava essere caduto l'oblio; non era, evidentemente, affatto così. Ci devono essere ombre che camminano, ma sono ombre vive. Ne avevamo una lì, seduta sulle pancacce della mensa, con un berretto di lana in testa e una sigaretta in bocca. Il mio intervento è durato pochissimo, perché poco c'era da dire. Se ha avuto un merito, è stato forse solo quello di sbloccare gli altri. Logico che, sabato, il libro sarebbe stato presentato lì; quella persona ce lo aveva chiesto espressamente, anche se quasi con timidezza, con dolcezza addirittura. Parlando a bassa voce.
Sabato sera, alle sei. Finalmente il libro lo posso prendere, perché ne sono state portate una cinquantina copies. There the author, a young, very kind. There are two brothers and one of them was the person this Tuesday meeting. There is another gentleman who belongs to a historical archive, which is likely to be entrusted with an introduction, and is a senior lawyer. The teens many years ago, they had fought, who were brought into play, which had been destroyed by the state with the death and the jail, the defender, the historian, the journalist newborn at the time, but at the same time the resume. This is the stage. In the audience, faces that I had the usual, only more popular, others yet to be seen for the first time. I had to define the atmosphere in that room, it was thin. And here I will not make a statement of what was said during the presentation. The statement is the book itself. Who wants to find, just making good use of that one direct quote that I made earlier.
I saw tears on the face of a person who spoke, I heard his voice breaking. They were talking of their lives, their youth dead. I've heard use the term "family" in a rare way, and I heard the names. On October 29, 1974 I was eleven and I was in a basement condo for a month was my room. I was called for lunch with the usual signal: my mother turned out the light from the house of a switch, and then switch back on. My father arrived ashen-faced, coming home was passed by a square blocked. "There was a robbery, there were three deaths," he said only this; was wrong. The dead were two. We knew nothing. Robbery, murder, shootings, they were only movies for me. The assaults on the western bank, and I can not say more. Yet while they were talking about those people for whom those two deaths were companions, friends, brothers, I turned back. It is off and on again the light of the cellar. I closed my eyes, and the phone rang. It was my mother. An awkward escape to respond, almost overwhelming the people. Then I went back inside.
Shut up, listen. And to feel something that, unfortunately, I have not been in the past too clear. You can not invent a belonging. It can not be based either on their own ideals, or on the stories of others. Membership exists only as this and lived on their shoulders, on their skin. I was in front of people who were telling me, others express it in the book. I found myself, therefore, in a sort of no man's land. A fight, as always, between a naive desire to situarmici in some way, and consciousness states that not only is this impossible, but what caused the terrible sconquassi. But this time, I took over a strange serenity. Whatever, I have a membership. If I order, and if there be a need to exercise it, not I'll pull back. I listened to stories of people who have not pulled back, who have undertaken the responsibility and accountability is not in any way backdated. I did not feel any fear. I have not heard more grievances. And I wish that the future was now.
unfortunately runs a duty to report that the advertising has worked very well in the few days between Tuesday and Saturday. I say "unfortunately", referring to usually vulgar attempt at some seedy characters who have submitted questions the presence of terrorists, and other miseries consimilari. I would not have mentioned it if he had not made even one of the people who spoke from the stage. Use in this case the vomiting would be an offense against the vomiting.
Inside that room, at a certain point I thought a strange thing. I thought that what was being said, espresso, said he was operating on each of these. Remember, anger, nightmares, desires, never dormant, faces, relationships, stories, galleys, love, hardship, everything. Then there was a dinner, and no one is left. Even a person who is no more, and in prison and marginalization they had seen a lot, but never goes away from that place. The non-existence are the only thing that can not exist. There is him. There are those ten guys fired away from life, and their companions are a young person these days has resumed. Maybe just a little. If only for the space of two hundred and five pages. But talking, and talking riallacciano not only their lives and their stories. Riallacciano wires that perhaps even they would be able to imagine, and build new ones, and very urgent.
still in the room, and before dinner, I did another thing which I am not at all usual.
If there is anything I can not stand, it's going to ask for autographs and dedications. If you send me an autographed book, I take it gladly, but I never ask. This time, however, I feel like it. I wrote: "Not to forget an important piece." Not only do not forget me, but I'll take it inside. Assieme ai frammenti del frammento. Assieme alle esistenze di quei frammenti, che erano e che sono vite, lotte e oltre. Assieme a tutti coloro che erano in quella sala sabato sera, nessuno escluso. E vorrei, in ultimo, esprimere anch'io un frammento.
Tra le persone presenti nel libro, con la sua storia, la sua vita e la sua morte, c'è una ragazza. Non era certo la prima volta che ne sentivo parlare. Sapevo chi era. Sapevo di chi era sorella. Sapevo com'era stata uccisa. E non sapevo niente, in realtà. Me l'hanno presentata, in quel libro, tre o quattro righe che non mi scorderò, ancor meno delle altre. Presentata, certo, alla mia immaginazione; altro, purtroppo, non si può fare. Anche se nel libro se ne parla, inevitably, a lot. From the first pages, the mouth of another person, and I will forgive the extreme vagueness, but it will be dispelled anyone buy and read the book. I'm moving into the territory of modesty, which at this time, 4:31 hours of January 31, 2011, I'm trying deeply. I have to circumnavigate, and do not put even one molecule out of place.
This person, who lives far away, had asked the author of the book if he knew where he was buried. He was never able to know, what, however, that the author has succeeded. Pick up the threads. The sense of a job. The curious thing is that this girl where she was buried, knew it too. Roundabout way, let's call them. For the memory I have in front of any text written by others. At some point, long ago and long before this book was written and published, I had taken the desire to go there too, in that place, maybe to bring a flower, or a thought. I never did, and I did well. I never will. I'm not going to encroach on lands that do not belong to me, and I will sometimes think those who go there having met him, having loved, having shared everything with her or something, having loved. And trying to these people, whoever they are, respect above all things. Above love and hate, above the commonality and indifference. The rest will be my life. What I am still able to do with it. What potrò dare. Quello a cui e di cui potrò rispondere.
