Here we are, around a table in the garden of a restaurant closed for the weekly service, in front of the cups of coffee, sugar sachets, bottles of mineral water, glasses with a finger of whiskey, ashtrays that smokers filled with cigarette butts. So many years later. Too many years later. Sitting in rehashing the past, to reconstruct pieces of lives and days and years, to remember who did not come to this reunion, watching those faces so changed since the last time we met, those bodies greased, his hair graying or thinning .
Gianni's telling of when he was in Thailand, we are explaining the wonders of a night club in Phuket. Listen to him as we listened to then, when we talked in the canteen of the world outside, that was not the College, the school. The Board
we were this morning, we had lunch there in that same dining hall, so changed since then: smaller, the walls painted orange, the modern tables, chairs colored plastic. At that time there were wooden chairs and tables covered with Formica, the walls were clear, a pale yellow. We remember well that color, when they punished us for some reason, even just for a glass of water spilled on the tablecloth, and remain standing for long minutes gazing at the wall. "Something to Telefono Azzurro" said Gianluca, "now denounce them all." Gianluca, "Vampire" because of its sharp teeth, is now revived in hospital and in the heart of Africa, children should be free to care for two months per year in Burundi. When we were at the bar for a drink, he told us of the endless misery that is there, moved us when we spoke of a beautiful child who was unable to rescue because it is over the local el'ambulatorio oxygen tank could not afford more. Now there is not, Gianluca: he returned to Milan, is on call tonight. But there was when we looked back corridors of the College, to sit and observe in classrooms, gazing at the mosaic that depicts a schoolboy to run in the rainbow. What a contradiction: to run in the corridors was considered a great failure, as well as shouting. But a couple of hours ago we laughed and ran, adults in those corridors that once had seemed so big to us, we stopped to observe the class photo to recognize in those guys so changed to recognize those who are not here today and to blame someone who has not even bothered to respond to the invitation. It's Patrick, "Cat", especially to be disappointed: he has arranged everything, he is the historical memory of our class: for each face of the photographs can give a name, know where he lived, and tell anecdotes of the times of the College . When I called to find new addresses, I immediately turned to help him.
And now we are here at the restaurant of Marco, who was unable to come to lunch because he had to work at noon. In fact the last customers were leaving when we arrived. Tonight is closed and we remain what we want. Marco Pierre continues to look: it is changed. We are all changed, except the few who have visited occasionally over the years. Paul seems lower, Gianpietro instead is higher as we point out, the other Gianpietro could not come - is in bed with the flu - but now everything is on the phone to tell us his regret. The cell "Cat" goes hand in hand: say goodbye to everyone, I salute you all. We will meet soon, we promise: Marco we will reserve a room. One winter evening we will meet again, all of them, many more.
Above we pass white light clouds in the blue sky: Year after year, I think. Pierpaolo perhaps intercept my eye: "Of course I have gone for years, guys. Think about that next Sunday I leave for Egypt, have been married for twenty years ... "
True, much time has passed. Too. We read in the wrinkle, in spectacles, in the receding hairline, the hair loss. But we are still us, the children's section A, as if we had these thirty-two years extra life on his shoulders, as if instead of the car in the parking lot there was still the bicycle leaning against the wall, as if at home instead of his wife, the companion, the mother of his girlfriend was waiting for us for dinner ...
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