14. Merano, Delegation of the garrison, Monday, March 6, 1989 (44 sunrise)
to five. The Marshal and the police have now crossed the green gate and are returning to their homes. Spring spreads its effluvia, with the cherry trees in bloom on the hills, a pleasant warmth in the air. This infinite sweetness that comes with the sunset comes from the warm sun of freedom or the new sirens that enchant me? Throw the tennis ball in the yard. We begin to play soccer with the little ball using a solid green gate as the door. Beyond the railing is alive with the life flowing cars, motorbikes and bicycles. The orange buses stopping in the Municipal and leave loading and unloading people, the blue of the company entering the Dolomite deposit near, others share. The sun and in the valley of the mountains now darkness falls. Just a few days to leave, I boat in this new situation, I feel that all the efforts of one year fade slowly into the taste of freedom I am going to try again.
Now you do not see hardly any, the lights of the street, illuminate the windows of buildings. I place the ball and close the office. Ferrario door of the greenhouse Carabinieri Nucleo. Rossi looks at us in his new uniform and with his usual air of "What am I doing here?". I can not find words, but another look of melancholy beyond that gate where the road runs noisy. The apathy of a Monday when nothing else helps the relentless continuous flow of fine sand in the hourglass. I watch the last light falling on the mountains: I have an infinite tenderness in his heart.
15. Merano, Barracks Battisti, Thursday, March 30, 1989 (20 sunrise)
are the "Max" now. It's nice to get into a dormitory for grandchildren and others to be envious because I am parting. Do not take advantage of the situation, it is not my style. I want you to remember me as a "Max" and human understanding. Moreover, acts of hazing I've never suffered. Only a few "sbrandata" by congedanti. It was enough to make the bed and everything was all.
No, I do not miss this jargon barracks: I do not miss the "vurìa never", the "giassài," the "a bit 'mass'. I do not miss the "do not spend more," the "towers", the "Superpippo. Clear that it is a language for the initiated, that does not make sense out of here: Publishing would "definitely not" "sure", a disrespectful attitude towards a higher degree of band, a way of saying that time does not pass to make a certain thing, the Alto Adige and wool knickers.
I will miss the city, that is. I will miss the friends I've known this, and hardly know that I shall see. But, no more sadness, came into the room and scream: "Erect, by God, enters the Max!"
16. Verona, Porta Nuova, Tuesday, April 4, 1989 (15 sunrise) launches Verona
neon lights in the window glass mat and dusted. I'm going home for the other half of the ordinary license. I preferred to break it in two, eleven days instead of yarn I have chosen the way five six. I'll be back in Merano Monday. And I begin to anticipate the freedom in those six days home. The train stop in Porta Nuova is an hour-long strike of drivers. Behind the station there is a sky illuminated the sky of Romeo and Juliet - I am thinking. I know that that balcony and courtyard, the color of love written on the walls of the house. I know the ark in which every lover prays and throws his letter full of passion.
is a fairy this morning and blood of Verona: the watch from outside the station. It is as if the city had taken on the face of Juliet, her long fingers, his way of smiling, modesty, as if it were really made of the same stuff of dreams. I do not have time to reach the center: the train will start again soon. He proclaimed. Greeting Juliet, Verona greeting, I get in the cab thinking that in two weeks, I lay off ...
17. Merano, Lungopassirio, Tuesday, April 18, 1989 (a dawn)
They gave us permission to leave for the afternoon, we are swarmed by all Bosin in the April sun, light, like ghosts - in the jargon of the rest of the congedanti the barracks are called "ghosts" or "bourgeois." It comes after the compulsory levy of blood. Before that, in the past month we have called "Max" and when we walked into the room, shouting "Erect, by God, enter the Max." Now we sing "Alarm, we are middle class! / Son day and am not months. "
some days are planting the poles in the river, large dredgers stop on the rocky shore near the bridge Passer walkway that leads to a very remote areas. How Green 's water: it looks like opal! will be because of the spring.
And walking the walk behind the Protestant church, we paused to watch the workers who work in the warm air, asking the purpose of these posts, knowing a touch of pride that we'll leave before they end up, without knowing it.
The afternoon light flowing, the air of spring warms the heart. In the old way we finally enjoying the freedom that tomorrow will bring. We admire the windows and the orders of the downtown shops, the benches on the riverfront Liberty we stop lounging and watching the swirling white, well aware that this will disrupt our company tomorrow. We drink beer at the bar of Forst, wandering lost in the afternoon. Characters of a book by Hermann Hesse, have dinner together as a celebration of the return to life, free when you return soon the sun shine.
18. Merano, Bosin Barracks, Wednesday, April 19, 1989 (Dawn)
We could not sleep tonight. We were anxious that we waited congedanti dawn: the new sun that would bring freedom, a turning point in our lives after a year away from home. The adrenaline, anxiety, anguish we have allowed only brief intermittent sleep. It spoke in a whisper. Finally, the large windows of the room, overlooking the inner garden, in the East, the first light is filtered. "It's over! It's over, "echoed yell," Finished! After him, "said other items," It's over, "I cried too enthusiastic.
I had breakfast, thinking that for the last time I had that bowl of metal, those biscuits wrapped in foil cubes, that fruit juice for a toast to the handle of the fork. And then the parade, the last one. We congedanti already dressed in civilian clothes, with his hat on his head downhill at attention while the anthem played while the flag was hoisted on the flagpole. "Break the line!", The last command. So in the dormitory to take the mattress and sheets to deliver them in stock. "It's over!"
The captain gave us an appointment for ten o'clock in the lounge area. It came with the leaves, and one by one we signed. Major Cornacchione we gave a little speech about the future, about what awaits us out of here, on what is expected of us. As a father, gruff bearded man apparently was moved almost dark. We ran into the dormitory to take the bags, the precious rolled sheet in hand.
Varco for the last time the gate of the barracks: between me and freedom are now only a few meters. I greet the guard opens the gate, I look back once again to look at the walls painted yellow and brown, the flag flying in the sky, unsure of the meeting in April on the flagpole in the yard, the trucks that travel the avenues of barracks, the chores that sweep the sidewalks, life continues unchanged in this small world.
I'm out, I take off my hat with a black pen, surplus to life and I realize only now have found freedom, I am now going to taste the dirt road that leads to the road main. I look at the river sparkling in the sun in the morning: I had never seen so even when I crossed the bridge of the Holy Spirit returned from the Post. Now I see with the eyes of freedom and looks even more beautiful, with sky-blue clouds that are broken.
Merano, Barracks Bosin Leone ", April 19, 1989: Dawn
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