"if the father had not died, would have taught us that desire is not a road that leads to knowledge, that love is never ideal, the longing that has never hope? " " The kingdom flourished " Fae Myenne Ng
this phrase struck me as bad news, bad news for those damn that never appeared gradually, affecting at lunchtime, after coffee, when the world seems to you friend and it is not, and not at night when you would expect.
yet twenty years have passed since the death of my father, from that Sunday for lunch when they were telling me I had fallen in the street and had not raised further.
my dad is Paris, the two of us at the Grand Hotel, between the Opera and Place Vendome, the Barbie model is that the United States, cigarettes in the drawer, wallet burgundy in the inside pocket of his jacket, a slap in the place of my brother when we were in a casino machine, eau de Givency, rolling r's when he says "idiot", his waiting car by a gang of black sleepy teens at three in the morning at the exit of the circuit after the concert by Pink Floyd at Monza, the chanterelles and porcini, barbecue built in concrete in the middle of the lawn and said the Parthenon, the hammock that breaks up with him inside, his puzzled look when we hear that an African tampax is a pendant, impatience visits to the castles of the Loire, the grimace while washing the windows of the car autogrill, my dad is young, strong, goes into the mountains, play tennis (also would like to play golf, but in the end he liked to steal the ball more than anything else), my dad took me on his knee after dinner, read the Astrakhan coat and see Bud Spencer and Terence Hill, when not dressed as office puts jeans with flap that horrify my mother, cook the eel at Christmas but what's slide, I said that in thirteen years I have to buy women's shoes.
my grandfather, the father of my father was a lawyer and gentleman of the sword and cape of a cardinal, lay member, that the pontifical family, he had terrifying white eyebrows and jellies and fruit for their grandchildren in the cabinet of dark wood of the study, drinking a lemon juice each morning holy.
my grandfather family legend, it is dusty smell of Corridor along the house of Rome, is the root and shaft, is the founder, is the severity and order, the sweetness hidden and denied, rules, religion, ' family ring given to my mom, my brother's name he bears.
my husband is my heart, my flesh and my breathing and through me, my grandfather and my father reappeared in him, the only man to whom I allowed to approach really the only one where I found the same demented righteousness in the name of honor that makes you lose sense of reality, to make rules and limits from bank to emotions that are frightening, male and man of the house until 'excess.
has the jitters for a marriage that came too soon and that makes him lose an hour of my arrival at the airport, is the need for pleasure and to feel good, and happiness for the happiness of his mother on the day of My birthday is knotted stomach, cigarettes and coffee as the only consolations and concerns to fasting, and reflection is slow, and determination, and the wake up at dawn to take me to see pelicans, is a voice on the phone telling me breathe, is the hand that guides me in the street, is kept a smile and then let go in the video every night.
are the men of the line that leads up to me.
my father died and I was able to teach that knowledge does not lead to the desire for life because he chased a desire, even my grandfather was orphaned very early, the son no longer wanted to give up and had to fend for tenderness success, and my husband is old chains that keep him away, which prevented him from talking, sharing, spend a little 'weight.
the men in my line are single men and loneliness, as a disease, is transmitted.
are men who make consistent progress, feeding on the welfare of others, shaping the world to their will and the will which, in their hearts, have agreed to be the best for their brothers, their wives, their children go through the world with great strides, preparing safe harbors, coves filled with supplies of food and warm clothes and perfumes in which you can find everything you want, where nothing bad could ever happen.
close to them you always know that your shoulders will be covered.
and sweet, very sweet.
enter the cave and all you can stun, you sit down to not fall and look at those mountains of riches and gold, made you want without even asking.
dad traveled a lot for work, so much that I missed the voice on the phone that his presence on every trip I brought a gift, a photo, a small bottle of shampoo for the hotel and then off again hong kong, san francisco Stockholm dusseldorf paris beijing
take the road that goes to Beijing and turn right after turin encounter many big cities is the twelfth Felicittà - said Richard Scarry book in and I imagined that Dad backpacker turned right and found the road.
sono uomini speciali, gli uomini della mia linea, nessun dubbio, ma bisogna stare attenti, perchè ferirli è la cosa più facile del mondo, basta dire, amore oggi no, la cioccolata no, oggi vorrei essere io a prepararti la sedia in giardino sotto l’albero di limoni, portarti la musica e un caffè degli altipiani del kilimangiaro, e preoccuparmi che nessuno ti disturbi per tutto il giorno.
ecco, è come se avessi detto che la cioccolata ti fa orrore, che tutta la grotta ti fa orrore! che tutto quel cibo, quelle richezze, quelle montagne di desideri sognati ti fanno orrore perchè (naturalmente!) chi li ha preparati ti fa orrore.
papà criticava All and all, but could not interfere without the risk of making him feel at fault, weakened terribly ungrateful and unaware of all that was - his grandfather was famous for the cries that reached to the sky - even my husband is so, my freud sigumund friend if he is laughing in his sleeve very carefully, now!
and so you must stay in the cave, grateful and happy, waiting for your man comes, your man is out there and you know tired and cold, but also stronger and more powerful than anyone else, committed to ensuring that there are no lions in the cave that there is more food and more music and more sweets, you're comfortable.
and you're there in the cave, grateful and happy because I would not change the man and his hands that create the world marvels at all - but sometimes he entered the cave with you and take you out to hunt lions with itself (remember that when you knew you had a hammer in hand, after all!), the cave would be really wonderful and perhaps he would not always be so tired and the world would really really really piùcheperfetto .
