e nevicava
io sonnecchiavo sul divano,
la campagna era quieta,
dormiva.
In sottofondo sentivo la voce alla Tele di Paolo Valenti che presentava le partite del giorno
e fuori in cortile i cani abbaiavano alla campagna
e poi
lo scricchiolio delle scarpe di cuoio di mio papà,
papà che rimetteva la bottiglia di grappa al suo posto nel mobile del salotto.
Con la correzione al caffè della domenica, lui sistemava, correggeva
la dura settimana di lavoro alla catena di montaggio,
era una piccola riparazione, come una medicina, sorseggiare piano il caffè con la grappa
dopo pranzo, Il Pranzo della Domenica, seduto, con le maniche della camicia della festa arrotolate e la cravatta allentata,
e invece la giacca, che la mattina con lui era andata a messa e al bar della piazza , era già di nuovo appesa nel guardaroba.
Prima di mettere al suo posto la bottiglia, lui la guardava quella bottiglia,
leggeva l'etichetta per l'ennesima volta, la prendeva in mano,
vetro liscio mani rugose ,piccoli tagli lungo le dita, cicatrici del freddo e del lavoro,
toglieva di nuovo il tappo e versava nella stessa tazzina un'altra lacrima di grappa
soltanto una lacrima!
poi
lentamente
richiudeva la bottiglia
inspirava profondamente quel profumo intenso, meticcio
di caffè, zucchero alcol acini d'uva, tabacco, legna, fumo, vapore dalla stufa
e cuoio
e lui ancora inspirava quell'aroma inebriante
ma non la beveva subito quella lacrima, no!
non ancora
la lasciava lì ancora un po'
ancora un po' a riposare
così che il profumo si potesse diffondesse nella stanza,
io lo sentivo arrivare quel profumo,
avevo gli occhi chiusi ma vedevo tutto
tutto!
perfettamente.
Allora,tanto tempo fa
la domenica tutto era perfetto,
dopo pranzo mamma e figlia guardavano i quaderni di scuola,
io sonnecchiavo sul divano,
la Tele parlava
fuori nevicava,
i cani abbaiavano agli odori della campagna
il caldo buono della stufa,
e lo scricchiolio delle scarpe di cuoio di mio papà.
Lo scricchiolio delle scarpe di cuoio di mio papà,
prima di partire di nuovo per le periferie del mondo
quanto darei per tornare
soltanto una volta ancora
là.......
----------------------
life as seen by children, before leaving
for the suburbs of the world,
when everything was perfect
------------
December
and it was snowing
me, I was dozing on the couch,
the countryside was quiet,
asleep.
In the background I could heard the voice of the journalist
on TV introducing the games of the day,
out in the yard the dogs were barking to the countryside
and then
the squeaking of my dad's leather shoes,
dad who would put the bottle of grappa back in its place in the living room furniture.
With this Sunday coffee fix, he would settle, correct
the hard working week on the assembly line,
a little remedy as medicine, sipping that coffee with grappa
after lunch, Sunday Lunch, sitting, with the sleeves of his shirt rolled up and the tie loose
while the jacket, which in the morning had gone to mass and to the café in the square with him, was already back hanging up in the wardrobe.
Before putting it back its place,
he would look at that bottle,
he would read the label once again, taking it in his hands,
smooth glass, wrinkled hands, small cuts along the fingers, scars of cold and hard work,
he would removed the cap again and poured another tear of grappa into the same little cup
just one more tear!
and then
slowly
he would close the bottle
deeply inhale that intense mestizo scent
coffee, sugar, alcohol, grapes, wood smoke, steam from the stove
and leather
and he would
breath it again that perfume
he would not drink that tear of grappa right away,
not yet
leave there a little more
to rest
so that the perfume could spread in the room,
------------
December
and it was snowing
me, I was dozing on the couch,
the countryside was quiet,
asleep.
In the background I could heard the voice of the journalist
on TV introducing the games of the day,
out in the yard the dogs were barking to the countryside
and then
the squeaking of my dad's leather shoes,
dad who would put the bottle of grappa back in its place in the living room furniture.
With this Sunday coffee fix, he would settle, correct
the hard working week on the assembly line,
a little remedy as medicine, sipping that coffee with grappa
after lunch, Sunday Lunch, sitting, with the sleeves of his shirt rolled up and the tie loose
while the jacket, which in the morning had gone to mass and to the café in the square with him, was already back hanging up in the wardrobe.
Before putting it back its place,
he would look at that bottle,
he would read the label once again, taking it in his hands,
smooth glass, wrinkled hands, small cuts along the fingers, scars of cold and hard work,
he would removed the cap again and poured another tear of grappa into the same little cup
just one more tear!
and then
slowly
he would close the bottle
deeply inhale that intense mestizo scent
coffee, sugar, alcohol, grapes, wood smoke, steam from the stove
and leather
and he would
breath it again that perfume
he would not drink that tear of grappa right away,
not yet
leave there a little more
to rest
so that the perfume could spread in the room,
I would feel that perfume coming
I had my eyes closed but I could see
every single thing!
perfectly
back then
a long time ago
on Sundays everything was perfect,
after lunch mother and daughter would look at the school notebooks,
I would be dozing on the couch,
the TV set speaking
it was snowing outside
the dogs barking to the smells of the countryside
the good heat of the stove,
and the squeaking of my dad's leather shoes.
The squeaking of my dad's leather shoes,
before leaving again for the suburbs of the world
I would give anything I have to be there
just once
perfectly
back then
a long time ago
on Sundays everything was perfect,
after lunch mother and daughter would look at the school notebooks,
I would be dozing on the couch,
the TV set speaking
it was snowing outside
the dogs barking to the smells of the countryside
the good heat of the stove,
and the squeaking of my dad's leather shoes.
The squeaking of my dad's leather shoes,
before leaving again for the suburbs of the world
I would give anything I have to be there
just once
once again,..
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