IMPRESSION: THE END OF 'SUMMER.
From time to time the screen is planted in the sand to come up with some cigarette butt or a plastic straw across; the soldier holding the short wheelbase and his usual calm expression.
that Mario was a very good man if you watched him go back and forth in deck chairs in the air foaming of the first wind.
When the screen was too full Fante emptied into one of the baskets there among the rows of umbrellas and continued, she was almost finished.
Stamani al suo arrivo aveva trovato Mario che spostava un lettino per pulire sotto: la pioggia della notte aveva indurito la sabbia e non si poteva passare il colo, spiegava il vecchio con la sigaretta piantata in bocca.
Prima di togliersi di bocca la sigaretta aveva passato il retino al fanto e gli aveva detto di finire; era andato a sedersi sotto al capanno ed era ancora là col naso puntato da qualche parte sopra gli ombrelloni.
Il cielo restava opaco e scuro, non solo per l’ora del mattino: qualcosa saliva lentamente lungo lo stomaco e dietro, per Mario's back, something he had reached his first steps in the sand this morning with no heat and a good time to make up his mind: Mario in front of the eyes had an apartment with the windows open palms on the edge of the road, some objects on top a table that could not be distinguished by the velvet of the night ...
The knave knew his work, lacked only experience.
Mario was distracted by the hiss of a plastic cap against the fabric of the umbrella, the soldier called out and gestured with his arm.
That stopped work and began to climb the gangplank, looking at the file.
"Oh!"
"Today will not open our umbrellas, ta. I saw the swallows fly low and I think back to rain, bring the stuff to guard contracting and plant the umbrella away from water, while 'the grenade that pass over thee. "
The knave not even answer.
Mario spoke without discounts, the same for all, for decades, never changed a word, ever laid a comma.
For five months a year for forty years he was dealing with people, and the bulk of people were outside. Mario had never made an issue.
On the other hand did not care to be understood literally. They looked straight into his eyes, for he was worth any language in the world. No two aliens look at each other, thought Mario.
The infantry, on the other hand, found him right there.
At the bottom of those holes had sand in the middle of the face.
Since that was good man, Mario had found something on the first day in the eyes of the infantry.
Something that reminded him of the way that the concrete to pour and settle down, as it seems hopeless to the bottom.
The agreement between the two it had been good.
The knave just bowed his head, passed his hand on short hair as he listened to the instructions of Mario, who was watching to make sure she understood.
never gave a nod of understanding.
Eventually, however, attended to everything he was asked, in a reasonable time.
If you lose a moment, he stopped in the middle of the catwalk, like listening to something.
Mario then approached him and left him a few bites of rebuke.
Life jackets ... ... the key of the door via the racks.
had gone well, all summer that there had been, now.
The wind began to rise, he played with his shirt tight on the chest of the infantryman drawing waves on the small stuff. The back slightly bent over the short-handled broom, Jack went up in small steps preceded by shots of the bristles that clean up the walkway from the sand.
The sound of brush breaking the roar of the storm growing more relaxed and slowly increasing.
Without the gangplank, Jack closed the broom and gear in the closet and went to sit next to Mario, the other side of the table.
Mario si girò verso di lui: “oggi è andata di lusso, eh?”
Il fanto sorrise piano, poi prese da un piattino sul tavolo una delle due paste.
“Come hai fatto con i pattini?”
“Il salvataggio l’ho spostato su di poco, l’altro l’ho portato quasi addosso alla prima fila. Il mare li aveva portati parecchio giù.”
"Mm ...". Mario took his pasta and ate breakfast in silence.
"Strike radio today?"
On the table behind the plate Mario usually put a transistor radio ... riucisse said to take the island of Corsica, where the weather was good and a few meters from the coast, but the soldier had never heard.
actually doubted the legend: the signal was too noisy with many local frequencies, but the old man had not never said that.
We felt attacked, Mario, in that thing.
squinting with patience and turned the wheel as you do with safes, amid the noise of the stations.
If found in Italian music of his life he was happy: each time to try something new for the infantry, but was left disappointed forever.
Most of the time it ended in radio news bulletins and the coastguards.
the Knave did not mind.
Mario was a good man who was interesting to listen to when he spoke of the sea as he had learned, how he had tied even if they had left early.
This morning there were no reports and there were stories.
With no one who announced this morning the sea was on and filled the air as the sky.
They had everything on their chairs but could not talk about it.
The wind pushed the minutes, they move slowly.
The knave was the first.
"I'm going to take a look at ... Scooter is the second time I leave on foot."
"Do not go here in Marina, ta. There are not good. Massa seeks to ... quello al Cinquale sulla via verso il mare lavora bene. Non farti fregare.”
Il fanto corrucciò un poco la fronte.
“Mi si spegne. E lo devo spingere. Da ora che sono arrivato al Cinquale è sera. No, vado da un mio amico, ce lo facciamo da soli.”
“E’ la meglio.”
Il fanto si stava già moving towards the end of the cabins, always with that measured step.
Mario looked up. Jack and the clouds that had above, congealed on the Apuan Alps.
"Cover up she comes!"
From there, the soldier closed his shoulders, before exiting.
