- In: "Ink" 2004
Align, close, "Press start" I say. He pushed in and I wait ... rrrrrrrrrrrrrr makes the scanner. "Done" he says. I open, I check, "Ok, passamene another." Realign, close, "Press." He pressed. Appearance ... rrrrrrrrrrr, wait ... are hours that we are doing. On the bed there's still an impressive amount, in those tin cans, where the first ones were held the biscuits. I quite functional, but essentially against their will, I am doing the a favor and want it to be clear, he reduced to obedience to me, perhaps for the first time in life. With the technology still has some problems. With the mobile phone for example. Keeps it in the bag and do not ever feel. It is practically useless to take it with them. Those rare occasions when he responds to, even if the display reads that I am, her daughter always has a tone of serious, clumsy, as if speaking through that thing without the wires seemed strange, after all. We would rather aiuto.Ovviamente we surprised when, almost overnight, as if to prove his good will, he bought everything from VCR and DVD player (with the amendment to read the cd Moroccans), Play Station game with a sailing regatta for imaginary (but mostly for my brother and bring him to spend more time at home), Pentium 4 computer with DVD burner (having already bought the VCR / DVD recorder) with attached printer Epson color and another yesterday, finally, a scanner. "What the fuck he will never Scanner" is seraphic asked my brother when I told him. Reconstruct the past. That's what. And I'm helping. Precisely the kind of activities she loves so much to do with his daughter padre.Ci are people who go crazy for stuff like this, go to tape all the old movies of the holidays, with entire album browsing generations of children in her apron, hundreds and hundreds of different ages, all with white collar and funny expressions, clustered in groups of twenty or thirty, with the teacher sitting in front or side, almost always with a flowered dress and a combing gonfia.Tutto of a sudden he made up his mind to do it too. He wants to get on his brand new PC all the photos and slides that showed "Why so much now who sees them once more to give ... yes, once you did ...." Will when he was young. For a moment I imagine him sitting in the dark on the living room carpet, along with his friends. Anna with the row in the middle and a miniskirt, as usual, Xavier, with even the hair on the head, with the eternal Fulvio Lucky Strike no filter between your fingers (it is now in Brazil, the only one who lives in some way by former sessantottino), the late lamented Rosaria, poor thing, how I loved her, I had given a little train that went hard as he walked in I was literally scared, a little 'aloof mother, a beautiful, winking to the objective of my mental picture. Together to look at the pictures on the wall last trip to Turkey, Yugoslavia, or some other place that you wore in those years, even passing a joint. He was good, had a black Canon and telephoto needle strictly black and white, even after the color. At the beginning developing these alone in a closet turned into a dark room where we could hardly move. Then he stopped developing after a while 'to have them, even at the end of guardarle.Allineo, close, "Press." He pressed. Look ... look ... rrrrrrrrrrr Done. I open, control. I'm scanning from the past ten this morning, and before our eyes, without interruption, I have passed: the half ruined castle of Santa Maria, with the beach only half-empty as could be in the fifties, my grandmother with black hair that seem pitch, holding a small child, his little children died of tuberculosis, the father of my father, I even remember him from the face but I would like to be able to make a little ', as my grandfather, my father, with baggy shorts, and skinny as a stick of black licorice, then great, with a military uniform and hat, bag, my mother, a pretty girl with his chin sharp, with a dress with ruffles that had my grandmother, a woman with Berber red circle on his forehead and holding a baby wrapped in a white shawl. There are no photos of marriage. My father, after separation, in a fit of silly revenge, has pulled all of them. I think he regretted it, even if there has ever confessed. Maybe that's why you do it all 'I'm shaking, to atone. O for security, should not happen to another time ... He occasionally comments some pictures, he says something, "But is not that all 'ste so bad?". I watch it when I know I is not watching. I want to finish as soon as possible, the fingers are beginning to be gray from the dust and some photos are so worn that we must be careful at the edges. A newspaper home with dead and wounded, familiar faces change over time. I'm about to reach the maximum limit of condescension and is also approaching the time for dinner, my father goes into the kitchen and came back with a glass of limoncello, "Want a drink?" He asks. In less than two hours will be a bit 'sad and a bit' drunk, put on a disc of Bob Dylan or James Brown and will cover the result of our work. It will probably be happy for a moment. "I in a little 'I' I say timid, hoping not to hurt him." Ok ", he hurried" and then just do this. " Pass me a last card, one of the few color photos. Me and him on the balcony of the old house. Yes and no I will have five years, a red pullovers and a hat the same color. We painted all the faces, he told me he had drawn the schiocche red lipstick and eyebrows as a clown, I I had made a series of signs on the face of irrational and blacks. I look at the photo and for a moment think that maybe I wanted to draw a skull face, because it looks like that, then I feel guilty Thought for the macabre. "Surprisingly small" I say to align the photo on the scanner. I close, "Press" I say. Appearance ... rrrrrrrrrrrrrrr aspect. Pixel by pixel me and him on the screen. Hidden behind his back and I am touched, for a moment, I'm happy.
