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The oak

Se Renzo fissa l’albero è perché sa qualcosa che altri nel suo paese non sanno.

Ma oggi Renzo è stanco. Ed è stanco di fissare quell'albero ormai da più di quarant’anni. Perché Renzo ha un segreto. Qualcosa di non detto come quelle parole che ti ritornano in mente sempre un seconds after they have been forgotten.

Renzo is a normal man. A life lived in the moral rectitude: a secure job, a wife, two children, a house purchased with a mortgage to pay over a year ago.

Yet there's that worm. That remorse like a pincer squeezes your heart.

Renzo is sitting and watching the tree. And today decided to close the subject. Why Renzo, always him, you remember that day when he killed his father. And you do not know! Renzo Why is a man of moral and respected. One of fatigue and family. As a church, moreover, it is true that every Sunday is the row for communion!

But Renzo killed his father. E Renzo knows. And he killed him because the money were not enough. It killed him to pay a weekly or so.

But Renzo, clean face and look like a good boy at the time was already sympathetic to the priest, the mayor and women of the country.

So, when everybody called him crying because his father had committed suicide with a pistol, no one had thought to look good. And no one had seen the bullet first hit with two shots, which was stuck in the bark of the great oak in front of his home.

Renzo But if the tree is down because he knows something others do not. And it is a regret that grips the heart. Stifling the chest. That penetrates the brain. And today decided not to think anymore. To close the accounts.

And we had already tried to cut the oak. But the bark is too hard. And we had already tried to poison her. But the oak is too strong. It had tried in every way. Even with the salt. But that oak knows more of the devil. So Renzo decided to blow it up with some explosives to remove them.

To erase the pain.

E così Renzo è lì che li osserva gli operai che lavorano. Una corona di spine intorno alla quercia. Spine ed esplosivo.

Il sole è alto sulla testa. Finalmente è tutto pronto.

Un sospiro. Il cuore che batte all'impazzata.

Poi l'esplosione.

La quercia che cade è un rumore sordo di radici che vorrebbero trattenere la vita.

Ma Renzo d'un tratto sente il centro della fronte bruciare. Un dolore come una fitta. Le palpebre pesano. Il cuore si ferma.

Renzo guardava l’albero perché sapeva qualcosa che altri non sanno. E che non sapranno mai.

Ora Renzo è allungato a terra con un proiettile infilato nel cranio.

Un proiettile lento. Paziente ma preciso.

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Piste, sentieri e strade....

Here, I see. I'll have to walk a little 'to achieve it, but already I see it: the next crossroads. One of the many past and I will pass, but an important crossroads. And I'm pretty sure of the direction you choose.
This path, when I embarked, was nothing but a trail through the trees, a strip of clay that climbed up the hill, without letting me see where it would take me. Now I can see it. I walked quite a long distance behind the others to learn to distinguish their footprints, I looked up down and the ground was full of those footprints. Many have already moved here, too many. This path is no longer undiscovered, there is no more difficult to advance, the direction is clear and well defined. Of course, it is not easy to go ahead anyway. Compared to roads that have chosen to follow many others, is still a small path, dirt road, where we must be careful where you put your feet, well away from sidewalks or paving asphalt that runs through the normal people.
But not enough for me. Not enough for me anymore. When I left the road and I embarked on this path, long ago, I believed I had made a radical choice, which is completely deviated from the choices that people make "normal". E per un periodo è stato così. Ma ora mi sto accorgendo che, percorrendo questo sentiero, mi sono aggregato a una massa di persone che a loro volta hanno fatto una scelta radicale rispetto alla massa della gente normale.
E' così difficile essere anticonformisti...
Non posso rimanere con loro. Per quanto abbiano fatto delle scelte che condivido anche io, sono un'altra massa di persone, che si comporta esattamente come una massa.
Non posso rimanre con loro. Il sentiero sta diventando una strada, troppo comoda. Ho di nuovo bisogno di una pista da esplorare, delle orme dei daini da seguire, di farmi largo tra la vegetazione, di andare avanti senza avere la più pallida idea di cosa troverò.
Vi sembra una scelta strana? Maybe. I do not pretend to be enlightened by the light of reason in my choices. I took to fool other times, I have no problem.
Anyway, who wants to come is welcome. I can not provide warranty of any kind, of course. I am a fool who wanders into the woods on his own, refusing to follow a path, remember. But you never know that together we can do some interesting discovery ...
you look at the next fork!