Rancheritos Frito Lay

The valley of the time.

L’ultima volta che sono stato a Pesariis ho avuto l’avventura d’un incontro davvero fuori dal comune. Il bello è che quando ho chiesto al mio amico Carlo che abita lì, di darmi dei ragguagli sul personaggio che avevo incontrato, mi ha detto che non conosceva nessuna persona che corrispondesse alle caratteristiche che gli andavo descrivendo.

“Non crederai che mi sto inventing the meetings! "I said.

"I'm not nothing I object!" Replied Charles. "But I can assure you that throughout the valley Pesarina there is a person with long white hair reaching down to the shoulders and with a long white beard that reaches to the waist of his trousers, as you describe the person you say you have seen ... ".

"Yet I must be dreaming, because I was walking around the country ..."

I was just walking around the village of Pesariis one day in late April, expecting that I would go with Delio in visita agli originali orologi che sono stati realizzati negli angoli più caratteristici del paese. Piuttosto che una giornata di inizio primavera sembrava una giornata d’autunno inoltrato. Piovigginava. Sul paese si aggiravano nuvole nere, pesanti di pioggia, dalle quali si sfilacciavano refoli di nebbia che si insinuavano nelle strette viuzze. Mi guardavo attorno, ammirato per come era stato sistemato il paese, ripristinando sulle strade l’acciottolato il “codolàt” d’un tempo.

Quando fui davanti a casa Bruseschi, che come diceva il depliant che stavo leggendo “era stata la residenza di una delle più autorevoli famiglie del paese, fin dal XV secolo, come testimoniano documents of the parish "I saw with surprise that it was open. "Maybe someone is doing the work" I thought, and could not resist the desire to slip through the door ajar, to visit the interior of the house.

"E 'come in?" I asked aloud.

Nobody answered me. Unless you were to consider a response to the sound of a grandfather clock that one of the rooms, common rooms for the echo of four bells, to remind me that it was time for the appointment for which I had gone to Pesariis. "I'm in a hurry, and I'll be right" I said to myself, as if the friend who was waiting for me he could hear. I hurried, thinking about a very quick look at the typical home and superfiale Carnian. But when I was in the large kitchen, I had to stop because someone was sitting on the bench around the stove. At first I thought this was a reconstruction, such as those found in the Museum of Carnico Tolmezzo, but then I thought I was moving ...

"Excuse me," I said, "I found open, and I thought can make a quick visit ... I asked permission, but I had no answer ...

"Who should you give permission? .. "said the old man, confirming his voice, which I had been right, that it was not a set of rebuilt ...

On the right side of the fireplace sat an old man was in fact of great stature . For the long white hair and long white beard, I was think of an image of Christ in some paintings, but I could not define which. But the face was shrunken, marked by deep wrinkles, long and slender hands outstretched on her knees, reminded those of a skeleton. It was an old ... very old ... Dressed in the clothes to party like you see portrayed in the photographs of the early twentieth century ... the foot, which rested on the edges of the hearth, scapets wore the new, highly embroidered ... I noticed them because they seemed out of tune, I looked like women's shoes, which do not go with the dress and especially with the age ...

But more than the clothes I was amazed at the joke which I did not know what to reply ... If I had to give permission? Since I had snuck into the house without permission, someone who was there, he would have told me if I could stop, or if I needed to leave ...

"Sa. Curiosity. I found it open ... "I repeated to apologize di nuovo.

“Sei nella valle del tempo!” disse il vecchio con la cadenza e l’importanza di chi sta recitando una sentenza. “E il tempo non chiede il permesso a nessuno…”

Mi ricordai che in valle a Pradumli c’era un famoso centro di anarchici. Pensai che il vecchio, con quelle battute originali sul tempo, potesse essere l’ultimo degli anarchici…

Certo che il tempo scorre senza chiedere il permesso a nessuno. “Ruit ora”, dicevano i latini e in quel “ruit” più che l’idea dello scorrere c’è quella roll of the irrepressible, unstoppable ... But because of the damage I would have had to explain these things to the old? ..

However, without expecting any explanation from me, instead she asked me if I knew why the valley was called the valley of Pesarina time.

"Being famous because they manufacture the watches," I said, I assume that someone connected with the idea that the clock of time, and we have built a brand because they are very intelligent and evocative original. I like the idea of \u200b\u200bthe valley of the time! ...

"I'm glad you like!" he played again the old, in the tone of a tragic actor. "But the explanation is quite another. It's called the valley of the time because it is here that the time was invented ... "

" Other than an anarchist! "I thought. "That's just escaped from some lunatic asylum ..."

"Sit down!" He said firmly. Cursing the curiosity that made me go into that house, and sure to have something to do with a madman who, as you know, it's always better to indulge ... I sat down the other side of the hearth, on the bench opposite to his, and heard first concerned then more and more astonished and curious about this strange story of the valley Sbilf Pesarina.

The old man began to say as Ireland everyone knows that the world of little men existed before the world of men, so Carnia you should know that the world of Sbilf was earlier than that of men. I had no objection, as I am convinced that the world of Sbilf both the world of fairy tales, that the world in which everything is possible. The old man spoke to me, however, safe to refer to the real stories ... and so I was careful not to say that I thought of fairy tales anyway ... who knows what the truth ...?

As the history of mankind begins with Genesis, just as the history of Sbilfs has its genesis ... ... the beginning of time lived in the valley Sbilfs timeless ... the sun rose to mark the beginning of ' a new day, night fell and the death knell, but the days followed one another equally and without end ... If there is no end to which measure time, there's no time ...

The Sbilf lived in complete freedom, and then in complete anarchy, the only rule that everyone must have the freedom to the limit, unique and unsurpassed in the freedom of the ... None was the owner of something, because all they owned all ... Everyone liked him, because everybody respects the commandment of God who had ordered not to eat from the tree of love, in the middle of the garden of Eden. Till he came to the Sbilf Eve did not respect the commandment of God and wanted to take the fruit of love. But love implies the exclusive relationship with your loved one, the sole desire to see her, sighing impatiently waiting ... The meeting of love became an end, and the order originated the time ... I felt the Sbilf Adam need to measure the time that separated him from the next meeting with Eve, and the stream that flowed into the valley with no time to invent a way to ensure that the flow of water mark the time ... And so the Sbilf, began to feel the weight of time and called Pesarina the stream, and the valley became the valley of the time ...

and expertise gained by Sbilf in developing tools to measure time, concluded the old man, was then transferred to men. For this time the valley is also called the Valley of the clocks, because, as nowhere else, between these houses are known to create tools to measure time ...

I just got in Valley to see those original watches, and that he should accompany me Delio was waiting for me, certainly worried about my delay ... I was finished listening to the story of an old man out of time, I spoke of the origin of the time ... to discover that the former does not exist ... like maybe there is no time ...

Song In Unleashed Mother Played

The Druid Catelraimondo. The bell

I plan to attend the inauguration of the work to complete the Archaeological Park of Cultural Castelraimondo to Forgaria Friuli 14 October 2006, but occurred commitments, I had to give up. The curiosity see what had been discovered after nearly twenty years of study by the University of Bologna and Parma, on a site that dates back certainly pre-Roman times, led me to visit the place some days later. The atmosphere is great! Going by car from the road Forgaria on which are perched the houses in the township that has developed on Zuc Scjaramont, you open every bend widening the landscape for which the 'hill was chosen as the site of look. But even as a privileged place of residence, for a people like the Celts felt that the "poem of wide horizons. "

Leave the car in the deserted courtyard last villa built by the Celts as someone who certainly knows how to appreciate the poetry of the "breath of the valley," I continued to walk the path as shown equipped . Those stones that were excavated from infinite patience of young archaeologists, they gave me a deep emotion. "I'm putting my feet," I thought, on stones worked by people who have gone before in the history of these places, of two thousand four hundred years. What thoughts, words that have linked their work to those stones? In the silence punctuated only by the sound of my footsteps seemed to feel, to hear the voices of the yard to sniff the smell of sweat in an effort to move those big boulders, with no other equipment that the hands and the ability to force together. "Oh! heave! "onomatopoeia that accompanies the effort, maybe it was the same in the language of the Celts. "Oh! heave! "I seemed to hear echoes in the wood, and twisted trees of the forest wilderness, stimulate my imagination. "Oh heave!" I thought ribalzasse the cry from stone to stone, as if the stones nor repeated the echo after so many centuries ...

It was a gloomy day autumn. He seemed to rain at any moment, but it was not raining ... Even the weather seemed suspended in the history of those suspended between rows of stones, which had once been a wall, which were the foundation of a house, a stable in a tower, which had been the objects of thought of other men. Stones like tombstones in a cemetery in which the men had marked the passing of each day of millennia of history. I was alone and walked with caution, with a devotion almost as if I were really in a cemetery. After almost two hours to visit, I had seen enough. I had read all the signs. I already knew everything ... I was repeatedly stopped to contemplate the view from a hand sweeps over the hills and the valley of the Tagliamento, the other controls the narrow valley dell'Arzino. I could start again, but I could not decide, also remained suspended my will ... It was as if I had not heard a voice, but speaking to me in, I forced him to remain, to walk among the stones yet, undecided about what to do.

was the rain that finally forced me to leave. Drops of a light mist was rising from the country, I turned away with a chill from my thoughts and I woke up from the charm of the place that brought me out of time ... course to reach the car, but instead I decided to enter shelter under the roof of the laboratory that is located next to the place where I parked. So, without thinking about it! ... Maybe just because I still wanted to look at the view of the valley, and between the threads of rain became almost fabulous and unreal ...

was a carpenter's workshop. A man, I think the owner or a worker, was putting in place some axes. He stopped in surprise at the intrusion, not planned ...

"Excuse me, I said to mo 'greeting. "It's raining!"

"I see," replied dry.

"I was entertained at the park!" I said as if to apologize.

"did you like?"

"Extraordinary!" I said and then always to justify the intrusion in his laboratory told him of my interest in the Celts, the research that I conducted. Seeing that I was following with interest, and would not stop raining, I let myself be carried away by the heat of discourse, and spoke to the idea that I had made on their religion founded on the coexistence of the world with that of the invisible visible.

At some point I stopped abruptly. "Look," he said "has long been looking for a person like her. I have a story to them ... It 's like a long time I wanted to confess, but could not find a priest up to assess my sins ... I've never talked to anyone , not to make fun of me, but from what I've just heard about his interests, I think she is the right person to whom I could trust ... "

took to say ...

I, like her a moment ago, I've always felt since the suggestion of a child Casteraimondo site. I live nearby, and the Castle Park has always been for me my public garden. When I did a little walk around the hill, at any time of day, and sometimes on moonlit nights, even at night ... Then came the university, the students arrived, I made friends with them, I have also helped in the research work. I've seen come to light the stones, the foundations of the houses ... When they decided to build the sheds to repair the ruins that were revealed, I have opposed ... I thought that those modern buildings would ruin the magic of places. I explained the need to repair the artifacts. I retorted the need not to upset the atmosphere the castle on the hill. Prevailed in the end the need to protect the relics, and they received the roofs for protection ... I did not like, but that does not stop me from continuing to attend the archaeological park of Castelraimondo. Until a couple of months ago ... then I have had the courage to set foot ...

"Why?" I interrupted.

"Why did that happen that I would like to tell and I never told anyone. If you want to hear me, and I promise not to get mad .... "

I seemed to hear the architect the novel of "The Celts come back", but I told him, assured him that even the presence of the Celts had already received so many witnesses, which led me to believe there was something mysterious and inexplicable ...

"Misterioso and inexplicable, "he repeated," just like what happened to me. " It began to tell ...

was an afternoon last August. He was approaching a storm threatening. Huge clouds blacks were lowered until it reaches the castle hill. It was certainly not the time to take a walk, yet I had come the desire to rise, as when you get the urge for a cigarette, in the most inopportune time ... "and I go away!" I said and began to climb almost ran down the path already completed, ready for the inauguration. I had just arrived near the remains of what had been recovered as the "home-sanctuary" of the Celts, when it began to rain as I had never seen, as if St. Peter had opened all of a sudden floodgates of heaven ... Against the light flashes could be seen as a large wire ropes of rain, thunder and entered the ground seemed to shake stones as there had been an earthquake. I riparai under the canopy that covers the remains the house. I was opposed to its construction, but I was the first to have an advantage ... In life you often have to take advantage of what has been achieved in spite of ourselves ... thunder, lightning and the deafening sound of rain on the roof ... I seemed to be finished in ... hell "sparrows" I thought, and instead grew darker, as if it was over the top of the hill inside a thick, black cloud.

"And here begins my story ..." continued my interlocutor, after a short break, making the gesture of wiping the sweat from his forehead. Continued ... all of a sudden I thought I saw a light coming out of the earth, from the center of the house, in the place where archaeologists say they have found the remains of the ceremony for laying the first stone. The light grew slowly as if it swells, and there appeared a person ... It was the light to be the person ... Dressed in white, with a long beard, facial features and age indefinite. I had no doubt: it was the image of a Druid, as I had seen in many books. I thought I would touch and I would die, as I had read in many legends. I wanted to escape, but could not move, as sometimes happens in dreams.

Maybe he read my mind and told me not moving, not to scare me. "This was my house!" Began to speak. And 'this is still my home, because I'm still here ... As yet I am still here eternity all who have lived here through the passage of time in history. We do not live in the dimension of eternity, you in that time. A time between the two dimensions you informed ... I was one of those who knew how to get out of the dimension of time to find myself with those who live in the dimension of eternity. tool that you have found the synx, (as stated in the illustration panel) was the instrument that allowed me to get in touch with the world without time. E 'capable of emitting the ultrasound to help the relationship with the other dimension with you ... Today, the opposite m'è successful, but I did not do to explain these things, you do not know what to believe anymore ... I'm back to dispel the doubts that some scholars have come to this house finding the bodies of stillborn babies. Nothing strange, it's a belief that six centuries has also developed in your religion: you thought that children could rise for a moment to receive encouragement for a happy eternity. Although we thought ... We thought that the dimension of eternity, the individual should have the memory of his having been in time. They took them to me, because I dessi loro la memoria della vita dei loro genitori, non potendo avere loro memoria d’una vita che non avevano vissuto…

Così mi ha detto e senza aspettare che io gli rivolgessi la parola, che gli facessi delle domande, che gli chiedessi delle spiegazioni, si è spento come un fuoco che cessa di ardere, e si è sciolto di nuovo nel centro della sua capanna…

Faceva già freddo in quella giornata piovosa di ottobre. Ma il falegname continuava a tergersi il sudore della fronte, attendendo un mio commento…

Non sapevo che cosa dirgli. Anch’io mi stavo chiedendo per quale strano gioco delle coincidenze, dovevano finire a me tutti questi racconti sui Celti. Perché invece che salire in macchina come sarebbe stato più logico, ero finito in questo laboratorio di falegname a sentire questo così originale e strano racconto?...

Se l’idea di quel racconto sui bambini nati morti fosse venuta a me, potevo darmi una spiegazione perché proprio in quei giorni stavo studiando la storia della Madonna di Trava di Lauco, ove la tradizione voleva che tornassero a rivivere i bambini nati morti, il tempo necessario per ricevere il battesimo. Ma il falegname mi confessò che non sapeva nulla della Madonna di Trava, e che non aveva capito a che cosa si riferisse the Druid when he spoke also of a belief in our religion ...

Which Towel Brand Is The Strongest?

Hospital Gemona

Al dott.Pietro De Antoni and his team

witness of sincere and profound gratitude

for a reception that the high professional

humanitas has successfully combined the authentic, sincere ,

hallmark has always

man and especially woman's Friuli.

The Bell Hospital Gemona. [1]

Questa storia l’’avevo già sentita raccontare da alcuni amici che erano stati ricoverati all’ospedale di Gemona del Friuli. Ma ci avevo riso su!... “Panzane!” avevo commentato…Che in certe notti, all’interno dell’ospedale si senta suonare una campana, mi era parsa una circostanza, frutto della debolezza di chi, da degente, si trova a vivere le ansie e le tensioni legate alla malattia e le preoccupazioni sulle prognosi. Una operazione chirurgica è sempre un qualcosa a rischio!.. Nelle notti passate nella vana attesa di un po’ di respiro e di sollievo, nell’inutile tentativo di trovare una posizione nello scomodo letto d’ospedale per conciliare il sonno, si possono sentire i rumori più diversi, immaginando per questi le interpretazioni più fantastiche…

Ma quando è toccato a me di finire ricoverato in ospedale a Gemona, sono stato costretto a ricredermi!... Già la prima sera, verso mezzanotte, mentre cercavo invano di addormentarmi, ho sentito distinto il suono d’una campana. Ho pensato fosse la suggestione per il racconto che mi era stato fatto dagli amici. E del resto stavo così male…Avevo purtroppo altro cui pensare, prima di capire se si trattasse d’una campana o di che altro…

La seconda sera stavo un po’ meglio ed infatti m’ero addormentato senza fatica già a prima sera, senza pensare ad altro che a quello che sarebbe stato l’esito della mia malattia, l’esito dell’operazione alla quale i chirurghi avevano deciso di sottopormi. Ma fui svegliato di soprassalto nel cuore della notte da un suono di campana, chiaro e distinto. Assolutamente inconfondibile!... Forte al punto d’avermi svegliato!... Si succedevano alcuni rintocchi distinti, di campana che suona a distesa, poi d’un tratto il suono turned in the sound of something breaking, as if the bell had fallen apart ... I used to believe only in secular terms what I perceive with my senses ... view of the time, except now the sound could come from some church located in the countryside surrounding the hospital. I did not know it existed. But even if it had existed more than one, no one starts to ring a bell in the night ... It was only then to understand what he was producing a sound that might suggest the sound of a bell .

After half an hour, the sound stopped completely. Expect, however, to understand what it was ... sent back the check the next night ... If I felt that sound. Then taken back to sleep.

The next night the anxiety of knowing if the sound had been made to listen again, I could not sleep ... "So much the better!" I thought. The explanation for what I had heard the previous night could be just the fact that had seemed to wake up, whereas repetition of the sound that later ended in a sound, was part of a dream.

I was looking at l’orologio che segnava la mezzanotte e trasalii sentendo di nuovo, ancora più netto e distinto che la sera precedente, un suono che non poteva essere se non quello d’una piccola campana. Ero perfettamente sveglio, avevo appena controllato l’ora…non potevo avere dubbi: nella notte stava suonando una campana!... Dal timbro si poteva pensare alla campanella che sovrasta l’ingresso nelle chiese di campagna. S’udiva distintamente una serie di rintocchi e poi un tonfo, il rumore di qualcosa che si rompe, come se la campana si fosse staccata dagli ancoraggi, fosse caduta al suolo e si fosse rotta nell’impatto.

Infilai la vestaglia e raggiunsi the head of the corridor, on the side from which the sound seemed to come, dragging alongside the trestle with bags of drugs and the catheter bag.

Gemona Hospital, rebuilt after the earthquake of 1976 should have been a model of innovative hospital. At that time I did the Mayor to Tolmezzo and had repeatedly followed the discussions about it because the new structure would connect to the network with the existing hospital in Carnia. I also tried to launch the idea that Tolmezzo Gemona and renounce the construction of their hospital, to build a shop for Alto Friuli, the parties to love or to the station Carnia. But eventually I "threw stones" and those of those who Gemona Tolmezzo, so I had to save myself by saying that it was a provocation.

Beyond these personal asides, I do not know who was the architect, but by living in, the result seemed to me much less than expected. Organizing a hospital on a single endless aisle, I do not think a great solution! When you are on the corridor, and all internal doors are open, one gets the impression of being in the underground tunnel of a huge anthill, where patients, relatives, doctors, nurses meet and move mad as a file of ants.

obviously did not think all this while (confesso!) not without a bit 'of fear, I travel to the head of the corridor. It has a nice little saying that there must be an explanation for everything. But that explanation could have a bell sound at midnight? ... My room was not very far away, and soon reached the head of the corridor. To close in some way along the gut center, the architect has planned two heads on a kind of sentry box that juts outward, with no functional significance, but as an aesthetic solution to move the front of the head.

Entrai nella garitta, fissando gli occhi sull’esterno alla ricerca di qualcosa che mi potesse riportare al suono della campana. Fui lì lì per svenire e non per problemi legati alla mia degenza ed alla mia malattia, ma spaventato a morte per ciò che i miei occhi stavano vedendo.

Avrei dovuto avere davanti agli occhi i piazzali di accesso all’ospedale che portano ai magazzini ed alle celle mortuarie, e invece alla mia vista si presentava una scena completamente diversa, inaspettata ed inspiegabile…Mi diedi un pizzicotto per confermarmi che non stavo sognando. Non sognavo!... Ero perfettamente sveglio, ma quella in front of me could not have been the scene of a dream ...

day I had already noticed that the squares surrounding the hospital are closed to the outside by a barrier of tall poplar trees. Less dense at the hospital where the property is surrounded almost the houses in the village of Ospedaletto. About this country, I had read during the day that the name derives from the fact that already in the twelfth century was home to a hospital for travelers coming from Aquileia had to deal with the mountain passes and Julian carniche to reach the Norian. I thought about the curious fate of the place after eight hundred years and still retains Its mission of the hospital zone ...

On the side towards Gemona, the row of poplars instead becomes a real thick woods. The stems are very high all bent to the country, confirming that the wind blows mainly from north to south, forcing the trees to the position permanently skewed. At first I had come up with the march of the penguins, or the march of people made in the abdomen, forced to bend forward to avoid pulling on the wound ...

It was just the beginning of Spring ... on some trees had already checked le prime foglioline, ma per la gran parte erano ancora spogli come durante l’inverno. Sui lunghi tronchi di colore chiaro si succedevano ad intervalli di due-tre metri, delle specie di collari di colore scuro dai quali si dipartivano i rami, rivolti verso l’alto come mani scheletriche alzate a forza verso il cielo.

Ebbene! Guardavo fisso, ma non c’erano più gli alberi, non c’era più i piazzali, non c’era più il paese di Ospedaletto, le cui case di giorno filtravano oltre il filare dei pioppi. Non c’era più nulla di tutto questo…c’era soltanto una grande costruzione bassa e circolare, che mi fece pensare ad a hut, with all round the animal shelter and the center of the Tamar "

entrance of the building, on the side of the country. There was a small church, very similar to the present church of All Saints. Like this one with a door flanked by two columns supporting the small architrave, which rests on the top bezel. At the sides of the door closed two small windows in the upper arch, and over three small rosettes to move symmetrically in the upper part of facade. At the height of the usual small belfry. Beside the church had two entrances, closed by gates of wood. From here we entered nel cortile che mi ricordava il “tamar” delle malghe. Il ricovero che circondava il cortile, che mi richiamava le “lòges” delle malghe, era unico, senza soluzione di continuità, ma i montanti di legno che sorreggevano la copertura, distanti tra loro quattro-cinque metri, lo dividevano in piccole stanze che avevano la stessa dimensione. Ogni stanza era chiusa da portelloni di legno.

Il tetto di tutta la costruzione, fatto di scandole, spioveva verso l’interno e faceva sì che il complesso avesse in qualche modo una sua eleganza architettonica. Ma non si trattava d’un ricovero per animali, non era una malga. Da tutte le parti si vedevano esseri umani doloranti…

Si trattava certamente di un ospedale! Ogni stanza era piena di ammalati che giacevano su giacigli di paglia, coperti soltanto di qualche straccio. E c’erano ammalati anche nel cortile, ricoperti anche loro di pochi stracci, per potersi riparare dal freddo della notte e dalla rugiada. Si capiva che in qualche modo erano in lista di attesa, nella speranza che si liberasse un posto dentro ai ricoveri…

La prima “loge” sulla sinistra entrando, (si intuiva facilmente), era quella riservata a sala operatoria. C’erano dei chirurghi, all’opera su un paziente che con le sue urla di dolore, riusciva a coprire tutto il brusio di lamenti che costituiva il rumore di fondo del posto. Mi avvicinai per guardare, e, con stupore e spavento allo stesso tempo, vidi che ero io la persona sotto i ferri…

Non poteva essere!...Io in effetti stavo guardando…Eppure la persona che gridava dal dolore mi rassomigliava in modo assoluto, come se fosse una perfetta mia controfigura…

“Perché non gli date qualcosa per alleviargli il dolore?” chiesi. Mi faceva pena sentirlo urlare, mi faceva pena ancora di più per il fatto che avevo l’impressione to be the place of my doubles, to devour the pain ...

"Who are you? What do you want? Ic your facts ... ... "taken to yelling at me what should be the leader of the surgeons, not even worthy of a glance, intent as it was to its operation. You do not even spared an avalanche of insults, curses and vaffa of that ... I do not think the case to bring ...

"I ask only," I apologized.

"But do not know, "he shouted the second of surgeons" that's why we brought tango to mail the chief anesthesiologist Hospital Tolmezzo. Now the anesthetic is practicing the most innovative solutions at European level. By pressing on the jugular with its own special technique is trying to lull the brain is doing while drinking from a flask, a product of his own invention, made up a recipe for French aunt, steeping herbs picked in the fields of Fuse, macerated methanol in alcohol that is formed as a head and tail in the process of distillation of brandy ... "

"You!" I said. "But this is my double, despite these innovations, is suffering as a beast. I would not like it was a sad omen of what I have to suffer too! ..

"Do not be afraid! You have nothing to fear you! "Reassured me a voice from behind me.

I turned. The strangeness of the encounter with my double, who was working, I had already put in great embarrassment, unable to understand where the hell I was finished. The new encounter only increased my confusion. Umberto's brother in front of me !!!... It was without a shadow of doubt that the friend had been to visit me in the afternoon. We had been drinking with good Tocai, until the night before my hospitalization. But what was he doing dressed as a monk? ...

I understood immediately that it was the facility manager. Giving orders, directions, suggestions ...

"What are you doing here? I asked.

"Can not you see? replied, "I have entrusted the responsibility of running this facility. I follow the organizational aspects, the head surgeon's health issues. "

"I have already had occasion to take his insults!"

"I know! But never in this case appearances are deceiving. It 's a bravuomo a bit' too confusing, plant catastrophic mess over nothing, but is very professional and above all a great feeling, a big heart. For a friend then gets four ... to please a friend, sometimes it is capable of ditching all difficulties with the organization that I was able to activate. "

"However, between Umberto Umberto or expensive if you prefer, if this is a hospital, you could spend more than that to make a structure a bit 'more decent," I said.

"Look, retorted, that this is one of the newest of all high-Italy. I still do not have neither liability nor positively and negatively. I have to run ... what's with this task since they sent me up here my superiors of the convent of St. Anthony in Padua.

I confess to having no enthusiasm left Padua. It was so good down there in the convent of the city, alternating between prayer in the pastime of small jobs in the garden ... Here everything is different. The faith ends up here falter. In the face of so much suffering you can not help wondering where is God ...

to help and console my mother also wanted to follow, as Monica was following St. Augustine. But now she is gravely ill ... I would not like to end with St. Augustine and his mother Monica. I regret to bury in the cemetery of this country ... "

"You'll see it heal," said I, with one of those usual phrases superabound fact that in relationships between people in hospitals. "If you think you that this is among the best facilities ..." I continued. "I can not believe you, but I still have my doubts. I've seen recently spent two orderlies who carried the bowls on a table for dinner. Reminded me of two people in the foreground under Bruegel the Elder "Wedding Banquet".

Bruegel the Elder: The wedding

I saw into a mess of a mysterious color, strange and indistinct, exhaling a stench that forced me to turn away so as not to vomit. Beds are then, on which rest the sick do not strike me as a girlfriend ... "

" The food you're right! Leave a little to be desired! We have outsourced the service to the Cooperative of the hungry, and we suspect that we do the ridge in order to help its members. On pallets no, you're right ... ours are made with sweet-smelling hay harvest in the mountains, in the other hospitals are made with wheat stubble, and are therefore less soft. " "Excuse me a moment," he added hastily, and moved in the direction from which he received a louder cry for help and heartbreaking. I laughed to myself seeing sculettando away, so that the robe dangling in the air like a bell.

Good! I understood what his role was ... I knew almost everything about the organization of the strange hospital. But he, my friend, as there was over? I knew him as a fervent practitioner the Church, I am not, however, had became a monk. And I was there to do? He was dressed in the habit of the Franciscans. The habit grew to cover the stomach distended from the Tocai glasses, then went down like a large bell, to just below the knees. Sticking out from under the two legs, thin and lean, like those of a sick person. The feet tucked into a pair of sandals too big, forcing him to walk swaying the body and dragging feet. I was looking for this rice before running away ...

I would have liked to ask for explanations! But since I had seen and was not stupid in my presence, had to be completely normal in some way what was happening to me. It was I who did not understand ... But I did not understand what ...? Ero anch’io vestito come loro?... Non ci avevo fatto caso...tutto preso da ciò che mi circondava non avevo pensato a me… Loro erano tutti vestiti con brevi tuniche dai colori smorti… Mi facevano pensare a personaggi ambientati nel Medioevo, come riprodotti in qualche quadro dei fiamminghi.

Non potendo chiedere in modo diretto come mai fossimo lì, ed a fare che cosa, ebbi l’idea di chiedere che giorno fosse. Posi la domanda alla prima inserviente che mi passò accanto.

“Siamo al 25 gennaio dell’anno domini 1348” mi rispose con una tip precision, as if it had not been surprised by my question. I had the opportunity to see and appreciate the availability and humanity of servants. I forgot to ask if they were a few orders of nuns or lay women. They were the only way people dressed, with coats clean and tidy. Flowers bloom to grace the event in the field of pain! ...

The attendant in his willingness, perhaps he was going to add something to help me understand more, when a piercing scream is extricated and emerged from the tangle of moans, cries and curses that was the noise constant background characteristic of that kind of hospital.

"The Plague," shouted someone in the top of her throat.

Among Umberto I saw rush in the direction from which the cry had come. She crossed the four porters who had gathered in a blanket the patient, who had been diagnosed with plague.

"You can not," cried trying to stop them. "E'mia mother!"

"That is also the mother of God Almighty, we do not care! "reacted brutally one of the four. "He has the plague and must be taken away!" "He has the fever," cried again because everyone in the field understood as a new threat loomed over all. "With a shove that brought down was interposing between Umberto and continued on their way to bringing the infected outside the hospital.

out for a door that was on the side opposite the church, and deposited the plague-stricken in the meadow behind the hospital.

Among them chasing Umberto begging them that they had mercy. "It 's my mother!" He kept repeating like a short prayer. But they will not give him straight ... When I reached him, it was just beside the poor mother, curled up inside the rags that were supposed to be a blanket.

crying and cursing the ingratitude of men. "We stayed in Padua." But we came up here to do good in Friuli ... And this is the thanks for the well we did? ...

I did not know what to say ... There are circumstances in which è il frate che deve consolare gli altri, trovando nel Vangelo le parole di speranza. Io da laico non avevo argomenti per aggiungere nessun commento… Le parole di compassione e di misericordia si rivolgono con facilità agli altri, molto più difficile è rivolgerle a noi stessi…Anche Fra Umberto si dimenticò d’un tratto di tutte le parole di consolazione che aveva usato con gli ospiti dell’ospedale, e prese ad imprecare contro tutto e contro tutti, per l’ingiustizia di cui si sentiva vittima, e di cui era vittima soprattutto sua madre. Dopo aver fatto tanto volontariato in ospedale, ora era stata abbandonata a morire lì nel freddo d’una notte di gennaio, come se fosse stata un cane randagio…

While among Umberto cursed, he began to play the small church bell. Perhaps the clerk with the sound he wanted to accompany his mother to heaven Fra Umberto. The sound of the bell would have to return to prayer, the prayers for the dying to find a way to accompany his mother on the last trip ... But he could not pray ... He felt that the injustice was too egregious to be forgiven, to give a way to prayer.

"May the curse of God may descend upon you!" He shouted. May God destroy this hospital from foundations, and all this land as he did Sodom and Gomorrah ... "

" While saying so, the earth began to tremble, and the grass moving as if the bowels of the earth were shaken by a terrible sob . From the mountains came off huge boulders coming down with a deafening roar, raising huge clouds of dust. The hospital building was crossed by a sudden vibration and fell apart like it was paper mache. How long did the earthquake? Perhaps only a minute, but seemed an eternity ... There was no hospital, there was no church at all ... was reduced to a heap of rubble, a strange sort of nest.

From the rubble, just as an ant hill, they took to come out of the shadows of people who walked in a sort of procession into the forest of poplars. The forest itself was transformed into the procession, which winds its way slowly, as the current of a river. But not down, saliva ... I think towards the monumental cemetery Gemona, or from the Duomo ... I do not know ... accompanied by the sound of the bell of the church. A good case could be distinguished the chimes, then suddenly the chimes was replace by the noise of the bell, with the earthquake that had fallen along with the church ...

sang softly, a Gregorian melody that reminded me of the Benedictus by which the tradition carnica accompany the deceased to the cemetery. I felt myself to be part of the procession of prayer. I sang what I sang the other, the pitch was that of Benedictus, but had other words: it was a sort of paraphrase of the Our Father, who had never heard before:

Infinity exist at the origin of my becoming,

is acknowledged your existence

Assert a way of coexistence among people,

note that your existence

in the dimension of our daily lives

as it will be in the eternal dimension.

Give to live every day

being in your size.

Forgive our lack of confidence

as we forgive the lack

of confidence in us, by the brothers.

not help our lack of faith,

but instead help us overcome the tendency to deny you!

sang ... so that the originality of our Father led me to think it was the group of Cathars Gemona that as legislation in history, received the visit of the Cathar bishop Peter Gallo.

sang well, I do not know where to go ... For without getting anywhere, at some point I found myself in my hospital bed, as though they had never left. I tried to find their way, giving a sense of what I seemed to have seen and heard ... "What have I lived?" I was just wondering. "A dream? A journey of the soul, like what they used to make benandanti? ". I could not give me an answer ...

The following nights I began waiting in hope to hear again the sound of the bell. I had talked to my surgeon friend, and as expected, he began to laugh and make fun of me ... I wanted to hear the sound, to make him feel to him ... I wanted to see what happened to him during the night around the hospital.

But he finally the opportunity! Neither do I. I have heard the sound of the bell ... then I left the doubt that he still wanted to see ... I came to the conclusion that the sound he aims to revive someone in that scene. I had seen. I could testify. Not was no reason for a repeat. The fact of having had a witness, had perhaps given the eternal peace to those shadows in person. I do not know! I have limited myself to write what I saw ...

In the history of Friuli actually remembers the disastrous earthquake of January 25, 1348. It also recalls the disastrous plague epidemic that struck in the same year who had been saved by the earthquake. The plague, the story goes, was developed several months after the earthquake, but as the case maybe the mother of Brother Umberto, was already incubating the disease at the time of the earthquake.

Dal Blog http://raccontipiutti.blogspot.com

---

[1] Quando sono stato ricoverato all’ospedale i Gemona il 1 aprile 2008 stavo lavorando ad un serie di racconti, per una ricostruzione fantastica della storia della Carnia, ed allo stesso tempo ad una rivisitazione laica del Vangelo. In ospedale ha letto “Morte a credito” di Celine. Nel racconto cercando di imitare lo stile di Celine, fondo assieme le cose alle quali sto lavorando, per presentare una ricostruzione fantastica della mia esperienza in ospedale.