Table of contents
1 Title
2 Index
3 Dedication
4 The news
5 Our small house
6 Surprise visit
7 What you donât expectâ¦
8 Portobello
9 Smells like home
10 The longest night
11 The force of habit
12 The Campsite
13 Cavalleria rusticana
14 Sunday morningâ¦
15 Weekend in the province
16 Magical Nights
17 The Nineties
Title
The smile of the moon
based on a true story
Klaus Zambiasi
translated from âIl sorriso della lunaâ
by
Giacomo Lilliù
www.traduzionelibri.it
Index
Dedication
The news
Our small house
Surprise visit
What you donât expectâ¦
Portobello
Smells like home
The longest night
The force of habit
The Campsite
Cavalleria rusticana
Sunday morningâ¦
Weekend in the province
Magical Nights
The Nineties
Dedication
Your idea, your idea
Donât give up, defend your idea!
Do you remember when you used to give birth to a song
And when hope had your eyes?
Youâll win, if you want to
But donât let your years fool you!
Now thereâs a reason why the sky is blue
Stop love, donât let it go awayâ¦
âLa tua ideaâ (1) â Renato Zero
I invoke the stars, eyes fixed up above
But everything has ran away, in the river of us
My desire is your image
The sweet countryside that once bloomed
Sitting in the middle of the night, I wish I could implore you
I trace your name on the earth, in your glow
Weâll love each other forever, even after weâre goneâ¦
Sitting in the middle of the night, and the nature here
To remind me about love, adolescent upon me
Weâll love each other forever, even after weâre gone
Your body is thought, even after weâre goneâ¦
Dedicated to my grandmother
1 TN (Translatorâs note): âYour Ideaâ. The original Italian lyrics are as follow: âLa tua idea, la tua idea / Non mollare, ma difendi la tua idea! / Ricordi quando ti nasceva una canzone / E quando la speranza aveva gli occhi tuoi? / Vincerai, se lo vuoi / Ma non farti fregare gli anni tuoi! / Il blu del cielo forse adesso ha una ragione / Ferma lâamore, non lasciarlo andar via...â
The news
Itâs 8.03 pm on an April evening in 1970.The black and white TV atop the fridge in the townâs bar is broadcasting the national news on the first channel.
Paul McCartney, in the middle of an endless array of microphones, has just announced during a press conference that the Beatles are officially splitting up, shocking millions of fans across the world and throwing them into a turmoil.
Itâs the first story of every national and international news, the scenes alternating between teenagers, young girls and ladies of any age, all desperate for the end of their idolsâ band.
The bar is dominated by cigarette smoke, with a couple of classical still lives hanging on the wall.
Thereâs an old man, white-bearded and pipe in hand, looking like a sailor, and seeing him here, in a small town in the middle of the Dolomites, feels somewhat odd. Heâs celebrating the latest victory of Gigi Rivaâs Cagliari, about to win its first ever football championship. The âloyal regularsâ are playing cards and drinking red at their usual tables.
An abstract and unexpected sensation sweeps through the air, some family men go back to their homes.
The 8 oâclock news is also reporting about the American space shuttle Apollo 13, which has just taken off from the space station in Cape Canaveral, Florida on a mission to the moon. While orbiting in space, during the attempted moon landing, some technical problems hinder its arrival. The event is broadcasted across the world, keeping the viewers waiting with baited breath. Apparently, the three astronauts on board wonât be able to come back.
They risk an awful end on live TV, unless they manage to repair their malfunctions and return in time, landing safe and sound on the Pacific Ocean.
There must have been some strange and particularly hostile conjunction of stars these days in the April skies.
Thatâs probably what Mr Remo also thought when they told him what happened at his house.
He was there at the bar playing cards as usual; in theory, come dinner time, a good husband should be home with his family.
But we all know how these things go, one more game, letâs play another, the rematch, the final⦠and so on, time flies. He fit in that context, at least until the news, the shocking news, reached him.
He doesnât even have the strength or the courage to go back home â Remo can neither know nor imagine whatâs waiting for him there.
A dear friend of his offers to put him up for that night, and the following too, should he need to. Remo gladly accepts: after all, friends are often an essential anchor one can cling onto for a little comfort at painful times like these.
Not far from there thereâs a great bustle, some commotion, itâs hard to understand whatâs happening, blue and red lights in the night. A white cloak blends into the crowd, almost like a spectator, staying and watching the scene and not knowing whether to vanish or to give up to their own conscience.
An elderly mother, incredulous and desperate, is trying to take care of her own young daughter, while a life is ending.
Four years and ninety days laterâ¦
Our small house
Tears are shooting stars, fallen from a most hidden universe also known as our soul.
We seldom cry with joy, more often with sadness, in any case always emanating a strong emotion from ourselves.
Sometimes Iâd do two opposite things at the same time, crying and feeling like laughing, unable to stop the tears even if I wanted to, the need to cry getting stronger and stronger. I wanted to explain to my childhood friends that nothing had happened, but in-between sobs I still felt like laughing.
Iâm Joe, the youngest of the family, and Iâm just four years old. Sitting on the balcony of the house, Iâm keenly observing the stars in the August sky, dressed in intensely luminous cobalt blue.
Here in the mountains, three thousand feet in the air, this kind of landscape is charming, the stars are so bright I could almost grab them with my hands. The full moonâs shine softly kissing the Sciliar(2), a light but constant breeze blowing under my nose, scented by mown field grass dried by the scorching sun of the day. A magical trail tasting like freedom and wilderness. I believe this scent has both a relaxing and regenerating effect, in my case even therapeutic.
Up on the left, the belfry rises with its big onion dome, the symbol of our town, its lights inviting me in the distance, the country fair music diffusing in the darkness, mixing itself with the cricketsâ and the cicadasâ call in the fields below.
I love the cricketsâ chirp-chirp in the fields during summer evenings and especially nights, it makes me feel serene and peaceful. Itâs almost like an open-air concert, like nature telling us it lives in harmony, and so do we within it.
Itâs an indefinite sense of freedom and adventure that makes me wish I could sleep in the fields under the stars. But Iâm afraid Iâll still have to wait for this wish of mine to come trueâ¦
I hear mamma Barbaraâs feet coming, anticipated by the creaking of the dry, worn-out balcony woodâ¦
âCome inside, itâs time to go to sleep.â
âAll right, five more minutes, letâs watch the moon and the
stars together.â
âCome sit on my kneesâ
and we tightly hug, my cheek onto her soft cheek.
Mamma Barbara is a sweet and caring mother, her cheeks are as soft as grandmaâs. She really loves children and has a special touch with them, she impersonates motherly love, it fits her to a t. When Iâm in her arms I feel enveloped in a blanket in which I find all I need. A hug often works better than most words or medicines, it can shake you and give you a sense of inner calm, itâs all a matter of your state of mind, of what your soul needs.
I live with my family in a small mountain farm at the feet of the Sciliar. We have various animals, cows, sheep, two horses, rabbits, chickens giving us what we need to live, and theyâre looked after mainly by our father, Karl. Here in Castelrotto, life flows regularly, in full symbiosis with nature dictating its rhythm to the days. In the morning the sun rises caressing the tops of the Sciliar and hiding behind them, finally revealing itself in all its glory above the whole valley. In the evening, sunsets last for quite a lot, until the sun goes to sleep behind the distant mountain chains standing out in the skies of Bolzano and Merano.
I also have a brother, Oswald, who is seven, and a sister, Waltraud, who is ten, sheâs the eldest. When my brother Oswald and my sister Waltraud come back from school and finish their homework we often play together, heâs like my guardian brother, Waltraud looks after me like a second mum, sheâs of great help to mamma Barbara with the housework, just like Oswald is to papa Karl with the cattle in the stable.
2 TN: Italian name of the Schlern.
To be fair I too lend them a hand, obviously itâs nothing more than a game for me, I ask a lot of questions, Iâm very curious and fascinated by this rural world. Some days ago, while helping Oswald throwing hay from the barn to the stable below through the square hole which opens directly next to the trough, I fell into it, finding myself close to the cows munching their hay and looking bewildered at me.
In the summer months, like now in August, we spend entire days in the fields gathering hay. I mostly have fun, running and jumping across the rows of hay like a prancing colt. I often play with small frogs, sometimes I even manage to catch them and carry them in our home garden, but they always find a way to escape. I really like going with Karl on the motorized lawnmower, imitating the noise and the gestures and enjoying the smell of petrol which is an orange mixture looking just like orange juice syrup. Mamma Barbara soon runs out of patience at my imitations:
âHow much more are you going to last with that ânyu nyu,
nyu nyuâ? Stop it please.â
And Iâm sad Iâve annoyed her, so I keep doing it quietly or I simply mime it.
Our small house is simple, somewhat old but itâs just like a fairy tale house, Hänsel and Gretel, that kind of stuff.
With a balcony opening onto the perfumed fields below, the house is placed close to a tiny church and a small crossroads of tight streets, which could be called the townâs centre or square.
For us children, itâs the courtyard where we meet and play with the gang, since almost all of the inhabited houses are there. Some of our neighbours even have seven or eight children, we must be about thirty kids in total.
The barn and the stable are five hundred yards from there, and nearby we also have a small vegetable garden with beautiful flowers and a lot of sunflowers cared for by mamma Barbara, I obviously give her a hand, well, at least kind of. Thereâs also a creek which is a hoot to splash around in, every time I pass it by I want to drink all that fresh water and dive headlong from the small wooden bridge.
We can even hear its sound when the windows are open, and itâs a pleasing presence for the ears and the nose when I deeply breathe that fresh air at morning and at sundown.
And watching the thin mist lifting from the valley at the feet of the Sciliar when the sun is rising, like a theatre curtain at the beginning of a play.