The following morning, as I usually do every day, I went to the Bar Bazzanti for the classic breakfast. But that day was different: I had an appointment with Laura.
I sat down at a table on the outside veranda of the room and I was waiting patiently. Suddenly, I see a beautiful tall girl with blond hair, approaching my table.
"Mr. Grassia?"
"Yes."
"Hi, I'm Laura."
"Hi, please," I replied.
"It's a pleasure for me to meet you. You know, I read your book and I loved it. This story has also struck me, and as I said in the message, at Easter, finding me from Sabatini I bought a ring belonged to Claudia but I left it in Rome, surely I will send you a picture as soon as I return home. "
I looked at her and I realized she had also beautiful green eyes, the same of Sabrina, the same beauty.
While I was absorbed in my thought, I saw Cristiana, the friendly owner of Bar Bazzanti, approaching the table: she came to take orders that day. Who knows, maybe she had noticed something special.
In fact, before leaving, Cristiana told me:
"Angelo, I'm sorry, but is she the famous Sabrina of the book?"
"No," I replied. "Her name is Laura, she has the same beauty as Sabrina, the same blonde hair, the same green eyes and she comes from Rome too. Will it be a coincidence, a coincidence or what? "
Cristiana nodded and she returned to the bar.
At that point Laura smiling sweetly continued: "Angelo, apart from the fact I had a huge desire to meet you, but my coming here is another. I came for a simple reason, I want to show you the postcard I took from Sabatino along with the ring. Sabatino gave the postcard to me spontaneously after I had chosen the ring and I was paying it. Think, that day I was very sad, and Sabatino encouraged me with a beautiful smile, he understood I was sick and he wanted to pull me up. Giving me the postcard, he told me about the Claudia who lived in Rome and he found that ring in the pocket of a coat. I was very happy, but at the same time I was amazed at the fact he lived like me in Via Indipendenza. The boyfriend's message was positive. I encouraged and I went home happy. I talked about it with my children and my husband and satisfied, I put the postcard in the glass cabinet in plain sight. I came it out just to show it to you. "
She opened the bag and, pulling it out with such sweetness, added: "Here I show you, I thought it might have some importance for you".
I thanked her and I started to watch it. It was the usual postcard Vittorio wrote to Claudia. I read with superficiality what was written on, my attention was directed only and exclusively to possible numbers to be able to play to the lot in the next extraction. I did not find particular numbers, apart from the date, 4 October. 1939 and the post office stamp, Naples, in good evidence. I was perplexed for a moment. Among the thousand thoughts flashing my mind, this seemed to me the most rational: "Perhaps yesterday, having made him say a mass, Vittorio sent Laura to make me play these numbers. Perhaps this is Vittorio's message ".
I asked kindly to Laura the permission to take a picture of the postcard to be able to observe it at home.
Laura nodded, aware of the importance of the thing. We sat at the bar for some time talking about Claudia, Vittorio and the book. I saw she was very interested in this story. Then I added: "Just this morning I decided to write the second book, reporting entirely the story written by Vittorio".
And she, encouraging me, in a subtle and melodious voice: "You are doing well, Angelo, you are doing well. You absolutely must do it, because it's a beautiful story ".
At the end Laura greeted me with a promise: to send me the photo of the ring after her return to Rome.
That day I decided to play the numbers 9 and 39 on the wheel of Naples.
The next day, August 22, looking at the draw, I saw the numbers on the wheel of Naples were very different, but both the 9 and 39 had come out, but on the wheel of Cagliari.
Instinctively, I took the phone and I went to look for the picture of the postcard more carefully, thinking that maybe it was not the message Vittorio wanted to give me, maybe he wanted to make me understand something else.
In fact, on the postcard there was written: "Finally we are ... Affectionately Vittorio".
I know this sentence was addressed to Claudia, to tell her their marriage was close, but inside me I considered the phrase was addressed to me. Laura was chosen by Vittorio to deliver this message to me. With these words, delivered to me immediately after my decision to write entirely his book, Vittorio wanted to let me know he wanted the publication of his book. In fact, he wrote to Claudia hundreds of postcards but this was the last one, there were no more. I wonder then, among the many cards Sabatino still had at Easter, why did he give Laura just this? Could he give another one with a different message, why this one?
This is another mystery surrounding the history.
On the day 24/08/2017 the following numbers were issued to the superenalotto (Italian lottery):
40 year of the marriage of Claudia and Vittorio
45 year in which Vittorio wrote the poem
72 number found on a letter
85 year of birth of Luigi
88 number found on the negative
That night unfortunately I played a two-way system, I realized only a few 3 and some 2.
Other readers of my first book were more fortunate. In fact, I received several messages from people who, hit by history, played the lot.
A reader sent me this message:
"Mr. Grassia, I wanted to thank you, because, reading his book that among other things I liked very much, I also decided to play the lot. Well, June 3, I do not know why, I was reminded of the date of the poem 25/1/45. I played € 2 on the Naples wheel and I won € 9,000.00. May God bless you. "
I replied: "I am very happy you enjoyed the book so much and you won the lot, you are evidently a sensitive person, and the book perhaps rewards the good-hearted ones."
A few days ago another reader wrote to me on 19/08/17 he played the date of the marriage of Claudia and Vittorio 25/1/40 on all the wheels and also he won the tern.
I am very happy for them, but even more so because my book manages to help people with good feelings.
While I’m writing, I get the news on 11/10/2017 in Aversa a 45,000.00 Euros tern has been won playing on the wheel of Naples the numbers 7/10/78.
Well, even these numbers were inside my first book. We do not yet know who the lucky winner is, but I sincerely hope that, to be kissed by luck, he was one of my readers.
Following this series of extraordinary and inexplicable events, the only right and wise thing I could do to pay tribute to these two great men, Luigi and his son Vittorio, was to tell their lives.
I do not know why I was chosen and by whom.
But I have the certainty of having been chosen by someone or something, also because my motto is: "Rien n'est plus beaux, que l'amour"
What follows is the book Vittorio wrote and in a certain sense it has changed my life.
4
LAUDARE DIGNOS, HONESTA
ACTIO EST
SENECA .. 102
To my cousin LUIGI PALLADINO
For you, my cousin, I liked to tell the deeds; if narrations can be called the poor scraps of my inexperienced pen, I dedicate with affection and admiration this my tenuous job, begging you to excuse if unaware of "the beautiful style" I have not been able to illustrate your life as it really was, and in its depth, and in its apex.
Therefore, I beg your pardon and nevertheless I hold on the hope this homage be pleasing to you and it remains as a pledge of my sincere friendship.
Vale Stefania Palladino
Ortobello, 25 May 1906
LUIGI
Born from a wealthy family of the province, Luigi had reached the age of six always enjoying all the satisfactions the splendour can grant to children and, endowed with a sweet and serene nature, he had been filled with kisses and caresses, gifts and surprises; the sun had fallen on the child's days, always illuminating his little head.
But a sudden wind rose to dry up the harvests of wealth, of joy, of the hope of that young life, of that candid youth. Due to financial difficulties, his family began to decay, doing bad business from day to day so that, in two years, he lost all his substance, plunging into a harrowing misery. So Luigi, aged eight, the age in which children enjoy the games more and abandon themselves to the carefree joy of their green years, found himself in the most frightful misery, and he was forced to leave the toys to earn a living.
With the reflection of a man and with the will to work, he went to a coiffeur who, in exchange of his little services, thought of his existence.
From this moment on he began his hard but laborious life, painful but honest, unbearable sometimes but always loyal and reputable.
Do not believe that, having only eight years, he had not understood the full depth of his misfortune, because the smile was banished from his lips, the joy no longer shone in his clear eye and the childish brigades counted one less companion, while the despair took possession of his soul, supported only by a bright dream that came back with his fantasy of a child unaware of the world. He did not know how to set a goal, but he often repeated what he felt impressed in his soul in fiery characters: "when I will be twenty years old! .."
In this period of sorrow he also lost his father, which increased his despair, so he moved to Naples with his family, where a new series of troubles began for him and his family.
Also here he went to a coiffeur but, not being brought for this job, he entered as a garçon in a hotel. Meanwhile the years passed and his early ideas matured, acquired at the school of misfortune. He had heard of "foreign parts", where good positions could be reached with work that would have enabled a comfortable life; he inquired, he made his decisions and bold and confident in the future at fourteen he decided to leave for England.
His mother, more fearful and wary, at first denied him her permission, but he did so much, so much ... that at last, the mother satisfied him and, being far from Naples, for family reasons, she wrote him a letter where, showing him all her motherly love ... "who does not know who is not a mother ...", with loving and effective words she exhorted him and advised him on the way to go, in the harsh path of life, repeating that, in the most painful moments, re-read those characters, in which she had infused all her soul, and he would have drawn the comfort that she would send him with her thoughts every day, every hour, every moment. And in fact, how many times in the tortuous path that Fate had traced to him, the poor boy felt the need to read those phrases, so as to resume the courage he felt was missing, and use a spur to overcome all the obstacles he encountered on his journey.
How many times, rereading those characters, he wiped his bitter tears and resigned himself to his worries; how many times he kissed that piece of paper and how many times, finding himself alone among unknown and sometimes bad people, he felt the need for maternal caresses, those sweet caresses are a balm for the hardly felt human heart, and he vented on that little piece of paper the intensity of his affections.
The day of departure arrived and the intrepid Luigi, simulating the displeasure to leave the family, remained calm and prudent until the last moment, giving courage to his parents and repeating, between a hug and a handshake: "When I will be twenty years I will return, when I will be twenty years old I want to be the pride of the family. Yes ... I will be "and he left.
But when he was alone, in his third-class compartment, he gave vent to his tears and with death in his heart he said goodbye to the beautiful Parthenope, where he left his loved ones, to Italy, his beloved homeland, to the beautiful ever blue sky, to fertile countryside, to the luxuriant city, and with his head in his hands, he fell into complete abandonment, until his mind, clouded by the painful and various emotions, clouded his sight. It made him lose the notions of what had happened, it made begin a dream his past and he felt only the jerks and the dull noise of the convoy like a beating and repeating of doors, a recollection of memories and dreams, a set of leaves shook by the wind.
5
After a few days of tiring voyage, Luigi arrived in London, the city with the eternal fogs, it welcomed and adopted the poor Italian boy, but it always conserved its existence as a strict stepmother, subjecting him to the hardest trials, to the hardest fights, to the most harsh rigors and making him experience all the atrocious spasms of the exile, the humiliations of the needy, all the moral and physical pains. As soon as he arrived he was hosted by a relative of a friend of his, and the following day he showed up at an agency to look for a place to earn a living; he was offered a post of garcon in a small pension, and he willingly accepted, just to start work, since he could stay under the responsibility of a with a modest work. In the new place, he was in charge of the hardest services, the most tiring tasks, and in return very little inedible food and inhumane treatments; but he had to endure, because, beyond the need, he wanted to learn English at any cost (not knowing anything about this language, he tried to make himself understood using a bad French he had learned by himself in six months in Italy).
He endured all the hardships, though he often swallowed bitter tears.
After some time, he went to another pension, then into a bourgeois family, and even here he counted a succession of troubles; he occupied other places, always tiring and not very lucrative. Finally he found a "place" in a palace of a Milord, who had since six months a model of bride, a dear and beautiful Lady of twenty years with physical qualities and with the most noble virtues that woman can hold.
The two spouses took Louis as a close look, they took an interest in him; and soon he became their "enfant gaité" (darling).
Giorgio, as the masters called him, was their trustee, and his only mission, in that house, was to bring to the masters, on their orders, a tray with three glasses filled with champagne, one for each master and the other for him. So much was their affection for him that, in the evening, they did not retire to their rooms if their "enfant gaité" had not gone to rest before.
But, like gold, he had to be tried by fire, therefore his adverse destiny did not want to abandon him.
Now he had found a delightful oasis in the desert of his life, he had the misfortune of meeting in the "house master" a perverse man, whose bad instincts, aided by envy, flared up and changed into a relentless hatred for the poor Luigi. The wicked man always amused himself by torturing him with words and deeds, and he bitterly bit the day with his sneers, his lashings, his outrages, continually tearing his wound with the scorn of his beloved homeland "Italy".
Perhaps it was the most painful period of his life and we can easily understand it by looking at it from the psychic side. We think about the poor Luigi alone, without relatives; without friends; let us think of his heart, very much tried by the troubles, the incessant fever of nostalgia that tortured him and we imagined his sad thoughts, his melancholic days, his painful vigils.
Let's see him sad and meditative to tread the foreign soil, wander among unknown people, speak a different idiom, look at a foreign sky and we think about his patriot love magnified by distance, changing to the profound religion that painted Italy not as a beloved land, but as a Supreme Idol, infusing him with courage, giving him faith, constancy, stirring up his leaps and heroic deeds, exhorting him to noble undertakings and making him repeat the verses of Cavallotti in the Song of Songs: