Earth Father Ci avevo passato le dita sopra. Avevo anche chiuso gli occhi. Facevo scivolare il polpastrello dell’indice sull’intera superficie. Dall’alto in basso. Poi quando passavo sul buco, mezza unghia si arenava. Lo facevo su tutte le vetrine. A volte nei fori entrava l’intero polpastrello, a volte mezzo. Poi aumentai la velocità, percorrevo la superficie liscia in modo disordinato come se il mio dito fosse una sorta di verme impazzito che entrava ed usciva dai buchi, superava gli avvallamenti, scorazzando sul vetro. Sin quando il polpastrello mi si tagliò di netto. Continuai a strisciarlo lungo la vetrina lasciando un alone acquoso rosso porpora. Aprii gli occhi. Un dolore sottile, immediato. Il buco si era riempito di sangue. Smisi di fare l’idiota ed iniziai a succhiare la ferita.
I fori dei kalashnikov sono perfetti. Si stampano violenti sui vetri blindati, scavano, intaccano, sembrano dei tarli che mordicchiano e poi lasciano la galleria. I colpi di mitra visti da lontano danno un’impressione strana, come decine di bollicine formatesi nel cuore del vetro, tra le diverse patine blindate. Quasi nessun commerciate dopo una sventagliata di kalashnikov sostituisce le vetrine. Qualcuno spreme dentro i fori la pasta di silicone, qualcun’altro li copre con nastri adesivi neri, la parte maggiore lascia così com’è il tutto. Una vetrina blindata di un negozio può cost as much as five thousand euro, so better to keep these decorations violent. And then in the end, maybe even become attractive to buyers who stay with curiosity, wondering what has happened, enjoying himself with the owner of the year, in fact maybe even buy something more than it should. Rather than replace the armored glass is expected that maybe they do implode with the next gust. At that point, the insurance pays, so if you arrive early in the morning and make the clothes disappear, the burst of gunfire is headed as a robbery. Shoot the windows is not always an act of intimidation, a message from the car with bullets, but rather a necessity military. When there's lots of new Kalashnikov must test them. See if they work, see if the barrel is well made, gain confidence, ensure that shippers do not jam. Could have machine guns in the country, the windows of old armored cars, buy smashing plates in peace. They do not. Sparano instead on shop windows, on doors, on the shutters, a reminder that there is nothing that can not be them and that everything is basically a temporary concession, a delegation of an economy that only they distribute. A concession, nothing but a concession that could be revoked at any time. And then there is also an indirect benefit because in the area and glass that have the best prices on the armored glass are all linked to the clans, and therefore more damaged windows, more money for glass. The previous night had arrived thirty Kalashnikov from the east. From Macedonia. Skopije - Gricignano d'Aversa, traveling fast, assured that the Camorra had filled the garage with machine guns and shotguns. The Camorra, the curtain fell just met the socialist leaders of communist parties in disarray. Sat at the negotiating table representing the West powerful, capable and quiet. Given the crisis of their clan acquired informally from eastern states: Romania, Poland, former Yugoslavia, whole stores weapons and pay salaries to the custodians for years, the seedlings, the officers involved in the preservation of military resources. So a part of the defense kept the clan became camoristici. The best way at the bottom to hide the weapons and keep them in the barracks. So over the years, despite the shifts of the leaders, the internal feuds, and the seizures were the boss as a reference, not the black market of arms, but the deposits of the eastern armies at their disposal. The machine guns that time they had been crammed into army trucks that showed off the track on the flanks of NATO. Tir stolen from garage Americans, and that thanks to the writing could easily turn to Italy half. A NATO base Gricignano d'Aversa Colossus is a little inaccessible, like a pillar of concrete placed in the middle of a plain. You do not see the Americans almost never. The controls are rare. The trucks have maximum freedom of NATO, and so when the weapons arrived in the country, drivers were also stopped in the square, they had breakfast, they sponged the cappuccino and croissant in asking around the bar to be able to contact "a couple of blacks to download stuff, quickly. " And the term "fast" everybody knows what it means. The crates of weapons are just a little 'heavier boxes of tomatoes, the African boys who want to do overtime after working in the countryside, take a two-euro cash il quadruplo di una cassetta di pomodori o mele. Una volta lessi su rivista della NATO – dedicata ai familiari dei militari all’estero – un articoletto dedicato a chi doveva venire a Gricignano d’Aversa . Tradussi il brano e me lo scrissi su un’agenda. Per ricordarlo. Diceva : “per capire dove state andando ad abitare, dovete immaginarvi i film di Sergio Leone. E’ come il far west, c’è chi comanda, ci sono sparatorie, regole non scritte e inattaccabili. Ma voi non preoccupatevi. Verso i cittadini ed i militari americani ci sarà il massimo rispetto e la massima ospitalità. In ogni caso uscite solo se necessario dal comprensorio militare.” Mi aiutò quell’articolista Yankees to better understand the place where I lived.
Mariano That morning he had a strange euphoria. He was very excited before the bar. You wound up in the first Martini in the morning.
- What do you have?
asked him all. Even the bartender refused to fill his fourth glass. But he did not answer, like when you do not answer because he who asks the question has already in some way the ability to understand and if he does not just laziness.
- I do I want to meet, they told me that he is still alive. But is it true?
- What is it?
- But as it did. I bring all I take vacations, and I am ready to learn ..
- Who? What?
was completely ecstatic.
- Do you realize, it is light, precise, then shoot twenty or thirty shots, and not even five minutes have passed ... it's brilliant invention!
The bartender looked at him like watching a kid who has penetrated for the first time a woman, and brings to decipher an expression on his face, the same as Adam. A gesture that every person in the world has made and will make but that everyone will live as a pioneer. The bartender knew what came from the euphoria, the boy saw his face, and perhaps the same eccitazione di quando era giovane. Subito versò il quinto Martini, questo però lo offrì alla salute del ragazzo. Mariano aveva provato per la prima volta un kalashnikov ed era rimasto così favorevolmente impressionato dall’aggeggio che voleva incontrare il suo inventore, il tenete Mihail Kalashnikov . Non aveva mai sparato a nessuno, nel clan era entrato per seguire la distribuzione di alcune marche di caffè in diversi bar del territorio. Ogni bar si rivolgeva ad agenti commerciali affiliati alle famiglie che proteggevano alcune marche precise di caffè e Mariano, che si era laureato in Economia e Commercio, aveva il compito di trattare con gli agenti delle aziende che volevano mettersi in affari con il clan ed aumentare il loro guadagno. Aveva una rete di commercio dal basso Lazio alla Lucania. Giovanissimo aveva responsabilità di decine di milioni di euro poiché erano centinaia i bar e le aziende di caffè che volevano entrare nella rete commerciale del clan. Il capozona però non voleva che i suoi uomini laureati o no, soldati o dirigenti commerciali, non fossero capaci di sparare e così gli aveva dato il mitra in mano. Di notte Mariano aveva scaricato un po’ di pallottole su diverse vetrine, scegliendo i bar a caso. Non era un avvertimento, ma insomma anche se lui non sapeva il reale motivo per cui sparava su quelle vetrine, i proprietari sicuramente un motivo valido l’avrebbero trovato. Una causa per sentirsi in errore c’è sempre. Mariano chiamava il mitra con tono truce e professionale: AK 47. Il nome ufficiale della mitragliatrice più celebre al mondo. Un nome piuttosto semplice, dove AK sta per “avtomatni kalashnikova”, ovvero “l’automatica di Kalashnikov”, e dove 47 si riferisce all’anno della sua selezione come arma per l’esercito sovietico. Le armi spesso hanno nomi cifrati, lettere e numeri che dovrebbero celare la loro potenza letale, simboli di spietatezza. In realtà sono ridicoli, banali nomi dati da qualche sottoufficiale incaricato di rubricare in deposito nuove armi come nuovi bulloni. 
L’ultima volta che avevo sentito dei colpi di mitra era stato qualche anno fa. Vicino all’Università of Santa Maria Capua Vetere , I forget, was a crossroads, however, I'm sure. Four cars blocked the car of Sebastian Caterino, a Camorra has always been close to Antonio Bardellino the boss of bosses of the Camorra Caserta in the 80s and 90s, with an orchestra of Kalashnikov el'hanno massacred. When the leadership changed and disappeared Bardellino Caterino, managed to escape, to escape the slaughter. For thirteen years had not left the house, she lived hidden, they stepped outside at night, disguised, leaving the door of his farmhouse in armored cars and spend their lives outside his country. He thought he had found a new credibility after so many years di silenzio. Credeva che il clan rivale ormai dimentico del passato, non avrebbe attaccato un vecchio leader come lui. E così si era messo a tirar su un nuovo clan a Santa Maria Capua Vetere, la vecchia città romana era diventata il suo feudo. Il maresciallo di San Cipriano d’Aversa , il paese di Caterino, quando è arrivato sul luogo dell’agguato, ha avuto un’unica frase: l’hanno fatto male proprio! Qui infatti dipende da quanti colpi ricevi per valutare come sei stato trattato. Essere ucciso non è condizione oggettiva di per se di condanna spietata. In fondo la sola morte non concede la misura del dolore. Se ti ammazzano con delicatezza, un colpo alla testa o alla pancia, viene letta come un operazione necessary, surgical, without rancor. Put over two hundred rounds into the car and more than forty in the body is instead an absolute way to unsubscribe from the liver of the earth. The Camorra has a long memory and capable of infinite patience. Thirteen years, one hundred fifty-six months, four Kalashnikov rifles, two hundred shots, a bullet for each month of waiting. The weapons in some areas have even a trace of memory, retain in themselves with envy, then spit out a sentence at the right time.
That morning I spent the fingers on the decorations with machine gun wearing a backpack. I was about to leave, I had to go to my cousin in Milan. It 's funny how you talk with anyone, Whatever the subject, just say you're going to go away receive greetings, congratulations and enthusiastic reviews: this is how it's done. Make great, I would too. You do not have to add details, specify what you're going to do. You just say to start. In and of itself, regardless of what you're going to do, since what is good and positive. Better than living here. Whatever the reason is more important than that you will continue to live in these areas. When people ask me where I am, never replies. I would say the south, but I think too much rhetoric. Then when you ask me on a train, I fixed your feet and pretend not to hear, as I recall conversations Vittorini in Sicily, and risk, if only I open my mouth, chanting voice of Sylvester Ferrato. It is not the case. The times change, the voices are the same. En route, however, I happened to meet a fat woman stuck in a bad way sediolino Eurostar. Had risen to Bologna with an incredible desire to speak to engulf even the time over his body. He insisted to know where I came from, what I did, where I went. I wanted to respond by showing the wound in the fingertip, and that's it. But I gave up. I replied: I am in Naples. A city for putting so much just say that to break free from any kind of response. A place where evil becomes all the evil and the good all good. I fell asleep.
My cousin was waiting for me at the station. He worked in a large construction company founded with the CostruGe capital of our parts. He had requested a permit to an hour to pick me up and immediately returned to the office. The palace stands impressively CostruGe. Overlooked with its neon sign on the ball of the fountain in San Babila. What south robbed, collecting tons of sand from the coast Domitia, inert material extracted from quarries abusive, ended up in houses built in Lombardy and Veneto. CostruGe was the fastest construction company in Milan. Low-cost skilled labor, workers finished work got shit to south again, scomparendo velocemente. Assicurazioni finte, prezzi bassissimi, qualità esponenzialmente brillante. Mio cugino lavorava nei loro uffici. Avrebbe voluto presentarmi il suo capoufficio. Era di Varese ma sapeva di dover trattare bene le persone compaesane di coloro che gli davano il suo stipendio e conterranee delle migliori maestranze della sua azienda. Non entrai. Rimasi fuori. Un passo prima di essere identificato dalla fotocellula che avrebbe fatto aprire le porte, capii che non avrei neanche voluto guardare quel dirigente di Varese. Lasciai mio cugino entrare a lavoro. La prima cosa che mi venne in mente fu di chiudere gli occhi e passare il polpastrello sui vetri blindati dell’entrata dell’azienda. Lo feci. Nessun foro. Avrei avuto voglia la notte same again. The neon Piazza San Babila I bounced on the eyelids. All the same. I had changed the place, was not changed anything. My desire was satisfied to leave soon. The next morning, very early Mariano called me anxious. They needed a bit 'of accountants and organizers for a very delicate operation that some employers in our area were doing in Rome. John Paul II was ill, perhaps even had died but had not yet made official the news. Shops, hotels, restaurants, supermarkets, needed in a few days of massive and extraordinary supplies of all types of product. There was to be gained by a sea of \u200b\u200bmoney, millions of individuals in a very short time they would revert the capital, living on the streets, spending hours on the sidewalk, having to drink, eat, buy a word. We could triple the price, sell at any time, even at night, squeezing profit from every minute. Mariano was summoned, and asked me to join him for this kindness I would spend some money. Nothing is free. Even the friendship, when heard, is rewarded with a bribe grateful. Mariano had been promised a month's leave so that we can realize the dream of going to Russia to meet Mikhail Kalashnikov, he had even had assurances from a male family friend of the Russian Don Mezzanotte, who had sworn to know Kalashnikov. Mariano could meet him so, fissarlo negli occhi, toccare le mani che avevano inventato il potente mitra. Don Mezzanotte invece voleva una sua foto autografata. Con dedica ovviamente. In meno di due settimana la camorra era riuscita ad organizzare a Roma un piano economico che qualsiasi impresa avrebbe raggiunto soltanto dedicando un piano biennale di pianificazione. Centinaia di camion usati in tutt’Italia per distribuire prodotti tecnologici, cemento, cassette di frutta, divennero in una notte tir da trasporto alimentare. In poche ore i clan avevano dirottato sulla capitale tutti i camion che dovevano arrivare ai supermarket della loro rete in mezza Italia. Chi in altre parti del paese attendeva rifornimenti si vide costretto ad attendere. Ma i tir non bastavano, una decina bisognava sequestrarli, in fact rob them. Too few men were stationed on the roads of the north are ready for robbery and thus triggering the usual game. The Camorra sent their men home to some truckers in Formia, Latina who call mobile phones for drivers traveling from fixed their families. The drivers went to answer the phone, seeing the word "home" screen saver, but they responded listened to the voice of "friends" rather than wives. Then the men of the clan did not need to do is give an indication of an address where to download the stuff, no more than that for which they were hired, but one to which the Camorra had felt a need to deploy the products. A robbery without guns, no threats, robbery without even reveal the intention to rob. Mariano in Rome was charged along with other economic officials of the clan to meet agents and store owners to suggest products overtime. The prices suggested that the Camorra were convenient and could count on the added value of prompt distribution. One, however, was the product most in demand, water. Demand for bottles of 'water would be enormous and even more controls Commodities nuclei were void. The gain, with a little 'entrepreneurial spirit could be exterminated. Thus, thousands of empty bottles piled up for recycling of plastic, Aversa Tower of Greek, became the swell, if compressed, sterilized and filled with water but not the sources of the taps. Thousands of plants in sealed bottles of entrepreneurs close to the clan, contained tap water paid by the municipalities in Campania and sold as still water in used bottles. A gain of 500%. But not enough sales office, also needed to control the abuse. So gleaned the hawkers on the trains, were sent to Rome, but were not enough. The clans had to compete with stores to which they themselves had sold the wholesale goods. So were involved that they stopped peddle pushers and peddlers in tasformandosi abusive, sales of sandwiches, bagels, water and beers. This transformation of all social services and recovery of the nation would not be able to do in the years the clan had a few moments. The Camorra in forty-eight hours he had put on his car business is ready to welcome the faithful as having cash and needs. Adam Smith would have been proud of my part of the clan.
Rome on the day of the funeral of the Pope was a charnel house. Unable to recognize the faces of the roads, paths, sidewalks. A single skin of flesh had played the tar, the revenue of the buildings, windows, a flow that is channeled into the possibilities of space. A cast that seemed to increase its volume up to explode channels that flowed. Wherever human beings. Everywhere. A frightened dog was hiding under a bus shaking had seen all his vital space violated by the feet and legs. Mariano and I stopped there on the steps of a building. The only one away from a group that had decided to sing as a vote for six hours on a song inspired by St. Francis. We sat down to eat a sandwich. I was exhausted. Mariano but never tired, all energy was being paid and this made him feel constantly load. I noticed a girl in a group of believers, I think Lebanese. I have a thing to photograph faces, to take portraits. But only by accident. I hate to set the scene. She had learned the complicated. A fleshy face, and holes where the eyes of nose appears to someone who had taken the pieces of material, from pulp of the face. Black hair and thick lips. I had to photograph it. Tempted to do so, cacciai the machine, but I was not in time. Human trafficking was too complex. Stuffed into a few rows of the faithful and I had to go against traffic. I lost it. But as I tried to go back to Mariano I heard someone call. Even before I had to turn around who it was. It was my father. For two years we had not seen, had lived in the same city and never meet. Incredible find in the labyrinth of Roman meat. My father was embarrassed. He did not know how to say hello and maybe even if he could do as he wished. But it was euphoric as those trips where you know in a few hours you will understand beautiful things, that the same can not be repeated for the next three months at least, and then you drink it all, hear all the way, but quickly, for fear of losing the other happiness in the little time that remains. That a Romanian company had taken advantage of flight had lowered the cost of flights to Italy due to the death of the Pope, and so he paid the ticket for the whole family of his companion. All women of the group had a veil on her hair and a crown of beads wrapped around her wrist. Can not figure out which way we were, just remember a huge sheet that stood between two buildings. Eleventh commandment: Do not push and not be pushed. Written in 12 languages.
Erano contenti i nuovi parenti di mio padre. Contentissimi di partecipare ad un evento così importante come la morte del Papa. Tutti sognavano sanatorie per gli immigrati. Soffrire per lo stesso motivo, partecipare ad una manifestazione così immensa e universale era per questi rumeni, il miglior modo di prendere cittadinanza sentimentale e oggettiva con l’Italia, ancor prima che quella formale. Mio padre adorava Giovanni Paolo II, il fascino di quest’uomo che faceva baciare a tutti la sua mano lo esaltava. Come era riuscito senza palesi riccati e chiare strategie a raggiungere quel potere immenso d’ascolto, lo intrigava. Tutti i potenti si inginocchiavano dinanzi a lui. Per mio padre questo bastava per ammirare un uomo. Lui stesso lo vidi inginocchiarsi assieme alla madre della sua compagna per recitare un rosario improvvisato per strada. Dal mucchio di parenti rumeni, vidi spuntare un bimbo. Capii subito che era il figlio di mio padre e di Micaela. Sapevo che era nato in Italia per poter avere cittadinanza, ma che per esigenze della madre aveva sempre vissuto in Romania. Cercava di tenersi ancorato alla gonna della madre. Non l’avevo mai visto ma conoscevo il suo nome. Stefano Nicolae. Stefano come il padre di mio padre, Nicolae come il padre di Micaela. Mio padre lo chiamava Stefano, sua madre ed i suoi zii rumeni Nico. In breve sarebbe stato chiamato Nico, ma mio padre non aveva ancora avuto il tempo d’essere sconfitto. Ovviamente il primo dono che aveva ricevuto dal padre appena down from the stairs of the plane, had a ball. My father saw the son for the second time but treated him as if they had been before his eyes. Picked him up and approached me.
- Nico now is to live here. In this land. In the land of his father.
I do not know why, but the child was saddened expression, dropped the ball on the ground, I managed to stop him with one foot before it is irretrievably lost in the crowd. I was suddenly reminded of the mixed smell of salt and dust, concrete and garbage. A damp smell. I remembered when I was twelve years on the beach Pinetamare. My father came into my room, I was just awake. Maybe on Sunday:
- Tuo cugino ti rendi conto già sa sparare e tu? Sei meno di lui?
Mi portò al Villaggio Coppola sul litorale domizio. La spiaggia era una miniera abbandonata di utensili divorati dalla salsedine e avvolti in croste di calce. Sarei stato a scavare per giorni interi, trovando cazzuole, guanti, scarponi sfondati, zappe spaccate, picconi sbeccati ma non venivo portato lì per giocare nella spazzatura. Mio padre passeggiava cercando i bersagli, quelli che preferiva erano le bottiglie. Quelle Peroni, le predilette. Non so perché. Mise le bottiglie sul tetto di una 127 bruciata, ce n’erano molti di scheletri d’auto. Le spiagge di Pinetamare erano usate anche per raccogliere tutte le macchine bruciate usate per rapine or ambushes. The Beretta 92FS I remember my father again. It was all scratched on the body, it looked grizzled, old lady gun. Everyone knows how M9 do not know why. But I always hear the quote with this name: I have put a M9 between the eyes, I have to hunt the M9? Cabbage should I get a M9. My father put his hand on the Beretta. I heard very heavy. The heaviest thing I had taken in hand along with a beautiful jar of oil that tried to raise a few years earlier. The butt of the gun is rough, it's like sandpaper, you stick it in the palm and when you pulled his gun hand it seems that you scratch with its serrated. My dad showed me how to remove the safety, cock the gun, spread arm, close your right eye if the target was left to bet.
- Robb's arm, but rather soft. In short, quiet but not flabby ... use both hands ..
Before pulling the trigger with the full force of the two indexes that are pushing each other, shut my eyes, shrugged his shoulders as if I wanted to shut my ears with the shoulders. The sound of gunfire still gives me a terrible nuisance. Do I have any problem with timpani. I remain stunned for a half hour after shot. A Pinetamare the Coppola, a family of entrepreneurs very powerful allies, well, built the largest conurbation in the west abusive, Villaggio Coppola, precisely. It was not sought permission was not needed in these areas calls for tender and permissions are ways to dramatically increase production costs because we must oleare too many bureaucratic procedures. So you go directly with betonerie. Hundreds of pounds of concrete took the place of one of the most beautiful pine forests of the Mediterranean Sea. Towers were built palaces from which he felt the sea telephones. Have now been demolished, the Southern Renaissance was made with dynamite. Pinetamare is now a cost of rubble, the first vertical horizontal hours. The change of direction is the goal achieved. When finally centrai the first target of my life I felt a mixed feeling of pride e senso di colpa. Ero stato capace di sparare, finalmente ero capace. Nessuno poteva più farmi del male. Ma ormai avevo imparato ad usare un arnese orrendo. Uno di quelli che una volta che lo sai usare non puoi più smettere di usarlo. Come imparare ad andare in bicicletta. Una volta che hai preso l’equilibrio non riuscirai mai più a perderlo. La bottiglia non era esplosa completamente. Anzi era persino rimasta in piedi. Sventrata a metà. La metà destra. Mio padre si allontanò verso la macchina. Io rimasi lì con la pistola, ma è strano non mi sentii solo, nonostante fossi circondato da spettri di spazzatura e metallo. Tesi il braccio verso il mare e tirai altri due colpi nell’acqua. Non li vidi schizzare, né forse reached the water. But it hit the sea, it seemed a brave thing. My father came with a leather ball, above the portrait of Maradona. The premium for the target. Then he came to my face as always. I could feel his breath of coffee. He was satisfied, now at least his son was no less of his brother's son. We did the usual chant, his catechism:
- Robb, is a man without a degree and with the gun?
- One asshole with a gun.
- Bravo. What is a man with a gun without a degree?
- A turd with graduating ...
- Bravo. What with a degree and with the gun?
- A man, Dad!
- Robertino Bravo!
Nico walked still uncertain. My father spoke in bursts. He did not understand the child. For the first time I speak Italian even if the mother was smart enough to let it be born here.
- Do you like Robert?
I looked at the bottom. And I was happy for him. Not like me at all.
- Fortunately, it looks like me!
My father looked at me with her usual expression of disappointment, as I jokingly say that even now he heard what he wanted to hear. I always had the impression that my father was at war with someone. As if it were to do battle with alliances, precautions, big cars. Go a hotel for two seats for my father was like someone to lose prestige. How should it be accountable to an entity that would be punished violently if he had lived in wealth and an authoritarian attitude and comic.
- The best Robb, should not need anyone, should know for sure, but it must also be scary. If you do not scare anyone, if no call is not intimidates, then basically you were not able to be truly capable of.
When we went out to eat in restaurants often felt annoyed that the waiters served, even if they entered an hour after us, some people in the area. The boss sat and after a few minutes you will receive throughout the room. My father greeted them. But between his teeth rasped the desire to have their same respect. Compared with envy that was to generate equal power, equal concern, the same wealth.
- those you see them. They are really in command. They decide everything! There are those who controls the words and who controls the property. You have to understand who controls things, and pretend to believe in who controls the words. But you always know the truth I cover you. Who really controls only controls things.
Masters of things, as he called my father were sitting at the table. Bardellino Antonio, Mario Iovine, Francesco Schiavone, Francesco Bidognetti. They had decided the fate of these lands forever. Charged with their huge capital firms who then planted in Veneto, in Bavaria, in Provence, in London, Brazil, leaving only cement in their countries, illegal, and soldiers. They ate together, smiling. In the years between then they slaughtered them, leaving trails of thousands of deaths, as characters of their financial investments. Don Antonio, however, knew how to fix the rudeness of being served first. Lunch offered to all in the room. But only after have gone, for fear of receiving thanks and flattery. All but two had lunch paid people. Iannotti The professor and his wife. They had greeted Don Antonio, and he had not dared offer lunch. But the gift was made through a waiter for a bottle of limoncello. A Camorra knows that he must also take care of the enemies for they are more loyal than those precious hidden. When I receive a negative example of what my father was Professor Iannotti. They had been at school together. Iannotti lived in dense, driven by his party, no children, always pissed off and badly dressed. He taught at two years of high school, I remember always arguing with parents who asked his friend to whom send their children to repeat them to promote private. My father regarded him as a man condemned. A dead man walking.
- It 's like those who decide to be a philosopher e chi il medico, secondo te chi dei due decide della vita di una persona?
- Il medico!
- Bravo. Il medico. Perché puoi decidere della vita delle persone. Decidere. Salvarli o non salvarli. E’ così che si fa il bene, solo quando puoi fare il male. Se invece sei un fallito, un buffone, uno che non fa nulla. Allora puoi fare solo il bene, ma quello è volontariato, uno scarto di bene. Il bene vero è quando scegli di farlo perché puoi fare il male.
Io non rispondevo. Non riuscivo mai a capire cose volesse realmente dimostrarmi. E in fondo non riesco nemmeno ora a capirlo. Sarà anche per questo che mi sono laureato in filosofia, per non decidere al posto di nessuno. My father had done in the ambulance service as a young doctor in the 80s. Four hundred deaths per year. In areas where they also killed five people per day. He arrived with an ambulance, but when the ground was injured and police have not yet arrived we could not upload it. Because if the item arrived, the killer came back chasing the ambulance entered the vehicle and ended up blocking the character on the couch. Had happened dozens of times, and both physicians and nurses knew they had to stand still in front of a wounded and wait for the killers would return to finish the operation. But once my father came to Giugliano, a paesone between Naples and Caserta, fief of the Mallard, one of the clan's most powerful and capable of noon. The boy was eighteen years old, or maybe not. He had been shot in the chest but a rib had deflected the blow. The ambulance came quickly. It was in the area. The boy gasping, screaming, losing blood. My father took him up. The nurses were terrified. They tried to dissuade him, in short, we see that the killers were able to shoot just because they put to flight by a patrol, but certainly would return. The nurses tried to reassure my father
- wait. They end up the service and brought it.
My father could not take it. In short, anche la morte ha i suoi tempi. E diciotto anni non gli sembrava il tempo per morire, neanche per un soldato di camorra. Lo caricò, lo portò all’ospedale e fu salvato. La notte, andarono a casa sua i killer che non avevano centrato il bersaglio come si doveva. Io non c’ero, abitavo con mia madre. Ma mi fu raccontata talmente tante volte questa storia, troncata sempre nel medesimo punto, che io la ricordo come se a casa ci fossi stato anche io e avessi assistito a tutto. Mio padre credo fu picchiato a sangue, per almeno due mesi non si fece vedere in giro. Per i successivi quattro non riuscì a guardare in faccia nessuno. Non me l’ha mai detto. Ne qualcuno mi ha mai insinuato alcunché, ma io sono certo che dopo averlo pestato for the daring decision to save the boy, asked him to kill himself. Choose to save those who must die means wanting to share his fate, because here the will not change anything. 
is not a decision that can take you away from a problem, not a consciousness, a thought, a choice that really can give you the feeling of acting in the best way. Whatever the thing to do, it will be the wrong one for some reason. This is the true solitude. I never knew what my father has decided to do. I do not want to know. But maybe I know what he did. And that's okay.
Little Nico was back out laughing. Who knows how it will grow, as will be trained in their life, will go to which school, summers in Romania, the villages of poverty. Sexual Initiation accompanied by his father with the best hoes, or maybe his father will not make it any more. Even with his wife, who tries to console himself elsewhere, while her husband tampinerà, the will follow the look. Micaela has more or less the same as my age. Even when she confessed to going to Italy, to go away, they did the good wishes without asking anything, not knowing if he was going to be a whore, the wife, the maid, ol'impieagata. Not knowing who else was going on. Sufficient condition of luck. Nico but obviously not thought of nothing. Tighten the mouth nth Micaela gave to shake that stuff themselves now that could do it. My father asked him for him to eat the ball near the feet, Nico kicked him with full force. The ball bounced on the knees, bones, bits of shoes, dozens of people. My father began to chase it. Knowing that Nicole looked at him awkwardly pretended to dribble a nun, but the ball ran away from the foot again. The small laugh, he saw hundreds of ankles relax before their eyes made him feel in a forest of legs, skirts, ankle boots and sandals. He liked to see the father, our father, his stomach straining to catch that ball. I tried to raise his hand to greet him, now a wall of flesh had stuck. It would have been clogged for a good half hour. Needless to wait. It was really late. The gauge is not even sensed more now since it was swallowed into the stomach of the crowd.
- Goodbye Daddy.
Di Roberto Saviano
