QUELLA LUCE IN FONDO AL TUNNEL
C’è una camera, all’ultimo piano dell’Ospedale Bellaria di S.Lazzaro, a due passi da Bologna. E’ una camera poco illuminata, quasi buia, proprio down the hall.
Inside the room there is a boy, lying on a bed with the covers pulled up to his chest. It seems that sleep, that guy. It has a beautiful face, peaceful, relaxed.
Too bad for those two tubes that come out of the nostrils and connected to the ventilator.
E 'morning, morning.
Outside, along the corridor, you hear footsteps. Steps are slow, tired, exhausted.
They stop right outside the door of the room with the boy inside.
The door opens. On the threshold appears, imposing dark figure of a man.
A man with a newspaper under his arm.
You will hear a short noise. It comes from the man, the noise.
A sigh, maybe. A sob, maybe.
The man runs his hand over his face, maybe it dries a tear.
not be seen, there is too little light.
seems to be asleep, she thinks the man standing in the doorway.
steps over, this time is rapid, decisive. He goes straight into the boy's bed, he stops again. Fumbles a bit 'in his jacket pocket and then takes out a scarf. The man hangs up his scarf at the head of the bed. The scarf is red and blue, and above it says Ultras Bologna. Now swing over the boy's face.
The man observes the face of that guy who seems to sleep.
shakes his head. Even the sound short, maybe another sigh.
The man sits in the chair in faux leather that is between the bed and the window. Directs more light dell'abat lamp, opens the newspaper, folded it right, so you can take with one hand, and the other holds the boy's hand, that no needles, no tubes, no IV.
The man begins to read. Out loud.
not read for himself.
Law for the boy lying in the shadows of the room at Bellaria.
three years, every day.
Read the article on Bologna.
Only today, the article has a great title, very big. And speaking of promotion, Bologna, Pisa and back with wins in Serie A, the party last night in Piazza Maggiore.
the opposite corner of the room there is a strange machine with a screen bright green path lines, graphs and numbers.
Every now emits a buzz.
The boy's world is all there, in the machine that keeps him alive.
What keeps him in a world of red and blue. What keeps him in a nightmare, though.
I can not wake up, Judas pig.
How long am I sleeping?
From time be too much, I do not know.
I know I was coming from Parma. I was happy, very happy.
were four of us, we were with the car of the Faith.
The Bologna won 1 to 0, in Parma. The first leg of the playoff
salvation. It was almost done. Almost done.
remember that we are still afraid, though. You never know in football.
Then, darkness.
sleep. Dream.
But when morning comes?
When he arrives on June 18?
I have to go to the stadium, I must go and see the tie with Parma. The return.
I can not wait.
this dream I like mica. In fact, I do just suck, fuck.
I dreamed that we lost the tie with Parma for 2 to 0, you think.
Whether we lost because we were two goals to rebound, a jinx absurd.
I dreamed the Parma fans who celebrated in St. Luke, we took the piss, that butt of consumer jokes, and their players on the athletics track of the air that hopped and singing. And while I was dreaming all this, I felt like crying, but I could not mica to cry, I knew it was a dream that was not true.
I dreamed that the Messina and Reggina were all cheated, who had not paid taxes and personal income tax and that this should have to go to Serie B for us.
Be ', of course. In addition to Parma, Parma cursed, with our money that had secured the Serie A, home loans, the Garden, and so on.
But I dreamed that we would go anyway, in B. As usual horned and clubs. And ignored by those in power in Italy, the beautiful game in the world.
I dreamed that buying Vignaroli Bologna - stuff you would not believe, Vignaroli - and that gave him the number ten jersey, that of Baggio, that of Lords. I dreamed that came along with a series of blowjobs Vignaroli horrendous, people who in reality could never walk on the lawn of our stadium. One of those unworthy
broccacci Antonazzo called that absurd name.
A rhyming, I even thought of. I dreamed of coming back
Ulivieri, that things were going badly with Ulivieri, and then came around a hedgehog, as it was called ... well, ah, yes, Mandorlini.
But things went bad the same. Then come back Ulivieri, again, and with him his delusions.
but remains in B
Of course the mind makes strange jokes eh? How do they dream of all 'these things impossible?
But it's over. I dreamed that
going on a casino, in football, it was discovered that all what we imagine, what is said in any bar in Bologna, or that the system is rotten and controlled by criminals as Moggi, Galliani, Della Valle. Who stole and steal joy and success to those who fight fairly.
I also dreamed that this scandal had called Calciopoli.
I thought I had more imagination, at least in dreams.
I dreamed that, as usual, at the beginning of the scandal were promised severe penalties, demotions, penalties irrecoverable.
But in the end, in my dream, the penalties were ridiculous, and for us to Bologna, insult was added to years of humiliation,
We were even Juve in Serie B.
Only in series B.
Just right for us to break my balls. Crazy.
the end of this Calciopoli was fished out of the A Messina.
too, come on, even for a dream. Meanwhile
also was still in Parma A.
I dreamed that we pissed off then, we in turn, people on the street, we felt once again taken for a ride, it was time to make us feel.
So did a wonderful event for the B division match against Juventus. I dreamed that we decided to stay out of the curve for a quarter of an hour.
to protest against a football sick, dying, crushed by corruption, crime clearly established its leadership.
I dreamed that the event was coming fine.
And that while we did this wonderful event and very successful, Juventus won, 1 to 0. Stealing more and worse than other times.
I have a really sick and evil mind, I will.
Dreaming 'these things ... bah.
I dreamed that Juve are back in, we returned to Genoa, Napoli. All
protected by referees complacent silence and information from a party. Meanwhile, the
Bologna, Bologna, my, remained at B. Again. With Ulivieri, then assistant coach, Cecconi.
I still had that great desire to cry, but could not.
Then I dreamed that the league started again. The Bologna win, win, won.
Fair? Yes
But always won the other, Judas pig.
Chievo, Lecce, Pisa. All, oh. Albinoleffe
always won, too, so to speak.
And then I thought, now I wake up, I am exhausted. Fuck.
But I could not. That stuff.
Then I dreamed that reached the last game. If the Bologna was being won in Serie A.
A sort of playoff. Like three years ago, as with Parma.
I felt the air move slightly, like when my scarf waving in the stadium. I swear, I feel the same, identical, beautiful.
What is this bright light?
Uh, is to see that morning has arrived. Finally
.
The boy opens his eyes, looks around. The first thing you see is a scarf. A red and blue scarf hanging from the headboard of the bed.
But it is her room, this room.
Why is her room?
And that voice? Where does this voice?
something must have happened. But what?
The man does not realize it, the paper prevents him from seeing that the boy has opened his eyes. Continue reading the article.
The boy turns his face to the voice that is speaking.
An intense itching in the nose makes him a grimace of annoyance.
What are those pipes that have nostrils? The boy
focus. What he sees, what he feels.
begins to understand. To understand something. And above all
recognizes that voice. And
'his father.
E 'without doubt the voice of his father.
His father shakes his hand and did not read anything for at least twenty years.
Yes, it must be something just happened.
The guy is concentrated in the newspaper that his father holds. On that page folded and hanging over his bed.
He still sleepy, so sleepy. And the light is low, very little. But
turn his head slightly and is able to read something.
There are two tables in the bottom of the page. On the first it says the new Series A, Series B on the second The boy
the law as quickly as possible.
Then he smiles.
Bologna is the first. The Parma in the second, a confirmation.
-Oh, Dad, we did it, did you see? - Murmurs.
The man stops reading.
still holds the paper up between him and his son.
But he feels again the noise, the noise about, more, more, more.
You can cry a lot, of joy.
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