was the year when I wrote duemilaequattro my first story.
The cesarean spoke of a 'shocking image.
In this late summer evening there I was leafing on the network until the meeting random this article.
With this incredible city and its wall without end. Or start.
Sweets and hard both, as the white Carrara marble fishing.
Qualqilya lights were far away. And Qualqilya drowned in the fog, or maybe it was the fog that choked. This was wondering Hadin, hung on the window sill as he chewed a straw twists of its juice to fishing, in a plodding pajamas too long and wiping the droplets of the mouth with elbows.
Qualqilya from there, it seemed the stage of Milan, although he actually stage of Milan had never seen. But AC Milan should have had more or less like a stage.
He would certainly Nahed told the next day at breakfast.
The shadow of the straw was dreadfully long to the ground outside the window and moving the lips Hadin could write his full name on the stones ...
Well not exactly full.
If scowls then, his lips rippling shadow on the ground become short, too short, almost forced to break up a ball against the wall just below the sill, and he had to lean and rock to see it again.
But if you smile ... If you smiled the shadow soaring swiftly toward the infinite sky and instantly reach for the stars, small and unreachable. The same stars that were clinging to the sky above Qualqilya and perhaps thought Hadin, the same that shone on Monday night in East Jerusalem
still smiling and doing with the straw tickled to God, on the ground and jumped Hadin put in half unmade bed. Hoping to stay, at least tonight.
The sun we know, awake first the suburbs and then the whole world. But this time it was Hadin to wake up the sun.
Six years. It was his day.
He left the warm bed and went fast on the road, barefoot and wet straw stuck to his cheek. With his eyes full of morning greeted Nahed that time had wrought on time. No breakfast together, then.
In fact, he never Nahed and were seated at the table next to one another: Nahed had initially thought that it would avoid or do not want to close because of hands on time that he forgot to wash, but then, lavandosele seeing that did not get anything, Hadin had calmed say they simply different times. Or rather, Nahed them other than him and he had even committed, could not get them the same as those of Nahed.
And then there was a chair in the kitchen alone. Throughout the house there was a single chair.
And it was the seat of Nahed.
watched him look up to see it disappear down the road, shrouded by dust from the ground that his lopsided walk raised at every step.
The straw fell to the ground exhausted.
Hadin did not move expected property that took off the sun, a sign that her birthday was finally arrived. He waited. Sitting by the roadside with the watchful eye of those who expect only the train home. The narrow feet in the hands in an attempt to heat at least part of the body. The eyes hidden under the eyelids watched the dawn of an eyelash and other breathing restless imitated the whistle of a winter wind. It was late. Hadin was resolved to come, content to wait for his guest staring through the glass of the window.
Suddenly a light peered timidly from behind the wall: and the face of God Hadin painted a smile indomitable.
ran into the kitchen and washed away the remnants of the night and his five years that still stained eyes. Full of enthusiasm, climbed on the table, grabbed a box of cookies Nahed and stole one. Two, because it was his birthday. Three, because it was great now. Four, not to leave one all alone in the box.
went down quickly, hid the empty box under the stove and went to the window.
While doing this, the smile of God was indelibly on the face of Hadin.
If the sun each morning was delayed for some months now, was surely the fault of the wall.
One day there was nothing, but then the next day to plant the fence, have uprooted Nahed of fifty olive trees and the rest was left on the other side, across the street, along with the name of the street and the lady of the hens who lived before them. And now he had taken away the address that first share.
And every night the lights of the guard towers lit up his bed as a stage, and the evening Hadin just could not sleep. And then wandered around the house like a drunken man, peering through the back window of the Israeli soldiers, trying to guess the color of their eyes, hidden under a visor, he thought, without sun was really unnecessary. And when all around there was too much silence and stillness in the air gave him nausea, Hadin ran in the room and threw himself against the window sill where Qualqiliya awaited him, unarmed and glistening, surrounded by a glow her intimately.
And the sight of the spectacle free of charge, to Hadin shining eyes, glittering and unarmed. Unarmed for real.
That morning the fog was taking it all away.
Hadin dressed in haste, arguing with the sleeves and a bit 'with the cuffs that remained relentlessly stuck to the elbows. Then, with a brisk pace, headed
the bed, we put it under his arm and dragged him with the old ball Nahed.
began to play making it bounce on the invisible wall, which was distinguished with difficulty between the low clouds.
Bam, bam, bam, and the entire West Bank stood in silence to listen Hadin, because when the wall was talking like that to a child, there was nothing to add.
Hadin And he wondered, before the clouds inconsistent knew respond with such violence, and then kicked stronger and stronger as they replied.
of a sudden the ball came back with more force and Hadin fell to the ground unconscious.
When he opened his eyes, the sky was watching him.
Feeling excessively observed Hadin got up, stumbled and fell sitting.
Tired of the continual ups and downs, he jumped up once and for all, with the world turned around, walked towards the door chiudendosela decided firmly behind him.
The house was empty intimately. A solemn silence enveloped all things. Hadin rapt in cloth believed to be a ghost with his voice dubbed by the wind.
Then the ghost began to feel nostalgia for his ball and went back to being a real boy. With the voice that overcame the wind.
Looking out the window began to throw the ball against the wall of fog, with his hands this time. Bam, bam, and the third launch of the wall did not answer anymore.
Now that the wall had finally stopped talking to Hadin, Israel could at least wake up.
Hadin heard the voices on the other side, but did not understand what they said. His ball was definitely seeing the face of those voices. In fact, maybe those rumors were turning to her.
wrinkles on the forehead of concern Hadin drew three parallel lines, just above his nose ice cream.
Hadin restless waited. And Israel went indifferent to sleep. Then anger rose up to his ears, and they became red with disappointment.
went out and kicked the clouds, with tears in his eyes, huge drops that were eaten with arrogance fragments of fog.
knocked the wall with his hands, feet, heads and knees. Nothing.
He called loudly Aslam, maybe between a hen and the other would revive the ball. Nothing.
Dejected sat on the ground, his back against the wall and head drowning in the sweater. With the breath was held Hadin warm and flushed cheeks with tears stained the ground. Her hiccups was the only accompaniment to the sound of the wind.
In the unusual melody of the guitars were missing entirely. This too would tell Nahed on his return. And while the passing of thought consoled him, watches Qualqilya chasing the morning hours.
And after a while 'the ball back.
Aslam was old, frail his walk, his gait unsteady.
Hadin thanked disbelief and ran towards the ball.
And while the lady of the chickens coming home and Hadin six years old, Israel and the West Bank continued to turn over in bed and ignore the sun, now was built a long time.
[What I have left, Giraldi Editore, 2008]
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