Winter's Tale Renzo Puppo
was snowing that day on Genoa. He had not seen a snowfall is so intense, but I had to come out to get to my studio in the historic center, where I was working on a Madonna in terracotta.
I reached the city by train, and walked towards Via della Maddalena.
As usual, the snow changes the world, but I was surprised by the light that illuminated the way that, squeezed between tall buildings, it is usually quite dark. Only in the morning and evening from east to west, the sun with his blade, the light turns on, showing all the cracks, the wrinkles of time, and showing against the passers-by, moving that seem to dance in a golden dust.
's all a play of light, shadow, music, unfamiliar smells, the way that they vibrate like an echo of the East.
that day but all was quiet, no one in the street, not a voice, not a cloth stretched, only the mirrors of the window displays, such as magic lanterns, left to imagine a life at that time absent. Snow White fall reflected the sky between the roofs of the houses, creating a surreal atmosphere, where the only sound was my feet on the snow.
Arriving at the gate I noticed two shadowy black figures, who peered inside. As I approached I noticed that there were two men that seemed cut from a painting by Chagall, dressed in long coats and hats blacks.
From clothing and hairstyles I sensed that they were Jewish. Even their whispered words and the tone friendly and made out of time thinking about their culture.
"Hello, is that she does these things?"
"Good morning to you, yes, they are my ideas. Do you like? "
" Not all, but are original. Restores as well? "
" I never did, but I know of ... .. "
" No! "I interrupted him. I was surprised
dry tone, quite different from friendly than before. There is a suspension of the dialogue ...
embarrassing ... "No, I would like him to do her." Boning, again nice.
"What?"
"Look," he said, pulling out a worn leather travel bag a bundle wrapped in a threadbare towel, and opened it gently, as if it contained a precious jewel. Appeared a little sculpture, probably dating back to Liberty, which represented two animals fighting: a kite black polished as a medieval warrior, with armor broken in several places, and a green frog, too shiny, so they seem wet, without a leg. It was not clear which one was the aggressor and who was defending.
"There are all the pieces, you can help me?"
Only one of the two men spoke, the other was still nodding to the words of the first, like a chorus mimic the protagonist.
"I could try. It seems to me that the parts match perfectly. I could try ... .. "
" Good. "I interrupted again. "I trust you. Know that this object belongs to my family for a long time. For me it has a special meaning broke my nephew and I punii so violently that I still regret it. I wish you, once restored, delivers it personally to my nipote.Io I can not go. "
"Who is his nephew? I know him? "
" I think so. Does the antiquarian. You know, that little store at the slaughterhouse? "
" Ah, I understand, step always there, but I've never seen his grandson. "
" We'll deliver. I guarantee that it will be rewarded. "
" If you say so .... "I agreed. Something told me that I could trust.
"Goodbye, and thanks for your attention."
They left the shop and headed for the "four Songs ", with a slow and rhythmic. Without an umbrella, long and dark, like two cypress blacks moved by the wind, soon disappeared, leaving behind only silence.
I finished my work quickly to dedicate the new object, which shone, isolated, on my desk. It was so different from the things that I did, creaked, it seemed that my characters would change the character of St. George the dragon is not interested to pierce the intruders, the shepherds of the Nativity were attracted by the fighting, most exciting of the bliss of adoring angels and Madonnas, that had lasted 2000 years. The panel of Carnival in its last week tried a stimulus may not enter into Lent, and to continue the party for forever.
Two days after I finished the restoration of the piece and deliver it to the bandage.
In fact I was a bit 'anxious. Something had led me to accept that position, but I was afraid of being embarrassed by the antiquarian unknown.
After the snow, she was raised by a northeast wind that had made ice cream the way, I was cold and fear of slipping and destroying the small sculpture that he had found his integrity.
The glass door of the antique dealer was closed. Lights in the window off.
peered inside, the bottom of the long corridor that was the shop, a dim bulb lit portrait of an old man sitting, reading a book.
Suddenly the picture became animated, nodded, and before the light bulb lit up the cloud of white hair like a halo of a saint. I realized that the portrait was the antiques dealer, who got up and opened the door, ringing a bell hanging on the door. A little
'baffled for my mistake, the man who smiles, gently, let me enter.
"I help you?"
"Good morning. I have an object that belongs to .... "
" To me? I do not understand ... .. "
I opened the envelope, releasing the figures that took up the fight.
The man remained motionless, only his eyes betrayed a strong emotion.
"I have commissioned him to restore it and give it" I explained, his voice uncertain, shocked by his reaction.
With trembling hands, the old man lifted the object, and a weak voice whispered, "Yes, yes, I admit, it belonged to my grandmother, I broke it many years ago, I was a kid, and I punished severely and was never forgiven ... . He was in a cardboard box, along with a few memories that my grandfather was able to take away when he left. "
" It 's just that his grandfather has asked me to present "I stammered, confused, realizing at the time of age 'man.
The old man looked up, transparencies: "Grandpa? But his grandfather was deported in 1943 and ... .. he never returned. ... "he whispered, and his gaze wandered into the void. I looked at him, and I realized that it was almost lost in his memoirs, and completely foreign to me.
I could only bow out. I turned and walked away quietly, leaving him in the company of his legacy, which, in mysterious and unexpected way, perhaps he would have reconciled with his past ..
walked slowly, I was upset. I dreamed? I was the victim of a trick of my imagination? Finally I realized, however, it was worth it, and I felt strangely light.
I kept my commitment.
Down the street, two black figures that seem to come from a painting by Chagall, turned in the Piazza Soziglia, and disappeared .... . On
Genoa was begun to snow again, but I no longer felt cold.
Each 
