The house at the edge of time, Page 4

  "Next week you owe really to come to find us" Cackle peeps "you also come, Zoe. This way I make you see the table."

  I nod. I also grant me the luxury of a smile. So much I know him/it that we will never go there home of the sisters of grandmother. The adults say the things so much to say, it doesn't need to take seriously their words. Around that table, we know very well all that nobody will go us their home. It is a thing that up to some a long time ago it surprised me, me if I say a thing it is because I think her/it. Also too much, at times. Grandmother says that my language is without bones, but the bones it breaks her to the others. It also says that by now I am great and I must not always say what gives me for the head. The adults don't do him/it. Rather, at times, when he is adult, you/he/she must be done really the contrary one. It is that the difference among the great and small ones. I write me him on a bigliettino to insert in my salvapensieri: to become great = to say well the lies.

  To me it seems a kind of game this thing that the adults do. I/you/they have accustomed there however now, all it takes is doing as them. When they invite you as is making Cackle in this moment, does him of yes with the head, is said "certain!" and the history ends there. Nobody goes from any part and they is all happy ones.

  In the meantime you/they have attached again to speak of unknown people, never sight, but that it seems a lot coop, very bad and has decided to move soon from the Aldiquà to the Aldilà.

  I go out to look for Lawrence for a possible hide-and-seek or blind fly. Their corpses don't concern me.

  10

  It works this way: every evening, after supper

  It works this way: every evening, after supper, we soothe under there to the branches of the tiglio of side to the platform and grandfather, before going the afloat home, it tells a history. Histories are to say the truth some odd ones, with inside of the wisecracks that don't make to laugh anybody. But I listen to her the same to spend the time. And because it is my grandfather that tells her.

  In these histories they sail some grungiest sailors of Sindbad, people really denied for the sea. They just touch the rudder, they make shipwreck. This way they disembark, deader than you live on a desert island. And, it looks at case, they meet a princess. Of these princesses are galore here on the desert islands of it. They are the only inhabitants, but they don't worry him about to annoy him, because they know that sooner or later a wolf of missed sea will make shipwreck on their beaches.

  Now, these princesses, perhaps because they have remained alone too much some time on the island, they are all some you play and they speak to a really strange way, that makes morir to laugh grandfather while it is telling. If the castaway, that he is already loosening of love as a candle, asks for example to the girl:

  "Oh my princess, as is?"

  That responds:

  "As summer, so winter."

  Grandfather holds the belly from the laughters, I hold me the braccias not to make her to fall entirely. The two characters are not held anything instead and they continue fearless:

  "As you call you?"

  "With my name."

  "And where inhabited?"

  "In the house with the door."

  Grandfather laughs as a crazy person while you/he/she is telling I exchange him/it wisecracks between the careless sailor and the haughty princess. I laugh for being a pleasure for him, but in reality I wonder me what you pass for the head of that aspirant queen, seriously. To live on a desert island, probably gives in the long run to the head.

  However, in the histories of grandfather they are also there certain portentous things. There are for example girls that throw out gold braids from the ears or silver drops from the throat. And porticine of grass that all it takes is pushing her some to find in a secret garden, full of flowers also in winter. Certain times, instead of pushing the porticina of grass, all it takes is moving a brick on the fund of a well. And they are also there of the scary things. There is for example people, that of work ago the Ugly Dream and that you/he/she can come to find at night you if you don't behave well you. They are also then there the usual frogs that him imprincipiscono to kiss them and the usual princesses that him incigniscono when it sprouts the sun. But those are always the same histories.

  Certain times the stories of grandfather dig a place in my bed and I find again them to me among the sheets when I go to sleep. White horses, sacks of gold coins, red scarpette and gnomes walk me on the pillow. Mine preferred, among the characters of grandfather, it is the princess you Copper.

  The princess Coppers you/he/she was as all the other princesses. It was good, it was very beautiful, it had the chestnut hair with the blue reflexes straight; you/he/she was sincerely fallen in love some prince while his/her two rivals wanted to marry him/it only because it was prince. In short, a princess with all the papers in order, as they find in the best fables. However the princess Coppers something different from the other princesses you/he/she had him: instead of the scarpettes of crystal, she had a heart of glass, transparent and crystalline. When it was moved, a tinkling boomed in her breast. When you/he/she was worried for something, the glass started to scricchiolare, as if he was cracking. All, to building, you/they were worried for her, they tried to protect her/it and to never notch the delicacy of his/her heart. All except his/her two rivals, that had a common heart of meat and they knew to be able to count on the brittleness of the heart of Branches glass to reach their perfidious purposes. And in fact Branches at the end of the history it dies, but is calm that returns in life thanks to a spell of those that I/you/they are at times there in the fables. Also in those that it tells grandfather.

  Me certain times I feel me some as the princess you Copper, because of the chestnut hair and, above all, of that heart of glass. At times I feel some sparks in the middle of the breast, as if the glass was beginning to crack, and if I listen well I feel that the sparks make noise. They tinkle.

  There have been being different sparks for last summer. But I try not to think of us. And if it happens me to think too much of us, I copy little by little then the grass of the lawn and the sparks they dissolve him. It is a thing some strange, to think of us. But to the moment to copy the grass of the lawn is the best that I/you/they have succeeded in finding lacking sorceries.

  However I hope that a spell also exists for me. A spell disguised by kind gnome of the wood, of those tall two spans with the long long beard. Of those that can bring you in life. In case you/he/she had to break the glass.

  11

  I look lost in thought at the telephone

  I look lost in thought at the telephone and that starts ringing. There is no denying it, the things keep on speaking to me. And I hate the ring of the telephone, it is a premonition of bad news. Instead of answering, I race in the other room. I cross grandmother in the corridor.

  "But because you escape" it says "instead of answering?"

  And here it is there, that the voice, the hair and the suit it is repaired before lifting the cornet. As if what is on the other side some thread could understand if you/he/she is combed or no.

  "He/she is never known."

  Grandmother, towards the technology, it has a respect that confines with the distrust. One lifts the cornet and who knows thing can happen on the other side. a scientific thing, explains me. A butterfly beats the wings to Tokyo and here is a hurricane to Los Angeles. You/he/she has told him a famous scientist and grandmother you/he/she has read him on a magazine. It calls "effect butterfly." It means that every thing, also the smallest, produces always an effect on one side or from the other of the world. Even to the beginning one don't make us case, it says: what do you want that am a butterfly that it beats the wings? But in the long run, also a wing of butterfly has its weight in the life, and you/he/she can come to change the world. I don't know whether to believe us or no. However the cornet of the telephone I don't lift her/it: the future can pass from the thread to make you the trip.

  Mother shakes the head. You to the telephone give us the
hours. With the friends, the colleagues. Its greater dream is that one day invents a small telephone, dwarfish, that one if it puts him/it in pocket and if the door always behind. Some as that telephones that have certain men of business in the films American, but very smaller and economic, and that can be used by everybody. I hope that such a diabolic gadget never invents him/it. And then, there is before a lot of other stuff to invent. For example, the pen that he/she writes without ever making errors. And the bicycle with the rubbers that don't puncture. And the perfume to the fragrance of paper, that is objectively the better odor of the world.

  There is out a music that fills the air. It is Charles that is listening to the radio. It is not any radio, he/she explains me. It is a French radio that transmits only music jazz.

  I take a seat me together with him to listen. What is playing now calls Chet Baker. Charles writes me his/her name on a sheet, because the names of the musicians are some difficult ones to learn. This Chet Baker, Charles tells me, you/he/she was one who played well the trumpet. Very well. Then one day has started quarreling with someone in front of a cafe and you/they has broken him all the teeth before with a fist. This way you/he/she has stopped playing the trumpet and you/he/she has started being a gas station attendant. One could think that you/he/she was ended there, but to that point a fact that has turned the history has happened. A guy that was one great fan of his has remained without gasoline really in front of his/her distributor. You/he/she has looked in face the gas station attendant and Chet has immediately recognized, that has told him some fist, of the teeth and of the whole rest. The man without gasoline has smiled, you/he/she has given a pacca on his shoulder and you/he/she is offered to buy him a denture, because there is to say that Chet didn't have a penny in that period, and of dentures even to speak of it. This way Chet has put on the false teeth and you/he/she has learned to play again the trumpet. With the denture he/she succeeded in playing only few notes, but with those notes there you/he/she could make all the music of the world and you/he/she has become even more famous. Then, one day, you/they have invited him to make a concert in the capital of Holland that is Amsterdam. He has said, it is all right, I come, I take my denture and my trumpet and I/you/they are suffered by you. You/he/she has played the good concert of his/her life, the trumpet sparkled in the hands and the denture in his mouth. All have still applauded and still. I don't know well then thing, it has happened. Charles has told that Chet has exchanged the moulding of the hotel for the corridor and all of a sudden the floor under to his/her feet you/he/she is ended. This history, seems however, me an example of quell' "effect butterfly" that grandmother has read on the magazine.

  "In the life, everything depends on the kairos" Charles says.

  I ask what it is. He responds that the kairos is the propitious moment in the language of the ancient Greek. The moment in which the things pass there, on your platform, and you understand that it is better if you catch the train and you don't allow her to you to escape. Of kairoses are not then so many of it, in a life. It is not that it passes a day one of it as the Arrow Orobica, here. Then, if you/he/she had to pass a kairos on your platform, it is better that you pick him/it to the flight up.

  Chet Baker has stopped playing and the reporter of the radio tells something French. Charles explains that you/he/she is announcing all the concerts that will be this evening to Paris, that is the capital of France. Every time that speaks of Paris, Charles has the shiny eyes. It seems that I/you/he/she am the most beautiful city of the world. Charles has been in all the places that the reporter names, those where the best musicians of the world play. Almost all that places are of the undergrounds that one enter within it from a scaletta in descent and after some all they begin to smoke and to smoke and they are not seen the musicians that play anymore.

  "Ah, the Caveau de the Huchette.

  Charles closes the eyes and crosses the hands behind the head. It.

  I wonder me really thing has of special this it extracted.

  He smiles of nostalgia. In honor of the it extracted, it lights up a cigarette.

  "One day you will also go there" it says "and then you will come to tell me as you/he/she has been."

  12

  To make a table it he/she takes the wood

  To make a table it he/she takes the wood. To make the wood it he/she takes the tree. And to make the tree it takes the seed. Grandfather and I plant in the garden those of carrot, endive and zucchine. The summer is not good season for all the seeds. I would want to plant a true tree, even a cherry, but grandfather says that for that it needs to wait for the autumn. For now I am satisfied me with the carrots.

  "Six on the good road" Charles thinks "a Jewish proverb says that in the life it needs to make three things: to plant a seed, to be a child and to write a book."

  They are on the good road. I mark him/it to me on a ticket to insert in the salvapensieri. I also mark me the rest of the list of the things to do. Child and book.

  While grandfather and I plant, Charles has happened next to mother with the hands in the pockets of the pants and the air of one that you/he/she passed of there by chance. Mother smiles at him and he remains a paralyzed instant. But she seems that I/you/he/she don't realize of it and it begins to speak. He/she speaks gesticulating as his usual. When it begins, not the firm more anybody. Charles remains with the silent hands in the pockets to look at her hands, that the sentences draw in the air. It seems hypnotized. Once you/he/she has said that the hands of mother seem painted by Boldini. Perhaps it is for this that looks her at so much, Charles likes a lot the painting. Who knows if it will also happen to me, one day, to hypnotize a man moving the hands. I also write me him this on a ticket to put in the salvapensieri.

  Mother and I don't resemble at all there, she is very more blonde. And it has the whitest braccias. Charles says that a medieval princess seems, of those engraved on the portals of glass of the Gothic churches. Me instead, according to Charles, I seem an Indian princess, because of the eyes that I have taken from dad, and of the long hair that I have taken from mother, except that for the color. His/her hair's color, however, mother is not is not liked to never and you/he/she has always tried to imitate him/it with some dye. But you/he/she has never found one who satisfied her/it indeed of it and therefore, sooner or later you/he/she has always returned to the color of departure. Yes, because mother has the fame to be the most beautiful of the family, but also the most undecided. And not only of the family. Perhaps in the city, of the province. Of the whole region. Before taking a decision it returns on his/her footsteps thousand times. Ago so also when he dresses, it is weary. It goes on and back between the bath and the room, between the closet and the mirror, between the mirror of the corridor and the mirror of the bath and from it restarts afresh there everything, as if you/he/she had to wear the suit of the century every time that goes out. When there was still dad, he always extinguished her the radio or the TV if you/they had turned on, as to say: "End of the transmissions. We are going out. I now open the door, I climb in car and who is there is."

  I don't believe that it served, however. An essential matter was escaped dad: mother didn't do so because you/he/she was slow, or lazy, or because you/he/she was doing other. It did so because it was undecided. Trench or coat? Red or turquoise scarf? Shoes with the heel or ballerinas? Black bag or of skin? And the hair, then? Loose, picked? And before and back from the bath to the room, before with the heels, then without, with the red scarf or with that turquoise, trying all the imaginable possible combinations.

  Instead of extinguishing the TV you/he/she would have been enough that dad told her: "That scarf is very well with that jacket. And the shoes, then! Perfect with that purse." But to him you/he/she has never come to mind that option. You/he/she has preferred to cut the head to the bull. Rather no, you/he/she has cut only the rope. In short, if you/he/she has gone of it.

  Since then mother has doubled before-back him between the mirror of the bath and that of the room from bed.

/>   I beware her/it of my desk, while it is giving me before with a black stocking and a color meat and it tries to slip a décolleté skipping about. I keep on making the assignments shaking the head. When it finally goes out, I tear off the eyes from the sheet. Account: one, two, three, four, five. to six, I usually feel his/her heels that return back. To seven, the key turns in the lock and to the eight I see her/it reappear with the knitted eyebrows. Stacchetta on the floor stuttering that you/he/she has forgotten something. It goes out again then with some ballerinas to the feet and a scarf of another color. It closes again the door. Normally, after you/he/she has gone out, it returns twice back at least others.

  And ago so also for the whole rest. It enters my room, bowl something and then goes out. After two minutes it reopens the door and cuff the omelet. And so following. It is a great voltatrice of omelets, mother. One could think that this way of his to do has brought only her problems in the life, yet it is not this way. On the job, for example, with the stratagem of the before-back you/he/she has succeeded in getting unthinkable things. It needs to put on in the cloths of whom has to whether to do with her and it doesn't know her/it well. I have accustomed there by now, but the other ones remain for strength spiazzati. They greet her convinced that deal here it is. Its head has promoted her without he/she asked you it, you/he/she had almost hypnotized him.

  When it does so, I call her/it "Lieutenant Colombo Columbus."

  The Lieutenant Colombo Columbus they know him/it everybody. All always know his/her consumed overcoat and the cigar to half. In reality it is everything one disguise. He is an intelligent person, and in fact it immediately understands who the assassin is. You/he/she could arrest there also it, on two feet, so much is sure of his/her intuition. But it is not able. And does thing do then? It begins to cook him/it to slow fire, playing us as it makes Pralina with the mice. That is, as you/he/she should make Pralina with the mice. However. Once roused the assassin, for Christopher Columbus it is a game from boys. All it takes is being on him and to introduce from him when less if it waits for him/it. And it is there that it enters before-back game the strategy of the. Christopher Columbus has just ended a kind talk with the assassin, that has told him a whole history on as you/he/she has spent the night of the homicide. Christopher Columbus just goes, that breathes a sigh of relief, sure to have convinced the clodhopper with the overcoat. But here that the clodhopper knocks again to the door because you/he/she had forgotten to ask something. The assassin is taken some to the unprovided one, if you/he/she didn't wait for him/it really that Christopher Columbus returned back, and the words are already stumbled some in his mouth. Something stutters until Christopher Columbus it doesn't go. But here it is. The assassin looks at him/it with the rolled eyes; it finds it hard indeed now to keep the calm. In the words it doesn't stumble us more, it directly falls us above with does her/it. Christopher Columbus snickers between itself and itself. It is so that he/she succeeds in resolving his/her cases. In all that before and back, the murderer loses the patience, he irritates and you/he/she ends up committing some fatal error. It is Lieutenant Christopher Columbus strategy and it is the same one that he/she knows how to also use mother.