Anthology of wounds - Arct

Anthology of WoundsThey greeted us and went away, we looked each otheron the eyes but didn’t spoke a word with words, butwe talked with our look.The day to leave had come: it must have been thenight of September 20. I don’t remember what kind ofmachine did they get us. I remind the interned gatheredaround us, greeting with tears in their eyes. Wegave somebody one thing the other one another and soon, everything we had. We tool only our heart and thislast one broken by the sufferings.They greeted us with handkerchiefs in the air, andthe automobile started the road to Durres. We were fouron the wide seat, me, Mario Verde from Naples, NinoTagliani from Ferrara, Luigi Maucerri from Sicily, andnear the driver “an angel custodian” that was all thetime with us, day and night during the three days wewait the ship in Durres.So kind with us, he accompanied in post office tosend telegrams the familiars, he offered us coffee, raki,and he show us on the town discussing everything buttaking care in what we said. There were other people inthe town interested for us that surely were not occasionallythere.On the afternoon of January 24 we saw the ship inthe harbor. I saw an Italian flag on it, and my heart beatfast. We found there waiting us even nine other Italiansthat I had never met before. They were all professionalsand they all had worked even before in Albania.When the system was changed they were all accusedof being guilty of things they had not done butreally had continued to do their profession. It was a big169