Kaos Page #5

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who that was,

but l had gladly left

my home in Rome,

where the sorrow of living

had become too unbearable

in the last period.

My job, my children, my age.

l don't know.

l don't want to explain

what you can't explain.

And now, pulled out of my sleep,

I was wondering if, by any chance,

I was still sleeping.

Sir, this way.

The coach, please.

I saw him before you, the American.

What American?

Luigi!

Luigi.

I'll take you home.

Get on.

Do you recognize me?

I didn't care to go across the city.

Don't worry!

I know where I'm taking you.

You see, I know what your job is.

I know about you.

You bring great honor to our Sicily.

Yes, yes.

Let's just go now.

How many dancers have you

slept with in Rome, Luigi?

Are they easy?

Damn.

You don't recognize me.

Are you kidding me?

Then tell me what my name is.

I'm sorry.

But you're Saro!

Saro!

Since I entered my home,

I didn't feel lonely.

Something was seething

in the shade of the rooms' corners.

Shadows in the shadows

were looking at me,

spying on me.

They were staring at me

with such an insistence

that in the end,

I was forced to turn around.

But of course, Mom,

it is you who sent for me.

Yes, it was me, Luigi.

And this is your music.

I recognize it.

I remember when you used to sing it.

I called you to tell you

what I couldn't tell you

since you were far away,

before departing from life.

You wanted to tell me to be strong,

Mom, right?

Today, like yesterday, like aIways.

You're laughing at me, huh?

On the contrary.

Say it to me, Mom. I need it.

That's why I came.

No, you have to relax.

To be strong doesn't mean that

you always have to live like this.

It means to be able

to live like this, too.

Oh, my God, Mom, your fingers.

You see, Luigi,

how my body was reduced?

That's why death has come.

It had to come.

No, don't cry, Luigi.

If you love me,

you have to think of me this way,

as you're seeing me right now, alive.

Mom, alive, yes, alive.

But I'm not crying because of that.

Of course, I think about you, Mom.

I'm seeing you as you are right here.

I'll always be able to imagine you

as I'm imagining you right now,

alive, sitting on you armchair.

But I'm crying

because of something else, Mom.

I'm crying because

you can't think about me anymore.

When you used to sit here

in this corner, I thought,

"If she's thinking about me

from so far away, I am alive for her."

And this thought supported me

and comforted me.

Now that you're dead

and don't think about me anymore,

I'm not alive for you anymore,

and I never will be.

I'm having a hard time, my son,

following what you're saying.

It's become too difficult for me.

But there's one thing I feel

I can still tell you.

Learn to look at things with the eyes

of those who can't see them anymore.

It will be painfuI, of course,

but that pain will make them

more sacred and more beautiful.

Maybe it's just to tell you this

that I had you come all the way here.

I know, Mom, what your eyes

are looking at right now.

The sail of that tartan, right?

You must have told us

about that trip of yours 100 times.

And I've tried to write it down

100 times.

But I've never managed.

There's something

that slips my mind.

Will you tell me one more time?

When I was 13...

You know this, right?

That we boarded with my mother,

my brothers, and my sisters,

one younger than me,

and a younger Iittle brother, too.

We boarded a big tartan

headed towards the unknown.

Malta.

My father, your grandfather,

was persecuted by the Borbons

after the 1848 revolution.

He was over there in exile.

We were going to meet him there.

You forgot something?

I forgot the cat.

Bella!

Be quiet! They'll find us.

Bella!

Bella, come here!

Bella!

Bella, come here!

Exile makes mothers cry like this,

and the dismay,

and taking away a home, toys, and

comfort from so many children...

...this is what exile meant,

but the sea trip

also meant something else,

with the tartan's red sail

and nothing else around us.

And that childish pride for misfortune

that makes a child

dressed in black say,

"I am in mourning, you know?"

As if it were a privilege.

And also the anxiety

of seeing so many new things.

That's what exile meant.

New things that we were expecting

to see with our fixed eyes.

The trip, you know,

lasted three days.

What you maybe can't remember

of my tale

is that halfway along our trip

we came upon an isle.

We stopped there for a few hours.

It was the isle of the pumice.

Were it not for that exile trip,

maybe l would never have seen it.

Madam, the wind is dropping

and the mistral won't rise until 3:00.

Let's go to the isle of the pumice.

Sit here, Mom.

Actually, no.

Lay your head here.

Madam , don't stay in the sun.

Today it's hot, and it can be harmful.

Thanks.

There you go.

The kids, why don't you send them

to cool off in the water today?

In the water?

What if there are sharks

in these waters?

No, in these months they move east.

Don't worry.

Okay.

Hey, there are the sailors.

Mom!

Well, make it quick.

Kids, climb up over that pumice.

It's good for the skin.

Then, run and throw yourselves

into the water.

Run, kids, run!

You want to go, too, don't you?

-Come on, come on!

-What, you can't do it?

Kids, grab the rows, come on!

Yes, you, you!

Come on, come on!

Row the boat.

Row the boat.

Row the boat!

Row, you're young!

Row your boat!

Come on, kids!

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