Secret State No ray of light passing from the shutter, I had forgotten to turn down the night before.
I opened my left eye fatigue. I felt bloated, still sleepy, with excruciating pain and continued between the temples.
Yet the smoke of yesterday was very good, Thomas and I had never given bad stuff.
spread on the pillow, with a superhuman effort that put a strain on my hamstrings, I managed to turn the alarm to my eyes half shut. Hours
15e45 PM
-fucking-biascicai appicicate with lips on the palate.
Tracannai sips of water from a bottle lifesaving the edge of the bed.
I slept like a stoned junkie. I stayed another fifteen hours, had it not been for that annoying headache.
I got up from bed, with the speed of a narcoleptic sloth.
While I was thinking that after a shower I immediately called Thomas, my great friend and official supplier of spinels, a yawn from cramps in the jaw, I stopped in front of the mirror by returning the projection of me.
hair matted and dirty, unshaven and fluffy, slit tearful eye, white stretch T-shirt, with holes just behind the shoulders, black pants and chipped.
I sucked, and I needed a woman. Urgently. He played
the bell.
At home there was an almost unreal silence. Karin, my American roommate was definitely out. Yoko my roommate there was Korean or not, made little difference.
walked along the corridor, which grew with every step endless.
-Arrival ..! - Who-is-
-fool-Open the door, like a bucket of ice water to the voice of Matthew woke me up completely.
-But please, come on ... what a pleasure my friend ..! _
Matthew walked in, looked at me disgusted, and large strides began to head towards my room. I noticed that the jacket was soaked with water, holding something under his arm.
-I knew you were still in bed, sub-species of parasite state-
-If you knew, you could avoid breaking balls
-Si-so slept until tomorrow .. bum. Ah congratulations for the pants ... I'm a jewelry
.- He sat at the computer, picked up the shutters, and was wearing jacket with waiting for the lighting of the PC.
It was raining hard. A sky
zinc covering the dark houses in the center of Florence.
me-holy God, "said the head is bursting with casualties.
-Pure to you? I have a water heater today, instead of mine. After a name is Thomas and I do make money. But he does, he starts to smoke shit friends now? -
-smoking has nothing to do with Tommy. I know why we have headaches .-
-Oh yeah? Feel diagnosis, eminent Dr. Rassu ..- I said grinning-
He stroked his chin and his facial expression turned into a prince of the hole with a solid reputation.
-What to do? Eh? What the hell kind of goal?
since yesterday night that I think about it, I turn around in bed, I tortured brain-
You're crazy. Treated
I thought that maybe the smoke of Thomas was not so bad. My wise friend Matt, with his feet on the ground, and flew into the ether of the incomprehensible raving.
-Sorry but what the hell you talking about? -
He looked at me with a look of defiance and anger, frowning eyebrows and staring at my eyes, surprised.
-You know what I mean, he said.
-I make a coffee- I replied, as my neurons began finally to wake up really.
-is good. Make the coffee-
reluctantly wore the sweat pants and went into the kitchen. I understood perfectly. Our state secret, had not lasted more than one night.
I went into the room with two steaming cups.
-Are you alone? -
-Si. Perhaps there is a Korean, but is sealed in his room. "
I loved waking up late. I loved the expectations. Those moments that separate you from doing. Foretaste of something, you prepare to perform. I wanted to extend it indefinitely, enjoy it more than they could actually last. Enjoy a coffee. Delaying the start of the day, staying off before facing anything, and listen to music with a friend, was a time that belonged to that class of moments.
-Why of the Financial Police helicopter, crashed during a single flight control, and there are no official reasons? -
Matthew spoke with a warm voice, turning down the volume of the guitars of Rage Against the Machine, and finally broke my hold.
I sat on the bed and turned on the phone.
-The craziest thing is I said, clearing his voice,-if indeed it was a simple mission control, because the pilot of the harbor inquires about a possible goal? And ever since then as the sea has swallowed the answer? -
-Bravo. You because when you put it you can run the little brain? Offer me a cigarette and take a look at this paper-,
Television news and newspapers, had completely ignored the story, and after a few months in Sardinia, a pall of silence, omerta, a race of ostriches which alternated with the cover up their heads, and not only that, he lost interest in the majority of public opinion.
-Here, look at the record of the event .-
there was a page of a newspaper Sardinian downloaded from the Internet, we read together with the same religious silence that we observed in a crypt in a church, or a temple of mysteries.
-See this is the journalist that it is primarily interested. The article and a few weeks after the accident-
As the words flowed with the eyes, in my mind vividly imagined the Augusta 109 helicopter of the Guardia di Finanza, getting airborne at 18.40 on 2 March 1994 military airport Cagliari Elmas, and as a constant refrain in my mind, I repeated, "a mission control official reason along the coast of Capo Carbonara.
looked at Matthew, and spirals of smoke from his cigarette, which were scattered in my room, circling compact and heavy as our thoughts.
I thought of the small cabin of the airplane, I thought as we Maurizio Serra thirty years, and Gianluigi Demuro forty years, and I did not know if they were calm, or thesis as rightly it should be when you have a specific mission, and do not you get up in the air for routine
Routine.
Events that repeat themselves.
Situations return.
mission-control-whipping I said, while Matthew continued to read the air in disgust.
imagined the dove, which plowed the sea as is normal, and escorted to the helicopter. I saw a dark sea, proud, with waves and regular rhythm.
Then suddenly the damn phrase "we are on target," a turn of 360 degrees, and the helicopter disappeared from radar and out of my mind.
listened deaf explosion, a flash and then nothing.
Sea, sea, sea swallows, and silence, a deafening silence. What
also joined me and Teo, that afternoon.
looked at the window. Dirty water and almost dark.
-Look at ', after takeoff the pilots have to communicate to the patrol boat out of the radio system and high flow HFSSB, and that they can not maintain control with the base operating Elmas: ask to keep the Columbine
-same-only that it would have sufficed to cancel! - I added firmly.
-pity that you accept and ask the helicopter support ship radio contact every five miles-Matt replies with a finger on the paper, slightly damp from the rain made. The last
radio track was left out of the helicopter at 19E15, and radar to 19e18 at which time his position was 131 ° nine miles south of Capo Carbonara. The patrol boat tried
a new contact at 19E20, and then went up to 19e30 in vain, when inexplicably suspended each attempt.
-Christ but did not give the alarm-added, grinning with rage.
-E does not launch even after the base is detected by the patrol boat at 19e50, holy ... god ... after 20 long minutes -
Rescuers went so late, some fragments were found in Cap-Ferrat, with other divers from Capo Carbonara hired by relatives of the pilots, then the research was suspended.
Days after the Lerici class destroyers, felt about for months with their electronic eyes on the sea bed around Capo Ferrato.
Matthew cleared his throat: - It 's amazing, the same vessels after the war in Kosovo have found and recovered the small fragmentation bombs special, dropped by NATO bombers have not been able to find the wreck of the helicopter, or some significant piece, which could help to explain the incident-Ti-
wonder so much? -
not answered.
I made a barrel. I made very large. I put on the stereo Dark Side of the Moon
I lay in bed staring at the ceiling, and Matthew crouched down on the couch in front of me.
Hypnotic notes of Pink Floyd, accompanied our silent journey. I picked up a cigarette to great rhythms. I imagined a giant chessboard, peopled with kings and queens, bishops diagonally cut that the regularity of the squares, towers castling Unbreakable, horses jumping invisible, and pedestrians killed for a check not crazy, but crazy.
I thought to myself. I wanted to be a journalist. I thought the stage. I'm not excited at all. Maybe I was too cocky and very courageous. The idea to shut myself up in an office writing silly short articles of local news or sports, and that they must be adept at licking asses in motion, made me shudder.
"This is the only way Alexander learn the little things, from the bottom, like everyone else, and with your skills you can become good. " The calm and reassuring voice of my father, petted my slumber with the roar of the rain.
I was not presumptuous. I was no longer good or different.
I just wanted to be free.
I wanted a Guinness with clover embroidered on the white foam and dense.
I wanted the hands of Georgia on my chest.
I wanted it to stop raining.
I wanted a sausage sandwich with onions and mayonnaise.
I wanted that Matthew had the strength to turn another barrel.
I wanted to leave for Cape Verde.
I wanted to make the right decision.
