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How unsafe but had found out a couple of weeks later, when the first bombardamento aereo avvenuto di notte su Milano una bomba cadde sul palazzo di Via Solari distruggendo tre appartamenti e la sua officina di restaurazione e rilegatura libraria.
Dovette investire quasi trentamila lire per ricomprare le sue preziose macchine. Prese in affitto una vecchia stalla e un cortile a Binasco, sulla strada per Pavia, e lì fu in grado di ricominciare la sua attività, ma qualcosa si era rotto dentro di lui: la certezza di essere inattaccabile, incorruttibile, immortale. A lui non era successo niente, ma capiva che poteva essere colpito.
Poi la morte di Eleonora.
Si sentì immediatamente responsabile di quella morte. Erano andati in vacanza in a cabin in the hills around Lake Como, just by nature both loved it. Everything looked wonderful, the sun, the air we breathe, the atmosphere of peace that they felt around. The first day they walk a very long and so well the next day. In the evening, Eleanor ate a lot, because he was hungry. At night he felt ill: a clear indigestion. He spent the night sitting on the toilet rocked by continuous vomiting. A very bad colic, John thought, better to go to a doctor tomorrow. But the day after the cursed Balilla did not want to leave, and despite every effort John was forced to give up. Eleanor assured him, he felt better, she said, yet twenty-four hours and was in good shape. But at night he vomited again, suddenly, and could not hide anything with John as the previous evening. John noticed that green mucus and said not a word not to alarm you, but it was not a good thing. Put her to bed and noticed that the woman had a high fever. He could not miss a single minute. He spent the whole night around the engine of Balilla, disassembling and cleaning the carburetor. When dawn came he was able to put it in motion. He ran inside the hut, Eleonora wrapped in a blanket and carried her in Balilla. The woman was delirious, she placed a hand on his forehead, which burned like fire.
hour later was in the hospital in Como. Attempts a desperate, but the appendix was perforated by too many hours and peritonitis had already invaded everything. He died less than an hour.
Filiput John Cally, or rather John Filippi as it is now called, felt that it was all his fault: it was his idea to go and hide in a lonely forest far from any town, it was the negligence of not check the status of Balilla before leaving, the gimmick of his long walks that had certainly caused the intestinal inflammation of Eleonora.
A week after the funeral arson destroyed a barn, stable and workshop Binasco. He was a special edition hardback of Mussolini's speeches. The Federal Pavia said that this was definitely was the spring that had triggered the hand of the defeatist arsonist. There were around, he knew, but it was not appropriate to make propaganda and to sow fear among the population. The newspapers have spoken of a short circuit and the police along with officers OVRA would have been struggling to get my hands on that son of a bitch.
but recent events had convinced John Cally Filiput that the wheel had begun to turn controversial. Not resumed his standing as his workshop, even closed his business, he pocketed the repayment of his insurance policy and began to work full time in the old print shop.
When he began the campaign one of the military district of Russia, leafing through the papers looking for ambushes, Filippi discovered that John had never brought the stars. Because of its connections in high places and activities conducted for the deserving party thought it deserved a certain respect, they decided to turn a blind eye, or rather both of us, and summoned to the House of Beam offering to serve his country in one of the many offices scattered throughout the command of the Army Corps, where he would not have tried any more, they offered a few words afforestation and save your ass. But John Cally refused and asked to volunteer between the Blackshirts. He officially thirty years, excellent health curriculum and first-order fascist, so his request was enthusiastically accepted. He was given the rank of Battalion Capomanipolo in the black shirts "Bruno Mussolini," leaving for the Russian steppe.
In hard winter of 1942 he was on Don along with most of the Italian Expeditionary Corps, to protect the left flank of the Division of infantry Cremona.
one morning when the Bolsheviks attacked en masse with armored vehicles smashing the front line in four Italian dies, the Blackshirts Battalion "Bruno Mussolini" was mangled and decimated by a hundred powerful tanks manufacturing American.
The Capomanipolo John Filippi was able to gather and hold together a score of wretches with night infiltrated among those who were no longer the front lines of an organized, but the ramifications of chaos and despair, and returned within the remains of the Division of Cremona. The next day began the retreat of the remnants of an army to their homeland and perhaps unattainable.
The Capomanipolo John Filippi stripped the dead as they used to be able to cover all the best. He did not know how many miles would have to go, but feared they were too much for many of them. She forced herself to think that if Kurt Marx wanted to keep the word that had given him this would be a good opportunity to show how powerful was his protection.
started to count mentally up to a thousand and then back again up to a thousand, to stay awake, not to go crazy with fear, in short, to survive. A few days later he was made to wonder what had really grown old in the face of the person looked like and what was written on his passport, because John Filippi was thirty years, but John Cally Filiput had more than fifty. A fine grind for half a century to cross this desert of ice stinking rags, with a daily ration of gruel and even a loaf of bread belly. Goes off of my sins, he thought, until Kurt comes, because this will certainly be the last time and so my adventure is over.
continually saw people down with his nose in the snow and freeze already killed in the soul before the body. The ranks of the group to which he belonged became thinner by the hour. You did not even have the strength to attack the dead, naked, thinking of each was fixed on the next pile of snow where it collapsed.
was during a night of insomnia and running more and more terrible that John Cally Filiput finally saw Kurt Marx. The
glimpsed in the distance, he was sure it was him, could only be him. Waiting for him. "There he is my little pile of snow, thought John, is standing next to Kurt. How generous is that Kurt is waiting for me right there, how lucky you are. I promised him that morning as we ran in Switzerland, told me that there would be seen again and now I expect my next to last place to live on this earth. I'm just so lucky to have a loyal friend like him. "
But Kurt was moving, without speaking, without him signals, was moving and that's it. Here's who was standing a little 'further and had turned toward him. That was now her little pile of snow? What vicino ai suoi piedi? Allora andiamo avanti ancora un po', non sarà poi tanta fatica. Ma di nuovo lo vedeva spostarsi di un centinaio di passi e poi fermarsi e guardarlo. Nessun cenno, nessuna parola di incoraggiamento. "Vuole che io vada fin là? E io ci vado, non faccio altro che quello che lui vuole che io faccia, lui è il mio protettore, me lo ha detto e me lo ha confermato e io gli credo. Ma come è vestito Kurt? Quel cappottone dove gliel'ho già visto? Ha un vecchio elmetto americano sulla testa, in spalla un lungo fucile; anche quel fucile conosco, ma sicuro! Quella è la divisa del 122° fanteria; quello è l'elmo che anche io ho indossato, e quello è il nostro vecchio Garand, il glorioso fucile americano the First World War. Kurt has come in uniform, in his beautiful uniform of the time, as the last morning in Ypres when everything was yellow. Now everything is loud and clear: so began the story, and so must stop. Beautiful! That's a fine Kurt you're just a good idea to pick me up dressed like then. I am Kurt, another twenty steps and are there for you. "
But Kurt moved again and again and again throughout the night. And the next day and every day that dawned. From the first moment had seen it coming for the rest of the journey through the desert of ice Kurt Marx was always there in front of him a hundred paces, asking him to continue with his presence alone, without a gesture, without a word.
Until suddenly disappeared.
John Cally Filiput felt lost. He ran screaming with what little breath he had left, and all of a sudden screamed and ran with him. Why run? Those others were not certain yet been able to see Kurt Marx ran and cried with him. What was happening? He was unleashing the madness? John stopped, but he saw that no one would stop with him, continued to run and scream higher and higher, so it was a collective delirium. But where they ran all together?
He climbed to the top of the ridge di neve e vide ciò che c'era dall'altra parte: un treno fermo con vagoni passeggeri e non carri bestiame. Una tradotta militare li stava aspettando per riportarli tutti a casa.
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