Today you make my first 77 years.
I let myself get carried away by the fascination of mathematics and petty, that is, to paraphrase the company of the Duke-double numbers.
L'ultima volta era un 66. Correva l'anno 2000; correva perché si stava concludendo il secondo millennio. Alla fine aveva il fiatone, ma non inciampò mai.
Prima c'era stato un 55. Eravamo approdati nel 1989, un anno di ripresa da eventi voluti e non voluti, che avevano lasciato il segno.
Ancora prima un 44, nel 1978. Correva anche qui qualcosa, ed era il TIR che guidavo io per le strade d'Europa. Ho nostalgia di quei tre anni: al volante di un bestione lungo 24 metri, un otto assi di 1600 quintali di tara e pieno carico, 9200 cc e 1400 cavalli, ti senti Dio. Io mi sentivo il dio delle strade d'Europa da Lisbona a Przemysl, confine dell'Unione Sovietica, 280 km east of Krakow.
Also prior to a 33 in 1967. In Rome, retour de Milan, Viale lived in the Ionian Sea, with three lovely women who were waiting for me at home: two called me "daddy" called me a "Enzo crazy," and then in another way that is not well reported Urbi et Orbi.
Col 22, in 1956, next to me was another woman, whose memory I will ruin your day.
Let's stop here.
Also because you are with the number 11 in 1945, the year of rebirth, said today on the Third Programme was the year "and I'd give it a hammer blow on the balls. Rebirth of a horn! Civitavecchia was a heap of rubble of our house three walls remained standing, one was the pink kitchen. That's it. My mother had not raised an inch, and would no longer have him back for the rest of his days with a pain that had plagued inhuman.
OK! Always won by the charm of mathematics is small change could double, divide, subtract, multiply.
So 7 +7 is 14: my first year of high school, my misunderstanding with a professor of Latin and Greek young -22 years old-and gasatissimo destined to become "the master of my life."
the year that I could die for a perforated appendicitis, only that my uncle Aldo taken seriously. I slipped into the sidecar and took me to the hospital a few hours before the infection was exploded in peritonitis. Then he died with no escape because the penicillin was still in the U.S.
7-7 equal to zero, so before birth, and very mobile in the belly, wriggling in the amniotic fluid.
7:7 equal to one. One year of life and everyone around me, the new boy's new family Iacoponi. All in guardarselo blessed like the shepherds in the manger.
7x7 equals 49: -1 from half a century, in 1983, the year long wait without knowing what.
finished here? Oh no! Why 77 is a weird number, which occurs in my life on two occasions in which I miraculously saved his skin.
(Oh my God, I said weird: at the beginning of the month I've used this word in a post and I come upon a mountain. Let's hope so this time).
the first chance on 26. 8. 43.
Are you the sum of the digits of the date it obtains the number 77.
On Monday morning the sun rose from behind the mountains of Tolfa, lengthening the shadows of Civitavecchia on a sea as calm as a pool table.
I had arrived the day before da Valentano -dove la mia famiglia era sfollata dopo il primo bombardamento aereo del 14 maggio- a cavalcioni sulla canna della bicicletta di mio padre. Un viaggio epico, con lui che pedalava gagliardo e il vento tutto in faccia a me. 52 chilometri. Dai papà che sei grande come Gino Bartali!
Casa nostra era ancora in piedi, ma lesionata e inabitabile. Così avevamo alloggiato a casa di zio Aldo, che abitava in collina, lontano dal centro. Una caciara immensa coi due miei cugini per il resto della domenica, e la notte tutti e tre in un lettone a ruzzare, a darci spintoni e a spremere fuori puzze io e mio cugino Umberto, per fare rabbia a mia cugina.
Il mattino dopo, verso le nove, di nuovo a cavalcioni della canna della bici perché si dovevano prendere alcune cose da casa nostra e poi via di corsa a Valentano per arrivare prima che facesse notte.
Dalla prima volta a maggio le fortezze volanti americane non erano più venute a buttar bombe.
"Non vengono più -diceva la gente- il porto è vuoto e non ci sono più soldati in città"
Tutti pensavano che la guerra fosse finita per i civitavecchiesi, e la maggior parte degli sfollati era rientrata in città.
Così papà se la pigliò un po' comoda.
-Vieni, ti porto al Pirgo.
Lo stabilimento Civitavecchia resort on the right.
the bathroom-I, Dad?
-soaked to the knees.
Not even half an hour. Then he goes away and take the road back. Viale della Vittoria Viale Garibaldi, who arrived in front of the Grand Hotel attack to sound the sirens sound their eerie and chilling.
There was a steep road on the right, on top of which they had built a bomb shelter, a concrete cantinone deeply buried in the ground with a steep staircase access.
Dad stood on the pedals as Fausto Coppi and jumped on arriving between first. He helped me get in the darkened cavern with my hands on my shoulders. There was a hell of people sweating and scared to death. In the silence of the frightened crowd could be heard down from the dull thud and the flock of planes: as a hive of bees moving above us.
-pass, "said one high up.
-Go away, go to Viterbo, "said another with a stentorian voice.
"If they go, they go now," cried many.
seemed it had started the feast of Santa Firmina, the patroness of the city.
were all talking and laughing all.
Suddenly the sound echoed along the siren of the all-clear.
step by step we came up with difficulty, because the staircase was steep, the steps very high and people do not hurry.
I ran away to pee.
Also the fact that I was ashamed to do it behind a tree if someone looked at me, and there was a crowd that swarmed out of that shelter, I made a run to the bottom of the hill where I had spotted a shelter I would have covered the sight of the people. It was a wall that stepped over and found myself in a kind of garden. While I saw my dad, I was looking for things. He turned and went back in refuge. "I do not see and believe that I am yet to climb that ladder, I thought, now join him." But the pee never ended.
The sky was full of lightning: there was something shining in the sun up there in the blue, like fireworks. They had stopped at so many and they were all with her nose in the air and watch that gleam that we were wearing.
No one had yet realized, but were the American flying fortresses.
The flock must have tacked on Lake Bracciano, and had returned back to drop bombs at random, an American, to look where you look, and then pull straight back to his home in Tunisia, where era decollato.
Mentre tutti i nasi stavano rivolti all'insù arrivarono a volo radente i caccia, che precedevano e scortavano lo stormo. Mitragliavano case, muri, aria e cristiani; mitragliavano tutto quello che si muoveva e che stava fermo.
La gente scappava come topi davanti al fuoco.
Urlavano tutti, correvano tutti.
Tutti, meno io.
Appena finito il mio bisogno e rimesso a posto le mie cose erano arrivati i caccia, poi il fugone del popolo impazzito di paura.
Saltai oltre il muretto e mi trovai sulla strada, ma non riuscivo a muovermi di lì. Qualcuno o qualcosa I kept fixed in front of that wall, and now there was no one to help me: only an endless tragic silence on the ground, which was suspended above the murmur of bees Americans.
My father had finally realized that I was not inside the shelter. Came out just as they began the first explosions in the highest part of the city.
I saw him just to meet, but I also saw the shadows of the fighters.
I yelled something, but I continued to follow the shadow of the fighter.
comes one, the lowest of others. There were flames which turned on its wings.
Mio padre si tuffò come un rugbysta: mi placcò e mi trascinò qualche metro lontano di lì, nascondendomi sotto il suo corpo, mentre intorno esplodeva tutto con sibili laceranti.
Rimanemmo così a ridosso del muretto, mentre sulla città si scatenava l'inferno.
Avevo gli occhi a livello del suolo: vedevo solo il fumo nero delle esplosioni e la polvere, una nuvola enorme, sollevata dai crolli delle case, dei palazzi del centro, di un'ala del Grand Hotel.
A un tratto, forando la nube di polvere come sparato da un fucile, schizzò fuori un ragazzo molto molto giovane. Correva verso di noi, verso il muretto. Correva a piedi scalzi, la camicia spalancata come una vela gonfia dietro la schiena, il petto nudo.
Una raffica, un tonfo.
Planò sul dorso con la testa a qualche metro dalla mia. Non si mosse più.
Qualche minuto dopo l'inferno era finito e ne cominciava un altro: c'erano feriti lì intorno, tanti feriti; qualcuno si lamentava, qualche altro nemmeno si muoveva più.
Papà si era alzato e guardava il ragazzo scalzo abbattuto vicino a noi.
-Non guardare! Mi intimò con un grido e mi girò la faccia.
Ma io l'avevo visto il mio primo morto.
La pallottola dell'aereo americano gli era entrata dalla schiena, dove aveva fatto un buco, ed era uscita dal davanti. Ma il cosiddetto foro di uscita non c'era, non si vedeva: il torace era spalancato come un grande libro aperto a metà. Si vedevano solo costole, come quando appendono i maiali squartati.
Non c'erano polmoni, non c'era il cuore, non c'era più niente: solo ossa e sangue che già coagulava.
Il mio primo morto.
Papà gli chiuse gli occhi. Io non gli chiesi nulla; non ne parlammo mai più. Ma io sapevo che se lui non avesse fatto il rugbysta accanto a quel ragazzo sarei rimasto anche io.
The second occasion occurred at Km 77 of the E40, a Saturday evening in late April 1977.
Here the 77 back twice, as you can see.
The beauty of working in the largest European company for international transport -2500 TIR around Europe every day-that was a Saturday evening when a driver peeled for a week of rest after 21 days yarn sitting in the cab, had available one night paid in a 3-star Hotel Garni, and the next day for a rental car to go home.
I parked my SCANIA immense Hof in our branch in Hanover, where another driver would set in motion the next night at 22.
refused the hotel and I loved to drive in the evening and late at night. ADAC rented a golf gold with 150 horsepower. He takes the 200 in a mile and take the road to God
Half an hour later, squirting in traffic sleepy chronic latecomers on Saturday evening, and pain in the ass just woke up rushing in clubs, in a highway cleared of shooting.
Down pad on a car that begs you to push hard on "Gaspedale.
There was fog, but it was good, at least 100-150 meters, more than I needed.
I am just thinking that on this highway a year before the accident was most tragic fog of German automotive history: 39 people were killed and seventy wounded.
this time-There will be a fool who entered a fog bank to plant the car lights off and doors wide open in the middle of the road and run in fields-I say aloud, can not happen twice.
My radio is off, as always. I hate listening to music when I drive, I drive when I'm talking about. I ask questions, give me the answers to Marzullo. I tell stories. I reconstruct the bad moments of my life, giving him another year, another outcome. I live a life that non c'è, ma è tutta dentro di me. Mi piace un sacco farlo. Guiderei tutto il tempo da solo proprio per questo.
La nebbia a tratti è intensa, aumenta con l'avanzare della notte.
Sono sceso a 170. Adesso i 200 te li puoi scordare: una volta sceso di velocità non c'è verso di tornarci più, anche se hai un cuore di leone come il mio.
Ci sono macchine lentissime sulla corsia interna; morti di sonno, morti di paura. Ho abbandonato da tempo la corsia centrale, sto su quella veloce, ma non riesco a tirare il Golf oltre i 120, dove sono sceso perché un lumacone non mi dava strada.
Tento di rialzare la media time but I can not. Due to a cap psychological: if you think about it the way you see is always the same, 50-60 feet, whether you go to 70 hours is that we go at double speed, but you can not push past 70. Blame for this cap psychological, and because of this asshole in front of me on the fast track less than 80. Flashing, profanity, sound, but the shit goes down to 60. Rilampeggio, ribestemmio rang and finally let me shit on 240 Mercedes road.
is a bitch at least 60 years who leads with his nose glued to the steering wheel. We looked!
The overtaking just before the end of a climb and showed her the finger. Should I instead
kiss my feet bitch because he saved my life.
Check it up the hill very slowly, because I lost all headway.
top of the hill and in front of me, a few tens of meters, a wall of sheet metal, the car that crashed and crumpled to each other. "Massenkarambolage" collision chain disaster.
brake the car to die and I have a horse across the strip to separate the two outer lanes.
I do not have time to look at what has already happened to my right because the left side, descending from other machines on the brakes with the wheel gente come me, in preda al panico.
Un Volvo si ferma a qualche metro da me; un Mercedes lo tampona e me lo scaraventa contro, ma qualcosa devia il Volvo che scorre dietro il mio Golf e lì resta, senza sfiorarmi la carrozzeria.
Per un attimo sembra tutto finito, ma ecco la mia morte: ha il muso e i fari di un grosso BMW. Il guidatore sembra non aver visto niente, perché scende velocissimo. Il muso del BMW punta dritto verso i miei occhi.
Io so adesso cosa si prova quando si è sicuri di morire: assolutamente nulla. Ti distacchi dal mondo, dalla vita, non pensi a niente in preda all'apatia, alla rassegnazione. Non riesci a togliere gli occhi da quella something that wants you dead.
The BMW does not stop, does not brake, accelerate: hits something, rears, and passes it down with its roof on the roof of the Golf tearing the radio antenna and going into a Passat a few feet from me with a horrible roar.
When the Polizei arrived en masse with fire engines, ambulances, doctors at first intervanto, two helicopters, I'm standing around around the Golf. There is a scratch, it's just the only car impolverato.È virtually unscathed in a sea of \u200b\u200btwisted metal, it seems fallen from a crane inside the show ended the only way to free.
A Polizist is running around the car with his flashlight illuminating.
Offizier-the-wonder-where are we?
-At kilometer 77 of the E40, direction Frankfurt am Main.
continues to revolve around the Golf, bends down, looks, light, tap.
-It's Golf?
Yes, it is mine.
-Mein Gott! Aber Sie haben Glück gehabt.
She has been lucky, he said.
is polite as all German police, we were in Rome I would have said
-Moree, kill that ass glaciers.
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