Sea Wind E-Book

Andrea Penna

• Herausgeber: Tektime
• Kategorie: Sachliteratur, Reportagen, Biografien
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 125

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024

Beschreibung

Giudo and Giuseppe are two brothers with a mutual passion for adventure and discovering the world, which will prise them far apart. Maria is a strong-willed and determined girl. Giancarlo has a great talent for drawing. Love, adventure and sickness against the backdrop of an Ancora wanting rebirth after the Second World War. How will our protagonists emerge? Will they succeed in cultivating their ambitions? Will the sea winds blowing into Ancora roll these away or will their lives intertwine in a common destiny?

Leseprobe

SEA WIND

ANDREA PENNA

Copyright © 2022, Andrea Penna

Translated by Rhys Llwyd in April 2024

All rights reserved

To my father Giancarlo and my uncle Guido who are laughing together in Heaven, to my mother who’s thinking of them with her now faded memories and all the other aunts and uncles to bear witness to my youth.

Thank you to my family for having supported me for so long, but for always giving me such strength and heartfelt thanks to my friend Massimo for having edited the text.

SEA WIND

Table of Contents

HELL

HEAVEN

THE RUN

THE WAR

THE JOURNEY

GIANCARLO

HOPE

YOUTH

THE LEGION

GIUSEPPE

STAMURA

THE PARTY

THE SEA

THE RETURN

DISTANCE

THE SUMMER

OPEN SEAS

THE CAMP

SUFFERING

THE ENCOUNTER

HELL

I’ve just opened my eyes, but I don’t know where I am. I have the feeling of being suspended, but neither in air nor in water. All my senses are obscured. There’s a feeling of close warmth in my fingers. It’s giving me goose bumps.

Am I dead or just dreaming? I want to move. I’d like to rise, but I’m as stiff as a board. It’s as if I’m blocked by a shapeless press that’s out of control.

My body’s in an entangled mess of arms and legs. I can’t believe what I’m seeing. I’m in a pit alongside other human beings showing no signs of life. My earliest memories slowly come up to the surface; at first, they’re muddled, but later get all the clearer. I’m in a biliously coloured river that’s low enough to keep a mounted machine gun above water. I was shooting and shooting, mowing down dozens of Viet Minh. They’d fall into the water, colouring it red.

I felt no emotion. I could only hear my comrade’s screams. He kept watering the barrel, now red-hot, on this instrument of death to keep it cool. In the moments of respite, I was trying to break free from the black leeches feasting on my blood like vampires. It was only a moment, however. Then came a flash and a deafening whistle.

I was then blasted into the air. Then came darkness.

I’ve perhaps been taken for dead and thrown in with the others, not unlike Parmesan on fried aubergine. Yes, the kind my mother and Maria Luisa ─ my sister ─ would make in Sant’Angelo in Vado. I remember that marvellous dish: a layer of fried aubergine atop another of mozzarella and Parmesan. This would go on and on for layer after layer ... Yes, I feel like a layer of aubergine.

But why?

Have I gone mad? Does my head want to delve into the past? Is it for something certain, somewhere familiar and kept safe? Have I perhaps been in the grip of hunger? I’m not thirsty, however. Unconsciously, I may have drunk some rainwater filtered over me. It was also mixed with blood.

Suddenly, a strong blow causes a small landslide. The top of this human pile collapses on one side and a ray of light filters through over me. I try to stir myself and to peep between an arm and a leg. I don’t know whose they are. I can’t, however. It’s like when you’re in a dream, trying to move or to cry out, but it feels like you’re paralysed ...

Then, a faint wheeze comes out of my mouth. I can hear voices draw nearer and nearer, and then ...

Nothing.

HEAVEN

Heaven. Yes, I’m in Heaven. Paradiso.

This isn’t the Heaven in the clouds, but my house in Sant’Angelo, surrounded by tall oaks and olive trees. That was what this cottage on a small hill was called. It had many rooms, always full of the shouts and singing of my seven siblings.

The eldest, Peppina, was always left on the sidelines to read books. Paolina, however, would amuse herself by looking at the grass through my father’s magnifying glass. There then were the vain and inseparable Anna and Maria Luisa, who’d show their beauty with some clothes, taken from my mother’s chest of drawers, in front of the sitting room’s stained mirrors. On the other hand, Lucia would run behind Giuseppe; he’d stolen a comb from her. Meanwhile, the youngest, Maria, would roll about in the meadow nearby, holding a daisy between her lips.

“Guido! Guido!” my beautiful sisters called out to me from one of the rooms. “Do you think we’ll look alright dressed like this at the dance tonight?” They were both wearing white blouses with a very generous neckline showing their heaving bosoms, black skirts and a handkerchief around their necks, almost wrapping what was beneath like a gift.

“Yeah, yeah, you look great. Who’s going with you, though?”

My father being absent and always away with his work for a bank, I was the eldest male. I’d take care of my sisters, albeit not often as I was often busy having fun with friends.

“Oh, Guido, you know who! There’s Mario and Gianni we met at Rimini. We sang at that meeting of young fascists there that time”.

“Mario’s alright, but I’m not sure about that Gianni. His chest puffs up too much when he speaks. Not even the Duce ...”

“Oh, come on!” said Luisa in a smile. “He’s a good egg and very nice to me, too”.

That mischievous smile would send me spare. That was just how she was, however. She’d always get what she wanted, which my mother was aware of. The two would often argue.

My mother was from a well-off family. She was a landowner and would say she came from a noble family with famous ancestors who were cardinals, ... even if I doubted it somewhat. Father came from Milan; as director of the Banco di Napoli, he would initially move to different Italian cities. Their children were therefore born in Naples, Rome, Milan, Sant’Angelo in Vado and Potenza, where Marolina, the youngest, was born.

“So, Guido, can we go like this?” These incorrigible sisters of mine wanted my blessing ...

“What can I say? Go ahead, but don’t come back late”.

I liked being important to them, even if I was already thinking about something different a few minutes later. That evening, I enjoyed playing cards with my friends. My favourite sport, however, was running after the village’s best beauties. One evening, I called Giuseppe, the family’s youngest but one, who was still small but quite smart, and asked him to get the keys to the garage from Mother’s beside table without being seen.

“What do you need them for?” he asked me.

“Settle down,” I replied. “I’ve got to get something from in there”.

“Why don’t you ask her yourself?” asked this arrogant snotface.

“Mam won’t want to. If you do that for me, though, I’ll give you that cap of mine you like so much”.

A tight-lipped grimace took over his little face, but he then said: “D’you really mean that?”

“Yes, Giuseppe. I’ll give it you as soon as you bring me that key”.

His little legs were already running off as soon as he’d heard me answer. An hour later, I heard a knock on the door. Before I could get up from the bed to open it, the nipper came in, waving the keys to the garage in his hand. I thanked him with a hug and put a cap on his head I’d never wear again. He had wanted it for a while ...

THE RUN

In the garage, there were so many things hanging from the walls. The most beautiful of these was there, but in the middle of the room, looking majestic and elegant in my eyes. It was lined with winding curves and its chrome glittered.

This was my father’s absolute jewel: a Moto Guzzi 500 S.

He treated it better than he did Mam and spent more time cleaning it than riding it. Getting on it was pleasure enough and to then caress that tank ─ half chrome and half burgundy ... It gave me sensations comparable to being between Miranda’s thick thighs.

I didn’t think twice about it. Although I was forbidden from taking this treasure and riding it, I forcefully fired up the engine and emerged from the den, making an infernal din.

The engine’s rumble on the dirt road surely reached the house. My parents, however, were too busy to ask questions; by then, I already was on the main road towards the village. After two bends, I saw Luisa on the kerb. She was crouching at first, but then held her hand out and invited me to stop.

I barely managed to brake. Perhaps, I ought to have told my father about this issue, but I’d have been rumbled that way. So, in a puff, I said to her: “What are you doing?”

“Nothing. I got tired of walking and was expecting a pickup,” she replied haughtily, blowing over that dark curl covering her left eye. Luisa was known in the village for her cheek and rebellious demeanour, attracting much gossip about her by its elders, but she wasn’t bothered. On the contrary, she enjoyed challenging them with her walk, which was almost a dance, through the narrow streets of this small village.

“Well, ... hop on and I’ll take you to Bar Sante”.

She smiled and lifted her black skirt just enough to fit over the black wheel, hugging me tightly and pulling on my white shirt Paolina had so effortfully ironed the night before. I began my run again with a roar. She leant her fulsome chest into my back, reiterating her desire to be closer to me than the other women walking around me.

I didn’t care too much about it, being absorbed in riding this magnificent specimen. A few miles down the line, I reached the bridge leading to the small square where the bar was. I stopped right in front to show off my noble steed.

“Hey, Guido, you made it!”

This was Tonio, a longtime friend of mine, strutting in a chair nearby, fiddling with a tiny cigarette.

“Wotcher, Tone! I don’t remember us having an appointment ...”

“’Course you don’t! You’re always busy chasing skirt!”

He was pointing and grinning at my passenger as he said that. I raised an eyebrow, while Luisa dismounted the bike, annoyed at the joke. In a leap, she snatched the cigarette butt away from Tonio, throwing it far away and setting a trail of small incandescent sparks off.

“Dumbarse!” was the only word she said before disappearing round the corner.

“What’s with her?” he said, feigning surprise.

“Ever the stirrer, aren’t you?” I said. “C’mon, what’s on your mind?”

“I wanted to go to the river, with it being a lovely day. We might chance upon a brunette or two having a wash in the fountains ...”

Not far from Borgo Pace, the river meandered there, almost like a snake. Here and there were points where the water stagnated, forming lakelets filled with waterfalls. They were to look like beautifully burbling fountains, ideal for the fair maidens wanting to wash their clothes and flannels. When it was hot, we’d cool off in those tubs, much to the little ones’ amusement.

“Yeah, but first, I’m having a coffee;” I answered, “then, we go”. This brought a smile to my friend’s annoying face. This was time for me to sip through and lick the bottom of the cup as I found myself on the motorcycle. I was then wrapped in my companion’s strong arms as he bounced at this country road’s every pothole on the way to Borgo Pace.

The river was close by and the sound of the waters were partly drowned out by chirp-like song and cheery voices also singing. The sight of all those women, as they were busy washing themselves in the water, with their skirts raised and rolled up over their knees, reminded me of an old tapestry at my uncle Bernardo’s residence. He was my mother’s brother. This depicted Diana bathing with the nymphs and fauns who were irritating them.

Amongst the many women, I saw Miranda standing to one side. Despite the disappointment of the others not wanting to be disturbed, I quickly drew near her, calling her name.

“Hello, Mira! Aren’t talking to me anymore?”

I told her this because, after our last encounter, she went away a bit annoyed.

“You don’t deserve me giving you the time of day!” she replied. “Not after what you told me!”

In truth, I hadn’t told her much. On the contrary, I was trying to break out of the corner she’d put me in. She’d spoken to me about being engaged after we’d made love several times. It would always be in the same place, near a large barn on my uncle’s property.

To tell the truth, that barn had borne witness to many an encounter between boys and girls, immortalised by many group photos well capturing the light-heartedness of that period. That was before the accursed winds to have moved down everybody’s dreams just a few years later.

“Oh, come on! Don’t you think it’s still too soon for an engagement?” I was saying this although, in my heart of hearts, I’d already planned to steal away far from that all too close-knit village. It wanted to put invisible chains around me so I’d stay.

“Ah! I bet you’re thinking of another girl, maybe that simpering Luisa, eh?” Miranda had darkened, her neck twitching in concert with her laboured breathing. Her eyes seemed to cut through the air surrounding her.

“Don’t talk nonsense. You’re my best girl! C’mon, let’s get out of here; I’ve got the bike today”. Her mood changed in an instant as I pulled her away with me, splashing the others who cursed as we passed.

I wanted to feel her with me one last time before I’d meet my fate.

THE WAR

At school, we’d talk about what was happening in the world. Mussolini was waging war with The Moustached One, but good news wouldn’t be forthcoming.

My father was at the front and, in Paradiso, food was beginning to grow scarce. Peppina, the eldest, had gone to stay at Uncle Bernardo’s because Mam couldn’t feed us all. At Urbino, Paolina was studying to become a pharmacist; our uncle was always paying her keep. Meanwhile, Anna had married Mario who’d then moved away because of his opposition to the régime. Maria Luisa was still engaged to Gianni who was active in a small militia. The youngest ones, in the meantime, were running about the house, unaware of what was happening within.