spends her days cleaning the tools, machines, levo, sawdust. I'm doing with robust operation of the boomerang. The push back against his shirt, a fan and muscle strikes against the fabric on the back and a line of corn passes through the hands where I hold the handle of wood. I force the night to wash the launch, do the whole move to pull him and then squeeze the last, at the end of travel of the shoulder and arm. The push is strengthened, the boomerang is buzzing with desire. Sudo in the palm, the smell of wood bitter, bitter chestnut. No one sees me, only the spirits blow me in to do some dry caress. The street is noisy at night, but I am higher than all the clothes on the terrace and the loudest noise and the edge of the boomerang that cuts the air step behind the ears.
Rafaniello is tired, he sleeps rough, burn the hump. But is happy, good sign, he says. I look for confidence when mast'Errico is out to buy lumber. It made me his story. He came to Naples in error, was flying to go to Jerusalem after the war. It got off the train and saw the sea for the first time. A ship's siren sounded and he has become recalled a party at his country that begins with a sound equal. He looked at his feet, how many barefoot children as much to his country, buckets, quick, seem to him his own. He comes from a country that has lost inguaiato all children, the crowd in Naples then repaid to the mountain. In his country have become so few that do not greet each other more, in Naples instead one can spend the day just to say hello and then goes to bed tired just for that.
Rafaniello he walked to our foreign city and also equal to half its pre-war, the same for the faces, the screams, insults, bad luck and it seemed strange not to understand I miss a word. Touched ears to see if there was a failure, while it tells me laugh. Has resigned, the city was foreign. It must be because of the sea that holds her back and not start it, so he too must be stopped, can not walk to Jerusalem. The ships are not in America to the Holy Land. So is, say, a little rest. And the end of the forty-five, you need shoes, people want to get married, Naples is full of weddings, Rafaniello stops and waits. I was fascinated in the studio to hear its facts, I have to give the pinch to get back to work.
Each of us is an angel, so he says, and the angels do not travel, if you leave, you lose it, you will meet another. What he finds an angel in Naples and slow, does not fly, go on foot: "Do not you can go to Jerusalem," so I told him right away. And I have to wait, ask Rafaniello. "Dear Rabbi Daniel, the angel tells him he knows the original name of Rafaniello, you go to Jerusalem with their wings. I'm going to walk even if you are an angel and you go up the western wall of the holy city with a pair of wings as strong as those of vultures. "Who me by, insists Rafaniello. "Already the hold, he says that, are in the custody of the hump." Rafaniello and sad not to leave, happy hump and that was a lot Potato and bones on his back by not being able to download ever: they are wings are wings, tells me even more and lowers her voice and her freckles are moving around the green oc who set up at the window.
The angel repeated it to him, because the men have to say things twice, "Flying with wings fly to Jerusalem and do your shoes with Rav Iohanàn hassàndler, which we would don Giuvanne 'or shoemaker. As was the angel of his country, I asked him. One that could do the vodka with the snow, she said. I know the snow, and fall in fifty-six and cleaned up the city, Naples has never been so white. "The snow does not clean, covers, leave everything the same, do not sweep anything, "Rafaniello teaches me and I'm quiet.
listen about his business, I would like to say that I myself lean to fly, but only on Naples. I would like to say how do, how to put the body, that the entire manual is in the eye when you raise their trains when they come down lower. I would like to say what I learned in suonno, but I'm quiet, I know only float in the air, he touches the seriousness of the wings. Then come back mast'Errico, drain boards, which are rough but the chips do me no harm, I made the leather on the skin. The facts of Rafaniello bring me joy, air in the bones, a joy of Flying. In the evening to wash my arm if I want to leave behind the boomerang. Slows push the brake and hardens the muscle Muo vo, it does become a form of catapult.
Mast'Errico put me to spread the filler and sanding. Alliscio the doors of a wardrobe. But how many clothes keeps this family? We're doing eight ports, two floors, is called "four seasons". Today he tried to close the door first and match so well that he who made the sound of the breath, the air he's escaped from inside. It made me put my face close to the door, I felt a caress of air. So you rub the spirits in my face. Mast'Errico Then he dismounted and broke it covered and an important work, and turn the whole vintage. The drawers are made of beech, the dovetail joints, a satisfaction vederglieli out from under your hands. Check out the team many times, grease the rails, and pulls the drawers riinfila without noise, as the line at sea, he said, rising and falling silent in his hand to him. Mast'Errico, I say, are a phenomenon, an ebony is fisherman.
Mast'Errico buy daily Il Mattino. And spending, thirty pounds, said that a man must know what happens in the world. Reads out some news for us: He's dropped the sword hand of the statue in front of Roger the Norman Palace Real. A big bunch Genoa between police and workers. Mast'Errico's voice and strong, I remain impressed that the facts the law. On Sunday he goes fishing, rowing on the harbor front in a thin line. Sits quietly in the traffic of ships until the evening. So wait until the bream you to turn. A bream, in front of the dam at the port, you do not believe, under the black sheet del1'acqua. There are, he says, are savvy as urchins, and it takes art to steal the sea. For bait we want the mussel, once me the sign, he says: "I learned the".
At our table the bream do not rise, we are eating anchovies. 'O seabream, is expensive, but if he takes it home every Sunday and if you cook a1l'acqua crazy. "With the permission of] the sky and sea," he says. Golf only, sixty years not wear glasses, you stretch your view, is to take many times the size of the cuts, to be more noticed. The boy who held the first was good but grew up with Guapparia and is now locked. So I arrived, soon the eyes, the sign millimeters. He then calculates how much steals the cut to size and corrects the .
I do not understand the children age, their forty or eighty have the same trouble. I once heard on the stairs to ask her grandmother Maria if she was old. That said no, Mary asked if the grandfather was old and the grandmother said no. Then Mary asked: "But the old do not exist?", And has taken a blow. I understand them the years of people, but those Rafaniello not. In the face has a hundred years, in the hands of forty, the hair winds, all red bush. In the words I do not know, speaks little voice fine fine. He sings in a foreign language, when I clean out his corner makes me smile and move wrinkles and freckles, it seems when it rains on the sea.
And 'good enough, Rafaniello, adjust the shoes to puverielli and does not pay. Also arrives at a couple who wants a new. Just grab the measure with a piece of string, knots of us who know him and then he begins to do. That comes back to misurarsele and is just the shoes, the better the glove. She loves to walk people. Rafaniello does not hurt a fly and not fly in its way. The flying around but do not rely on him, even if there are a lot. Mast'Errico hand shakes his neck like a horse carriage to take them off the face while the hands are busy. It also snorts like a horse. The slam around the rag and let those stay for a second.
I wear sandals even in winter, the foot grows and may even stick out a little without having to buy a new pair. They're small, and taken them Rafaniello swept while barefoot, not to consume them. There has been noticing me. When I put my lunch I go right, I'm worried that convenient to have the wrong shoes. I looked at him and he has made, is the head. I tell him thanks don Rafanie, he replied: "No Father," but you are a good Christian, do the charity at the foot of puverielli, you deserve the Don. "No, no, the don is good for others and then I'm not even Christian. Where I come from my name with a name almost identical Rafaniello. "I was silent, I had not exchanged ten words with him. The leather sandals was fragrant, raised his hand. At home, Mom told me good I want to do right by people. With Rafaniello not true, that everyone loves.
