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.
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