The whole city for him
The population for eleven months a year he loved the city but trouble touch: skyscrapers, the distributors of cigarettes, the wide-screen cinema, all indisputable reasons for continuing appeal. The only inhabitant that could not be attributed with certainty was Marcovaldo this feeling, but that he thought lui – primo – era difficile saperlo data la sua scarsa comunicativa, e – secondo – contava così poco che comunque era lo stesso.
A un certo punto dell’anno, cominciava il mese d’agosto. Ed ecco: s’assisteva a un cambiamento di sentimenti generale. Alla città non voleva bene più nessuno: gli stessi grattacieli e sottopassaggi pedonali e autoparcheggi fino a ieri tanto amati erano diventati antipatici e irritanti. La popolazione non desiderava altro che andarsene al più presto: e così a furia di riempire treni e ingorgare autostrade, al 15 del mese se ne erano andati proprio tutti. Tranne uno. Marcovaldo era l’unico abitante a non lasciare la città.
Uscì a camminare for the center, in the morning. Were opened wide and interminable streets, empty of cars and deserted, the facades of houses, shuttered by a hedge of the endless gray slats of the shutters were closed as the stands. Throughout the year Marcovaldo had dreamed of being able to use the streets as roads, that is walking in the middle: he could now do so, and could even pass the red traffic lights, crossing diagonally, and stand in the center squares. But he knew that pleasure was not so much to do these unusual things, than to see everything in another way: the streets as a valley, or dry river beds, houses such as blocks of craggy mountains, or walls of the cliff.
course, the lack of something jumping in his eyes, but not the row of parked cars, or engorgement at the crossroads, or the flow of crowds at the door of the store, or island of people still waiting for the tram, what was lacking to fill the gaps and bend surface squared, was perhaps a flood of water pipes to burst, or an invasion of the roots of the trees of the avenue that breaks the pavement. The look of Marcovaldo peering around for the emergence of a different city, a city and scaly bark and lumps and veins under the town of paint and tar, and glass and plaster. And so the block in front of which passed all the day turned out to be really a stony di grigia arenaria porosa; la staccionata d’un cantiere era d’assi di pino ancora fresco con nodi che parevano gemme; sull’insegna del grande negozio di tessuti riposava una schiera di farfalline di tarme, addormentate.
Si sarebbe detto che, appena disertata dagli uomini, la città fosse caduta in balia d’abitatori fino a ieri nascosti, che ora prendevano il sopravvento: la passeggiata di Marcovaldo seguiva per un poco l’itinerario d’una fila di formiche, poi si lasciava sviare dal volo d’uno scarabeo smarrito, poi indugiava accompagnando il sinuoso incedere d’un lombrico. Non erano solo gli animali a invadere il campo: Marcovaldo scopriva che alle edicole dei giornali, sul lato nord, si forma a thin layer of mold, the saplings in pots outside the restaurants are trying to push their leaves out of the shadow of the platform frame. But there was still the city? Quell'agglomerato of synthetic materials, which held the days Marcovaldo, now revealed a diverse mosaic of stones, each distinct from the other to the eye and touch, hardness and heat and texture.
So, overlooking the role of sidewalks and white stripes, zigzag Marcovaldo walked the streets with a butterfly, when suddenly the radiator of a "spider" launched a hundred miles an hour came to an inch from the hip. Marcovaldo jumped up and fell unconscious.
The machine, with a large howled, turning almost restrained herself. It jumped out of a group of shirtless young men. "Here I take a barrel - Marcovaldo thought - because I walked in the street!"
The young men were armed with strange tools. - At last we found it! Finally! - Said, surrounding Marcovaldo. - Here, then, - said one of them carrying a silver-colored stick close to the mouth - the only inhabitant left in the city on the day of August. Excuse me, sir, it means his impressions to viewers? - And packed the silver stick under his nose.
burst was a blinding flash, it was hot as in an oven, and Marcovaldo was about to faint. He had been pointed at the spotlight, "camera", and microphones. He stammered something in every three syllables, he said, occurred this young man, turning the microphone toward himself: - Ah, then, means ... - and clung to speak for ten minutes.
In short, they made him the interview.
- And now, I can go?
- Yes, of course, thank you very much ... In fact, if she had nothing to do ... and if he wants to earn a ticket for a thousand ... do not mind staying here to help us out?
entire square was upside vans, tow trucks, cameras with the truck, batteries, lighting systems, teams of men in overalls dangling from side to side all sweaty.
- one is here! It arrived! - From a one-off discovery, got a movie star.
- Below, guys, we can begin the recovery of the fountain!
The director of "teleservice" Humor of August began to give orders to resume diving diva of the famous fountain in the main town. The worker gave
Marcovaldo to move across the square from a heavy frying pan reflector pedestal. The great square hummed hours of machinery and sizzle of lamps, rang out with a hammer on the makeshift metal scaffolding and order
shouted ... Agli occhi di Marcovaldo, accecato e stordito, la città di tutti i giorni aveva ripreso il posto di quell’altra intravista solo per un momento, o forse solamente sognata.
A un certo punto dell’anno, cominciava il mese d’agosto. Ed ecco: s’assisteva a un cambiamento di sentimenti generale. Alla città non voleva bene più nessuno: gli stessi grattacieli e sottopassaggi pedonali e autoparcheggi fino a ieri tanto amati erano diventati antipatici e irritanti. La popolazione non desiderava altro che andarsene al più presto: e così a furia di riempire treni e ingorgare autostrade, al 15 del mese se ne erano andati proprio tutti. Tranne uno. Marcovaldo era l’unico abitante a non lasciare la città.
Uscì a camminare for the center, in the morning. Were opened wide and interminable streets, empty of cars and deserted, the facades of houses, shuttered by a hedge of the endless gray slats of the shutters were closed as the stands. Throughout the year Marcovaldo had dreamed of being able to use the streets as roads, that is walking in the middle: he could now do so, and could even pass the red traffic lights, crossing diagonally, and stand in the center squares. But he knew that pleasure was not so much to do these unusual things, than to see everything in another way: the streets as a valley, or dry river beds, houses such as blocks of craggy mountains, or walls of the cliff.
course, the lack of something jumping in his eyes, but not the row of parked cars, or engorgement at the crossroads, or the flow of crowds at the door of the store, or island of people still waiting for the tram, what was lacking to fill the gaps and bend surface squared, was perhaps a flood of water pipes to burst, or an invasion of the roots of the trees of the avenue that breaks the pavement. The look of Marcovaldo peering around for the emergence of a different city, a city and scaly bark and lumps and veins under the town of paint and tar, and glass and plaster. And so the block in front of which passed all the day turned out to be really a stony di grigia arenaria porosa; la staccionata d’un cantiere era d’assi di pino ancora fresco con nodi che parevano gemme; sull’insegna del grande negozio di tessuti riposava una schiera di farfalline di tarme, addormentate.
Si sarebbe detto che, appena disertata dagli uomini, la città fosse caduta in balia d’abitatori fino a ieri nascosti, che ora prendevano il sopravvento: la passeggiata di Marcovaldo seguiva per un poco l’itinerario d’una fila di formiche, poi si lasciava sviare dal volo d’uno scarabeo smarrito, poi indugiava accompagnando il sinuoso incedere d’un lombrico. Non erano solo gli animali a invadere il campo: Marcovaldo scopriva che alle edicole dei giornali, sul lato nord, si forma a thin layer of mold, the saplings in pots outside the restaurants are trying to push their leaves out of the shadow of the platform frame. But there was still the city? Quell'agglomerato of synthetic materials, which held the days Marcovaldo, now revealed a diverse mosaic of stones, each distinct from the other to the eye and touch, hardness and heat and texture.
So, overlooking the role of sidewalks and white stripes, zigzag Marcovaldo walked the streets with a butterfly, when suddenly the radiator of a "spider" launched a hundred miles an hour came to an inch from the hip. Marcovaldo jumped up and fell unconscious.
The machine, with a large howled, turning almost restrained herself. It jumped out of a group of shirtless young men. "Here I take a barrel - Marcovaldo thought - because I walked in the street!"
The young men were armed with strange tools. - At last we found it! Finally! - Said, surrounding Marcovaldo. - Here, then, - said one of them carrying a silver-colored stick close to the mouth - the only inhabitant left in the city on the day of August. Excuse me, sir, it means his impressions to viewers? - And packed the silver stick under his nose.
burst was a blinding flash, it was hot as in an oven, and Marcovaldo was about to faint. He had been pointed at the spotlight, "camera", and microphones. He stammered something in every three syllables, he said, occurred this young man, turning the microphone toward himself: - Ah, then, means ... - and clung to speak for ten minutes.
In short, they made him the interview.
- And now, I can go?
- Yes, of course, thank you very much ... In fact, if she had nothing to do ... and if he wants to earn a ticket for a thousand ... do not mind staying here to help us out?
entire square was upside vans, tow trucks, cameras with the truck, batteries, lighting systems, teams of men in overalls dangling from side to side all sweaty.
- one is here! It arrived! - From a one-off discovery, got a movie star.
- Below, guys, we can begin the recovery of the fountain!
The director of "teleservice" Humor of August began to give orders to resume diving diva of the famous fountain in the main town. The worker gave
Marcovaldo to move across the square from a heavy frying pan reflector pedestal. The great square hummed hours of machinery and sizzle of lamps, rang out with a hammer on the makeshift metal scaffolding and order
shouted ... Agli occhi di Marcovaldo, accecato e stordito, la città di tutti i giorni aveva ripreso il posto di quell’altra intravista solo per un momento, o forse solamente sognata.
Italo Calvino , Marcovaldo ovvero Le stagioni in città , 1963.
