Mentre Oscar mani di fata promette to grant favors to all those present when the robbery tomorrow morning should be successful, Mauritius, Livorno compound and a gentleman with white hair, he laughs when booking a place at a restaurant in this case. He also lives on the street for some time. Since he sold all his possessions in order to treat the child in a private clinic in Houston. His son was suffering from a particularly serious form of leukemia, contracted after having attended a military mission in Bosnia. The gentleman in question had, at that time, a lot of knowledge in politics and national DS Tuscany, having been assessor town of Pisa. A senior official of the Tuscany region promised on behalf of the office he held and the long friendship that bound them that the Region would pay the costs of treatment. He did not need to repeat twice, sold all their belongings and houses to operate the child in the U.S. The operation failed and after a few months back in Italy. When he came to the headquarters of the region in Florence, he was consigned by the same a sealed envelope containing a check. With tears in his eyes thanked her anyway so the friend who had worked hard for him. They were hot tears were tears of a father who had sold everything to save her son, and now with that money could play a second card, to keep alive the hope. Did not open the envelope until he arrived at the hotel. Sitting on the bed planted on the eyes of the amount of zero, a spasm passed over the body muscles, clenched his teeth bite to break up the blood in the eye and ran back to that infamous beauty that had paid the equivalent of round-trip ticket by plane to a person from Florence to Houston. He would have killed him if they had not stopped in time. That envelope was an injury, a stab in the back of a man who was powerless, stripped of everything, waiting to see her son die. He moved to Rome shortly after, to follow the child hospitalized. After his last savings and knew the road to despair. Then the first trades. Selling on behalf of other statues of saints and rosaries in St. Peter's Square the day of the canonization of the saints. The business began to go well, there were the millions, could settle. He decided to risk it. He invested everything he had earned in a year for a final banquet. It was the day of the beatification of Padre Pio. He bought all kinds of things. Rosaries, necklaces, medals, bracelets, gold, silver, figurines. At nine o'clock in the morning had already sold almost everything. The crowd ate its products, had a pocket full of thick bundles of notes cent. He could not keep up with all the hands that pulled him from side to side asking price, has an envelope? Rossi finished? How many carats? Keep the change. It gives me another twenty. No thanks, just silver. The played a couple of times the phone, he saw who was his partner to call him and stood silent to avoid wasting time with customers, "after the recall," he thought. At the third call he asked if there was no need to hear what was happening. The thought immediately ran to his son still in hospital, perhaps a serious relapse. But at that very moment, looking up, holding the cell phone kept ringing, saw him make his way straight ahead, the crowd, a patrol of officers who were advancing towards his resolute stand. Helpless, he sent down a little 'saliva, relaxed facial expression in a paralysis and dropped his arms and mobile phone.
The company had tried to warn him, saying he wanted to close the everything and leave immediately, the finance was coming. She had seen him on television from home. The cameras all over the world had stopped on his makeshift stall and the chaos that revolves around, cried foul against speculation on the cult of saints. The financiers could not fail to intervene in world vision. They seized everything. He had more than one hundred million in cash in his pockets. He confessed that they were saying all proceeds from sales and so seize them to him along with all the goods. He had no license to sell the stuff. The pockets were empty again. A few weeks after his son died. Since then continues to wander around Rome. Every so often you still interested in politics, reads a lot in the newspapers. Starter to work in a bar, after many months of utter bewilderment. I make him my best wishes.
I ask if he has seen others, Gigi, Giancarlo and Caramel. I say no. Two days are not seen around, seem to have found accommodation in a hostel a bit 'in the suburbs. Not much is known more or you want to know, removed, it seems that we are talking about three strangers. The road is too. Has no memory, is a dead name, overnight rewrites his steps and those who do not change the address traces, except in the memories of a few.
I was back to the first track to say hello, I have not found anyone.
[From "Rome homeless", January 15 2005]
Read " Rome city seen from behind "
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