Read Online My First Seven Years (Plus a Few More) by Dario Fo - Free Book Online

on the greenhouse glass, had their brightness multiplied as in a distorting mirror at a fairground.
    When later at school I encountered for the first time the adventure of Dante’s Ulysses, strapped to the mast of his ship, awestruck and bewitched by the special effects of sound and light organised by the Sirens, I could not help connecting that magical situation with the spectacle I had witnessed as a boy inside that crystal nursery, where the storm performed for us a concert that presaged the end of the world.
    â€˜You’re a madman, fit to be tied,’ screamed my grandmother with that thin voice of hers. ‘Don’t you realise what would have happened to you and that poor boy if the wind had blown the net away? The whole glass structure would have shattered to pieces and fallen on top of you.’
    Bristìn, normally so strong and sure of himself, bowed his head before that fragile, delicate little woman. ‘Yes, you’re right, Maria. I was a bit thoughtless … in fact completely thoughtless. But to experience certain moments, you’ve got to take risks.’

CHAPTER 6
    Back in Oleggio
    After several months, Uncle Beniamino, the youngest of my mother’s brothers, was given the job of taking me home. As I was leaving, Granddad lifted me onto the back of that great horse, Gargantua’s stallion. ‘We’ll let him take you to the station!’
    I took hold of the reins, but made no effort to manoeuvre with them. I had long since discovered that there was no point in pulling the reins up and down since the horse made up its own mind about where it was supposed to turn. For years, it had been padding at least three times a week along the same roads that led to the farms and villages where my granddad dispensed his chatter and wares. They had put one over me, but I refused to give them the satisfaction of knowing that I knew, and so I carried on unperturbed, mimicking the various actions of driving the cart.
    Moreover, the horse responded to variations in routine only when its master gave orders with a shout or a jerk of the bridle. That was why on this occasion Granddad got up on the horse’s back beside me: our destination was the station, which was not part of the horse’s usual round.
    Kisses, hugs, a lump in the throat and a few tears … shaking hands … the train moving off. I remained glued to the window the whole time we travelled through Lomellina, and I thought back to the day of my arrival in Sartirana, to the aversion I had felt towards that countryside infested by mosquitoes and midges, lined with rows of poplar trees marking the boundaries of rice fields and cut into an infinity of labyrinthine patterns by the vertical and horizontal spider’s web of canals and waterways. Now those complex geometries had entered my brain like expressions of some surreal, metaphysical calm.
    The guard on the train was surprised to see me riding alone in the carriage: it was not normal, especially in those days, for a child to travel on his own without a guardian, but I was used to it. Trains, railway tracks, stations were all as natural to me as breathing, drinking and going to the toilet.
    On my arrival in Oleggio, all I had to do was look around and there, near the engine, red hat pulled down over his head, was my father. He came towards me, picked me up with one arm, gave me a hug, held me close to his face, whistled to the engine driver to give him the sign to move off and then announced with a big smile: ‘There’s a big surprise waiting for you at home! You’ve got a little sister … Bianca! You’ll not believe how pretty she is, like a porcelain doll!’
    She was indeed just like a porcelain doll, my little sister … so delicate in her features, with those big, shining eyes. They let me hold her in my arms for a little, but I had to give up almost immediately because she wriggled like a baby goat and burst into a