Sometimes, I go to Emonte, a village at the foot of Lombardia Prealpi, near the town where I live. I park on the square, next to the bar, in front of the church, and head directly to the goal: the post office, where I go attend to the few “affairs” that I can’t do from home online, at night, when everyone is asleep. I chose the post office of this village, because I hate the long lines at the post office of my country. My country, in truth, has ten thousand souls or just over, but it is a little more touristic than the neighboring one, because of an Outlet Village, the vicinity to Brescia and to the Lake of Iseo.
This morning was time to go to the post office. Chiara, my daughter, went with me, and while I was there, she was waiting for me at the bar.
As son as my business was done, I reached her at the “caffè”. From the threshold I noticed her: she was setting in a corner of the hall, crowded of onlooker country men. On the table, in front of her, there was a bottle of natural mineral water and a wooden cutting board with a toast, a very big “panino”.
I reached her to the first bite. “Ciao, amo’!” I exclaimed. “Ciao, ma’. But did you go to the post office? “She mumbled, politely, with a hand over her mouth and the eyes wide open, behind the invisible rimless lenses.
“Yes. There was no one.” I said.
It was then that my look was put down a “His Master’s Voice” gramophone with cabinet.
I slung as a shot on the heirloom, even before I sat down, but it was not the object itself to attract me, it was the scent of the time, the smell of my grandfather Luigi’s pipe, the heat of the fireplace and the fragrant bread of Grandma Bea, freshly baked, that materialized around the cabinet.
I let myself be fascinated by the words on the label of the thirty-three turns Long Play. “Magic notes – Columbia London” and “Poet and Paesant – Ouverture Willem Mengelberg and his Concert Orchestra Gebouw”.
“Poets, villagers, music, old memories, smell of Italian coffee, sounds of the local dialect.” I thought, returning to the table. I sat next to Chiara that, now, was also tinkering with her golden and multi function Iphone, regardless of my enthusiasm for the gramophone. Her indifference was eloquent. “A whole cabinet to listen to only one concert.” She seemed to say, incredulous. I don’t know if more than me.
I’m open to advice on language and grammar or sintax correction.
First part to be continued.
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