Ana Maria de Jesus Ribeiro
© Salvo Andrea Figure
-2010 Lucio
Righi, rough and muscled lifeguard in Rimini, born in Argenta, about forty miles northwest, in the valley of Comacchio, the wooden tower was red like every day. June and July were spent on the Lido free "Waves of Sangiovese and the beginning of August, it was already the afternoon of the fourth, he promised havoc. Oh ... the only ones he combines them, great Tombeur de femmes sylphs of British fighters in the male Latin and German in search of stangone liebe Italian; what was literally melt in the sun as sorbets.
These were his daily thoughts on which gnawed and basking in the warm sun of Romagna. It was that which I think I see flickering flat in the waves of that afternoon: a red sun slowly plunged into the water. Dives and resurfaces, inside and out and ... "That may not be the sun - he said aloud, throwing away the Marlboro just turned on - the sun hits the water and nothing else."
remained unruffled. "Damn the hurry, I could savor the cigarette now," took the binoculars but passive and bored as he hung from the nail length, began to fire and saw that what had seemed a moment before the sun, now it was a brilliant one precious stone, a ruby \u200b\u200bscale never seen before.
And the jewel came and out of the water, slow as a slow ... Frank Sinatra. That precious was attached to a finger. Now, recognize that finger was, at that distance, even with the binoculars ... it would take the "Gino inch" of the yellow he was reading. Almost reluctantly took his tablet emergency from which hung, like the tail of a setter, a beautiful peak of about ten feet, jumped down from the tower, to first and ran towards the shore. "Damn watermelon - snuffed while overwhelm take heart - and damn the tiramisu Graziella. But what he did, whale's milk, weighs in the stomach? ".
continued to run the water was still in the calves, without losing sight of that signal: the red ring that was on the water, almost to float like a cork.
Finally he was able to dive and his natural element, like a dolphin, he did go fast. A score of 45 strokes, while the feet whipping the water like propellers of the Andrea Doria, and was close to its target. He grabbed her hand and no sign of life ringed spread to his outstretched arm and muscular. He turned the face of that woman's body that had pulled up and beat him by just two big eyes blacks half open and not completely turned off and a long greasy hair and curly. That head rested gently on the table, so drawing it out of the water and began the journey back to shore.
The sun was now down on the horizon but still no sign of change for the sunset. Missing twenty minutes at nineteen, he calculated that he still had at least one hour of sunshine. Hit him in the desert but he was going to find on the beach. All swimmers, hundreds, perhaps thousands, who until a moment before had crowded the shore, were now gone and with their chairs and umbrellas.
The beach had assumed the appearance of a wild creek, smooth and undulating without any trace of human footprints on the arena, with the exception of his foot 45. Could only just get away glimpse of those beautiful cheeks of Lorraine, who with his Brazilian fuchsia costume had magnetized the whole beach, which immediately disappeared behind the eucalyptus that line the beach.
easily dragged ashore the woman is rescued and paused to take breath.
That woman was not dead, as he feared the moment was close to her, and a bit of breath was still lift his chest by the strong and firm breasts. Apparently he could have just twenty-eight to thirty years. She was dressed in a strange way it seemed ... a hippie from the seventies. On wearing a casacchina cotta-colored rope, a neck handkerchief panama red as that of Scout and her skirt, wide, transparent linen was white but stained with blood and mud. A slight swelling in the groin caught his attention. It seemed that of a pregnant woman. It was just mentioned, but he was not a doctor and not felt to check, for what he might understand. the sides, holding a belt of rough cloth tied a cylinder, a foot long was very old and full of scratches, made of leather, waxed and then put on weight because they resist water. He looked like a single block and at the top, the lid was glued to the rest of the tube with a labrum of wax so as to be airtight.
still watched the woman for a moment he had forgotten that he was a lifeguard and that its main purpose should be to safeguard the lives of the poor. He bent over her approaching, the beautiful face of the drowning and called to memory the sequence of resuscitation. Breathing and carotid pulse there. There was, however, the state of consciousness. He turned to instruct anyone in the audience to call 118 but found that he was alone, terribly alone. For the second time seemed oblivious of his craft. 'After the woman was breathing by herself - she thought - would resume soon. Who knows what it contains cylinder '. pulled out of the emergency that led to backpack shoulder strap, a diving knife and blew up the wax. The hole looked like the sight of an old pirate ogle and saw a sheet of yellowish paper, as the ancient rice paper, rolled around another smaller package. This was immediately seen as a map of a place that is not immediately recognized, the larger one, however, once unrolled put on display a beautiful but fast writing done in black ink, still intact. The water had not penetrated into the case.
He looked around for appearances do not like. He felt like a thief in search those things are not their own, began to read: "2 August '49. Peppino dear, take care.
The bearer of this to me is a person of great trust and confidence, so please have respect for her, especially as most of you could not. As you will know for sure Rome has fallen, despite the brave resistance of Villa Corsini and just lucky we were able to escape the chase of the French. We are, however, conversely, hunted by the Austrians under the command of Field Marshal of bitter and a manhunt is no less harsh. Hazy in the background can be glimpsed in the form of ravenous beasts Austrians, chasing their prey. The good fortune was to Romagna in heart and noble mind, as its inhabitants, and so through the marshes of Comacchio moving like water snakes: elusive, slippery, fast. As a cottage house, from town to town, I find that applause ...
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