'to uerra is' na crap. My grandfather used to say. I here this grandfather I never knew, died a little before I was born somewhere but I retain his medals and I know that he spoke with knowledge of the facts. judging by the smears that have, in fact, doing two quick calculations, I realized I was in Libya in 1911, winning the fourth side, and then in the trenches throughout the duration of the Great War, from 1915 until 1918. the end is back with a series of metal crosses and also in one piece. But they told me that his grandfather was a quiet man, friendly but still a bit 'away with his head, as if the affairs of everyday distractions and what they turned in, and that only he knew, but it was really important . I think I'm done with the years of atrocities practiced and experienced in war, had to enter.
what he thought of the war my grandfather told me once that I was the barber. I was 11 or 12 years and my mother each month, ranging from Mary, the hairdresser who was a shop next door, leaving me an angel, just the barber. that place made me a bit 'in awe, it was all modern and full of sharp pitted black and white, even where no one understood why they put them there. every time we went inside I found the father of Angel, an old man badly dressed and his hair and beard neglected but I always smiled and greeted me, despite the fact that the age difference would impose the exact opposite. was a widower for a lot of years and is not that he had all this money, so if certain things had to do it alone. that's why he was always a bit 'scruffy. But the fact of his beard and hair, since he spent his days in the barber shop of his son, I did not really have never been able to explain.
was this gentleman once told me that he knew who I was, I was the son of the doctor antonio, good soul, which in turn was the son of Louis, God rest his soul, and I wore that his own name because I had taken from his grandfather. I looked at him without saying anything but you must understand that I was thinking that he was stoned. I was 12, not 2, I knew very well that bore the name of my grandfather. I know you know why you call it that, he added at that point, what you can not know for me though is that your grandfather was someone really important, rest his soul, because once saved my life. had to be a very religious father of the angel barber.
and it was this incredible story with him and three or four other youths of the country in October of '43, had been caught by the Germans. What to do? nothing, of course. the Boche had put down a little more basic, to the district Ianni, and since that day were turned in blank for all farms and could find no food, had decided that the time had come to understand these bumpkins, children and blacks , who commanded the Italian. therefore, mopping and shot, Addo Coglio grasp it. sti poor wretches had been taken of parents in the yard, less than a mile from my house, and there was a macabre negotiations began between the Germans and peasants. give us things to eat that you keep hidden somewhere, said the first, but we stink of hunger and we have nothing at all, replied the other desperate, nein, you are beautiful chubby, do not seem to die of hunger, drive out the stuff if for no these poor wretches, kaput, but that stuff as chubby, which c'abbiamo ribs that come from outside. In short, things were really gets bad.
happens then, safe in their farmhouse, the fonzo that are close enough to follow everything, including bad block, decided to run for help. and national, in front of their home, is passing at that moment, my father, who he went out for a ride with the mare. the young Antonio, ambush of the war, to hear what is happening, I think that there is nothing of going to look out and returns home at full speed. that's how my grandfather is in the income of the matter is, go find out why, he decides to go by genito, to see if we could find a solution.
what happens in the encounter between the man and his squad of Nazi corporal, the father of the barber I do not know how to explain precisely, he was too busy crying like a calf, she says, only remember the grandfather who was shouting and is not scary, not even the weapon that, at regular intervals, the Kraut's aimed at him. the old just do not know how but in the end it was the Germans went away and left them there and the corporal, he at least seemed so, as you were leaving with the truck, he made a sort of nod.
Angela's father does not remember what happened better than that but one thing he is impressed. when my grandfather came to the place, with the Germans who, seeing him get all breathless, shouting with his hands and made signs to attract attention, they pulled up all the machine guns and began to cry and maybe they too were well shoot In short, when Louis's grandfather was a few steps, looked around, spread his arms theatrical, dropped them back at your sides and then, with a face sincerely sorry, he said, 'to uerra is' na crap.
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