Terzo: in cui sofferenza e incoscienza vivono in splendida armonia
È la tarda primavera del 1985 e un’allora sconosciuta azienda che fa orologi invita a Basilea una serie di autori a un happening di pittura per lanciare il loro nuovo modello in plastica transparent. The company is called Swatch.
Andrea has not been named, but all his friends in Bologna. Perhaps because he is more instinctive and less of their designers. Or maybe because they did not pay enough. For Andrea "pay first" was not a joke.
that You are there, sweating, paint on a sheet of three to five meters overlooking a small square. Are you stuck inside a suit of white paper and a plane flying over at high altitude over disturbs Soon Can Babaluna of the walkman.
comes behind you, the journalist of a fashion magazine in Milan that when you interviewed. "Do you remember me?" He says. It is there to do a service on launch of the Swatch transparent (it would be released commercially next month, beginning the craze of collecting watches "customized" ...).
"Of course I remember." You sit on the scaffolding. There is a knowing glance that makes you uncomfortable. While speaking you wonder if they'd like. You're a little 'shy and a bit' snobby. And girls with big tits always put you in a quandary. But it looks nice. Conclude that you will think tomorrow. Maybe.
As the sun goes down, those who paint come together for dinner. Andrea and you will see, too light to suit the climate in Switzerland. "Guys, I thought I was bored in Bologna, and I would be missed. "
come to an agreement to stay using the unused bed in the room than among those present that he considers his best friend. A cartoonist best known as a visual artist.
girlfriend has just left and he needs to be in the company. Even his voice is higher than usual, as if to feel while doing her lines. In Bologna he felt without an audience, abandoned and alone.
The appointment is after dinner in a trendy, party offered by Swatch. Italians get together and a flash somewhere between pity and curiosity anthropological you crossed my mind: this journalist Milan all'inconsolabile Andrea. At various times during the evening, asked the friend of the heart, which knows very well his ex-girlfriend, if he thinks it's all over between them. With pleading eyes, as if the other had the resolving power to make it back to him. In your opinion, what have I done? But you do not think I want to see again? Come back to me? He has another?
The friend gives evasive answers, peripherals, cryptic ... blurred, far from any meaning, trying to avoid the interrogation. The dialogue becomes allusive, fantastic, absurd, as if those two were talking about something else, they know everything but they can not a dirsi nulla. “Sarà con qualcuno adesso?”
“No, non ti preoccupare.”
“Ma tu come fai a dirlo?”
“Lo sai che io queste cose le intuisco.”
“Hai il sesto senso. Sei un artista.”
“Ehm…”
“Grazie. Grazie. Se non ci fossi tu… È bella, vero?” scuote la testa. “È bellissima.”
“Eh sì.”
“Lo pensi anche tu?”
“Sì, certamente.”
“Non può lasciarmi. Non riuscirei ad amare un’altra woman. You understand me, right? "
" I understand. "
" Sometimes I wonder how do you understand me so well. We understand each other on the fly. "
" happens. "
" I've never had a friend like you. "
" Grant. "
" It's true. "
The space is divided into two rooms. One part is sunk as a marble quarry. There all dancing. The air conditioning is insufficient to cover the damp heat that rises from the sweating bodies.
Andrea is already under and dance, dance, dance ... like a madman. Wearing his usual T-shirt and jeans. As in a drawing. With his head and arms that seem to come loose from the body. Dripping with sweat. With eyes that pierce the walls, the rock stars go on ... and lost elsewhere.
The other at some point they leave and he left. The best friend greets him with a melancholy gesture but he does not see it. She tells him to knock when they fall, but Andrea does not hear.
You observe it. Wondering What have we and feed suspicion about what these two share. Do you think he now exudes anger and pretty good. But you're tired and you go.
In the morning we discover that Andrea did not go to sleep. And only later, when passing to say hello, the bully who is petit bourgeois in lui ha bisogno di far sapere a tutti che ha passato la notte con la giornalista milanese.
Eh sì, Andrea era un vero uomo.
E, in quanto tale, onnivoro.
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