Free God's Mountain by Michael Moore, Erri De Luca Page A

He sees that I’ve stayed near him and continues: “When you get homesick, it’s not something missing, it’s something present,a visit. People and places from far away arrive and keep you company for a while.” So when I start feeling like I miss someone I should think that they’re present instead? “Exactly, that way you’ll remember to greet every absence and welcome it in.” So when you’ve flown away I shouldn’t miss you? “No,” he says, “when you start to think of me it’ll mean that I’m with you.” I write down what Rafaniello said about homesickness on the scroll and now it’s better. His way with thoughts is like his way with shoes. He turns them upside down on his bench and fixes them.
     
     
    P APA CAME home to change his shirt and found Maria there. She told him that she was there to straighten up the house and give me a hand. He thanked her, got a change of clothes for Mama, and left. He came by the shop to see me and didn’t say a word about Maria. His eyes were glazed from fatigue. I don’t ask, he doesn’tsay. His alliance with her is tighter and I’m not included. My alliance with Maria shuts us off from the world, too. Change happens, but especially to us. Who else has a face as crumpled as Papa’s? Who else has a hump that’s sprouting wings? Who else has a body ready to throw a boomerang? And now, of all times, Maria has broken away from an old man’s filthy hands and been held by my hands, smoothed by sawdust, on the highest rooftop in Montedidio. When the fishnet gets closer to shore it starts to weigh less and can be pulled in more quickly. The same thing is happening to us. Even the scroll is winding up more quickly, drawn in by the weight of what’s already been written.
     
     
    I TAKE Rafaniello with me to the rooftop where the washbasins are. He hobbles up the stairs. He doesn’t know how to walk. He leans over the bulwark, looking south and east. He opens the whites of his eyes, makingthe green circle pop out. It’s not long now before we’ll be saying good-bye. I ask him what he’s thinking. It’s noontime on Christmas. Everyone’s at home. We’re the only ones outside and the sea air is shining. Staring out without looking at me, he says, “We have a proverb that says, ‘This is the sky and this is the earth,’ to indicate two opposite points. Up here they’re close together.” You’re right, Don Rafaniè, if you jump off the top of Montedidio you’re already in the sky. “It’ll take a few jumps and a big push. When you fly in your dreams you’re weightless. You don’t have to convince your strength to keep you up high. But when you add in the wings and the body, you have to be prepared to climb the air. You need something powerful to blast you away from Earth. I’m a shoemaker, a sándler, they used to say in my hometown. I fix shoes, I know feet, I know how they’re supported, how they manage to balance the whole body towering over them. I know how useful the arches are, the hardness of the heel, the spring inside the anklebone that accompanies long jumps, wide jumps, high jumps. I know the suffering of the feetand the pleasure of being able to stand on any kind of surface, even a tightrope. Once I made a pair of buckskin shoes for a tightrope walker in the circus. Here in Naples I’ve learned that feet know how to sail. I’ve repaired shoes for sailors who have to withstand the rising and falling pendulum of the sea. Feet brought me as far as Montedidio, they saved me. My people say that the wolf’s got something to eat thanks to its feet, not its teeth. I even have a hump that weighs down on me, so what is such an earthbound creature doing, flapping his wings in the sky below the stars?”
     
     
    I WRITE his words to hear them again, not to remember them. I close my good eye, and while I write on the scroll in a crooked scrawl the voice of Rafaniello rustles again, together with the rustling of the spirits. “Wings are good for an