Saturday, 20th November 1993

                                    

                                          
            
                          
"Giulia, there's Marco" Cesare whispered to me.
                          
I raised my eyes from his maths book and I recognized a livid face out of the window.
                          
He furiously investigated inside, looking for me.
                          
And why he was not it in Barcelona?
                          
When I heard that news the pen fell down from my hands, so they could shake more freely.
                          
Elia on the other side of the table severely scrutinized me. He then reached the entrance but he didn't let his friend in; he took the winter jacket and reached him out.
                          
After that powerful emotional stalemate, the afternoon lesson went on without interferences; Walter in the meantime kept an eye on stove and fireplace, seated on an old chair overlooking the bare panorama.
                          
More or less ten boys and girls, all living in that lake little village, students from elementary school to university, all in trouble; Cesare the oldest of the group, facing the most difficult exam of the first year of his degree in economics, faculty attended in Milan where he started that new experience thanks to Marco's help, while Walter's son the youngest, clever enough to do all his homework by his own but eager to spend some time with his father.
                          
Elia invited them to reach the long table of his kitchen whenever he could, especially on Saturday, often even on Sunday, and with the help of friends and parents tried to help them, so avoiding they lose their course first at school then elsewhere.
                          
The last evening he knocked even at my door, maybe for the same reason he non-stop chased his young countrymen, that time he said to be particularly worried about the consequences of my pseudo-familiar encounter, communicated in advance to him as requested.
                          
There was more, as unpleasant as true.
                          
I should have yelled to go beyond the disappointment, so he predicted, and immersed in the tranquillity of his placid country perhaps he heard me.
                          
Of the mercy invoked on my behalf nothing came but him. However we didn't speak a lot about it; I fatigued to tell, even more than usual, and after some long pauses full of visible tension Elia preferred to change strategy:
                          
"What can I do for you?"
                          
Words inexplicably came out before I could realize them:
                          
"I need to feel myself useful, otherwise I'll explode."
                          
And he brought me to that wooden table during that afternoon so windy, perfectly matched with my soul so deeply shaken.
                          
I didn't feel better but at least I wasn't totally useless.
                          
In the division of tasks I won the assistance of older students; maths and geometry their most frequent nightmares, on the contrary my favourite subjects since the elementary school. And I was pleased to see again Cesare; after my teacher performance next to Miguel we didn't meet again. And to tell the truth if he hadn't looked for me excited at the end of the workshop, by him just attended, I wouldn't have noticed his presence among that indistinct mass of young people overshadowed by the dazzling lights of the overhead projector.
                          
"If you want, we can stop" he innocently suggested.
                          
"No, no, let's go on. Let's do this now."
                          
I pointed to a trigonometric function; he immediately obeyed without other comments. Then I got up to defuse the tension, passing over the head of other two guys fighting against probability calculation.
                          
The entrance door reopened after a long time, not only according to my questionable impressions, but confirmed also by the noisy clock ticketing on the wall.