Anonymous E-Book

Simone Malacrida

• Herausgeber: BookRix
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2023

Beschreibung

The pursuit of the vain hopes of success and the total invisibility of entire segments of the population are the two complementary visions that characterize the protagonists of this novel. Seven stories, separated in places and environments, meet only on a chronological level, leaving each immersed in anonymity, the only possible solution between an unattainable affirmation and a tragedy not consonant with the characteristics of contemporary society.

Leseprobe

Simone Malacrida

Anonymous

BookRix GmbH & Co. KG81371 Munich

Table of Contents

Table of Contents

SIMONE MALACRIDA | “Anonymous”

ANALYTICAL INDEX

I

II

III

IV

V

VI

VII

VIII

IX

X

XI

XII

XIII

XIV

XV

XVI

XVII

XVIII

XIX

XX

XXI

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SIMONE MALACRIDA | “Anonymous”

SIMONE MALACRIDA

“Anonymous”

Simone Malacrida (1977)

Engineer and writer, has worked on research, finance, energy policy and industrial plants.

ANALYTICAL INDEX

ANALYTICAL INDEX

I

II

III

IV

V

VI

VII

VIII

IX

X

XI

XII

XIII

XIV

XV

XVI

XVII

XVIII

XIX

XX

XXI

The pursuit of the vain hopes of success and the total invisibility of entire segments of the population are the two complementary visions that characterize the protagonists of this novel.

Seven stories, separated in places and environments, meet only on a chronological level, leaving each immersed in anonymity, the only possible solution between an unattainable affirmation and a tragedy not consonant with the characteristics of contemporary society.

––––––––

Any reference to people or things is purely coincidental.

The names of the characters, organizations and companies, as well as the relevance to particular places or actions, are the result of the author's pure imagination and do not correspond to real situations or individuals.

“The most important things are anonymous.”

(Alberto Savinio, "Our soul" , 1944)

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

The reader will be able to approach the text following two different orders. The chronological one is given by the succession of chapters as exposed in the book, the logical one is summarized below.

Sergio: chapters I, X, XVIII

Monica: chapters VII, XI, XX

Enrico: chapters III, IX, XV

Anna: chapters VI, XIV, XIX

Domenico: chapters V, XII, XVI

Paolo: chapters II, XIII, XVII

Elena: chapters IV, VIII, XXI

The two orders coincide only at the beginning and at the end of the book, respectively considering the first and the last chapter.

The author's advice is to read the text for the first time in chronological order and secondly in logical order.

I

I

––––––––

The eight in the morning clock radio took them by surprise. Both had fallen asleep in a deep, carefree sleep, as children do.

Sergio was the first to get out of bed, after all that would be his day; who knows how much longer he would have remembered that Monday June 30, 2008.

He thought that such an important and significant day he had never had before. Neither his marriage to Sabrina, nor the birth of his son Giuseppe, nor his degree in Economics and Commerce from Bocconi, nor his Master's degree at the London School of Economics , nor his first day of work at the International Finance Advisor Corporation, nothing was comparable to today.

Today would have been his last day as Branch Manager Director Italy, starting tomorrow he would have become Senior Vice President Europe Director. No Italian had ever reached this milestone and no one else, of any nationality, had ever occupied that position at the age of only thirty-eight.

"I'm too cool" he said to himself as he walked comfortably towards the bathroom, adjacent to the large bedroom.

"Honey, how cool you are!" were Silvia's first words, which reached him right at the exit of the room. Turned away from his lover, Sergio smiled with self-satisfaction.

He loved Silvia precisely for this ability to read his mind, to know exactly what he was thinking at every moment of their acquaintance. With her he felt powerful, after all he was her boss, but also completely himself, without having to hide anything. Instead he was afraid of his wife Sabrina, she was sometimes too witty and intelligent. Not to mention Ludmilla, who is a real Russian tiger climber, dangerous and intriguing at the same time.

“How do you think I should dress for today?” was the question he heard when he set foot back in the room. Silvia had gotten out of bed, completely naked, and was showing all her morning beauty, while she winked with her eyes to test her reactions.

“Put whatever you want, you're always a stunner”.

And as he did so, he looked directly into her eyes. Those green eyes that drove him crazy, much more than her long straight black hair or her perfectly shapely and proportionate legs or her milky complexion. Sergio would have liked to make love with her again, but it was late and then the night and Sunday had already been extremely passionate, even if her eyes always made him forget any logic in his actions.

Silvia smiled, opened the wardrobe and took out an elegant black Prada outfit, recently bought on a sultry Saturday shopping. Then he moved on to the difficult choice of shoes to match.

Meanwhile Sergio telephoned the Buonarroti creamery to order the usual breakfast for two, to be delivered to Silvia's house in Corso Magenta. He mentally calculated the distance and traffic in Milan on Monday morning and said:

“At 8.40 is fine”.

By now it was customary to have breakfast delivered to a lover's house. Expensive habit, but he could afford it. And then quality and comfort are priceless, as his wife always said.

“Don't show yourself too much and don't arrive too early. Someone might suspect us" he said to Silvia as soon as the phone call ended.

“Do you still think that, after six years, someone doesn't know about us? Everyone knows about us, they just pretend not to know.”

Sylvia was right. Their relationship was known to everyone, but Sergio was the boss and therefore no one had the courage or the cheek to tell him. On the other hand, many would have liked to be in his place.

Silvia's words before entering the shower confirmed this impression:

“Besides, every man in the office would like to fuck me. Only you already do and you're the dominant alpha male so no one approaches me, simple isn't it?”

“So this is what they taught you in Educational Sciences!?” Sergio said laughing and putting his hips around her.

“Come on let me go, don't be stupid: you know it's like that. For example, Mario is too loyal to you but would like to fuck me every day. I can see it in his face. But then ... who remembers more than what I studied at the University? Now I'm thirty and I haven't touched a book for six years, since you hired me at the Corporation” Silvia admitted candidly with her natural spontaneity.

“If I catch him hitting on you, I'll fire him! I don't give a shit if he's the most loyal subordinate, lick and follow all my orders without arguing. You are my property!” and in saying this, he put his hand between her thighs, just as she was talking about her university past.

“You are the only one for me. You know that” and slipped into the shower.

At 9.30 the roar of the Audi TT 3.2 V6 was clearly heard as it passed in front of the Palazzo delle Stelline. Sergio, before going to the office, had to stop in Corso Sempione, where he and his wife owned an apartment used as a base for his numerous business trips; Casteggio remained too out of the way to be able to think of reaching Malpensa or Linate and be comfortable.

It didn't take him long to give the impression that he had passed by and spent a fleeting night there. It was enough to enter the house, rummage in the kitchen, leave the living room, the living room and the main bedroom a little messy and appear to have used the bathroom.

The evening before he had called his wife as if he had just arrived at the house directly from London, he must have spent the previous week preparing for the day of change and preparing his new office as European director of the Corporation. In reality he had lied, he had already returned on Saturday evening, but only in this way could he have time to pleasantly spend the whole Sunday with Silvia who hadn't even noticed the London toils imposed by Ludmilla.

And while his wife thought about it on the flight from London to Milan, she was instead spending the evening at Silvia's house, in bed, peering through the sinuous curves of her lover at the final of the European soccer championship that the Spaniards had won against the Germans .

Shortly after ten in the morning, he set foot in the office in Via Dante. That office, so large and bright, was now only a pale reflection of the luxurious and elegant one that would have awaited him in Lombard Street, in the heart of the London City. He already knew that, having to go back and forth between the two offices, he would hate this one in Milan, even though until a few months ago he called it "my palace".

The car would also change: now he had the right to a more impressive company car and he had chosen the Maserati Granturismo which would arrive on September 1st. He had managed, thanks to a skilful maneuver in full "Pavani style", to maintain the usufruct of the Audi, which he would have given to his wife.

“Good morning boss. At eleven he has the usual briefing with his collaborators, at noon he has to speak to Chris Burns about the joint financing with JP Morgan at Marconi-BAE. Then, as he's already guessed, we organized a quick lunch party to celebrate the event. We catch up in the afternoon. How was it in London?”

Paola, the secretary, had entered the office loaded like a spring, as she did every day. She was in her early forties and unrivaled in managing appointments, calendars and meetings, as well as being fluent in English and French. She was not a pretty woman, but she knew how to keep herself and had good taste in dress, and besides, she was competent. In that role, all the expertise of the case was required.

“Ok thanks for the info. Everything is fine in London, how can it go wrong?”

"Already. Congratulations on the tie, the blue suits it a lot. I always tell him...” and, as he left the office, he smiled.

Sergio knew very well that he possessed an irresistible charm: the combination of enviable job position, well-groomed look, self-confidence, athletic and slender physique, thick and blond hair, left few women indifferent. On the other hand, he had been able to exploit these qualities since he was a boy, ever since he had met and conquered Sabrina, considered unreachable by many of his friends and peers, while for him that challenge had been won much faster than he expected.

Before the meeting, peeked out Mario, born Mario Bertolini, a rampant thirty-four-year-old Bocconian who followed in Sergio's footsteps step by step , supporting him in everything. Now he would become the Deputy Branch Manager Director Italy, leaving the current position of Area Manager, even if, and he was already aware of it, he could never, ever have reached the heights of his mentor.

The meeting went quickly: the crucial event of the day was the promotion of the boss and each of the participants, realizing the importance of that step, put aside the doubts and questions, making room for signs of esteem and congratulations towards of Sergio.

The only salient point was that of the allocation of ten million euros of hedging derivatives, following a currency transaction made by Finmeccanica for the purchase of Indian material to be used for the construction of helicopters. Little stuff for the Corporation's turnover.

Sergio took the paper file and the laptop on which he had uploaded the project files and shut himself up in his office. From the security safe he extracted a USB key on which there was an encrypted Excel file which he used to calculate the financial flows. This was the reason for his success, everything was enclosed in that file which condensed the method he himself called "Pavani style". He had come up with this file when he was still Finance Manager, in his first year of employment at the Corporation, way back in 1997.

Since then, the Pavani style, revisited and improved over the years, had borne fruit in terms of economic benefits for the company and for the inventor himself. Many times, he wondered how it was possible that no one else had thought of it; after all, it was nothing special. And this increased his self-esteem.

If a company, or a bank or any other institution, requested a loan from the Corporation in a certain country, the Pavani style consisted in seeking the same loan from another body in another country through the local branch of the Corporation, turning it over to Italian branch which then, through a financial leverage mechanism, disbursed the requested loan to the customer and returned the surplus to the local branch. This surplus was shared between the local branch, the local agents and Pavani himself. Sometimes double bounces between countries or complications due to the unpacking of the initial amount were conceived.

By doing so, everyone benefited. The Corporation was able to collect much higher profits than the normal fees and the normal returns on invested capital, the local agents were encouraged to procure work and Sergio had been able to buy, with that money, both the house in Casteggio and Silvia's apartment in Milan, both his apartment in Corso Sempione and the villa in Sardinia, as well as having a lifestyle clearly above the average of Italian managers and having a liquidity rescue fund deposited in the Cayman Islands.

This fund served as a foothold for the personal earnings that came from the various local branches through this mechanism.

After ten minutes, Sergio arrived at the meeting with the answer for the Finmeccanica loan: they would use the Dubai branch which would maximize cash flows. Now the agents in Dubai and the client had to be notified, but he left those details to others.

At 11.40 the meeting ended and everyone praised Sergio's talents and abilities. As he left the room, he saw Silvia wearing the black dress she had chosen that morning.

He looked at the Blackberry and saw the call from Carlo, his financial operator in London. It was time to call him back. Charles stored his money flows from the Cayman Islands in London and managed the investments from the London account, all at a ten per cent commission.

“Hi Sergio, I wanted to update you on the situation. This week the flow to the bottom was forty thousand euros, a little below the average. As usual, I shot half of them in London and left the other half in the Caribbean islands. I would be cautious about investments, there are clouds on the horizon...”

Carlo's debut was always punctual compared to what happened in the previous week. Meanwhile, the file sent indicated a figure of just under four million euros in the Cayman Islands and two million in London. Sergio thought that Carlo's attentions were well repaid, more or less he earned six thousand euros a week just by managing his funds.

“Ok ok , you know I trust your reports. But what clouds are you talking about?”

“Well...the world financial situation is deteriorating. These subprime mortgages seem to be held by almost all financial institutions, according to Roubini we will go towards....”

Sergio immediately interrupted him:

“ Roubi who? But won't you listen to that hoodlum? He is a colossal failure, half Italian and half we don't know. There are at least ten Nobel prize winners for economics, hundreds of analysts and rating agencies who deny his follies! And then you know they're in the loop, the banks continue to ask us for funding and circulate liquidity. Everything like before."

"Yes, but Lehman Brothers has already lost seventy percent of its value on the stock exchange since the beginning of the year" Carlo tried to counter.

“And in fact we have gained a lot by betting on the downside of this action. Remember Gordon Gekko's lesson...”

Time was running out and Carlo had to close diplomatically:

“Ok Sergio, let's continue to invest, but I will try to take less risk on the financial leverage.”

"Good like this, full speed ahead and follow your nose" and Sergio ended the phone call.

In the meantime some work emails and a message from his wife arrived, but it was already noon and he remembered the phone call with Chris: these English obsessed with punctuality, he had to call him as soon as possible.

He had known Chris since his masters in London; it was he who had persuaded him to join the Corporation. At the time, Sergio focused more on financial companies of a certain caliber such as JP Morgan, Barclays and Goldman Sachs, but Chris had made him understand how he could play his cards better by joining a medium-sized company. That stubborn Southampton had been right! So stubborn that, due to personal and religious views, he hadn't succeeded in a career as brilliant as Sergio's.

However, Chris was an excellent diplomat and, for this reason, relations with JP Morgan on the Marconi case had been kept in person.

On the other hand, Sergio knew that Pavani's style had to be a bit limited when Chris and the London office were involved, so he gladly accepted the intermediation of his English colleague.

The call was resolved in ten minutes. Sergio didn't understand why the companies created so many problems: the annual budget consisted of only fifteen percent of financing for companies, but those projects required forty percent of the hourly resources. Everything was easier with banks and financial institutions, we spoke the same language; companies, on the other hand, thought they had a moral primacy in that they produced something.

Sergio hated this mentality. He hated her deeply. They at the Corporation made money from money, and that was a great achievement of modernity. But, as he always said, the best thing was to make money from money for money: this was the leap of contemporaneity! And Pavani's style was very contemporary, indeed post-contemporary because the money from the money for the money was made on the money itself.

However Chris had done a good job. Finally, the English colleague said to him:

“Sooner or later we will see you instead of Brett”.

Sergio hoped for it. Brett Lewis was the big boss, the number one in the Corporation, but he was fifty-five years old and therefore the future belonged to Sergio who, starting tomorrow, would hold the third position in the company.

He answered the emails that had piled up and then he spoke to his wife. Sabrina told him that she would pick up Giuseppe from the nursery school and that they would then be waiting for him at home for dinner.

"As for the rest, how are you today, are there any celebrations?"

“You know how the boys are, they must have organized a small party. For now, I've already closed two deals, see you tonight, Sabry. Kiss.".

He didn't feel like wasting much time on the phone with his wife, they'd known each other for years and he didn't understand what else there was to say other than the daily banalities.

A few minutes later, Paola entered the office to solicit him about the organized party, which was set to start at thirteen. Of course, everyone expected an introductory speech from the boss, so she'd taken the trouble to summon them ten minutes early. It was therefore necessary to shorten the time and move to the presidential hall readapted for the purpose of being used by the hundred people of the headquarters.

Sergio got ready in all calm, then, with a rapid step, he made his way towards the hall. He hadn't even prepared a speech, but he was good with words, he would have succeeded just the same.

The presidential room had in the center two large tables set with the required catering: one could glimpse salmon and caviar canapés, various appetizers, sandwiches, sushi and sashimi of various types, pretzels, pastries, lots of fruit and cakes. The drinks were placed at separate tables and there was certainly no lack of white wine, a light Vermentino Is Argiolas from 2006, a Franciacorta Satèn Ca' del Bosco from 2005, and a few bottles of Dom Pérignon 1995, the latter reserved only for the high vertices.

Sergio noticed that everything was perfect: Paola's proverbial organization and competence were once again confirmed.

He nodded thanks and spoke:

“Thank you all for this party. This is our party, not mine. The party of the Italian headquarters of the Corporation.” And immediately there was applause.

“I could start this speech by saying how much we have developed since my entry to today. From the five kids back then, we are now over a hundred people. Or I could tell you how the last corporate balance sheet has grown in all parameters, from turnover to profits. And how we at the Italian office fared better than the others and this means, for another year, bonuses and incentives beyond expectations for all of us. I could bore you with the numbers, but that's not my intention... you're safe!"

Everyone hummed with pleasure and satisfaction.

“Instead I want to speak directly to the heart of each of you.

We must be aware of being bearers of high-profile moral values. When a company or a bank turns to us, what we do is actually simply one thing: we make their dreams come true. We are dream makers, we enable the world to progress and families to be happy. We are the Nobel prizes for happiness. We are the heart of the world, without us nothing can circulate and dreams are broken, reality becomes dark. You must be aware of this. Your work is the light of the world!”

He said these words in a calm tone, without emphasizing anything, leaving the right pauses between one sentence and another. Perhaps, precisely for this reason, the effect of this introduction was even more overwhelming. Everyone thought it was something spontaneous and important, no one remained impassive at the end of the speech . Everyone was moved and thunderous applause filled the presidential hall.

Everyone had the impression of living in the boss's words, of being him at the center of the world, reflected by the boss's magnificence.

The over thirty women present in the halls were enraptured by these words and all, at that moment, would have been willing to do anything for Sergio. Each would have been his lover in that instant, each would have wanted it ardently.

Sergio understood that he had made an inroad when he saw his own reflection in Silvia's shining eyes. In the general commotion caused by the queue for food, no one noticed that Silvia approached Sergio and whispered to him:

“No one is like you, just hearing you talk got me excited. I should take off my underwear...”

Sergio would have liked to follow her into the bathroom to make love with her, but that would have been too obvious. They had already risked being discovered a couple of times in the Italian headquarters of the Corporation, when they were younger, both in the bathroom and in his office.

During the party various small groups formed, but for all of them the greatest ambition was to be part, even if only for a few minutes, of the one including Sergio.

Towards the end, a cup of Dom Pérignon arrived in Silvia's hands, despite not being a member of the highest ranks.

Shortly after two in the afternoon the room was empty, now it was Paola's turn to coordinate the external company called to do the cleaning and tidying up.

Sergio's afternoon activities were, however, quite fragmented.

A brief one-on-one meeting with Mario about the handover of the Italian office was a must, even though he knew perfectly well that his faithful collaborator would never try to take his place and do his own thing. Sergio would always be informed of the facts of the Italian headquarters and his word would always be the last: every decision remained in his hands, as well as the secret of the Pavani style.

A parenthesis followed with Silvia, who came in to Sergio's with the excuse of having him sign some documents. He could smell her smell spreading in the office and this made their business meeting intriguing.

Then he decided that there was no point in leaving unfinished business with other branches and customers. He set about writing a dozen reply e-mails, interspersed with a couple of calls made from the Blackberry.

Towards the end of this activity he saw the Skype window flash: it was Ludmilla who was contacting him from London.

Using Skype was the only compromise that Sergio had conceived between maintaining contact and the security of his privacy. He had long glimpsed the potential problem of social networks, above all Facebook, with respect to his daily life. A platform where friendships and private messages could be at the wife's mercy was too high a risk. There had already been the first cases of divorces and requests for compensation using these IT tools. For the same reason, the use of the corporate Blackberry for personal purposes was banned. Instead Skype, used with two different profiles, the official and working one and the recreational one, was a good compromise.

The chat messages lasted about ten minutes. The twenty-five-year-old Belarusian, whom Sergio identified as Russian tout court only out of a mixture of convenience and disinterest, just wanted to know how she was spending the day and when he would return to London to spend a week with her, as he had already done during the past seven days .

Of the three women he was currently dating, Ludmilla was by far the best in all respects, or at least that was what Sergio thought.

First of all, on a physical level there was no comparison. Silvia was definitely a beautiful woman, everyone in the office envied her, there were traits in her that left you amazed. The same could be said of his wife: a perfect embodiment of the Mediterranean woman with black hair in a bob, eyes as black as the deepest abyss and an olive complexion that never clashed, not even in the gloomy winter seasons of Lombardy.

But Ludmilla belonged to another galaxy. The perfect prototype of the porcelain doll, with very fine facial features that didn't even need make-up to stand out, white and shiny complexion, eyes of a crystalline blue comparable to the sea of some Sardinian coves, long blond hair that reflected the light as only gold bars know how to do. The slender and perfect physique, without a tonic and out of place muscle, was the result of a balanced diet, gym, swimming, skating and cross-country skiing. She was the only one that towered above Sergio and her elegance in gait was unparalleled.

Likewise, Ludmilla's preparation and culture were superior to what Sergio had ever encountered in the women he frequented. Sabrina was indeed an informed woman, with a classical background and a stimulating mindset, but Ludmilla combined the economic skills acquired with her degree with linguistic ones, knowing eight different languages. He was able to speak fluently with the majority of Europeans directly in their native language and had a thorough grounding in the various literatures, philosophy and music of those countries. Finally he acted and played the piano .

The young age and the great self-confidence completed this explosive and irresistible mix.

Sergio was convinced that Ludmilla was not an ordinary woman. He'd only known her for a year, when she'd moved to London to work.

He hadn't understood how a twenty-four-year-old Russian could afford to stay in the same building as her on Great Tower Street, obviously on a lower floor and with a much less spacious and luxurious apartment. Sergio used that apartment as a company benefit, while, as far as it was known, Ludmilla paid the rent out of her own pocket, which must have been no less than two thousand pounds a week.

She had noticed him one evening in the lift. She had gone up to the last floor and pressed the button for the third floor, while Sergio had already selected the one for the tenth. From this, she had guessed that he was dealing with an important, good-looking person and an affable smile broke into his angelic face. The next day, Ludmilla went around the tenth floor and found Sergio's apartment. He knocked and introduced himself, speaking in almost perfect Italian:

“Hi, I'm Ludmilla, we met yesterday in the lift. Will you let me in?” she said candidly, as if they had been dating for months.

That same evening they had sex several times. In this particular field, Ludmilla was the only one to dominate Sergio, it was she who took the initiative and led the dance, forcing him into sexual marathons that he would never have imagined.

Unlike the others, she wasn't interested in apartments and cars, only in good food and clothing and leading a comfortable life. Certainly, Sergio hadn't skimped on his follies: once he had paid two thousand pounds for a dinner in London for two and, when Ludmilla had come to Milan to stay at the Principe di Savoia, the shopping hadn't moved beyond Monte Napoleone and via della Spiga, reaching the point of spending three thousand euros for a single item of clothing. In the same weekend, they reserved an entire stage at the Scala in Milan for the staging of Wagner's "Tristan and Isolde" directed by Barenboim, dined in the best restaurants of the Milanese capital, ending up, as in the best Eastern traditions, in a disco to drink vodka with Amaretto di Saronno until late at night, to then return just before dawn and spend amorous effusions until late in the morning.

Sergio had no problems whatsoever in supporting these expenses. The Pavani style guaranteed an annual income of two million euros which, after the investments made by Carlo, became three. To this were added the three and a half million between salary and benefits of the Corporation, and the other half million deriving from the investments he made on his own. A couple of these seven million were used to maintain the standard of living of the family and of the houses, a million remained in a safe deposited at the bottom of the Caymans, while the remaining were used to feed the luxurious life, the gifts and the expenses of Ludmilla and Silvia, as well as to increase the real estate assets and return part of the money to his wife, just so as not to make her too suspicious.

The ringing of the Blackberry distracted Sergio from the pleasant memories of that last year. After this phone call from a business partner interested in the new marketing campaigns, he decided it was time to file the paperwork.

First he took charge of the paper one, deciding what to leave in Milan, what to take with him and what to throw away; later, he shifted his attention to computer science. Finally, he took from the safe the few documents that had been answered and the Pavani-style USB key.

At 17.30, everything was ready for departure. He took a short tour outside his office, wandering around the various open spaces on the floor and offered a coffee to about ten people at the vending machine located on the diametrically opposite side of his office.

Around six o'clock, he said goodbye to everyone and left. It was his last day in that position and he could even leave a moment earlier so he'd be home early enough, as he'd promised his wife.

Before leaving, he glanced at Silvia and their gazes met and understood each other.

"That woman is mine forever," he said to himself.

In fact, the traffic wasn't all that hellish.

In little more than an hour he was able to take the road up the hill outside Casteggio to go home. On those corners, the Audi stayed glued to the ground and it was a pleasure to feel that power, knowing it was fully controlled.

The sumptuous residence dominated the hill and the view was unparalleled in every season. In winter it was relaxing to admire the whitewashed or leaden gray panorama, in spring you could see the nuances of life reborn, while in autumn the vineyards and woods were colored with fantastic yellowish and reddish chromaticities. Only in the summer, the persistent heat didn't allow you to fully enjoy that view.

The garden and the park annexed to the villa were always cared for thanks to the kindness of the external company, whose staff was present almost daily at the residence, called to take care of the greenery. The work for the thermo-technical renovation of the house had recently finished: the fireplace and the stove had been connected to the heating system, several thermal and photovoltaic solar panels had been installed on the south side, right above the immense ventilated veranda which as a semi-external belvedere and as an offshoot of the house itself, so as to make the energy consumption of the entire complex self-sufficient.

Sergio had promised himself to install a permanent swimming pool, one almost as big as the municipal ones: the works would begin in the autumn. In this way, the fitness center and the gym would have made complete sense, as would the external corner dedicated to the barbecue, the wood-burning oven and the facilities for the small kiosk that served as a bar in the summer.

As soon as he entered the house, Giuseppe approached with quick steps. He had just turned two and had already been walking confidently for over six months; now he was in that phase in which he launched suddenly, almost running.

Sergio took him in his arms as he dragged the trolley for the London trip. The boy was very happy and kept muttering his way.

Sabrina entered the living room to welcome her husband, hugged and kissed him. She was modestly dressed, but her features stood out all the same.

Sergio opened the trolley, arranged his things and headed for the gym. After half an hour, he decided to take a shower.

A little after eight o'clock, he went to the veranda where they used to dine most of the year.

"Giuseppe has already eaten and is now sleeping over there in the living room." his wife informed him.

“Ok, I'll go get it and bring it here with us. Then I'll put him to bed."

Dinner was very simple, but well taken care of: cold rice, veal with tuna sauce and a fruit salad prepared by the cook who, four days a week, arrived at their home in the mid-afternoon and stayed just long enough to complete her work.

Sabrina had taken a white wine from the cellar. Sergio, usually so attentive to drinks, hadn't noticed.

For years their relationship had entered a period of routine which, perhaps, only the birth of Giuseppe had scratched for some time. There was no longer that passionate transport of the past, not like when Sergio stared at her constantly on the train, among the other commuters who populated the morning transport between Pavia and Milan.

Back then, the Bocconian felt predestined for a rosy future, while now he had achieved everything, well beyond his expectations. Back then Sabrina was an impossible conquest, there was too much difference between their social backgrounds, while now it was his wife and Sergio who thought about running the family and making the decisions.

In his eyes, his wife had remained a beautiful woman, very cultured, full of interests. A sort of piece of furniture to keep and admire, filling it with gifts and surprises. Their life was limited to accumulating things and objects, to live experiences just for the sake of still having topics to discuss, narrate and remember.

“Did you hear from your parents?” his wife's question brought him back to reality.

"No not yet. I'll call them tomorrow, there's no hurry”.

The relationship with the parents was a topic that outlined a division of approach between the two spouses.

Sergio was the son of wealthy shopkeepers who could afford a comfortable life and, in the past, had been able to pay for an expensive education for the scion. He had no brothers or sisters, no uncles or cousins, he was the only one in the family. The social lift guaranteed by the parents' hard work had paid off well, but Sergio's vision clearly clashed with what his parents thought, anchored to the concreteness of things. They did not approve of the luxurious lifestyle nor the current job, which they did not understand and called "smoky". Only the birth of Giuseppe had brought their relationship closer together, which in any case remained very cold and detached.

Sabrina, on the other hand, belonged to the good part of Pavia society. Her father was a well-known civil lawyer in the city, with a firm coveted by young practitioners; her mother even had noble origins, since Sabrina's great-grandmother was a countess. Their wealth was already conspicuous when Sergio was a student and Sabrina posed as the classic snob to whom everything was due.

Then things had changed and Sergio, self-confident, conquered the young woman's heart and entered the family circle with full rights. The ambition and the results obtained were then the key to his success with his in-laws.

The relationship between Sabrina and her parents was constant, as she worked as a lawyer in her father's office. Giuseppe practically only knew his maternal grandparents.

They finished dinner just before late summer sunset.

"Love, let's look at it together" those words had amazed Sergio himself, he didn't think he was still able to say this to his wife.

Sabrina was amazed in the same way as when she had given her the bracelet with the two intertwined S's: Sergio and Sabrina, whispering "together forever" into her ear.

Both loved the colors of the sunset, they had chosen their home in Sardinia based on the nuances they could perceive. Sabrina liked the western coast of the island, in particular the one that extends from the Sinis peninsula to Sulcis-Iglesiente passing through la Costa Verde: a wild, harsh land, a disruptive nature and a wind that never ceased to remind her how much humanity was small on this planet. Sergio did not like that part of the coast, too far from everything and everyone, he was more for the area "to be experienced" between Pula and Tuerredda which, however, had the defect of not facing west and therefore no view of the sunset over the sea was possible .

In the end, they had found a compromise, buying, at a discounted price, a luxurious villa on the promontory overlooking Solanas beach to the south, from which they could admire the sunset every evening. Sergio hadn't wanted to go as far as Villasimius, too busy and too inflated.

In the autumn, they would go for a tour of the boat show in Genoa with the intention of buying a boat: Sergio had just obtained his nautical license for motor boats, with no limitation of distance from the coast. In a year or two, he planned to get a sailboat license; meanwhile, in little more than a month, they would all leave for the island.

The couple hugged each other in their arms and kissed passionately, immediately after having witnessed, in silence, the setting of the sun. They remained motionless for about ten minutes.

Sergio took Giuseppe and took him to sleep while Sabrina finished tidying up and arranging the veranda and the kitchen. She glares at her husband.

Sergio understood very well the meaning of this. He wouldn't be able to resist another night of love, not after the week with Ludmilla and not after the intense day with Silvia. He had to devise some expedient to postpone his conjugal duties at least until the following evening.

Giuseppe came to his aid.

The baby woke up and it took a good half hour for him to fall asleep again.

When he arrived on the veranda, after having settled down comfortably and slowly, his wife had already passed out: it was already twenty-three.

"Sorry, but our son is very lively and wanted to play with me, rather than sleep!"

“Don't worry love, these things happen. hold me.”

By now the wife had postponed her passionate intentions.

A few minutes later, Sabrina went to bed.

Sergio decided to wait a moment longer, the danger of the night of fire had not yet escaped. He had to be sure that his wife was asleep; he knew Sabrina wasn't a light sleeper, but it took her a while to doze off, so she calculated it for half an hour.

He went into the living room, took out the bottle of Armagnac Vieille Réserve Duc de Maravat from the 1994 vintage and the box of Montecristo n.4 premium Cuban cigars, received as a gift the previous year directly from Brett Lewis.

He poured four fingers of the distillate, grabbed the glass and headed to the veranda.

After tasting the excellent French product, he lit his cigar.

He meditated and thought about his life, as it had been up to now and as it could be from tomorrow.

Half an hour had passed, his wife was surely asleep. Now he too could put an end to his day.

Before getting up, he saw his own image infinitely reflected, as in an immense tunnel of optical illusions, between the glass walls of the veranda and the mirrors placed in the living room. He stood there enjoying her smile and his pride in himself, then turned off the light.

II

II

––––––––

Professor Cossu summoned me to his office on the third floor of the Chemical Engineering Department of the University of Cagliari.

I have known him for a long time, first as a simple student of his course in Chemical Processes, then as a thesis and as a PhD student, finally now as a postdoctoral research fellow. Doing the math, it's been at least six years.

Who knows if he'll want to tell me about the publications or how the patent application is going or about the developments regarding the foundation of the start-up.

“Come Paolo, take a seat. I have great news."

It's just what you need for a Friday in July. The suffocating heat of this summer is counterproductive for work productivity. This morning, arriving on foot in Piazza d'Armi, I saw several families preparing to spend a day, or a weekend, at the beach.

This evening I'll meet some friends for a party at the " Libarium ", a well-known place in the center of Cagliari, exactly at the height of the bastion of Saint Remy; then the weekend will start for me too.

I'll have to go to my parents' house in Arbus and then go to my grandmother's in Iglesias. I already have in mind the route to take and the different stages. Let's hope the mistral doesn't rise, it would make the sea too rough for the swims I thought of doing.

Wandering among these considerations, I missed the first sentences of Professor Cossu. I just understood that these are publications, a topic that doesn't interest me much since I discovered all the possible facets of the practical applications of my scientific work.

By now I have collected several publications, since I was a PhD student. Not thinking of it from an academic point of view, their number, the citations and the so-called " impact factor " are trifles of little importance, compared to what I have in mind.

Conversely, I'm much more interested in the informative article I sent to the "Carbon Capture Journal". It's a way to gain visibility outside the university community, directly addressing companies and investment funds.

“Your research was very impressive, they will certainly publish it in the next issue.”

commented the professor.

“What about the patent application? Will there be an answer before the summer?”

I try to move the discussion to a more engaging detail for my tastes.

The professor thinks about it for a moment, consults his emails, then turns to me:

“I try to call the guy who manages the interface with us. Last time everything seemed to be clear. In my opinion, there is space to see the patent approved by the end of August."

The patent would be the culmination of all these efforts and would open the door to the foundation of the company. In reality, these are two separate patents, the first covering the machinery itself, the second regarding the chemical application processes and the inclusion of the machinery in these processes.

Once my father asked me to explain to him, in simple words that a farmer like him would understand, what it is.

“Dad, you know what coal does when it burns? It emits carbon dioxide which goes into the atmosphere and which, as it accumulates, produces the greenhouse effect. This happens every time something is burned, but coal emits much more than oil and gas, if we consider the calorific value released. With the machine I designed, it is possible to capture this carbon dioxide before it goes into the atmosphere, thus avoiding this risk."

Furthermore, I have tried to make people understand how this would cause a real revolution in the use of coal which has now been set aside precisely because of this negative aspect.

The chemical process that I am patenting concerns the construction of this machine which manages to trap, liquefy and compress the carbon dioxide emitted after the combustion of coal, suitably previously treated with an inert gas.

The applications are numerous and evidently successful and for this reason all my attention is directed towards the establishment of the company to develop the product.

My sister Eleonora, who lives in Rome and is a lawyer, advised me to take courses in corporate business and commercial law. In these two years, I have even taken on these tasks, sacrificing a large part of my social life.

“Paolo, I'm worried about you. You just think about working and studying.” my mother said several times during the few days of rest that I allow myself at home.

I think they're worried because I haven't left Sardinia even one day for three years, except for the few conferences I've attended.

Eleonora has repeatedly reprimanded me by telling me that I have to overcome this phase.

“You can no longer sit there thinking about what has been and what will never be again.”

Obviously it refers to the relationship with Elisabetta, my ex.

It started five years ago, at the end of the University, after graduating in Physics here in Cagliari. A few months before making that decision to go look for work on the continent, he wanted to know from me what plans I had for the future.

"But what question are you asking me? You've known for a long time that I want to do my doctorate."

“Yes, but you can also do it elsewhere. Come with me to Turin.”

But in Turin there is no sea and it is not my land. I always wanted to stay here and she always knew it.

"Why are you asking me this? You know how I feel."

“Yes I know, however people can change their minds. But how do you stay here on this island? For us young people there is no work.”

I agree, but I haven't given up on fighting for my land. I'm not cheating on her like that. Here are my origins and my story: my father a farmer, the son of a miner himself the son of another miner.

“Your thesis will not change the world and the fate of Sardinian coal! Free yourself from the shadow of your grandparents and great-grandparents. Can't you see that the mines have all been closed for several decades? Now they have become tourist attractions.”

It's like he stabbed me in the back. That's my story, that of my land and my family and it can't be erased like that.

So, after nine years of engagement, Elisabetta left for Turin, building a new life for herself. She comes back, like almost all Sardinians, for the summer and I've seen her a dozen times in town and on the beach, but I've never exchanged a word with her.

In these five years I have not thought of another girl. I just worked and studied and the results are now evident. The construction of the machinery and the practice of the patent are a tangible demonstration that the world can be changed and that hope can be given to this island.

That's why everything is focused on setting up a company.

We will need workers, vendors and suppliers. A new supply chain will be built with new jobs.

Professor Cossu has overseen all this work and will have a leading role in the company, but I will be the general and operations manager. I have already identified a number of key people, including the technical director and the administrative director.

All people I trust and who have helped me over the years.

In the early afternoon, the professor calls me and reassures me about the patent.

“No problem Paolo, everything is proceeding. You can go now."

We have identified the area where to implement the construction of the building. We will take over a reclaimed part of the Macchiareddu area, so we will be close to both the city and the airport.

Before tonight's party, I have time for a bath. I don't particularly like staying in Cagliari, but I don't have many hours available.

Compared to Poetto I definitely prefer Cala Mosca.

That's what it takes to overcome the heat of a late summer afternoon. A slow swim without much rhythm, just to let thoughts of the week pass, like the protagonist of Kieslowski's "Blue film".

It makes no sense to stop for the sunset, there is not enough view. I'll have time tomorrow and the day after tomorrow, when I'm facing west. I haven't caught a glimpse of the green beam many times, certainly not since I've been alone. With Elisabetta we often waited for him and sometimes we thought we had grabbed him, but maybe it was just the illusion of our love and the memories of Rohmer 's film of the same name .

At this hour, going to the Poetto for a small snack is just the best. “ Ichnusa ” with fish, perhaps a small fry.

The downtown streets are filling up. For some years Cagliari has been transformed into a city to live in the evening. That wasn't the case ten years ago when I moved to start University. From the apartment where I live, I can clearly distinguish the swarm of people going up Largo Carlo Felice and starting to crowd Piazza Yenne . There must be a band playing, given the acoustic rehearsals they've been performing for a few hours.

The evening includes a quick pizza, an ice cream somewhere, a beer and then we'll move to the " Libarium ". I think all my city spree friends are there, at least the ones I see most often.

I get a message from Franco. They are waiting for me in the square.

" Aio , how are you?"

Federico is always the most outgoing of all. He lives in Quartu and travels daily to Cagliari to work. Strangely, Serena, his girlfriend, is not here tonight. Giovanni instead brought some of his friends, thus obtaining a mixed group where women - and this almost never happens! - are the majority.

I am sure that some of them are thinking of doing me a favor, especially after they have learned of how I have reacted to Elisabetta's departure in recent years.

I'll tell you about the latest news for a moment and how I plan to spend the well-deserved rest period.

Unlike many continental ones, for us Sardinians the summer holidays almost always take place on the island.

“We live in one of the most coveted places in the whole Mediterranean, what's the point of leaving?” Federico added.

“ Eja !”

He finds me in complete agreement, even if many of my countrymen, I must say especially the women, have this unbridled desire to escape, as if it were a conditioned reflex of the constraint of being islanders.

Elisabetta is one of these women. It has always been his habit to say that our generation is not just islanders, but isolated.

The evening goes by pleasantly, the food is good and the company as well. Someone raises for next week.

“A fish meal at Monica's.”

I think it's the last chance before the arrival of August, with the consequent tourist invasion.

Franco and Giovanni must have made an impression, perhaps the evening will end very well for them. The two girls who have shown interest in them are literally going wild in the disco.

The other three, who in theory would have been a potential choice for me, prefer to stay away from each other. Once they understood Federico's sentimental situation and once they noticed my solitary nature, they opted for an evening of exchanging opinions between friends, perhaps alternating some dancing and some cocktails.

Around three in the morning we decide to leave the club. Franco and Giovanni leave with their respective conquests, Federico and I take our leave of the three girls.

“Paolo, you have to recover from this situation. For example, tonight that short brunette in the miniskirt was going to be there."

It may be true what he's telling me, but I don't care that much.

It seems strange to say and think about it, but it is true.

I've got everything ready to go home, I just have to go to bed. In a few hours it will be dawn and I have a habit of getting up early, so I will sleep no more than four hours.

I turn on my cell phone early in the morning, there are already two messages.

The first is from my sister. She reminds me to say hello to grandma and to tell her she'll be home soon too.

The second is from Franco who gives me the report of the evening. That girl was a bomb, like almost all of Giovanni's friends.

I've always wondered how he knows all those girls. He is not particularly attractive and does not even have great character qualities. One of his virtues is that he is cheeky and has no sign of shyness. Maybe this will be it.

I fix the room and leave the house. The car is parked nearby, here in the city center it is always difficult to find a hole where to put the car.

The city is semi-deserted, in a moment I'm on the Carlo Felice state road.

That’s Sardinia, the nothing outside the inhabited centres. Very few cars, very few trucks, non-existent traffic.

I arrive in an instant at the selected exit. From there on it's still nothing. Perhaps only Guspini and Villacidro are two slightly populated towns.

The wind farm and then you come to the road to Arbus. At this point on the road it is easier to find sheep than people.

To do it first I don't go, as is my habit, to the Montevecchio mine, where my grandfather worked. Precisely for this reason he moved from Iglesias to Arbus, otherwise he would never have left my grandmother's birthplace.

The eastern part of Furone Mannu, the mountain that separates Guspini from Arbus, was partly burned. The scarce rains have certainly not favored the extinction of the seasonal fires. I smell the classic smell of burnt ground and I think back to that vast fire that incinerated a large part of Mount Linas years ago . Every year there is always a trickle of these disasters.

The road is winding as only the Sardinian ones know how to be, what my father always called "the Sardinian kilometre" and which we have learned to respect.

It doesn't matter how much distance there is between two places, it is essential to know the type of road. I think there are few places where, to go to the sea, you have to go over two mountain passes over six hundred meters in altitude.

“A paradise for us motorcyclists” Franco always says.

I get home mid-morning. My mother welcomes me as only Sardinian hospitality can.

I don't stay locked up in four walls for a long time, I love living in the open air, at least when I can. This is why Sardinia  is so close to my nature. I'm going straight to my father's fields. A couple of jokes then I help him set up the new vineyard. We return home for lunch.

Explaining to my mother that the summer heat and the afternoon swim don't mix with what she has prepared is just a waste of breath.

Its Ogliastra origin can be seen from the preparation of culurgiones with myrtle berries and butter. Pecorino cheese and honey make up the second course. There's no problem with the fruit, it's all homemade. The first yellow melons are ready, everyone knows I'm crazy about them.

“And don't you eat some papassinos ?”

Although we are far from the winter and Christmas period, my mother never loses the habit of baking these sweet delights. I find a fair compromise before not being able to get up from the table.

"Give them to me and I'll take them to the beach."

My parents' house is a typical farmhouse, the kind you often see in the countryside. It is located outside Arbus, strangely in a flat area. Considering the surrounding area, with steep mountains and continuous alternation of ascents and descents, it is something of an exception. The town center is quite distant, but in this way the confusion of the only central road which coincides with the provincial road between Guspini and Iglesias is also distant.

The panorama that my parents can enjoy is spectacular. Evergreen mountains, alternating with valleys, a surreal silence and nothing as far as the eye can see.

Within this panorama are scattered the buildings of the abandoned mines, also silent and ghostly, witnesses of a past that will never return and of stories too often forgotten.

The ideal scenography for many western films, especially in the area that from Montevecchio goes north up to Oristano, passing through Torre dei Corsari and Marceddì . In fact, some westerns have been filmed in San Salvatore di Sinis. But I have Sergio Leone's films in mind and I've always dreamed of seeing a scene where Clint Eastwood rides between these mountains and this nothingness that surrounds us.

Anyone staying at my parents' house wouldn't bet a penny on the fact that the sea is about three miles away as the crow flies.

The open sea, the one that separates us from Spain, is totally hidden behind the mountains, particularly behind Punta Tintillonis . Only sometimes does the mistral wind remind us, in autumn and winter, of that cumbersome proximity.

And it is precisely the sea that is my destination this Saturday afternoon. Compared to the renowned resort of Piscinas, I prefer to head towards Scivu . It's my family's favorite beach, the one that reminds me of the long summer days when my sister and I were kids.

By now, many tourists go to Piscinas, mainly attracted by the dunes and the dirt road. The same ones who totally ignore the recently restored mining village of Ingurtosu, and that of Casargiu , which instead has remained identical to how I always remember it. Stone houses, tumbledown, in the middle of nowhere.