She got dressed in a flash and followed me to the labora- tory where the rabbit soon received the first-ever injection of An- nina. The fact that it actually lived made my mother flush with ad- miration.
What was only the application of my serum to a process invented by others arose more wonder in her than my own original idea. Only from this was her lack of scientific preparation apparent. The injected rabbit exhibited various phenomena. It ceased to eat for many hours, and when it did eat, after being placed among and confronted with the other rabbits, it appeared to be less vora- cious and slower in its movements. Except when it shook, it was evidently taken by a kind of stupor.
Il mio faceva un balzo formidabile quando era minacciato la prima volta; era invece incapace di farne un se- condo se minacciato immediatamente una seconda volta. Cadeva subito nel menzionato stato di stupefazione e si lasciava afferrare trasalendo inerte. Anche arrivando a constatare in essi quel mutamento di vita consono - se- condo le mie teorie - al loro mutamento fisico, non mi sarei trovato avanzato di molto.
Solo la constatazione di un mutamento di tutta la funzione vitale - mutamento che in gran parte doveva sfuggire alla verifica mediante istrumenti - poteva giovarmi. Non ebbi esitazioni! Quante volte non vengono lesi dal suono e dalla luce? Dei sentimenti poi non parlo. It suddenly fell into the aforementioned state of stupor and allowed itself to be caught, wincing inertly. In the dining room that evening, we continued to chat about the Annina.
Where would those animal experiments lead me? Even if I managed to verify in them a change of life that was consonant with their physical change - according to my theories - I would not end up advancing a great deal. Only observing a change of the entire vital functions - a change that largely escapes instrumental verification - could help me. I did not hesitate! That same evening I would inject the Annina into my own veins.
The liveliest hope was reborn in me. There are not many examples in medicine of subjective obser- vation, but there are some and they are quite strange. The famous Napolitano doctor with nephritis was one of the first advocates of the milk cure. From the beginning, he subjectively intuited its beneficial effect, and later he proved it by objectively verifying the decrease of albumin. Now, more than any other method, could sub- jective experimentation provide a conclusive outcome verifying an intensity of life which, in my opinion, must primarily demonstrate a decrease in the vivacity of the senses and sentiments.
Because, if the Annina demonstrated the efficacy I hoped for, it would decrease what I call attrition. Now, what is our greatest attrition that squan- ders our strength without us realizing it? Our sense of perception is sometimes not enough - I recognize this - but it mainly errs for too much sensibility. How often is it ruined by sound or light? Thus I do not speak about sentiments. The excessive joys and the excessive anxieties of the mind decimate humanity. In my head I anticipated the effect the Annina would have on me. I figured that the Annina must become the drug for intellectu- als, not for textbooks.
I have already said how I believe in the neces- sity of a manifestly strong heart for brain performance. Ne adoperai una dose molto maggiore di quella usata pel coniglio che non mi parve abbastanza anninizzato. Devo confes- sarlo: Mettendo il liquido nel tubetto mi tremava la mano e il cuore mi batteva. Ma non seppi at tendere. Presi un foglio di carta, lo posi sul tavolo da notte assieme ad una matita per fissare subito sulla carta le osservazioni fatte. Una calma as- soluta e nel mio organismo.
Mi sento agitato. Ore 10 e Ho paura di perdere i sensi. Not long after locking myself in my bedroom, I injected myself with the Annina. I used a much larger dose than what I used on the rabbit, which did not seem to be anninized enough. I must confess that while I pulled the liquid into the syringe, my hand was trembling and my heart was beating wildly. That courageous inventor who passed 2, volts through his heart in order to prove the harmlessness of alternating current, must have had similar feel- ings.
Perhaps I should have acted more prudently by postponing the experiment until the following day and noting my discovery in the meantime, because one of my colleagues would experiment later. I put a piece of paper and pencil on the bedside table so I could immediately record my observations. There is an abso- lute clam in my organism. My pulse is eighty-four and is clear. The injection point on my arm burns. My temperature is I can count the heartbeats in my ear while resting on the pillow and I can determine that it is synchronized with the pulse. An actual circulatory perturbation is excluded.
A storm has erupted in my organism and seems to be surging. It began with a deafening noise inside my ears, so much so that it appeared to be external. At first, it was a burst, as if the air pressure outside exploded eight panes of glass in my bedroom with a single strike. And now it continues, deafening and threatening, as if something enormously intricate were approaching. Watching the gas-flame next to my bed reflect motionless in the mirror was enough for me to understand that all the noise was inside me, and not external.
I was terrified to remember the enormous dose of Annina I had injected. With a very lucid state of mind, I scolded myself. Professor Arrigoni was right to describe me as such a quantitative thinker who would quickly measure an abyss by throwing myself in. Ricordo con terrore la dose enorme di Annina che mi sono iniettata. Mi faccio dei rimproveri con mente lucidissima. Che avessi la febbre? Voglio provare. Non arrivai a provare il polso. Ora am- monta a 66; 18 pulsazioni meno di iersera. Rileggo la descrizione fatta del malessere da cui fui colto iersera.
Ma come completarla? Ricordo che prima mormorai: - Collasso! Non ricordo altro! Quando ritornai in me ero mutato del tutto. Polmone e cuore dovevano lavorare perfet- tamente. Sentivo ancora un certo peso alle gambe e mi parevano sempre lontane. Could I have a fever? I want to check. I reread the de- scription of the malaise that took over me last night. How imperfect it is! But how to finish it? The terminology of medical science is too impoverished to be able to express my subjective impressions! My unease increased so much that I had to abandon the pencil; I stretched out on the bed and lost my senses.
My lips no longer held back the saliva running down my cheeks, and I was suddenly aware that my respiration was short and precipitous. The bedroom seemed completely dark. Only a yellow plate reflected on my retina: the gas-flame, from which no light irradiated and at which I think I must have stared unceasingly, because even now the poor, miserable thing remained imprinted on me, like it was before, cold and small, my only point of contact with the external world.
I was dying! Down there, my legs seemed distant, well outside of the bed, and were enormously heavy. I remember nothing else! This morning I realized I must have gone through a delirious attack, because the blankets and pillow were violently strewn about. When I returned to consciousness, everything had changed. It seemed I had come out of a benign attack of pneumonia; the euphoria was absolute. The lungs and heart had to be working perfectly. I felt neither my breath nor my heartbeat. Yet I felt a certain weight in my legs and they always seemed distant.
That certainly meant a weakening of the senses. I must have smiled from the satisfaction of being so exactly right. Touching my bare feet with my hand took considerable effort. They were warm. But immediately I deduced that this act had done nothing but verify the difference in temperature between the two extremi- ties. I searched for the thermometer. It had to be somewhere in the bed. Debbo aver sorriso dalla soddisfazione di aver pensato tanto esatta mente. Fu con isforzo che toccai con una mano i piedi nudi.
E stetti immoto senza fare alcuno sforzo per liberare il mio letto dalle altre scheggie di vetro che dovevano trovarvisi. Mi baloccai per lungo tempo immobile con le mie idee. Ero certo che avrei potuto balzare dal letto e correre a fare le mie annotazioni. Ma non mi mossi. Non lo guardai e mi limitai di consta- tare che la notte era alta. Esso sentiva debolmente i rumori che io pro ducevo movendomi nel letto.
Passai ad analizzare la mia forza visiva. Mentre al momento di svenire avevo visto la fiamma di gas quale un pezzetto di metallo lucido, ora scorgevo perfetta- mente che la fiamma era una fiamma ma pure mi parve non illu- minasse a sufficienza la stanza. Nello specchio la fiamma si rifletteva attenuata di poco. I was regretful. But if I had found it whole, would I have used it? Instead I stayed motionless without making any effort to clean the shards of glass from the bed, which had to be around somewhere.
For a while I frittered the time away, immobile, with only my ideas. My thought lingered on the annotations and I lingered on the thought of what I would write if I were to write it. For now, I would look at the clock to establish how much time I had spent unconscious. For me to raise my head just beyond the bedside table in order to see the clock would have been enough, but I did not make any such effort.
I rested supine, blithe in the confirmation of one of my hopes for my Annina: I did not impetuously rush into action and I was proud about the idea that by now I was able to measure an abyss without throwing myself in. Would I have measured it before? Thinking about the annotations pestered me, and without any intention to reach for the pencil and take it in hand, I analyzed my senses.
My hearing certainly appeared weaker. It feebly sensed the noises I made from moving around in the bed. I then analyzed my vision. The reflected flame attenuated slightly in the mirror. Exhausted from the effort, I closed my eyes and relaxed. The effort required to perceive an object was largely compensated for by the acuteness of vision.
I could analyze the slightest hue of color. Until then a gas-flame was only yellow, with some red and blue reflection at the base-in short, foolishly yellow. Now I saw it was not so and in the flame I discovered more dispa- rate gradations of those various tones. The flame spoke! I hoisted my neck up a bit and stared into the darkness, attempting to see the wardrobe, which had to be next to the mirror. Fino ad allora una fiamma di gas era stata per me gialla con qualche riflesso rosso e azzurra alla base; stupidamente gialla insomma.
Quella fiamma par lava! Come tutti gli oggetti sono belli se visti con una forza che superi almeno quella di chi li guar da per moversi fra di loro!
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E lo rividi sempre fosco e oscuro quando abitava una stanza mai rischiarata nella nostra prima abi- tazione a Venezia; una sola finestra cui il sole non arrivava mai causa la stretta calle su cui guardava. Mastodontico armadio che ricettava allora serio, serio i miei primi vestitini corti. Riposai di nuovo dello sforzo mentre il mio pensiero non cercava riposo. The wardrobe was an ancient chest, mas- sive, baroque, from a distasteful era, its luster faded, on the sides there were two pretentious mullions from whose gable-ends hung grape clusters.
I never saw it like that before and, being an object I had had since childhood, I was astonished to see it in such a sur- prisingly strange way. As all objects are beautiful when viewed with an effort that exceeds the basest attempt from those who wish simply to move among them! Although it was the first time I remembered looking at that wardrobe with such an eye, my vision of that mo- ment was compressed with all of the visions I had had of that wardrobe since childhood. And I see it again, always grim and obscure, when it inhabited a room in our first home in Venice that was never cleared out.
A single window where the sun never shined through because of the small alley over which it peered. That mam- moth wardrobe which dependably held my first baby clothes. Inside was a strong odor of lavender that mamma loved so much. More than once I saw it outdoors on a barge looking shabbier than usual, various split grapes in its clusters. Those grapes were still missing, but compared to the rest of the wardrobe, the wounds of yellow wood now appeared as if they were bleeding.
They had not healed, but even time had matched their colors. I rested again from the effort while my thoughts sought no such rest. All that I had expected was coming true: diminished life could better concentrate in certain directions. The physiologists from a century ago said: half or more of the human body is dead. Perhaps I augmented the dead portion, but I intensified the life of the living portion. Even my legs were more alive, if I wanted. Directing my attention thus, my sensibility sud- denly increased and, without looking, only from sensation did I clearly feel the gentleness of the soft wool.
Dawn came in the meantime. Io forse aumentavo la parte morta ma intensificavo la vita della parte viva. Subiva ora una luce antipatica, cor- rotta dal giallo della fiamma a gas. Poi a me parve di non arrivare ad addormentarmi. Nello stesso tempo il pensiero a tanto lavoro che dovevo compiere mi faceva soffrire. Eppure dormivo. In undici ore constatai in me tre stadii.
II primo di cui non so la durata era stato contrassegnato dalla perdita totale dei sensi. Soon it became the most important aspect in the room. How beautiful it was, waking up in this manner under the red curtains. Tired, I tried to rest. My last visual impression was once again the wardrobe, which had seen so many dawns without ever being so intensely observed. Now it suffered from an unpleasant light, corrupted by the yellow of the gas-flame.
Then I was unable to fall asleep. I conjured up future experiments to perform. First, I had to see if the Annina was compounded in our organism, and whether it were possible to undertake treatment with daily microdoses where the dosage would be measured sim- ply by personal observation. Then, I had to investigate whether one might develop a dependence on the Annina, and whether this dependence would eliminate the violent attack or maybe even all effects.
At the same time, I suffered from the thought of all the work I had to do. And yet, I slept. As soon as my thoughts animated me, I was completely awake; the transition was so short. Then I fell back into a torpor that was nothing but sleep, a long, long sleep, a half-vigil; the sleep of the animal who had provided the Annina. And I had known it, I felt the desire for the deepest, most restora- tive sleep, and it seemed that when I tried to approach something or someone, it only got further away.
Over eleven hours, I noted three distinct stages. In the second, I had a very lucid mind but slow and pitiful movements; actually, I shall characterize them in this way: no perception without desire. I conclude: to enjoy the rest the Annina provides, it should have never been invented. Then, even those truly imperfect annotations were interrupted. Nella notte intera deve aver persistito in me un offuscamento di coscienza.
Qui anche queste annotazioni tanto imperfette sono interrotte. Egli si scalda anzi si scalmana per tutto e per tutti. E anche dopo egli diagnostica e studia e alma- nacca e assiste alle sezioni cadaveriche. Clementi walked in with a suspi- cious look, which indicated that he was in possession of terrible news. He was stressed and irate because, as I later learned, he had beckoned me for more than half an hour.
I was always somewhat distracted but never enough not to hear Dr. Since I will be dead when the public learns of my memoir, one can assume that Dr. Clementi will be long forgotten by then. His exuberance of life must make him go down the road much sooner than others who are endowed with more potent moderating organs. He gets heated up, no, he gets enraged about everything and everyone. I know him well because for two years I worked as his secondary at the hospital.
Those two years seem to have happened under a railway bridge on which boundless trains furiously come and go. How noisy that man is! Anyway, for him, every one of his patients is his own strange adventure affecting only him, and he talks, and talks, and talks endlessly about it. When he sees the patient on the first day, he immediately begins to diagnose, and he diagnoses the second day, the third day, and the fourth day until the patient either heals or dies. And, even after, he diagnoses and studies and daydreams and attends the autopsy. If his diagnosis was right, he talks about it so that it seems he was more surprised than everyone else.
One can say that he is not a braggart only because he is a scientist. The house doctor trembles when Dr. Clementi comes as a consultant. He certainly does not intend to do harm to anyone, but seeing as every patient of his has at least three diseases, it is unlikely that the house doctor had spoken about all three. Quando entra in una casa quale consulente, il medico di casa trema. E pensai di raccontargli della mia scoperta e di pregarlo di fame una prova su lui. Contemporanea mente ebbi varie idee.
Pareva tentasse di consolarmi prima di darmi una cattiva nuova. Aveva alzate le braccia e poggiate le mani sulle mie spalle per segnare un abbraccio che causa la differenza di statura non era possibile.
Hai un sonno tu! Mia madre e il suo e il mio affetto erano dimenticati del tutto ed io non ricordavo altro che quel cuore colpito da esuberanza di vita. My first thought was: providence delivers me the person who needs the Annina more than anyone. And I thought about informing him of my discovery and to beg him to try it himself.
Coincidentally, I had various ideas. Among them, trying the An- nina on a fitful lunatic would be more conclusive proof than trying it on Dr. Clementi…but just barely. With an effort that must have expended a great deal, he suppressed his anger toward me for not having responded earlier. He assumed an air of commiseration that did not foretell anything positive. It appeared as if he were trying to console me before delivering the bad news. The small, nervous man almost leaned on me. He raised his arms and placed his hands on my shoulders to indicate a hug, which was not possible due to the difference in stature.
Quite the sleep you had! Clementi spoke about a passive aneurism and gave me hope he himself did not share, how was it that I still lingered on my creation? Half an hour later she had the attack. Clementi chimed in. Vedendomi impallidire aggiunse con una carezza paterna: - Non perdere il coraggio. Io piuttosto che fare una dia- gnosi ho sentito il pericolo -.
Poi ricordo che oltre che suo cliente ero suo collega. Quando entrai da mia madre il mio piano scientifico era fatto; la cura doveva consistere in iniezioni a dose lievissima di Annina ripetute giornalmente. Non piansi. Celai i miei aridi occhi con la mano e mi lasciai cadere ginocchioni accanto al letto.
Il caso di mia madre era tipico. Un grido, un solo grido ed essa - se io non intervenivo - correva precipitosamente alla morte. Se anche avessi dubitato della diagnosi del dottor Clementi, mi sarebbe toccato di convincermi al solo vedere mia madre. Rather than making a diagnosis, I understood the danger. Due to my intimate coldness and the idea prevailing within me, my behavior was hesitant to the point that I was amazed she did not notice.
I did not cry. I concealed my arid eyes with my hand and I let myself fall, kneeling beside her bed. She raised her arm slowly and, staying supine, she gave me her hand, which I kissed. It appeared like sobbing, but I knew perfectly well that my breath was not hindered by anything but the hope to save a life with the Annina. A shout, a single shout, and - if I did not intervene - she would race precipitously to death. Even if I doubted Dr.
The Annina had been invented just in time. I knew how efficacious that block of ice placed on her chest could be. More was necessary to tame that heart! Before tearing, it had degenerated, but why had it degenerated? Before the strain tore it, she had evidently managed to degenerate it. It was not a fatty degeneration. It was the first time I found myself more deluded than even Dr. I continued to cry! If I had had sincere pain at that moment, even hearing my mother crying and afraid of damaging her with an overly lively emotion, I could have pretended and calmed myself down.
But instead I continued to cry until Dr. Do you wish to kill your mother? Ci voleva altro per domare quel cuore! Sta bene! Era escluso che si trattasse di una degenerazione grassa. Singhiozzavo sempre! Volete dunque uccidere vostra madre? La mia vita ridotta dal potente moderatore non bastava che a tener lucido il mio cervello e a mala pena il sentimento di me e per me. Invece ora mi mancava il dolore persino assistendo alla rappresentazione di quello che, vicino o lontano, era pure il mio destino.
La previsione della morte esisteva allora in me soltanto quale la conclusione di un sillogismo Ricordo che assursi a mio giudice.
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Risposi schiettamente a me stesso che gli avrei dato del cane! I hugged my mother telling her, smiling, I was so moved to hear her declare that she was about to die. There was no doubt! The Annina obscured the emotions and pain in my organism. Was it not predicted that it would decrease attrition? Being a sane individual, but not one of the strongest, I have always noted the trait of rapid combustion in my organism.
Actually, I always had warm hands and an exuberance of emotions that made me suffer when I saw an animal suffer. Now, instead, I lacked pain even when present to the representation of what, near or far, was also my destiny. The prevision of death existed in me then only as the conclusion of a syllogism…perhaps even that was wrong. And yet, this indifference was unmatched by a feeling of deca- dence not dissimilar from what a person must feel when they suc- cumb to a discouraging vice. I reminisced about my altruistic past as now an unattainable feat for me. Again: lucid brain and clouded emotion.
As soon as I was alone with my mother, I immediately as- sailed her. I had to find a way to suggest the Annina cure without agitating her too much. I began by telling her that I felt very well despite the fact that the previous evening I injected myself with the Annina. Then I told her all about my adventures through the night and she listened with great pleasure. It seemed that for a few moments she even forgot about her terrible state. I told her that her heart was likely to tear and that she must be careful not to get agitated or make any abrupt movements.
The threat of aneurism only subsisted in her due to the excess of life. Poi le raccontai tutte le mie avventure della notte ed essa le ascolto con grande piacere. Mi parve che per istanti dimenticasse persino la sua terribile posizione. In conclusione mi disse: - Tu sei un eroe, tu! Poi le parlai con cautela del suo male. Oggi io so con sicurezza quasi matematica che mia madre era condannata a morire in brevi ore.
Ma io giuocai in modo indegno con la vita di mia madre. Forse essa ne sarebbe stata spaventata e avrebbe ri- fiutato il mio farmaco. Do it! I thank the heavens that my illness offers you the occa- sion to perform a very decisive experiment! I have to stop writing occasionally to find relief in crying. I did not kill my mother, but I was saved from the crime only by chance.
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Today, I know with almost mathematical assurance that my mother was condemned to die very shortly. Clementi himself confirmed that he only spoke of the operation to provide a hopeful word. My remorse is greater because of the fact that I had deceived her in order to convince her to try the Annina. Perhaps she would have been too afraid and would refuse my drug.
With a steady hand, I injected it into her. That eye became so mild, it stared at Clementi and then at me, restless and supplicant. She immediately quieted down in an immobility that seemed to herald sleep. While she quieted down, I became more agitated. Although I had decreased the dosage, it could very well induce an attack. If it were to assume violent forms, she would quickly die and my experiment would be finished. My heart beat wildly! But not yet for my mother. Now my exposition becomes even more inchoate than before.
I was struck by the same symptoms: an agitation that took my breath away and, in my ear, outbursts which seemed like they were smashing my eardrum. Afraid of losing my senses, I had to abandon my mother. I crept away on tip-toes. Before closing the door behind me, I checked to make sure mother was not aware I had left. Se questa avesse assunte delle forme violente, essa avrebbe preceduto di poco la morte e la mia esperienza sarebbe stata finita. Mi batteva il cuore!
Ma non ancora per mia madre. Dovetti ab- bandonare mia madre temendo di perdere i sensi. Uscii sulle punte dei piedi. Corsi al mio letto. Tanto ero intento a studiare la cosa importante che in me avveniva. Ma non perdetti i sensi. Subito dopo mi sentii pervaso da un dolce tepore e godetti di un benessere intenso, inaspettato.
Ora lo capivo dal fatto che io entravo in una conva- lescenza rapida quasi violenta. Mi fermai in seguito ad un vivo dolore al pollice della mano destra. Andai alla finestra per veder meglio e capire come una tale piccola ferita potesse dolere tanto intensamente. Osservai subito che per essere stata fatta la sera in- nanzi, la ferita era arrossata pochissimo. Trovai ancora confitta in essa una piccola scheggia di vetro che levai. I was so intent on studying the crucial event happening within me. I was sweating like after a hot bath and the agitation became less violent.
Immediately thereafter, a gentle warmth and an intense, unexpected feeling of well-being permeated through me. Up until now I had not told myself that the state the Annina put me in was the same as with a disease. Now I understood that it was, because I entered into an almost violent convalescence. I felt a strong action in my head, a reparative action which I thought must resemble the cleansing process that happens during mild forms of a cerebral hemorrhage. Well then, had I injected a new disease into my mother? I remembered mother and her near-demise, and I forgot about the Annina for a moment.
I started crying and sob- bing like a baby. The sudden pain was so sharp that the outburst of tears and sobs was not consoling, and I thrashed amok on that bed. After a sharp pain on my right-hand thumb, I stopped. The wound from the shards of the smashed thermometer the night before was the cause. I went to the window to get a better look and to understand how such a small wound could hurt so intensely. I immediately saw that the wound was not very red even though it had happened the night before.
I found a small shard of glass still lodged inside, which I removed. I could verify that from the time I had felt the pain, some metamorphosis must have taken place in the wound. And this metamorphosis still continued before my own eyes. It was evident! It inflamed and its small lips swelled up. I was crushed! All of a sudden, that excess of life I wanted to eliminate proved to be necessary. Rather, it was wasted until an extraordinary job of reparation was necessary, but when it was necessary, it threatened only danger: that that excess of life proved insufficient.
I wept like a baby, I wept for my discovery and for my mother. Era evidente! Ne fui schiacciato! Piansi come un bambino, piansi per la mia scoperta e per mia madre. Ritornai a mia madre dopo di essermi ricomposto quanto potevo. Mi sedetti accanto al suo letto, presi una sua mano nelle mie e lungamente la baciai. Con un piccolo movimento brusco e sdegnoso mia madre sot- trasse la sua mano ai miei baci: — Mi secchi!
Trasalii ferito. Provai un avvilimento e un dolore che mi fecero gemere. In risposta essa non ebbe che dei segni di fastidio. Le restai accanto fino alla sera. I was slightly dazed, like a drunk, rather like one who had been poisoned with Menghi Alcohol. My brain was much less lucid than when I was under the full effect of Menghi Alcohol, so much so that when I found mother still pale but tranquil, in absolute rest, my hope was restored. There was no trace of suffering on her face. I sat down next to her bed, I took one of her hands and kissed it longingly.
With a small, abrupt, and disdainful movement my mother removed her hand from my kisses. I was startled, hurt. The discouragement and pain made me groan. And what if she were to die before being able to free herself from my poison and without leaving me a final, gentle word? In my state of semi- intoxication I thought I could win over her indifference by inun- dating her face with kisses and tears. In response, she only seemed annoyed. In the end, despite her weak voice, she managed enough to utter a threat.
I stopped fearing the violence which would im- mediately kill her. I stayed next to her until nightfall. Her torpidity never ceased. Her eyes opened slowly from time to time; she would stare into the emptiness or at some corner of the room and shut them again. My God! I was concerned. And what if the Annina were to cause her pain in her current state?
I had a mild attack. Mild, very mild. Non pareva soffrisse. Mi disse di no con un lieve cenno del capo. Ne fui accorato. Io ebbi una lieve crise. Essa non mi stava a sentire. Essa non rispose e attendemmo in silenzio. Quale pomeriggio fu quello! Lo passai interamente a studiare la sua faccia. Ogni suo movimento mi terrorizzava. Essa non gli rivolse la parola. Congedandosi mi disse: - Quella prostrazione mi dispiace. Ritornai a mia madre con una speranza nuova nel cuore.
Risul- tava dalle parole stesse del dottore che la vita di mia madre si sarebbe prolungata almeno per giorni. Non le prodigai altre carezze e decisi di attendere. Mi sedetti su un sofa lontano dal letto. Vinto dalla stanchezza mi vi sdraiai. Due o tre ore dopo, riposato interamente ritornai in me. I begged her to bear the cold at least until Dr. Clementi came back. What an afternoon that was!
I spent the entire time studying her face. Every single movement terrorized me. One time she lifted a hand to bring it to her cheek, and I was so afraid that I bit my lip until it bled, so as not to scream. Clementi came and left. I accompanied him to the door.
If it were not there I could calmly let her be. I sat down on a sofa far from the bed. Overcome with fatigue, I stretched out; then sleep imperiously overtook me. Two or three hours later, I woke up entirely rested. Afraid of having left mamma alone, I leaped to my feet.
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I brought the candle next to her bed. I went pale! She was seated, albeit reversed on the pillow. I put the candle next to her face. It was no longer so pale, but appeared rather pink. What frightened me even more was the smile spread- ing across her face, which in that moment seemed insane. She opened her eyes and when she saw me, she took my hand with a vivacious gesture that would have frightened even Clem- enti.
How happy I am to speak to you, I had lost hope. She spoke con- tinuously for a long time, always repeating the same thing with new words, as if afraid I would forget it. Non sentendo subito il suo respiro temetti di trovarla morta. Portai la candela accanto al suo letto. Essa era seduta sebbene riversa sul guanciale. Accostai la candela alla sua faccia. Aperse gli occhi e vedendomi mi prese la mano con un gesto vivace che avrebbe spaventato anche Clementi.
Disse: - Come hai potuto immaginare una cosa tanto orribile? Baciami ora! Come potrai ora consolarti di perdere nello stesso tempo e tua madre e il tuo grande lavoro? Io giurai! Poi piangemmo lungamente insieme. Parevano la- grime di consolazione mentre essa moriva. Kiss me now! Kiss me and cry with me.
You thought you were doing good for everyone, and instead your invention is only another curse. Poor boy! But you must! Swear it! Then we cried together for a while. They seemed like tears of consolation while she died. Why repeat the disjointed words of that poor moribund when I, better than everyone else, know how to translate them into more lucid and conscious words, because I understood all of her mean- ing and I guessed the sensations they arose from, since they were similar to my own experience and evidence? That poor woman was not animated by the persistent ambition which had led me to try it on myself, she could not have found life even in the contemplation of single objects.
The Annina triumphed over all else in her poor body. Her lonely brain continued to work, but only granting her the awareness of her death. She stopped speaking to enjoy her reacquired liberty, solely to die. The excess of life from the Annina was too violent for her already wounded heart. And I must say yet another word. To be able to refine this word is actually why I wrote this memoir.
That I let my discovery be buried with me is not only for the oath I swore to mother.
Sottoscrivi i miei feed
How can I deliver such a potion to our contemporaries? But think! A few days were enough to make me a delinquent! When I hear psychiatrists despair in not knowing how to iden- tify a common, specific symptom in delinquents, I smile! E debbo dire ancora una parola.
Come posso io consegnare ai nostri contemporanei un simile filtro?
Ma pensate! Ne bastarono poche goccie per fare di me un delinquente! Quando sento i psichiatri disperarsi per non saper riscontrare nei delinquenti un sintoma specifico comune, io sorrido! Accetterei persino di somigliare al dottor Clementi piuttosto che di calmarmi in una deficienza di vita. Not all delinquents betray their misery, but observe, observe indeed, and you will find that an attenuation of life exists in everyone. Let us therefore be mortals and good people. I destroyed the Annina and humanity can be grateful to me.
I would even prefer to resemble Dr. Clementi rather than settling for a deficiency of life. Clementi said after finishing the mem- oir. However, I must first tell you that I am the adversary he alludes to, the one who allegedly created the famous theory of the abbreviation of existence.
I immediately understood that the serum had no other efficacy except the ether in which it was dissolved. Menghi, and he was one of those who required indulgence. I now understand why there are so many inso- lences toward me in this memoir. Menghi thought he recognized himself in my case study. I denied it, but evidently he never forgave me. Clementi could not forget the personal offense. Menghi was not a liar, I would like to know what caused that poor dog to die, the one who was given the Annina in its purest form. Perhaps Dr. Non scherziamo! Then if it were not this, we would have to assume that, in his nervousness to hold the dog still, Dr.
Menghi strangled it without realizing. Everyone laughed and the old gentleman, rejuvenated by the applause, abandoned the pulpit with his small and rapid step. Svevo, Italo. Racconti-Saggi-Pagine Sparse. She is currently associate professor of Italian language and literature at Towson University, in Maryland. Her scholarly interests include Italian Medieval literature, literature of migration, and literary translation. Her first book of fiction, The Inheritance of Exile, was published in In it was translated into Arabic by the U.
Like back home. No, my mom was fine. He always want a son, no luck. So I become a son. No cactus in Guatemala, right, but it keeps popping up in my head anyway. Proprio come a casa. No, mia mamma era una giusta. Sempre vole- va un maschio, ma niente da fare. E allora io faccio il figlio maschio. Tranne che mi vengono sempre in mente immagini di cowboy, e so che non era quel tipo di vita da ranch del selvaggio Far West, non in Guatemala.
Niente cactus in Guatemala, certo, ma mi spuntano sempre in testa comunque. Bad, shitty winter. And remember, the baby was only five months old by then, so we were still in that fog, especially Riham, who was nursing. She refused to do any formula, or give her rice cereal—just percent breast. Breast is best. She even pumped it when she needed to be at the hospital with her dad all day, so I could feed it to the munchkin in a bottle. Would you buy a Honda if the tag said Toyota is better? How can you argue with that? She was hardcore. The stomach came later. Just two years, I played, then busted my knee.
He is a original poet, as the original is its deep geography of the places and people who live and travel them, map of clouds and oblique lights between mind and heart, occasion and daily life". Christian Sinicco Italy. Christian Sinicco was born in Trieste. In Italy his poems are published in many antologies and magazines. On waste as I pick the dust on closed books as a dying spark the unjust youth of mine ads the Madrids, Romes with the tricolours, bombed Berlins, empty Hiroshimas, building occupied Parises, lacerated ciudad, torn and nervous knees that run.
With an inside mind disregardless of the rest, gas ready for recycling, nerves as vents stretch and tend the humanity pump, ears that with persistent nausea play flooded truths … often on the outskirts, the industry in the chest of the robotman is a new open-heart burning Eternity. Look at me History while I choose to cry this morning the dust on closed books as a dying spark; look at the unjust youth of mine and of my generation dissolve them.
Through the bushes that pass by, dry clouds of a desert, a man rushed out of the cities breaks the cockpit and the face of the bynow bodyless, the dreadful speed held by forces larger than any force you can tell. On countless rounds of frequency this speed tears apart Ezras poetry on the wind of power Pound, the astronomy of Thomas on the ships of lobbies and of Ginsberg metal, the crew set sail with wings of mold and money, on shames of everything that has the name Ignorance…!
But through the bushes that pass by, dry clouds of a desert, speed explodes as the consternation of those who have seen the father scream in the night, shout between the trembling sheets; it catches you in the fever of what you would rather forget and there is no blanket that you can throw! Then you get up, on the skin speed does not resist you and on the desert of the man precipitated from cities do melt the face.
After some time they will know what generating is. From "passing through New York". On the iron road of a hissing bullet Argentina, I see your burned cars and I am ocean, fire, crowd, ocean, fire: it is time for Poetry, useless and that rages… When the protest grabs it and gobbles it up I disseminate bones, stiff angelus made of upsidedown roots and consumed branches: molotov pour out of my race.
Your poetrymeat I steal at the supermarket slicing horror with bloody hands — You who challenge the army and beat it up, sinking you are not destruction! Argentina, I see on the road that leads to nothing that need is poetry the bone of truth. Argentina, I throw your dead for this need on the parliament of poets. Argentina, io scaglio i tuoi morti per questo bisogno sul parlamento dei poeti. Extroardinary beauty will not leave you now that we are far apart and that there is no possibility to see each other ever again, but strings that thread words together in that endless blink upon trails without destination, strings that transform rage inside rose cliffs in the decision to sunset, that dissolve the epilogue of War within you and within me, they tear down the indifference and leave no boundaries.
I do not curl up, I think of eyes that fade in the night on the plain, upon the foggy window sky. I do not curl up in an idea, I will give life to a white lake on the pictures of a book, I will make lovers embrace. Because on the eternal road that from the sea leads to Jalalabad, up towards the Hindukush, above Kabul, Kandahar, the cliffs inside of you are within me. Non mi raggomitolo, penso agli occhi che svaniscono nella notte in pianura, al vapore di una finestra di cielo. It will not be the evil nature of that Palestinian child with head, feet and hands like mine that will dig deep holes like a spinning top, digging rivers of prayer to ward off the tank on the promised land, that soars from the bright desert like a huge dolmen.
Nor human bombs ready to explode boosting distance nor the knowledge of wastes from Colonial time, the worthlessness of World War tragedy. The quickest weapon to pierce the hypocrisy of politics is its will for sterile peace after the doom of the universe.