The Smile Of The Moon. Klaus Zambiasi

      I know that place, it’s near home, on the hill full of walnut trees and the wild pears that taste sour when you eat them, like wood. If they aren’t ripe and they have no ‘red cheeks’ they’re impossible to eat.

      In another picture I’m in the middle of the field, I’m picking flowers with a nice lady, she’s smartly dressed, her hair styled.

      Barbara explains to me that:

      â€˜This lady’s name’s Miriam, she’s come to visit you with her

      husband Remo. You picked flowers for her and then you

      brought some for me too, do you remember?’

      â€˜Yes, vaguely, but I can’t remember much.’

      On the border of the photograph there’s a date, ‘July 1973’, they’d come to celebrate my birthday, I was only three then, now I’m four already.

      It was summer, it’s clear from the brightness and the light emanating from the photograph, typical of the month of July, and also from the fields full of grass and in bloom.

      In yet another photo I’m sitting on a bench under a walnut tree as I’m taking a picture with a toy camera of the photographer, who must’ve been either Miriam or Remo.

      I must say I feel lucky, the older I get the more the people who pay us visits bring me presents, even though I don’t know any of them apart from grandma Anna.

      There was only this one time, I remember it was last year, when grandma and a man had come to visit us in his car, a beige Fiat 127. I didn’t know who the man was, his clothes were nice, he was kind of thin, they wanted to take me for a ride with them. I didn’t want to, I refused to get in the car, it was too hot, it felt like an oven, I was afraid they would take me away. I started puking and crying and who knows what else, poor grandma. She was sitting on the front seat and she was keeping me in her arms, so she had to endure all the eventual consequences. She tried to cheer me up but who knows what she must’ve thought, the man bought me a toy rifle to make me feel better.

      Luckily it was a toy, otherwise I could well have gone on a killing spree, then they sat me down on the back seat, at least there was some more space, the heat made it all sticky.

      I’ll always remember the black plastic seat’s sunburned smell, I was in my shorts and I was sweating, whenever I tried to stand up I could feel the seat’s lining pasted on my back, as if they’d glued me onto it.

      The little trip had shaken me a little, perhaps because grandma usually came alone, while that time she’d arrived with that man in his car. Ringing like an alarm bell, I had the feeling they’d come to take me away, it would have been an awful shock.

      Yet, later that afternoon we’d come back home to Barbara instead, I got off the car with my rifle in hand, then we said goodbye to grandma and the man. When I saw them leave in the beige Fiat 127, I felt nostalgic, I was sorry I had puked in the car and cried so much, after all they’d just come for a visit. In the end I was happy, but the doubt they were trying to take me away was still present in me.

      In a short time, I met many different new people, always good and kind to me and Barbara, they must really like me, even though I don’t know them at all.

      When you’re little, adults always think that many things go unnoticed or stay apparently insignificant, but actually a child is like a sponge, it absorbs everything, sometimes even subconsciously. All the perceived information and intuitions get pieced together, adding up to a mosaic which is almost never going to be truly completed.

      What you don’t expect…

      

      

      Playing in the town with the other kids, I often realize I’m somewhat too protected, as if I was living in a surreal world. Oswald and Waltraud seem more at home, they’re more accepted by the others, I feel a bit different, like a beloved guest.

      A couple of days ago, while we were in the street discussing rules on how to play or setting down a plan, I and Oswald mentioned ‘Barbara, our mum’.

      One of the others randomly pops up and almost mockingly says:

      â€˜What are you talking about, she’s not your mother.’

      At first I didn’t register that sentence, I thought he was joking. Maybe he didn’t mean to be nasty, children often unwillingly say the truth, he may have simply wanted to correct me.

      I pretended to play along, as if I already knew, as if it had always been clear to me. Oswald got annoyed and after a while we went back home, it was late for dinner as well, the sun had long set.

      Sometimes, when I’m sad and feeling down, and to be honest that doesn’t happen very often, but when it does I become even more sensitive and insecure.

      So I look for mamma Barbara’s affection, and trying not to be too direct, I ask her:

      â€˜You love me mum, right? You’re my only mother, I don’t

      have any other mums, do I? I want to stay with you

      whatever happens.’

      â€˜Yes, I love you too sweetheart, we all love you here, don’t

      worry, I won’t send you away for sure.’

      To me Barbara is my mum, she’s even more than a mum, all my family here, my places, all the kids that have shared this ‘family’ of ours with me. Now they’ve all left, I’ve been here forever, with Oswald and Waltraud, I hope I’ll be able to remain here for a very long time.

      I now live with the fact that probably I’m not Karl and Barbara’s natural son, they could have adopted me, or I may have been left in their care like the others, who knows?

      And who knows where my natural parents are, who they are… Actually, I don’t want to know, this is my family, end of the story.

      I perceived hints every now and then, I’m lost in a crowd of questions but I don’t lose heart, I try to behave as if nothing happened. All my family’s love helps me not to think about it.

      Almost every Sunday we all go on the Alpe di Siusi1 with Karl’s car, a yellow Opel Kadett, it looks like a flan, even more so when the engine bonnet’s warm and it really feels like it’s just out of the oven.

      The Alpe di Siusi is beautiful, I like the Haflinger horses with their white mane, and seeing the cows and horses in the wild gives me a sense of freedom. Horses are my favourite animals, with their melancholy eyes. It feels good to see them having fun on the mountain in the summer, after all it’s sort of their holiday.

      Here it’s full of nice cabins and huts, fields and hills, endless rises and slopes, we can see the Sciliar’s Santner peak, we’re about five thousand feet above sea level.

      We go on long walks from one cabin to another. Karl often meets people he knows and friends with whom he stops to chat.

      I, Waltraud and mamma Barbara sit on the grass for an afternoon snack, Oswald smells the cheese and the salamis and joins us.

      What surprises me about the Alpe di Siusi are the many bends you need to go through to get here, but in the end the prize is worth it. You get on the plateau and it looks like there’s a green carpet everywhere, with a thin, healthy air, you feel like you could fly.

      

      

       3 TN: Italian name of the Seiser Alm.

      

      Back home from our trip, after a whole day