The boy took off his jacket and went and opened the windows of the room, carefully avoiding looking in mirror at the entrance. There was still smells of smoke from the night before with Silvia and wanted to get some 'air and light. Too late. The tulips had tender, sprinkle with orange petals on the table and the carpet in front of the couch. He took them and threw them into the bucket of wet under the kitchen sink. Silvia was broken. The mark of lipstick on a cigarette butt into the ashtray he recalled it to him along with his last words.
"The beds are made for two." Or for one, said the boy mentally smiling to himself, happy to be back home and sleep again in his bed in a square and a half. He was a great empire walnut bed, a legacy of her maternal grandmother. He certainly rejuvenate the whole context: replaced the damask on the walls with a wallpaper striped multicolor by Paul Smith, by the heavy velvet curtains, via photographs of dead children and grandchildren in bands or missing in war-the first and secondary. Had revived the old parquet French under the dusty dark blue carpet that the grandmother had glued on in the name of modernity. But the bed was the same. Had they left her with all the rest of the furniture in his modest home on the first floor of 14 Vicolo del Bologna in the heart of Trastevere, where he lived long before the neighborhood became famous and falling into the hands of American English intellectuals and rich people. It was a house full of charm and overflowing with ornaments. Old photos faded by time, antique furniture gnawed by termites and large mirror blackened stains of lead that stood at the console, in the beautiful wooden frame with golden "crown SOVR 'lu coat of arms "as my grandmother used to say when he wanted to claim his noble birth. The house was cozy and the guy there was really good. 
entered the studio and glanced over the iBook dusty desk. He had decided to finish the damn argument, but still did not want to face the ghost of Peter, Nicola and all the rest. He turned on the stereo, but turned it off immediately. For how long classical music would have remembered those two? A dusting the computer but he did it to him and saw that there was passed the old torn t-shirt that he used to dust also on the images that smiled at him from above the desk. The father with his pipe in his mouth on the balcony of the hotel in Graz, the degree of his brother and the black and white portrait of his grandmother. Donna Caterina with the capital campaign was a noblewoman, famous among the stone houses with terracotta tiles on his village in the mountains of Basilicata for his young and wealthy heiress of quirks before, for his troubled marriage d ' love then, and finally to his mysterious psychic abilities. She hated the loneliness of the great metropolis, and had chosen this quarter from the narrow streets and blackened chimneys on the low roofs of the houses because they remind her of her country.
Among the inventions twentieth-century she was born in 1899 - loved and hated the TV dishwasher. She was a woman of strength and pride had given up everything. When she decided to marry the grandfather of Protestant-Catholic despite the veto of his father and uncle, Monsignor was disinherited and lost everything, including the diamond ring that the brothers took off from the finger out of the house before. He soon lost the comfort of her husband. Cecco grandfather had come to build bridges to Africa and returned in a closed chest, died of malaria. But he never lost the pride of his noble origins and way of life to which she was accustomed and to which he would never give up in resignation. Since the boy he could remember, my grandmother always had her maid staff. He had brought from the country. The boy remembered it well: natural fiber and thin hair, blacks and eyes still fixed on the ground, kind and extremely quiet. The names were not his forte, but as he tried to remember it was almost certain that he had never heard her speak in that house. 
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