There is silence, and the air is cold. Darkness envelops the room like a blanket of thick texture and everything around it, is a figure without form. The moisture rises from the floor of beaten earth and clay. What they say is good. To me, it just puts chills.
'm locked in here and wait. Here I spend my hours, days become months and is fast becoming. I would like to go, discover the world. Its colors, its scents. I would go to a place in the sun, watching the sea with fine sandy beach where it sinks and it moves with difficulty. Finish on shoreline, in the company of friends in bare feet, with the fresh water that is broken ankles and legs splashing, with the breeze that makes you sweat, surrounded by the heat and smell of salt air.
Instead, I have to make do with looking out the window, which
occasionally opens to allow air to circulate. I see a strip of grass and the trunk of a tree in the distance, sometimes at the nose of a dog that stops and sniffs around. Still the same viewpoint.
time I hear the beat on the windows and I guess out of this prison, still, still, under the water that bathes me, washes me, cool. It felt free, happy. As in the past.
Already, because once lived outdoors in the sun. My house was a hill smelling of Trentino, in a silence other than this, where the only sounds were those of gentle nature, and the wind that ran between the rows of grapes.
And now, this winery.
Not only, however, are not the only imprisoned by a meter thick stone walls, underground and in the dark. The company is good, and we support each other. We all come from different places, a mix, a native of every part of Italy. In the evening, everyone talks about himself, where he grew up, what he saw. So for a moment, we seem to leave this cold place, from the brick vaults, and visit new places and unknown.
Sometimes a man comes to visit. Stay here for a while, walking back and forth to the store without speaking. He takes a bottle from a shelf and goes. And we know they have lost a companion. And a little ', envy his good fortune.
The door opens, announced by the sound of the key in the lock and the squeak of the hinges. A shaft of light illuminates the steps and concrete shape in the top of the ladder.
In a moment, the silence of the damp cellar is filled with voices, laughter and noise of cutlery on plates. I concentrate and I feel the music in the background, and a girl who sings.
The glow of neon lights and blinds all of a sudden the room. I recognize the steps, heavy and rhythmic, and I hold you close breathing. The man sneezes, then blows his nose.
If I could, I would raise up, waving his arms, I'd show.
I can not stay here forever, I also have the right to go out, to see the plug that keeps me moving slowly closed and disappear with a sudden PLOF. I want to slide down the glass walls of the bottle and fill the glass, at first just a couple of fingers, just a taste, and then down a few seconds faster, and be stopped, with an elegant flick of his hand. I want to make the rounds of all the glasses on the table, I hear the comments of those who drink and leave them a pleasant memory on the tongue, the palate. Basically, I live for this.
The man is close to my shelf. Scrolls the look on various labels, reaches out and takes the bottle next to me. Then he turns and walks away, turns off the light and closes the door behind him.
sigh and I abandon myself to a new resting patient.
will be my moment, and that day I will be ready, and then no one will forget about me, my taste is fresh and crisp Müller Thurgau.
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