I am a tireless consumer of the train, while being conscious of the fact that they are sitting on one of the most septic of the world. I like the intimacy, I love the discreet charm of the old "local", which I use to take - because of a busted work chronologically compared with other commuters -, at most unexpected: the late morning and very late in the evening. We are a dozen around the convoy. There is a shift worker at the factory, the university professor, a prostitute, the vu cumprà . And the journalist "closing".
all together in a microcosm that contains (in addition to unknown bacteria and perniciosisissimi) a diverse range of stories, issues big and small dramas. The number of travelers to change depending on the season and variables amok strike of university students, police raids, metalworkers in turmoil.
Instead, there is a constant, that everyone loves to meet: silence, absolute and lift up silence. We salute you all with a nod, then we dive into many different readings or careful observation of what goes out the window (ie nothing shrouded by dense fog).
happens, though, that some of the so-called civil society intruder sneaks into our microcosm, cheerfully disregarding the order of silence. The other day there were two comely young women of artificial talking loudly with a heinous Emilian accent. They were very annoying, as was the shrill trill of syncopated their phone ringing constantly. Do not lower the strident tone of their voice even when these were private conversations. I, the whore and the shifter we were informed that one of them had an affair with another man other than that which was convoluted with a lawful marriage, which it had unprotected sex and then was threatened with a unwanted pregnancy (but still was gulping down the morning after pill) and that the prices of Beauty Farm had grown to bear.
I do not think there are statistics on how many in Italy and speak in low voices of those who, instead, he cries. The impression is that the silence (or at least moderate noise) is an unknown quantity to most people. Try, as a form self-defense, to ask someone to lower his voice or even turn the radio off when you are in a public place: the reaction you'll encounter on the face of the casino is not anger is bewilderment. This clearly shows that the screamers a) are not aware of screaming, and b) for the screamers noise is a sweet company. Who asks them to be quiet is the figure of the nag eccentric, neurotic shadow of the damper that abhors the sparkling humor that is given (for reasons unknown to me) from the noise. But the point is another.
The slight melancholy that envelops the silence is seen as an unbearable affront.
And then the mess away, forever, the risk of dangerous thinking ...
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