The plane took off for New York airport at half past ten "Cristoforo Colombo" in Genoa. On board Francesca Alighieri, sitting in the chair twenty-three number of business class, was holding a copy of the virus that Paolo Martinelli had devoted a month before, was crying and the tears streaming down the cover.
His whole family had come to escort her to board to greet her. It was a very emotional moment for everyone especially for the father who could sense the emotions of her daughter without seeing her, she had hugged her and whispered:
\u0026lt;\u0026lt;Go and be happy, not thinking of us. This is a great opportunity to not let it go>> then he turned abruptly, not he wanted his daughter to see him cry, but Frank had understood, he waved his hand in greeting and then had passed through the body-scanner: the last barrier between you and the plane.
The father and mother Frances had stayed near the airport and at the sight of an airplane at takeoff, the mother pulled a white handkerchief from her bag and waved in greeting. He did not know that Frank could not see it and that it was the wrong plane.
Hidden in the crowd, Paolo Martinelli also was present. Francesca had seen while he checked in and stayed on the sidelines, he did not want Frank to notice. He promised that he would not come.
\u0026lt;\u0026lt;I hate and hate Adii piangere>> told him the last time they had seen. He had also sworn that he would not try to get in touch with her. She had dried her tears and trembling voice he added:
\u0026lt;\u0026lt;We have to forget and move on with our lives. It was not until I was destiny together>>. Paul did not know if he really kept his promise, but at that time was the only thing to do. She did not say any more, the squeezed him and when he left, he saw her enter the door of his house.
The night before embarkation, Paul had decided that was going to say goodbye for the last time at the airport. Revolting in bed, he also imagined that Frances would not be playing even convinced he would not leave. He would find persuasive words, would return home and would live together forever.
airport when he saw it close in the arms of his father, he knew not what he was doing was not right. What was going to offer? A job as a secretary, instead of a university in America. He could not make him this, they would both regret for life. Paul remained hidden in the crowd and quickly left the airport.
Back at home, but he saw the Tata did not say nothing, went into the studio on the computer, opened a new file. On the screen he saw a blank page and began to write. He left the house only two months' later, when the novel was finished, to deliver the draft to his publisher. All that time he led a life ruled by the scan clock: alarm clock at six o'clock, an hour's ride in the park, to eight and began writing, apart from two short breaks, worked for eight hours, seventeen of the twenty attended to by letters and kept in touch with the publishing house. The evening dinner with Tata, a few words, a look at the TV and then fell asleep reading a page of some book or to correct their proofs.
Never disconnect, however, thinking of Frank. The image in front of an audience of students while explaining a poem by Dante, and then smiled, when, in fact, the dreaming in the arms of another man, writhing in pain. Francesca was in his thoughts, was in the pages of his novel, was in his life but Frank was not close to him.
\u0026lt;\u0026lt;Sapevo you would be able to write a great book '> were the words uttered on the phone by John Pozza Paolo Martinelli, to comment on the novel. John was not wrong and never softened his words, was adamant. If a novel was too wordy, ordered: \u0026lt;\u0026lt;taglia, size at least a hundred pagine>>. When a novel is not found it interesting: \u0026lt;\u0026lt;Niente fare, as it is from this book will not publish it mai>>. Congratulated the author believed the novel only if those words were a success and a guarantee.
After just one month after the drafting of "robbery," the latest novel by Paolo Martinelli, was given to the press. Circulation two hundred thousand copies, a record for the publisher. Sold out in fifteen days.
"Great narrative and not just a yellow," was the title under which the Courier reviewed his work. The other magazines reviewed the book positively. The phone never stopped ringing: rained down requests for interviews on TV and in newspapers. Taken from the many commitments, he could not think of Paul Frank.
That day was a Tuesday, Paul was up early. Returning from the morning run, was in the shower when the Tata called him and handed him the phone:
\u0026lt;\u0026lt;Sì ricordo, to fifteen for the Feltrinelli l'incontro with pubblico>>. It was John who reminded him of the appointment for the afternoon. Paul certainly would not have forgotten but his publisher had done so, the patient when necessary, but timely and rigorous on the job.
It was a beautiful morning, the sun shone and a light breeze gently stirred the waters of the sea. The scent of salt air pervaded the nostrils, he loved that smell. Paolo Martinelli, although it was very early, decided to take the morning off, went into his garage, started the engine in his Ferrari Scaglietti black for a long time neglected and left. He led for the whole morning, not at high speed, slowly for a car like that, he wanted to see nature, breathe clean air, see the sea. At thirteen he decided he could go to lunch and chose the restaurant "Bellavista", was for some time that there was. He remembered Mario and his wife, got out when he took a copy of "robbery" and entered the restaurant with one arm. While
enjoyed a drink, he remembered the "Paris by night" and ordered a bottle of "Rossese.
\u0026lt;\u0026lt;Dove can I buy a cassa?>> asked Mario, \u0026lt;\u0026lt;devo still pay a debt with a amico>>. The restaurant owner gave him the address, he transcribed it on a piece of paper, folded it in half and put it back in your wallet.
La Feltrinelli was crowded as ever he had seen her, managed to get through only with difficulty from the back.
\u0026lt;\u0026lt;We run out of copies, are all snapped up in half an hour>> Air said in the happy owner of the library.
\u0026lt;\u0026lt;In all libraries went esaurito>> said John Pozza \u0026lt;\u0026lt;... and just yesterday we sold the rights for a film! You know the ones you have on a substantial proportion. You'll be happy, right?>> Paul said yes but was not entirely true, his heart cried out to the contrary.
A girl made a brief presentation and then fell to him to speak: he gave a short speech, presenting the book, spoke of the writer's block that had struck him and thanked a person:
\u0026lt;\u0026lt;Anche if you're not here right now and can not owe her this ascoltare, successo>>, then began to autograph books.
With head bowed, not even face the person in front of him, took his copy, signed and returned, sometimes added a dedication or a sentence it deemed appropriate.
\u0026lt;\u0026lt;How builds his storie?>>
Martinelli When Paul heard that question, he was stunned. He stopped to autograph the book, looked up, his heart was beating a thousand, dropped the copy and embraced her.
He did not expect to see it. Certainly not that day, certainly not at that time. She, dressed in red, hair, rimless glasses, her face shining.
\u0026lt;\u0026lt;I'm back. I'm back to stay. The teaching was not for me. I started writing, I tried it for fun, I saw that I liked and that the story was not mallaccio. I sent it to your editor. He told me that he was ok. I posted it>>.
\u0026lt;\u0026lt;John did not tell me anything. You wanted to surprise me? It was you who wanted that kept secret, right?>>.
\u0026lt;\u0026lt;Yes I also wanted to be sure of your choice. It's not every day that you resign from a right so important>>.
\u0026lt;\u0026lt;Qui finito, I go out there are many things we had left open …>>.
Paul took her by the arm and greeted the audience with a smile, waved to his publisher and went onto the black Ferrari Scaglietti, scoured it away. For a long time nobody saw them in public.
END
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