![]() ![]() Streets and avenues stretched out, endless and deserted, like blanched chasms between mountainous cliffs. In the city all differences between sidewalk and street had vanished vehicles could not pass, and Marcovaldo, even if he sank up to his thighs at every step and felt the snow get inside his socks, had become master, free to walk in the middle of the street, to trample on flower-beds, to cross outside the prescribed lines, to proceed in a zig-zag. Along the street, making his own path, he felt free as he had never felt before. He went to work on foot the trams were blocked by the snow. ![]() As it had fallen on lines and colors and views, the snow had fallen on noises, or rather on the very possibility of making noise sounds, in a padded space, did not vibrate. “Snow!” Marcovaldo cried to his wife that is, he meant to cry, but his voice came out muffled. Narrowing his eyes, he could make out, in the whiteness, some almost-erased lines, which corresponded to those of the familiar view: the windows and the roofs and the lamp-posts all around, but they were lost under all the snow that had settled over them during the night. He opened the window: the city was gone it had been replaced by a white sheet of paper. He couldn’t figure out what time it was, the light between the slats of the blinds was different from all other hours of day and night. Marcovaldo pulled himself out of bed with the sensation there was something strange in the air. ![]()
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |
AuthorWrite something about yourself. No need to be fancy, just an overview. ArchivesCategories |