Beta..
are learning to work.. *smirk
Fig new passenger train from Rome to fast the night had to stop and wait until dawn at a small station in Fabriano to replace traditional vehicles using a small train that passes through the main line to Sulmona.
When the dawn, in a second-class carriage in which there were five people on board who had been waiting since last night, a woman was plump like a shapeless bundle helped pulled up to get into. He was accompanied by her husband, a man little thin and weak, her face pale, her eyes small and sharp and seemed shy and clumsy, which runs out of breath.
Finally, after getting a seat he politely thanked the passengers who had helped her earlier, and are willing to take a seat for her. Then he turned to his wife and pulled the collar of his coat, then gently asked:
"You okay, sweetheart?"
His wife was not answering anymore but instead pulled his collar up to the eye as if to hide his face.
"The world is bad," she said with a sad smile.
And he felt a duty to explain to his traveling companions that the poor woman should be pitied, because the war had taken his only son, seo-war youth of twenty-one years in which both parents have devoted their entire lives for him, even to leave their home at Sulmona to follow him to Rome where he should continue his studies. Then off to join military service with the assurance that at least within six months he will not be sent to war, but suddenly they receive a telegram informing him that he would be sent within three days and asked them both to take his departure.
Women's coat of small struggling in his seat and at times growling like a beast, he felt sure that all the explanations that will not grow even if only sympathy from those people, most of which are equally unfortunate as himself. One of those who listen to it with special care to say:
"I wish you were thankful that your son is only now sent to the front. My son has delivered since the first day of battle. He was twice wounded and came home after recovery was sent back to the front. "
"What about me? I have two sons and three nephews on the battlefield, "added another passenger.
"Maybe, but for us it was her only child," replied her husband in self-defense.
"What's the difference? You can just spoil her only child with undue attention, but you can not love him more than other children if you have too. Parental love is not the same as a piece of cake that can be sliced and divided equally to all children. A father will memberika all his affection to every child without exception, no matter whether one or ten children. And if now I suffer because two of my son, not that I suffer for each of them a half, even the double misery ... "
"Right, right ...," sighed the husband who seemed embarrassed, "but suppose (of course we all hope that you will never experience it) a father has two sons at the front, then he loses one of them, then he still has one more as a consolation laranya while ... "
"Yes," interrupted his friend, "there's still a child as a solace to him. But also for the sake of a child, he should keep his life. While in the case of a father who has a child, if the child dies then the father can take off and sorrow will end. Which of these two positions is worse? Do not you see that my situation could be worse off than you? "
"Nonsense!" Interrupts one other passenger, a fat man with a ruddy-faced tired eyes.
Short of breath. Of her eyes that stand out as if it would inject tremendous turmoil within him that was out of control and almost no more power to be borne by the body is weak.
"Nonsense," she repeated as she tried to cover her mouth with her hand as if to hide her two front teeth that are missing. "Nonsense. Do we give life to our children for our own benefit? "
The other passengers looked at him puzzled. One child who had been sent to the battle front from day one sighed, "You are right. Our children are not ours, they belong to the state ... "
"Bosh," cut the fat man had. "Do we think of the country when we give life to our children? Our children were born ... yes ... because they had to be born. And when they enter this life they bring our lives into their lives. This is true. We belong to them but they never belong to us. And when they reach the age of twenty, they were the same as we used to time their age. We also have a father and mother, but in addition there are also many other things ... girls, cigarettes, wishful thinking, a new tie ... and the state, of course, that we fulfill his call-when we were twenty- even though the father and mother did not allow. In our present age, a sense of love for the homeland is still great, of course, but more powerful than it is to love our own children. Do any of us here who do not will be happy to take over his place on the battlefield if he could? "
Quiet. Each one seemed to nod in agreement.
"Why then," continued the fat man said, "we do not think our kids feel when they have twenty? Is not only natural in the present age they should love their country (of course for a young man of good) is greater for them to love us? Is not it natural that, at least they should regard us as the old boys who can not anything anymore and had to stay home? If any state, if the state is the basic necessities such as bread which we all have to go and defend it. And we esteemed sons go, when they have twenty. They do not need our tears, because if they fall, they fall with passion and happiness (for a young man of good, of course). Now, if someone dies young and happy, without having the dark side of life, to her disgust, pettiness, bitter disappointment ... what else can we pintakan for him? Everyone should stop crying, everyone has to laugh, like me ... or at least give thanks to God, as I am. Because my son before his death, sent me a message saying that he died in a state of satisfaction because his life ended in the best manner that can be hoped for. That is why I am now, as you see, do not be sad ... "
He waved his coat around the one side as if to show it off. Her pale lips that cover the toothless gums vibrate. Her eyes are glassy stare transfixed. Then he ended his words with a shrill laugh that sounded like the cries of sobbing.
"Yes, yes," the others agreed.
While the woman, wrapped in a coat in the corner, sat down and listened attentively. Already during the last three months he tried to find in the words of her husband and his friends own a piece of a sentence that may be soothing to overcome the sadness in this. A sentence that could show him how a mother should be willing to release her son mengikhlaskan not only for death alone, but even to a dangerous life. And of the many speeches that he has not found a single word ... and the sadness deepened after-feel-he assumed no one could share her feelings with her.
But now the utterances of the passengers were startled and almost made him faint. Suddenly he realized that not only other people are wrong and can not understand, but even he can not put itself at the level of the fathers and mothers are able to give up, no tears, not only for their son's departure, but even to his death.
He leaned in a corner and tilted her face while trying to listen carefully for the details as told by the fat man to his traveling companions about how when her son died as a hero to king and country, happily and without regret.
It was for the woman he had strayed into a world that had never imagined, a world that is so far unknown and he was so happy to hear everyone together to congratulate the brave father, who can be so brave to tell about the death of his son.
Then suddenly, like nothing ever heard anything from the story had just said earlier, and almost like waking from a dream, he asked the old man:
"Then, if your son really dead?"
All the people now look at him. The old man had also turned to him. Her eyes large and prominent light gray in color with a glassy stare intently into the face of the woman. For a while he tried to answer, but the words choked in my throat. He kept staring and staring at her, as if only now, because the question was stupid and reckless, he suddenly realized that eventually his son was really dead. The boy was gone forever, forever ...
His face was wrinkled, turned horrible, then he quickly grabbed a handkerchief from her bag and keep everyone was surprised when she burst into tears at the bitter sobs of heartbreaking.
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A/N
Luigi Pirandello (1867 - 1936), although most of his life were spent in Rome, but he was born and came from native Sicily. Although his home life was unhappy and he does not feel comfortable with his career as a teacher, but he produced many great works in the field of short story, novel and drama. Newfound appreciation after entering the age of fifty years. Among his great works are the script drama, entitled Six Character in Search of An Author and As You Desire Me. He received the Nobel Prize in 1934.
I'm Confused... :(