It was war out there

The jolt makes you jump, almost throws you off your seat. How many holes for that bumpy road. You look around in the dim light of a dying day; the same mournful expressions, the tired faces. You have just turned onto state road 202, the hospital is almost there.The ambulances have already arrived, they are unloading the wounded. Come down and help too. Convulsive gestures, confused voices. A man bumps into you, staggering under the weight of the stretcher he's carrying. You turn around, your eyes fall on another stretcher, left on the ground. Above is a man, little more than a small boy, head cocked to one side, blood trickling from his mouth, arm dangling out. His eyes are still open, wide open in a gaze that seems to pierce the air.You craved that red cross. You earned it. Now you have it. You have to get busy. Try not to think. Not now.You look around, while second lieutenant Gualtieri calls you:“Come, Maria, quickly! Help me, let's get him inside."A scene that repeats itself: quickly, as fast as you can, move this other man to the surgery and place him on a cot. Remain with him you smile at him shyly, as if to encourage him, then while waiting for the doctor, you arm yourself with scissors, cut your trousers around the wound and rinse off the blood.The same scene, but this time the man's expression is absent, he seems to look at you, but you're not sure, his eyes are half closed, he's about to faint, you hope he's just about to pass out and it's not too late.

That light dress, which smells of spring, is made of organza. How it flutters in the wind, and the legs, which it covers beyond the knee, can be seen at times under a cheeky breath. But the choker, with that polite little collar, no, really too modest. 22 years, all still to live.The braid, at least that one, Maria took off. Now, her long hair, the color of chocolate, is left loose, and falls far beyond her shoulders. And how enthusiastically he moves the tuft from his eyes, with a slow and calibrated gesture, which tastes sensual. A conquest on mom's demands."Home for dinner, don't come back later, Dad will get angry."Don't worry ma, I won't be late."

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