— Surely..., or maybe, Frank!
« One day, while we were going to the beach with the family, I was driving, I stopped at an intersection, to let two girls who were crossing it. One of them was the brunette, I recognized her immediately. I was sure she had seen us, but she walked through indifferently.
"Mom, that's my girlfriend!", Pasquale said, leaning against her and pointing to the brunette.
My mother, who had followed the scene, took a moment to answer, and dryly exclaimed "I don't like!". I was stunned to hear what my brother said: I would never have imagined that, in such a short time, he could have resumed the relationship with the brunette. I deduced that, perhaps, indeed certainly, knowing her, everything would have happened for her initiative. The fact that Pasquale had not confided in me left me perplexed; but, thinking about her, I thought it was correct that everything must have started from her, and from that meeting a few months earlier on the Course, and with him in uniform. However, even after that he never mentioned anything to me about that sentence he addressed to our mother, and after about ten days he left. I continued to work, helping my father.
« One day, a cousin of mine, for me the best of all cousins, asked me if I could help him. "The wine grape harvest has begun!", he told me, and he, the trucker, needed a helping hand. "It's about making trips from Salento; loads of grape seeds, to be transported to a company for the production of seed oil!", he explained to me. I gladly accepted, and reported it to mine parents; the next morning, at one a.m. I was down at his house, and I waited some time, before he came down; luckily in the first September nights were still enjoying the heat of the end of August. I had already been on the truck, as I said, but that time I traveled seated on the engine hood, and not on the seat: now there was no second driver. We made a trip to the day: between the outward, return, loading and unloading of the goods in the factories, we returned home when the sun had already set. A sandwich, consumed in the loading phase, was our daily lunch. About twenty days lasted my adventure, as a not truck driver, who for this reason ran the risk of becoming monotonous, were it not for some curious episodes that occurred during those days and which had created some rather bizarre and amusing diversions, which they made my new experience more interesting. One in particular, I want to tell...; one day, when we reached the unloading plant, the yard was already busy with another truck in maneuver. We stood still, waiting for our turn; my cousin, with the expert eye, exclaimed, "This... will waste us a lot of time!". We waited a long time, while the man, with useless maneuvers, tried to go into reverse on the unloading platform; but, going backwards the trailer always took another direction, and he could never get onto the platform. My cousin began to get nervous, "This driver doesn't know what to do!", he said, and I was afraid of arriving late for the appointment I had that very evening with a girl. "Sorry..., go... and do it you!", I suggested, as I saw him that he was starting to get furious angry. My cousin did not think twice: he got out of the truck and approaching the truck driver, gesturing to him to stop. I saw the two talking, and shortly afterward the bumbling truck driver gave him his seat, passing over to the other seat.
« By paying attention to what was happening, I saw the truck go forward slightly, straighten up, and, quickly and with the utmost precision, step precisely back onto the platform. "It was the first trip!", told me when he returned to his driving seat my cousin, and he did not know, that you had to maneuver in reverse to get on the platform and unload; then he also confessed to him that it was not yet practical enough for that type of maneuver with the trailer attached, and he explained and showed him how to do it! "Your father, he taught me these maneuvers!", he said to me, surprising me; perhaps because he had guessed my question, already ready. "That truck driver said he was waiting for us at the gas station on the highway; to thank me, he wants to offer us a beer; he's a good boy, and I couldn't tell him no!" he concluded. Returning home we smiled several times, thinking of those many and useless maneuvers made by that poor budding truck driver, who then, at the bar, also confessed to us the high level of tension he had reached. "Maybe, if you hadn't arrived, with the forecourt empty and more calmly, I would have done it by myself!", he exclaimed as we said goodbye.
The appointment with the girl, it skipped; it was not for the time lost for the maneuvers, but for that of the beer: half an hour; she never made herself heard or seen again. »
— You saw Frank! This other fact confirms what I told you earlier, about Olympia.
— How many years has it been since you met her?
— Fifty-five, don Nicò!
— Have you seen, Frank? And that girl she didn't want to wait even half an hour, and what's more, she never showed up again.
— Already! And for me, it was better.
« Anyway, after a few days the precept postcard arrived: the Country was calling me. It was my mother, who gave her to me, in the evening; the Armored Troops Recruit Training Center of Avellino, it was my destination: I had to leave the following Sunday, in the afternoon, and be there by ten in the evening; and it was Thursday. On the day of departure, immediately after lunch, my cousin came home, and waited down in the front door. My father and I came down from the house and, together, the three of us, we took a walk. When we returned, the hour of departure had approached, my cousin, hands to his wallet, handed me a hundred thousand lire banknote, telling myself, "These are for you: thanks for helping me!", and he went away.
My parents gave me another hundred thousand lire, and the hour of departure arrived; I took the bag, which my mother had already prepared since the morning, and, together, we went to the station. When my brother Pasquale departed for the army, there were many accompanying him to the station: parents, all the brothers and sisters and several cousins, at least fifteen people; for me instead..., there were only my parents!»
— Frank..., the parents are the most important actors at the beginning of the film of our life, and yours were there!
— True, don Nicò; I felt them closer: and that was what mattered most!
« At the moment of departure they hugged me; plus, my mother kissed me; I got on the train and immediately looked out the window to see them again. When the convoy began to move, leaning out further I greeted them with my arm outstretched, while my mother replied by throwing kisses until, due to the effect of a curve, we did not see each other again. »
— The parents, what a great pain it is to lose them!
Says Don Nicola: which sighs and joins his hands.
— I know it, don Nicò! And from personal experience, I also know how many miserable situations arise, especially after the death of one's father; and that's what, continuing, I'll tell you!
« Once again, my compartment was empty. I sat down, lit a cigarette, and thought of my father hugging me. He had never done such a loving gesture towards his children; and to me, only sometimes, as a kid, he had stroked my hair, but then neither that. The Avellino station was far from the city, which forced me to travel quite quickly a long way on foot, with the fear of arriving late at my destination. Once in the city center, I asked for information about the barracks. They turned out to be right, but I had to cross almost the entire town, because the barracks were on the opposite side, and almost at the end of a large tree-lined avenue. I arrived five minutes before the scheduled time, the twenty-two, and I was the only one to arrive at that time. There were two soldiers at the door, and I handed to one of them, a corporal, my precept card. While he was reading it, the picket officer, a second lieutenant of the Bersaglieri, arrived and took the postcard, while I looked at him curiously; he had the same uniform as my brother, the same blue sash, boots, belt with pistol around the waist, and the star on the shoulder pads; the only variant, the headdress: a feathered hat, placed in three quarters on the right side.
"Welcome to hell!", he said, looking at me, and, "Go with him!", holding back the postcard, and pointing to the corporal. As I followed him, my first impression was that there I was no longer the brother of an officer, but a private, a recruit.
"It will be hard...!", I immediately thought. »
— The barrack was big, don Nicò. After more than forty years, returning from Naples, I wanted to go back to see her again. I walked around her, and remembered some events that saw me as a protagonist.
« Returning to the story, together with the soldier who accompanied me, we passed under the command building, crossed a large forecourt surrounded by other larger buildings, the dormitories, and my companion, once we were nearby, pointed to mine. "Let's go up to the first floor: there is your dormitory!", he said, inviting me to follow him. There were two dormitories per floor, and mine was the one on the left. "Choose an available bed, and that will be yours as long as you stay here!", he said once inside, and left. In the dormitory, there were at least forty bunk beds arranged in two rows against the wall; it was full of as many boys, all recruits like me. I picked the bed, there were still three or four empty ones, I left the bag on the floor and unpacked the cube, — so, I learned, the set at the head of the bed was called, — made up of the mattress folded in half, and wrapped in sheets and the blanket, which last wrapped everything. I spread out the mattress, sheets and blanket, and exchanged a few words with my neighbors. Firstly, I discovered that these all came from the most disparate regions: Venetians, Sicilians, Sardinians, Tuscans...
Those of the first three, especially the Venetians, spoke mainly in dialect, so it was difficult for me to understand them; and to their questions, at times I answered with a yes or a no, partly correct, without however having understood what each one had said. I decided not to change, and to go to bed dressed; I did not want to wear pajamas, I did not trust to open the bag, which by the way I had already tied to the bed. Especially for the wallet, which I occasionally touched to see if it was still in place in the back pocket of my pants. Those two hundred thousand lire were important, and I didn't want them to disappear due to my inattention. Then there was a commotion in the corridor, and each of us stopped and fell silent, trying to understand; there was a continuous shouting and, growing louder, the advance of heavy spiked boots when suddenly the picket officer entered the ward, followed by the inspection sergeant and two corporal of the guard. I already knew the military ranks of each one, thanks to those days spent in the barracks with my brother. The officer on one side, and the sergeant on the other, at the same time walked through the ward, ordering us that on the next day, when the trumpet would sound the alarm clock, we should wash and dress quickly and gather down on the forecourt; ready for the refectory and breakfast; then, that we would go to the warehouse, for military equipment, including uniform. Finally, what all of us should have done after they turned off the lights: go to bed; and they left.
« Before he left, the officer, in a peremptory and authoritative tone, that feathered hat and star on his shoulder straps allowed him to do so, said to everyone, "Here there are precise and unquestionable rules; here there are those who give orders and those who promptly carry out these orders! Try to learn as soon as possible, and you will live peacefully. Welcome to hell!", he finished going out, while a corporal of his initiative turned off the lights, leaving us in the dark. The dormitory door remained open.
The trumpet blew in the morning; a hellish sound, perhaps amplified by the loudspeakers; I, already, knew that sound. Quickly, as a rookie should do, we all went to the bathroom at the same time; Turkish baths, with sprung doors like an American saloon, placed side by side on one side, and sinks with only cold water tap and surmounted by a mirror, on the opposite side. By sheer luck I was one of the first, and managed to pee quietly, even though a certain stench assailed me. Anyone who couldn't find a free bathroom had to wait their turn, and kept their pee for a while. Same thing for the sinks; even here those who arrived late had to wait, also because there was no surface on which to place their soap, and therefore to be able to have their hands free to wash their face. I immediately learned that the soap should be placed where two sinks were placed side by side: the edge was wider and safer, so that the soap did not fall to the floor. It was a great shouting, all over the place; some farted, others cursed for cold water, and many talked to their neighbors: it was a Babel of dialects. Because already dressed, I was one of the first to get out; a corporal was waiting for us in the forecourt, and as we arrived he made us arrange for three, indicating to the tallest ones to keep behind as soon as the platoon is formed. When we were all there, at the command of the corporal we set out for the refectory.
« The forecourt was full of platoons like mine; at a guess I calculated that in total there would be more than a thousand soldiers. There had to be an order as to how each group should move, because mine was the third to advance. The line was long, but it flowed quickly, and at the entrance each of us took his steel tray. The service was a buffet, and the soldiers behind the counter, as we advanced, filled the mug with milk and coffee with the jug. After breakfast, and the platoon reconstituted outside again, everyone already recognized his corporal, they took us to the warehouse, where they let us in three at a time.
Inside there was a marshal, who directed, and two soldiers in the role of warehouse workers, who, moving quickly between the shelves, took and placed on the counter everything needed for the complete clothing of each newcomer. A third soldier, who in the meantime had lined up three backpacks on the counter, took care to fill them. To each of us, the marshal asked only the shoe number; for the size of the clothes instead, he decided by giving each one a quick glance: it was immediately noticed that he had the expert eye; he who knows how long he had been in that position, and how many thousands of young soldiers he must have already dressed. As the others came in to get supplies, we who were already out, and in the ranks, began to exchange a few words with our neighbor; we felt "alone" , and unconsciously we all needed to know each other; we were far from home, and we would have been for some time.
« Back in the dormitory, we had all the morning at our disposal, we unpacked the backpacks, and it was discovered what the kit was made of: there was also a list, of what was in the backpack.
As I took out the stuff I arranged it on the bed, carefully folding the one that had unfolded in the meantime, and I also checked, ticking each item on the list. A coat, a jacket, two trousers, all in heavy wool fabric, were the first I pulled out. Then two long-sleeved cotton shirts, a tie, a sturdy leather belt, and a wool sweater, with a V-neck opening. Then it was the turn of two underwear shirts, also with long sleeves, two underpants, which reached me up to the ankle, plus two pairs of socks and two of knee socks, brown, and all in cotton. Later, the camouflage suit came out, a pair of black shoes, a pair of beige sneakers, two boots, made of brown and rather stiff leather, — which over time and use would have become quite dark, — and a black beret. Lastly, an oilcloth bag came out, closed by a zipper, which contained a box of black shoe cream plus another of grease, to be used to soften the boots, and various friezes and badges and stars: all to be sewn on the garments to complete them. In addition, contained in the same, some spare buttons, needle, thread, and a pair of small scissors; and the paraphernalia was complete. The order received was to wear only the camouflage suit, and be ready for lunchtime. The trumpet blasts warned us about lunch, and everyone, urged by a corporal, to be quicker, we went downstairs to go to the forecourt and gather. The camouflage suit, worn over civilian clothes, gave us the look, and we began to look, rather than feel, like military. For some the pant was short, while for others it was long, and in some cases even quite a lot; as well as for the jacket. Mine the pant was almost the right length, and to fix it I would only have to make a small fold in the ends of the legs; and since I was there, I thought about putting an elastic inside it, so that it would fit better with the boots.
"The problem will be how to do it!", I told myself, and began to think about it.
Waiting for us downstairs, this time we also found the officer; he was the same second lieutenant of the Bersaglieri, I had met at the door when I arrived at the destination. Calling our attention, in an authoritative and decisive tone, he began by saying, "Gentlemen, I am your platoon commander, and these corporals are your instructors; in just over a month we will make you into soldiers: ready to be sent to yours regiments!". He then he added, "Immediately after lunch we want you all here that we begin to educate you; have a good lunch everyone!"»
— What followed was my first lunch as a private: very different from the one my mother prepared: I ate almost nothing, don Nicò!
— There is hardly ever, a better lunch than that prepared by one's mother, Frank; because there is above all love there, and you know it.
I nod positively, and move on.
« Smoking a cigarette, I took back the tray and emptied what was left in the bin, then leaving it empty on the special trolley. I walked out of the refectory with two others, chatting and commenting on what we had been given to eat. The meeting point of our group was in a corner of the forecourt, unfortunately in full sun: that day it was hitting. When the platoon was complete, the corporals made us line up for five, and in the meantime the officer also arrived. "Did you all like the lunch?", he started smiling, already knowing our answer. "You will get used to it, and over time each of you will know what to eat!", said. And so he ordered us to all turn to our right and sit on the ground, crossing our legs; he started the lesson.
"All of you are my platoon, and I am your commander: at least as long as you remain here! We will give instruction, and we will teach you to march united and compact; this will be mainly for the ceremony of the oath, and then we will teach you to throw hand grenades and to shoot with the rifle; slowly, and calmly, we will begin to make you real soldiers! All of you are passing through, at least most of you; only a few of you will remain in this barrack, replacing those who will be discharged once their term is over! This is a training center for armored troops; so many of you will have to deal with tanks and tracked vehicles, later! Here are also trained Bersaglieri, mechanized infantry and the cavalry, which no longer have horses, but like you, have the tanks; I am a Bersagliere, while you are all classified as tank drivers! These four gentlemen here by my side are corporals, and they will be your instructors; they will be the ones to march you back and forth, and to assist me in your training!", and he concluded; his task, at the moment, was finished. Time had flown by, and listening to him, I thought I heard my brother, to whom he seemed to resemble in ways. »
— It must be a common feature of the officers, Frank; perhaps because of the training they have received.
— It's probable, don Nico!
« Before going away, as the last thing he told us that the next day they were going to give everyone the injection, "Some kind of vaccine!", said.
Back in the dormitory, the corporals who had accompanied told us that we could use the remaining time until dinner time to start attaching the insignia, the friezes and all that was included for the uniforms, and especially, — they would have benefited the feet of each of us — to smear fat on amphibians; so they said, the boots were called.
Thus began, with the first rudiments, my military life.
Following the advice, I passed a thick layer of fat on my boots, which from a first examination, and although fitting perfectly, had quite thick and rigid leather, especially at the heel. The corporal had said that over time, the grease would soften them. After dinner, returning to the dormitory, I spread the kit on the cot and began to arrange on each garment everything that I should have sewn on it. The problem was how to do it, since I had never held a needle and thread in my hand. Looking continuously at the various friezes, I stopped to think, and every now, and then I moved them, looking for a better position for them to sew them; then I moved them once more, hoping that in the meantime I would get an idea. My neighbor understood my difficulty, and is intervened, "Don't worry, as soon as I finish attacking mine, I'll move on to yours. I'm a tailor!", he specified, and he took me away all worries from the mind. It took him the whole evening, and when he had finished putting all his stuff in place, and was ready to go on to sew my friezes, a corporal entered the dormitory and ordered us to get into the cot; I barely had time to put all the stuff in my backpack, take out my pajamas and put them on, when he turned off the lights and left. In the dark, remembering it in time, I took the money and put it in the pocket inside my pajamas, which my mother, provident, had sewn for me a few days earlier: recommending me to use it.
« In the morning, always at the sound of the trumpet, when we woke up we were ordered to wear the gym suit: after breakfast we would go to the infirmary, to the doctor, to have the injection. Half an hour later, in line in front of the infirmary, we all waited for our turn. Entering, there are still two ahead of me, I saw a corporal nurse who invited us to take off our shirt, while to the first in the row, he was disinfecting the chest at the point where it would have inoculated the vaccine. As to my turn, like an automaton, and completely indifferent, the medical officer injected me with the vaccine, immediately moving on to the next one; that operation was quite fast, it seemed a phase of an assembly line. We stayed in the dormitory for two days, and in absolute rest; caution, perhaps required by the vaccine. My friezes and badges were all sewn by that neighbor of mine. »
— The beautiful souls..., they are always found when you least expect it, Frank!
— Yes, don Nicò! However, besides him, and of course Olympia, I haven't met another one until today!
— I really hope..., to be next.
— And this, don Nicola, will depend on what you tell me and will make me understand at the end of my story; no offense, of course.
— Obviously! You go on!
« It was, about ten days that we had been training, and we had learned to march compactly and united to the orders of the instructors, and sometimes of the officer, who instead had always been present when they instructed us even with the rifle; an American Garand M1, war residue left by the allies after the end of the war, replacing our model Carcano 91/38. After a few days, for us recruits, it was time for a free exit. They had explained to us..., that it was necessary to be perfect in hygiene and bearing, and with the uniform in order and the shoes well cleaned. When it was finally my platoon's turn, I showed up at the door, where my platoon commander, as a picket officer, controlling the recruits, and letting whoever he thought was in order through and sending back whoever, according to him, or according to the rules, it wasn't. Someone, I saw, managed to pass without being checked. Not me: I wasn't lucky, and it didn't go well with me. I was about to pass in front of him saluting him militarily and ready to go out, when, "Where are you going!", said me. "In free exit, sir!", I said softly, unable to understand why the question was me asked.
"You can not!" "Your neck is dirty!"
"Like the dirty neck...! But..., if I took a shower ten minutes ago, sir!", I replied, sure of what I was saying.
Then he, putting his hand on my neck, pulled the little hairs, those just under the hair, and said "These here, there must be no: for the neck they are like the beard on the face; would you go out on free, not shaved?", he asked me; and I "Of course not, sir!". "Good: then go to the barber and get a haircut; and you'll go out tomorrow!". "How... tomorrow...?", I objected, and, "If I run and go straight to the barber..., I could go out later!", I asked pleadingly. "No! The rule is, to go on free exit you show up at the door only once; you've already been there, and now you go back!" That was the only time I was not allowed to go free exit.
« The next evening I went out in the company of my neighbor, the tailor, to whom, to return the pleasure he had done me by sewing the friezes, I had offered a pizza, and there was no control; the picket officer was another, and I purposely walked right in front of him, greeting him, but he didn't even deign to glance at me.
I realized that I had to learn about people.
A few days later, always employed to march back and forth, to the left and then to the right, and then once again back-front, marking the pace, in the end, our superiors took us to a shooting range, for the throwing of the hand grenade. The polygon was on the outskirts, and to reach it we crossed most of the city.
« Avellino is a small provincial city, and the impressiveness of that avenue decorated with huge plane trees, which crossed her to the center, made it elegant and beautiful, and the green Apennines Mountains that surround, they act as a background and also gives it the appearance of an oasis; in the various free exits that I allowed myself, I got to know her better. At the time it was full of shops, and several pizzerias and restaurants, perhaps due to the constant presence of a thousand of soldiers, made her a welcoming, and lively city. The central square, thanks also to a huge fountain in which majestic swans swam, was welcoming and always full of elegant people strolling, at least in the evening. When I returned, she had changed; I found her dull and there were no more swans in the fountain.
« Wearing camouflage, with helmet and rifle on our shoulders, we passed through her in single file; the Lieutenant and the corporals directed us along the route and controlled, urging us to advance with pride: like real soldiers. At the shooting range, the launch sites were already ready, and there were some corporals and sergeants waiting for us. The site of launch was a rectangle dug into the ground at a man's height and with the inclined plane on one side, for the access of the recruit and the instructor.
The bomb was a SRCM 35 model painted in red, from training, and they had already shown us how it worked, and how she was to be launched. Since I was not among the first, I paid a lot of attention; maybe to discover some tricks for a perfect launch. On my turn I presented myself in the pitch, and firmly grabbed the bomb that the instructor, a sergeant, handed me. Well-placed on his legs, as we had been taught, at the command I took off the safety, and I threw. I saw her fly in a perfect parabolic trajectory, and then, once on the ground, burst with a dull noise. "A perfect launch!", so the lieutenant told me later. »
— Perhaps because the leather was still hard, don Nicò, the left amphibian, caused me a painful blister just above the heel: right there, where the tendon is attached.
— The scar there is still, don Nicò! If he wants, I'll show her to him!
— No! No! Frank..., I trust you! Hahaha!
— Don Nicò: I want to prove to you that what I am telling you corresponds to the truth!
— Frank, I am a shepherd of souls... And I know how to judge and see what is in everyone's heart. And so..., I want to quote you an aphorism by Peter Metastasio, a poet and playwright who lived in the eighteenth century, which says: If each of the internal worries were read in writing on the forehead, the people we envy would make us pity. — To you, Frank, I'm seeing your worries very well in your heart; so go on!
— Two days of rest in the cot, don Nicò, an ointment applied several times, and other layers of fat rubbed on the amphibians, and everything fell into place; luckily, this all happened several days before climbing up the mountain, to the shooting range.
« It had been more than an hour that all the soldiers of the company, three platoons for about two hundred men, lined up and in single file, had been climbing the slopes of the mountain.
The path crossed for a long stretch a dense forest of chestnut trees: just where it became steeper. I got it immediately that the path had been chosen on purpose for to evaluate the most resistant. There was with us that time, also the captain, commander of the company, as well as the second lieutenants, three, and the usual corporals; they too spurred us on to what was a real climbing; but they too snorted and trudged along like everyone else. To me, who in any case was struggling and sweating like everyone else, it occurred to me when as a kid I climbed a mountain; this time, however, I was weighed down by the helmet, from amphibians, the bayonet, kept in the sheath attached to the belt, and the rifle I had on my shoulder. The second time, the captain complimented me. "Good, soldier! Hold your shotgun well, even though I saw you are left-handed, and you have good aim; next time I'll let you fire more magazines!", he said. »
— Don Nicò, the compliment pleased me!
— Compliments are always nice, Frank, if they are sincere; and that of your captain, being your commander, could not fail to be.
— Of course, father.
« The third time we went up to the polygon, I helped me by clinging to the low branches of the chestnut trees: I had learned, in this way, to advance also helping me with the help of my arms. The day was quite cold; however, climbing up to the shooting range once more, we sweated anyway. As we progressed uphill, I had now become familiar with the path, I looked around. The area in some points was panoramic, and on the left you could glimpse the sanctuary of the Our Lady of Montevergine, which first appeared higher up, and then, as you climbed, it approached and then remained at an altitude much lower than that of the polygon. The firing positions consisted of several tables, placed slightly inclined downwards, on which each of us soldiers, in turns of five, stretched out, while the targets were in the distance. We shoot towards the mountain, on top of which, a hundred meters higher, there is a radio and television station. On my turn, the Captain, constantly standing behind me, said, "Let's see what you can do: now you will fire three magazines, and then I decide!". The target was more than two hundred meters away. Placing myself well, I opened the bolt and inserted the first magazine: eight 7.62 OTAN cartridges. I took aim, held my breath, and fired. Taking aim, each time, I fired until after the last shot, the bolt remained open, and the magazine, now empty, jumped away. The Captain sent a corporal to take my target and replace it with an intact one. Eight holes in the central ring, of which only one, perfectly in the center of the small black circle of the target.
"You have to do better!", he said as he handed me the other charger. I realized, however, that the weapon was not the same as in previous times and before taking the new magazine I adjusted the elevation. Second target: six holes in the central ring; but this time the hole in the center of the black circle was slightly larger than the other six, and the Captain deduced that that point had been crossed by two bullets. Handing me the third, "You need to improve! Shoot more calmly..., and if you improve, I'll let you shoot with a sniper rifle!"
"Good boy!", he said when he held the sheet of the third target, on which three holes in the central ring appeared perfectly, and a larger one in the black circle.
"Five bullets, they all went through the same hole in the central black spot!", he added afterward.
"Now get off and stop for a while, and smoke a cigarette!", he told me, as he gestured to the sergeant to bring him the rifle with the scope, which he had left in the Jeep. I put the Garand on my shoulder, walked away slightly and lit a cigarette, while the company resumed their shooting.
«I was really amazed at the results I was getting; I had never fired a rifle except sometimes, a couple of years before, with my uncle's hunting rifle, even if one of those times I shot a bat that was flying, and sometimes at the stalls of the patron feast. Stalls, where the targets were packets of wafers biscuits, and the shotgun was to compressed air. Thinking about it, however, it occurred to me that out of ten shots I hit ten packets. »
— Um... nevertheless Frank, even hitting a Bat that was flying I think it is not quite easy; when I happened to see one, I saw it fly pretty fast, and quickly change direction.
— Well... don Nicò, which time there was probably pure luck, because I shot him without even taking aim.
— Really, Frank?
— Yes, father!
« And anyway, a few minutes later, "This is a different, precision shotgun, and you have to load it every time; bring the bolt back, insert the cartridge and push it forward, then lower the lever, and you are ready to fire!", said the Captain. Calling my full attention, he continued, "Adjust your position, focus the scope and fire the first shot; so, see if the alignment is correct!". The first shot was a little high: just above the central black point. I adjusted, and fired the second cartridge: center, but just at the top edge of the central black dot. The third shot: perfectly in the center. "So... now you will have to shoot six!", the Captain ordered me, handing me one, and holding the other five cartridges, while he had already sent a corporal to replace the target. He began to follow the shots with the binoculars; six shots and six centers: all in the same hole, and in the central black point. "Well good! I will write in your characteristic notes that you are a very good shooter: a sharpshooter!", the Captain was in jujube broth; happy as an Easter, hit me with his hand on my left shoulder: the one sore due to the recoil of the rifle.
"Mr. Captain..., this has a more powerful recoil!", I retorted, painful but happy.
"This weapon has a longer useful range than the Garand; with this shotgun you can hit a target at least the size of an empty pumpkin over two thousand meters, if that's okay!", said.
Two days later, I was issued a forty-eight-hour premium permit, including travel; I called my father, who immediately offered to pick me up and arrived with a red Fiat 1100. When he saw me in a tank men uniform, albeit a simple soldier, he smiled. »
— My father, don Nicò, always smiled with us sons, everyone, and also with strangers; despite being a man who had lived through sad times, he never lacked that feeling of visible courtesy with which he approached people.
— Well..., this means that he was a good man, and of which you are certainly proud.
— Certainly, and I often remind my sons about it.