Chapter II Two old friends Alcide closed the book, looked at the watch and lit a cigarette, the first of the day as the doctor had advised him to âNever smoke before 11 amâ. He was slow reader who liked to stop every few pages and think about what he had read. For this reason, he preferred short stories and avoided crime stories of Swedish authors like Stieg Larsen In which heâd get lost with the unpronounceable names of the main characters. At that time the first mother was arriving to the park with their stroller. For many years he was a perfect grandfather, punctual, loved by his nephew. But during the years even that role had lost meaning, Giulio wasnât a child anymore, he was going to university, sooner or later he was going to be a lawyer. Sooner or later. Because Giulio was actually a good guy but a little late with his exams. Sure, law is a very difficult department and Giulio was a little distracted by the football match and by his âgirl friendsâ. He called them one-night stands, girl he met on holiday or at a disco. He didnât see a future with these girls and wanted only the pleasure of few hours together. After all, whatâs wrong with that? Giulio was still very close with his grandfather. He often visited home in his countryside house, in particular after the death of his grandmother Rina. Alcide was left alone in that house which felt too big, too empty, too noisy. He discovered that in a house where you lived and loved, every dish, every piece of furniture, every detail talks to you. Itâs the language of silence, of loneliness, of the memory that sometimes can become a noise. For this reason, Alcide left the house every morning and went to that bar, far away from the noise of his countryside house. The scratchy tongue of Brio reached his hand and made him jump. Carlo, with his Italian bracco, was standing in front of him. âOh, Alcide, are you sleeping?â âSo, whatâs up?â Carlo took a green plastic chair to sit. âCan I have a coffee?â he said to the barman. âThis morning, Brio seemed risen, I took him to the wood and he started to hunt. He must have heard some steps, maybe a pheasant, whatchamacallitâŚâ âItâs the love of hunting. Itâs in his bloodâ answered Alcide, stroking the long hear of the bracco. Actually
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