The Hopeful

Di Leonardo Bruni

La storia di Lamberto, che cerca di aiutare le persone rifiutate dalla società: tossicodipendenti, persone assunte, detenuti. Creando una cooperativa che dia loro lavoro. Lo speranzoso è un potente affresco sul potere della speranza e sull'azione imperscrutabile di Dio nelle migliaia di combinazioni dell'esistenza.

• Lingua: Italiano
• Editore: Babelcube Inc.
• Data di uscita: 22 gen 2021
• ISBN: 9781071582718

Anteprima del libro

lettura?

LEONARDO BRUNI

LO SPERANZOSO

THE HOPEFUL

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NOVEL

THEOLOGICAL AND SPIRITUAL LITERATURE

Series Investigators of the human soul

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By the same author:

• L'innocente e il colpevole [The innocent and the guilty]

• Il piccolo Cristo [The little Christ]

• Fiorirà l'Annunciazione? [Will the Annunciation flourish?]

• Incontro col destino [Meeting with destiny]

• Anime [Souls]

• L'imperfetto [The imperfect]

• Pensieri forti d'un cristiano debole [Strong thoughts of a weak Christian]

Vol. I - Vol. II

• Racconti cristiani [Christian tales] Vol. I - Vol. II - Vol. III

• Una messa con padre Pio [A Mass with Padre Pio]

• Un giorno con padre Pio [A day with Padre Pio]

• Via Casello 78 Via Verdi 3 [78 Casello Street 3 Verdi Street]

Series Essays about man

• La doppia illusione: Sisifo e Prometeo

[The double illusion: Sisyphus and Prometheus]

• La prima volta: dal sesso beato al sesso sporcato

[The first time: from blissful sex to dirty sex]

LEONARDO  BRUNI

LO  SPERANZOSO

THE HOPEFUL

NOVEL

This literary work is the figment of the imagination.

Any reference to people, facts or institutions

it must be considered absolutely causal.

Leonardo Bruni © 2008

Total or partial reproduction is prohibited, with

any mechanical or electronic means, without

the prior consent of the Author.

CHAPTER ONE

In which it describes how Our Man is waiting in vain for the drug addict on duty, perhaps gone to look after his old mother.

The sun, softly, was leaving and setting with its shining little hand was saying hello. The man of God, The Hopeful, replied with his hello to that divine creature, raising his hand and moving his fingers quickly, as if he were playing an invisible upright piano. By now the chiaroscuro of the sunset was enveloping everything in its velvety twilight. Who knows why he always felt displeased at that hour. As if his heart melted and, like water, it went to circulate through his body, softening it languidly. Certainly it was a sugary water, sweetened with honey, because his whole body participated in an unalterable peace, which, flowing from the heart, irradiated all the hundred thousand billion cells of his organism.

- One hundred thousand billion: even at one cent each they always made a thousand billion euros of debt with the Lord of the universe.

At the thought of the Eternal Living One who had given him a hundred thousand billion cells, before he - like a beggar with a hat in his hand could say Thank you - he was seized by a so powerful numbness that he felt everything melt inside, as when he was getting ready making love to his wife. Thus he began meditating, in a deep stillness and peace, very stupendous; until you reach a state of natural bliss, insensitive to the dull sadness of this world. It was certainly not a question of the enjoyment of the beatific vision, let's say that it was an appetizer, a kind of natural happiness, a nirvana of Buddhist memory, the joy of a charismatic grace.

It should be known, in fact, that The Hopeful was a deacon. One to whom, from above, through the imposition of the hands of a descendant of the apostles, the Holy Spirit made the heart overflow with the fire of divine love. How those rays of bright light had reached him, through the tortuous paths of his life, and how they continually reached him the hypotheses diverged.

Tonight, for example, joy had come to him through the rays of the sun, which had greeted him before going to sleep. Then the ray had departed from God, above the universe, had centered the sun making it shine, then it had been directed on the earth, including Italy. Then, as fast as light, as light was, making 300,000 km per second, he had run around all the cities, arriving in Prato, and after having zigzagged through all the streets, turning left from Viale della Repubblica, he had illuminated Via del Cittadino, and the garage where it was located.

The second hypothesis, however, maintained that the Almighty Lord - creator of heaven and earth - had created not only visible but also invisible things. Like the sound waves of mobile phones. So, looking at it still and motionless from above, it acted neither more nor less like a satellite, which sends its message directly to the satellite navigator. Directing his grace on the Hopeful like a laser beam: immediate and precise, without detours: to the garage where he was.

The third hypothesis of Our Man was even more powerful, of course from the point of view of considering the Divine Infinity. Since the universe and what it contains is the Lord's, even Prato and that garage was, as it were, permeated by that Presence. Being He present in every place, even if no place could contain Him, and being the One who is, who was and who is to come, over whom time has no power, he had to send neither any impulse from above, nor any laser ray. Didn’t have to. Because he was, simply and quietly, already present and intimate to the heart of the Hopeful, in a deeper way than he could be to himself. Garage or palace made no difference.

The reason for the garage is quickly explained.

The Hopeful was an anti-drug operator, a member of the Fast Anti-Drug Association, whose motto was Who takes drugs, gets ruined. The garage belonged to the president's wife, who had rented it out of compassion to the association. Compassion which corresponded monthly to the amount of the dues paid by all members. A great compassion. The Man of God had been there for three hours, waiting - in that state of natural bliss - for the historical drug addict Melani Alberto, who for fifteen years had claimed that this was the last day he would use substances, and had to have an important conversation with him. It was a question of deciding whether or not to enter a therapeutic community, as in San Patrignano, with which they had an agreement, there were some places available.

The chirping of a little bird made Our Man gush out a stream of praise towards the Creator, making him indulge in the fact that - at the beginning of spring - that sparrow with its peeps thanked the Lord as best he could, while the man gave a damn. Immersed in such thoughts on the ingratitude of the most sublime creature towards his Creator, more than a submarine deep in the ocean, he would have been there who knows how long, if a beam of dazzling light had not hit his pupil. It was now completely dark, and the cloak of darkness had spread over the whole earth. In front of the glass door of the garage he could see the cars whiz past which, before turning, sent a stab of iodine light that filled the garage for a second, and then ran away, along with the car. Even if Our Man tried to be insensitive to time, even if his heart was in heaven, he looked at his feet and saw that they rested on the earth. The old muddy earth.

By now it was clear that Alberto would not come. Why did he bailed on today's interview precisely? The most important one of all these months? Certainly due to some unexpected commitment. Ah, yes - thought the Man of God - the old mother, now completely invalid, must have been worse. It seemed right to him, after having prayed the praises in the morning, to implore the Blessed Trinity also for vespers. Waiting for wisdom, love and the light of the day that does not die, we might as well dress the day that was declining with divine splendor. So he began to pray, sure that Alberto was looking after his sick mother.

*     *     *

With trembling hands, Alberto Melani born in 1970 lit the last cigarette butt. Without a doubt that was a shitty day. It really sucked. He had wandered all day, after taking methadone at the drug rehab clinic in the morning, through the streets of downtown, but to no avail. He was unable to conclude anything: neither muggings nor interesting meetings, until the interview with Alessio who had not wanted to give him the stuff on credit. Now even the drug dealers were playing hard to get. But who did he think he was: a jeweler? He didn't sell diamonds, he only sold heroin.

The bad thing was that he felt the beast inside him begin to scream: he felt the trembling increase and his breathing became labored. Every few days that damned feeling, that exploding within him of the withdrawal crisis. But how did that evil mechanism that untied that biting dog work? That dog that chewed and tore him completely? He didn’t know. He only knew that if he didn't have a pear within a few hours, he would start shaking, sweating, his head becoming like a swollen balloon ready to burst. He looked down at his hands. They danced, not even like an old man with Parkinson's disease. Yet anyone who met him and gave him a cursory glance would see a handsome young man with the face of an angel: nothing more. Because man is like this: he sees only the appearance and does not pierce reality, on the contrary, he mistakes it for that. It is like a blunt drill: it is content to scratch the wall, but it does not puncture, it does not drill from side to side.

Power of the infused lack of science, died prematurely in the garden of Eden!

Instead behind that angelic aspect there was a seething of muddy foam: there is no peace for the intoxicated. He sensed the signs of muscular jerks, of the spasms of withdrawal, which like tetanic cramps would soon invade him from head to toe. The bell tower of the church of San Domenico rang heavy five strokes. Five slow blows that the huge clapper made echo throughout the square and surrounding streets. Looking up and looking at the huge clock, he remembered the appointment at four o'clock with the drug operator. Puffing with swollen cheeks, he wondered how he had endured such an idiot for three months. Or rather, there were more than one reasons. First of all, the possibility of being able to find a home from the social services of the Municipality of Prato. He needed that: a home. A stable base where you can hide some stuff and thus take the fixed one that Alessio gave to those who kept the hidden stuff: 100 Euros a day, not peanuts.

Exchangeable for free stuff.

Then the story with Teresa:

- If you don't have serious interviews and you don't enter the therapeutic community, I'll give up on you.

He always saw her in front of him with her pretty pouting face. So he had decided to beat around the bush. Also because Teresa was a nice snack. But it had been tough. Three months with that jerk Lamberto had been a heavy sacrifice for real. Three months with those talks, as he said, of wisdom. Last time, during the interview, he couldn't stand it anymore and he had the urge to yell at him with all the breath in his lungs:

- But what do you know about heroin? But do you know how good it is? But do you know that I enjoy it more than I do with Teresa?

Because the first existential problem was that: to enjoy, to be well, to be happy. And the drugs had guaranteed that. One-hundred percent. For the first three weeks. Then the flip side began.

The days of hell, after the hour of heaven.

At that moment he saw a girl get out of a Mini Cooper and go into the Borsetti shop. He saw her through the windows talking to the shop assistants. Someone like her, at least, would have tried two or three items and would have been there ten minutes. One glance was enough for him to estimate the MP3 stereo equivalent to 10 doses of heroin. If luck assisted him, in just three minutes, he would have pulled it away. Gently he felt the underwire in his pocket to break open the doors. He pulled it out and began fumbling at the car door. He looked ahead, carelessly, at an indeterminate point of space, like a meditating bonze intent on looking at something indefinite. As the door clicked, he slipped into the car and in a hurry, removing the front panel, pulled the device off the dashboard. Exultant, he slowly got out of the car and softly closed the door. Now it was a question of walking away with elegance. He turned and began to walk. Or rather he began to want to walk. Because everything ended in the intention. The sturdy arm and strong grip of the traffic cop stopped him and froze him at the same time.

- Melani, I didn't know you had a brand new Mini Cooper.

Just in time he spotted another of the municipal police taking him by the other arm, who found himself in their car headed for the station.

Didn't he want a house, after all? Soon he would have it. For the seventh or eighth time, he no longer remembered how long, the prison house of the Ministry of Grace and Justice of Maliseti would open the doors, very wide to enter, very narrow to exit.

*     *     *

CHAPTER TWO

Or how Our Man was laudably esteemed by the president of the Association.

Dr. Annalisa Franchi, president of the Fast Anti-Drug Association, was sipping a scotch with ice and soda, masterfully prepared by her husband, the famous lawyer Amedeo Giovannetti. Famous for two reasons: first because he belonged to the princes of the Florence forum, second because he assisted all the dozens and dozens of drug addicts that his wife sent him, as they got into trouble with the law. Being this mechanism, due to the drug confusion, in practice automatic, the aforementioned ended up with a good third of the cases signed by the families of the drug addicts.

Contrary to the first impression, it is good to immediately say that one thing is the drug addict, another his family. People we say normal, meaning with this adjective honest people, according to the spirit of the world. That is to say people who, sooner or later, sneaked on taxes or on Tom, Dick and Harry; she was trying to make a career by fooling her colleague ; she was in the throes of some extra-marital fling with the secretary on duty, or the new plumber's worker, but nothing more. In short, people who did normal things. But that kept the vein of the arm far away from the needle of the syringe, except for the inevitable medical analyzes: mens sana in corpore sano.

Upon closer inspection, The Hopeful could have objected something. In other words, they too were looking for an illusory and artificial paradise in their own way. In order to have money they would have sold their mother on the market. In order to excel and command over others, which is equivalent to being in first place, mind the first and not the second - this being as notoriously equivalent to the last -, they would have sold their wife on the market. In order to have new pleasures they had no qualms about selling marital fidelity on the market at the first opportunity. But since this search for illusory happiness is of 99% of the people and falls under the so-called norm let's say that the families of the addicts were good. In fact they paid the fees of the lawyer. Giovannetti on time.

The dying sun, before going to bed, had filled the great hall of the attic at the top of Piazzale Michelangelo with warmth, from which one could - with a glance - admire Florence. In the hushed and golden atmosphere of the hall, Doctor Annalisa Franchi was enjoying the intense spiritual pleasure of Chopin's study op. 10 No.3 in E-flat major or thereabouts. The notes fell dripping into the air, like the fertile drizzles of spring. Now sad and melancholy, now passionate and full of repressed desires, they made