ACQUAVERDE 25

ACQUAVERDE 25

La storia che volevo raccontarti

DI  SALVATORE GIUSEPPE POMARA

ILRACCONTO DELLA DOMENICA

 NEL PROSSIMO NUMERO LA CONCLUSIONE

«Troppo costosa e non posso permettermela» disse Pepo, alla fine del secondo semestre nell’Università di New York. «Tu pensa solo a studiare» fu la risposta dei genitori, «che noi, in un modo o in un altro, ce la faremo». «Cercherò di entrare in un College di Brooklyn, ho deciso. Se supero l’esame, non pagherò niente». Non ci credeva neanche lui, ma alla fine ci riuscì.  «Se avrò bisogno di soldi, ci sono le banche; li restituirò a poco a poco, quando comincerò a guadagnare». «E sempre ai soldi hai la testa?» fece il padre, «pensa a oggi, che a dumani ci pensa Diu, come si dice». «A ogni giorno la sua pena» aggiunse la madre. Pepo seguì il consiglio dei genitori e si concentrò sul presente. Peccato che in quella scuola ci fosse rimasto soltanto il tempo di capire come funzionavano le cose. La guerra del Vietnam mandò all’aria i suoi piani e le priorità diventarono altre.  «Questa guerra non mi appartiene», pensava. Non aveva fatto i conti, Pepo, che chi arrivava in America aveva diritti e doveri e il servizio militare era fra questi ultimi. «Pepo, ho trovato nella buca delle lettere una cartolina postale; c’era il tuo nome. Mi pareva che arrivava dall’Italia, è scritta in americano. Chi ti scrive ?». «È la U.S. Army, Pà» rispose Pepo, dopo un’occhiata all’intestazione e prima di avere letto il contenuto. «Chi?». «L’esercito, il distretto militare». «L’esercito, il distretto militare... che vogliono?». «Quello che vogliono da chi ha la mia età». «Ma tu non ci sei già stato, una prima e una seconda volta?». «Per la preselezione e la visita medica». «E allora?». Non rispose Pepo e il padre intuì di che si trattava. Una lama di gelo gli attraversò la schiena, aveva la gola secca e il cuore che gli batteva forte. «O Dio!» esclamò Loisio, poi chiese: «Si può sapere, che cosa c’è esattamente scritto in questa schifia di cartolina?». «Che c’è scritto! C’è scritto che devo presentarmi al punto di arruolamento più vicino: ufficio postale o municipio.» «E dopo?». «Dopo non lo so». «E quando ci dovresti andare?». «Il dieci del prossimo mese, alle otto devo essere là». «Fra venti giorni?». «Esattamente diciannove giorni».  «Cacciatorpediniere americano, attaccato deliberatamente dal Vietnam del Nord nel Golfo del Tonchino»: il comunicato che giustificava la reazione. «Non c’è stato alcun attacco; è stato preparato tutto a tavolino dagli americani», si difesero i vietnamiti e fu confermato dopo. «Sei settimane di guerra, quaranta giorni, una guerra lampo» altre volte era stato detto. La guerra durò dieci anni . «Perdite vicine allo zero». I caduti americani furono sessantamila, i vietnamiti da due a tre milioni. «Difesa degli interessi nazionali». Nessuno specificò, però, quali fossero questi interessi. «Fermare i comunisti sopra il diciassettesimo parallelo» era questo l’ordine. «Chiamata alle armi per proscrizione».  «Solo chi ha voti alti all’Università è esonerato dal servizio. Gli Stati Uniti non possono privarsi dei cervelli». «È nostro dovere prevenire ogni aggressione contro l’America» decretò il presidente Lyndon B. Johnson. Ebbe inizio così il conflitto del Vietnam: con una bugia e una guerra non dichiarata.  I ragazzi in età di leva furono invitati a presentarsi nei luoghi di reclutamento. Partirono in tre milioni, i soldati in campo superarono le cinquecentomila unità e furono bombe, defolianti, napalm, distruzione e morte. Arrivarono le bare avvolte nelle bandiere a stelle e strisce. Tante che non si contavano. I genitori piansero, tutti piansero. I ragazzi protestarono nelle Università, nelle strade, in America, nel mondo. Un massacro che durò dieci anni e i funerali che non finivano mai. Lo scenario era sempre uguale: cimitero di Arlington, i marines con la testa rasata, gli spari, il silenzio e le bandiere a triangolo consegnate ai familiari. Fu questo ed altro la guerra del Vietnam. Un conflitto che non piaceva a nessuno e che si ritorse contro l’America e alla fine contro i reduci. «Che si prova a sparare su donne e bambini?». «Che effetto fa vedere la foresta scomparire sotto i defolianti?». «E la gente trasformata in torce umane dal napalm?».  Queste e mille altre domande si sentirono rivolgere e loro non sapevano che rispondere, vittime essi stessi di quella maledetta “sporca guerra”. «Meglio la morte laggiù», si lamentavano, «che il disprezzo in patria». Quello che non era riuscito alle pallottole, lo fecero alcool e droga. E alla fine la distruzione arrivò ugualmente.   Pepo non mise piedi nell’ufficio postale più vicino e neppure nella sede del municipio che non sapeva neanche dove fosse. Sette giorni dopo, infatti, era già lontano. Un biglietto di sola andata e due valigie: si chiuse così la parentesi americana di Pepo. «Dio ti accompagni» dissero i genitori. Annì abbracciò il fratello, ma non riuscì a dire una parola. Quattro giorni prima aveva salutato Ruth che si trasferiva in California. Avevano passato assieme la notte – la prima –, giurarono che si sarebbero ritrovati, ma quel distacco inaspettato e repentino li buttò nella tristezza. «Quando rientrerai a New York, io sarò in Italia da un pezzo. Tutto quello che speravo di realizzare se ne va in frantumi. Se e quando potrò tornare, non lo so. Voglio che non mi aspetti un solo giorno. Dimenticati, Ruth, di uno che non aveva granché da offrirti; incontrerai, ne sono certo, chi potrà offrirti più di quanto avresti potuto mai sperare da un sognatore da strapazzo, qual io sono…e comunque il mio cuore…».   Ruth gli poggiò le dita sulla bocca, lo abbracciò, si strinse forte a lui.   «Io  ti amo, lo sai questo, lo capisci o no? Sei entrato nella mia vita; dovunque tu vada, qualunque cosa succeda, non ne uscirai più…io ti aspetterò…ci sarà sempre un posto per te nel mio cuore, non lo dimenticare…». Avrebbe voluto dirgli ancora tante cose, ma le lacrime glielo impedirono.      «Non piangere, ti prego. Separarmi da te è la cosa più triste che potesse capitarmi… lascerò i miei genitori, mia sorella, mi pesa, non posso negarlo, ma vivere lontano da te sarà tremendo. Tu sei l’America che speravo, lasciando il mio paese, d’incontrare, Ruth; sono stato la persona più felice del mondo… non avevo preventivato questa brusca interruzione… mi sentirò solo. La “patria” è il posto dove sono gli affetti e i miei sono qui. Sentirò perciò la mancanza di questa terra. Penserò a te ogni istante della giornata, Ruth. Come potrei dimenticarti! Ora però non piangere ti prego, sono triste abbastanza…».   «Non piango» lo rassicurò lei, asciugandosi gli occhi con le mani, «però ci salutiamo qua, non resisterei a vederti partire». La commozione ebbe ancora il sopravvento.   Washington Square, la piazza che li aveva visti felici lungo i suoi viali e che era stata tante volte testimone delle loro effusioni amorose, non era parsa mai così triste.  Il braccio alzato: l’ultimo saluto prima della porta girevole. Qualche minuto dopo iniziava il viaggio di ritorno. In quell’aeroporto Pepo si separava dalla famiglia e da chi aveva amato. Sarebbe stato per sempre, ma non lo sapeva. «Tornerai appena si calmano le acque» furono le ultime parole del padre. Aspettò che finisse quella maledetta guerra per ricongiungersi alla famiglia. Alla fine, per tutta una serie di eventi che avevano cambiato la sua vita, scelse di restare in Italia. Erano passati sei anni da quando aveva lasciato l’America.  L’ultima volta che abbracciò il padre fu in un letto di ospedale di New York. «Che bisogno c’era di venire» lo rimproverò, non appena lo vide. «I picciriddi, tua moglie, dove sono?». Furono le sole parole comprensibili che riuscì a dire prima di girare la testa dall’altro lato come per dormire. Fu un affannarsi di medici e infermieri. Era un pomeriggio di domenica e nella stanza calò il silenzio.      Un anno dopo la morte del padre, Pepo tornò nella casa di Brooklyn; lo accompagnava la sorella. Furono accolti dal nuovo inquilino, un italiano arrivato dall’Irpinia. Era lui che coltivava ora la iarda e lo faceva egregiamente. Tutto era in ordine. Il fico e il melo erano lì, rigogliosi come un tempo. Il padre si era preso cura di loro fino a poco prima di ammalarsi e andarsene via per sempre. Sarebbe stato sicuramente felice se avesse potuto vedere i suoi alberi coprirsi di foglie e fiori a primavera.  Loisio Ginestra era vissuto, in America, col chiodo fisso di tornarsene in Italia, ma ebbe solo il tempo di scegliere dove morire. Il resto rimase nei suoi occhi e nei suoi sogni. Toccò al figlio e alla figlia esaudire il suo ultimo desiderio. E così alla fine tornò in paese. Non lo fece nel modo sperato, ma almeno mantenne la promessa fatta a se stesso, la mattina che partendo fissò un’ultima volta amuntagna. La stessa che gli sta ora di fronte nel posto dove riposa accanto a Lorena, sua moglie.

"It’s too expensive, and I can’t afford it," said Pepo, once he'd completed his second semester at the University he attended. "Think only about studying," was his parents' response, "We still work, thank God, and we will help you." "I'll try to get into another College," I decided. "If I pass the entrance examination, I won’t have to pay anything." He did not believe he would manage it, but in the end he succeeded. "If I need money, there are the banks; I will repay any loan I take when I begin to earn." "Don’t worry about money," responded his father, "we’ll find it. You concentrate on studying and leave the rest to us." "Let’s take it one day at a time," said his mother. "You think about today; tomorrow is in God’s hands." Pepo followed his parents’ advice and focused on the present. It was a shame that he remained in that school only long enough to understand how things worked. The Vietnam War threw his plans up into the air, and he soon had other priorities to deal with. "This war is not mine," he thought. Pepo had not considered the fact that those who'd arrived in America had rights and duties, and that military service was among the latter. "Pepo, I found a postcard in the mailbox. It had your name. It looked to me like it came from Italy, but it is written in American. Who is writing to you?" "It’s the US. Army, Pa." "Who?" "The army; the military district." "And what do they want?" "The same thing they want from everyone who is my age." "But didn't you already go there? Both a first and a second time?" "Yes I did. It was for the selection process and the medical examination."  "So what do they want still?" He did not answer, and his father realized what he was not saying. A chill crawled down his spine, his throat went dry, and his heart started pounding. "Jesus Christ!" Said Loisio, who had already experienced war and knew exactly what it was. "Can you tell me what exactly is written on this damn postcard," he insistently asked his child . "It says that I have to present myself at the nearest army recruitment center: either at the post office or at City Hall." "At the post office or City Hall! And after that?" "After that? I do not know." "And when would you have to go?"  "On the tenth of next month; I have to be there at eight." "So in twenty days?" "The exact number would be nineteen days." That night, Johnson announced on television that the United States were officially at war with North Vietnam, and Pepo realized that he did not even know where that country was, let alone the reasons for the conflict. He only knew what he had learned in school about French Indo-China. All else had happened in the region had not attracted his attention since he had put away his geography books. The day after that television announcement, nobody spoke of anything else in his quarter. Freddy, who had fought in Korea, explained to Pepo, more or less, where this war was being waged. "He is crazy," he commented, thinking of Johnson’s speech. The fear of those who understood anything about the situation was that this war with Vietnam could unleash the Third World War. "I don’t understand this undertaking," Freddy continued, and the customers of the butchery agreed with him. In the quarter, there were many who had fought in the Second World War. And they made catastrophic predictions about the Vietnam War based on their own personal experiences with war. Those who had children old enough to be drafted were very afraid. Obviously though, this was only the opinion of some of the veterans and of the common people in the low, middle-class section of Brooklyn. It did not in any way coincide with the opinion of those in power who thought that war would be a walk in the park. The newspaper wrote a lot about Vietnam and the war that was about to begin. There were many television debates, but Pepo did not understand the real impact of the event and neither did a majority of the youngsters who, at the time, were not particularly interested in it. People did realize that it was a serious matter when ships full of marines started to leave for South East Asia in the direction of Vietnam. The draft cards from the US. Army were sent to thousands of boys, and, within a few months, the war became a hard reality with which millions of families had to come to terms. "American destroyer deliberately attacked by North Vietnam in the Gulf of Tonkin." It was the statement that justified the reaction. "There was no attack and everything had been planned by the Americans," it was learned later.  "Six weeks into the war, at forty days, it will be a lightning war!" This was told at other times. The war lasted ten years. "Losses close to zero," was reported. The American casualties came around sixty thousand, the Vietnamese numbered at two to three million. "Defense of national interests," it was said. But no one specified, however, what these interests were. "Stop the Communists above the seventeenth parallel!" This was the order. "Call to Arms for proscription." "Only those who have high grades at the University are exempt from service." "It’s our duty to prevent any aggression against America," said President Lyndon B. Johnson. Thus began the Vietnam conflict: with a lie and an undeclared war. The boys of military age were invited to present themselves at the place of recruitment. Three million left. The soldiers present in the battle field were more than five hundred thousand. War, defoliants, napalm, destruction and death: this was the Vietnam of that time. Then the coffins started to arrive — so many that they could not be counted — wrapped in the stars and stripes flags. The parents wept; they all wept. The students protested in the universities and in the streets. They knew they risked their lives for nothing and this prompted many of them to go AWOL. What was waiting for them in Vietnam was a hell that would have scarred both their bodies and their souls. The front was everywhere, since they were fighting an enemy that seemed to be a ghost. The result was a massacre that lasted ten years, and a funeral that never ended. The scenario was always the same: the Arlington Cemetery, the marines with shaved heads, the shots, the silence, and the thousands and thousands of flags folded in a triangle and given to the relatives of the fallen soldiers: the only thing of their boys that they kept. All this and more was the Vietnam War: a conflict that nobody liked, and one that backfired on America and, eventually, against the veterans. "How did you feel shooting women and children?""How does it feel to see the forest disappear below defoliants?" "And what about those people turned into human torches by napalm?" These and many other questions people asked the Vietnam veterans, and they did not know what to say, as they were victims themselves of that "damn dirty war". "It would have been better if we had died over there," they complained, sad for the contempt they received in their homeland.  Those who had not fallen to bullets fell to drugs and alcohol instead. And in the end, the destruction came anyway. Pepo didn’t set foot in the nearest post office, or even in the municipal delegation for recruitment. Seven days later, he was already far away. A one-way ticket and two suitcases: it closed Pepo’s adventure in America. "God be with you," said his parents. Annì embraced her brother, but she could not say a word. Four days before, he had bid farewell to Ruth. It was the most painful separation of his life. He had spent the night with her, but he was sad when he thought that it could be their last one together. He would never have imagined that it could end like this. "I’m escaping to Italy, and I do not know if and when I can come back; so I can’t pretend that we may soon be together, and I do not want you to wait for me for what may be years," said Pepo, shortly before they left the dormitory. "You’ve decided that all by yourself, without asking me if I agree or disagree. You’re asking me to not love the person whom I had decided to spend my life with. Does it seem simple to you to tell a girl to forget someone whom she loves more than herself? I don’t care if you can't come back from Sicily and if I can't see you for months — and I say months not years because it is my intention to meet you again at the first oportunity!...wherever you go, whatever happens... there will always be a place for you in my heart, do not forget!" The girl embraced him while crying. "Leaving my country, I dreamed to find la Merica; I found it, and I was the happiest person in the word. You were the America I was looking for, Ruth… I had not planned this abrupt interruption… Sicily is not USA. I was born there, but if I could have chosen to, I would have been happy to live in America with the dream of a future near you. But that is no longer possible... and now do not cry, please. I’am sad enough…" He couldn’t continue; his throat was too tight with emotion. "I do not cry," she assured him, wiping her eyes, "but we say goodbye here, I can’t stand to see you go." The commotion had not yet over.   Washington Square, the plaza that had seen them happy and had been many times witness of their loving effusions, for the first time, seemed to them very sad.     You can tell that their love story ended there. But, like all stories that were experienced only half-way, it would forever remain in their minds and in their blood.    He raised an arm: a final farewell before the revolving door. A few minutes later, he began the return trip. In that airport, he was separated from his family and from those whom he had loved. The separation would turn out to be forever … but he didn’t know that yet. "You'll come back as soon as everything calms down": These were his father’s last words to him before he left. Thus ended his experience in America. But from that moment on, he became an emigrant in his own land, living in a kind of geographic and human suspension between Italy and America. He waited for that cursed war to end, waited to rejoin his family who, in the meantime, had started to settle down permanently in America. In the end, due to a series of circumstances that changed his life, he chose to remain in Italy; but he returned to America almost every year to visit his parents. The last time he hugged his father was in a hospital bed in New York. "You didn’t need to come," he said when he saw him. "The children, your wife: where are they?" These were the last coherent words he was able to say before he turned his head — As if he was just going to sleep. The doctors and nurses worked in vain. It was a Sunday afternoon and a surreal silence filled that hospital room. One year after his father’s death, Pepo returned to the Brooklyn house; his sister accompanied him. He was greeted by the new renter, an Italian, who had come from Irpinia after the earthquake. He worked in the yard now and did an excellent job. Everything was in good shape. The fig and the apple trees were as good as before. His father had tended to them until a short time before getting sick and passing away. He would have been happy to see his trees covered with leaves and flowers in the spring. Loisio had lived in America with the obsession of going back to Italy, but he had only enough time to choose the place where he would die. The rest of it remained in his eyes as dreams. It was his son and his daughter who had to carry out his last wish. And so, in the end, he did go back to his town. He did not do it in the way that he had hoped, but at least he had kept the promise he'd made to himself on the day that he had looked at the mountain: the same mountain that is before him in the place where he now rests, with his wife Lorena right next to him.