Shape of things to come

Turin, Saturday, May 3rd 2003


A pure illusion.
Going from his home to Sassi Square in half an hour had been only a hope, hardly to be transformed into reality.
So now he was wandering in search of a parking lot, proceeding a few meters each time that the light turned green, and then stopping immediately.
"Our appointment was due at 20:00... damn!" thought Stefano , looking at the digital watch he wore on his wrist. Definitely more precise than the old car on which he sat at that moment.
In theory, he would have had to meet with two of his friends at 7.00pm, but as he couldn’t avoid going to high school that day to attend a very important lesson for his imminent maturity, he had to decline the invitation of the two friends and focus on meeting at 8.00pm.
Maturity... Little more than a month was left to that exam, and Stefano was trying to complete that "special" preparation on the subject he loved most: English Literature. The school had proposed to some students, those who felt confident into it, to prepare an ad-hoc subject and to follow some afternoon lessons. The English ones were held on Tuesdays, usually: but that week the whole thing had been postponed to Saturday due to a sudden illness occurred to the professor. And, as if that were not enough, Stefano attended a high school in Grugliasco , since he lived on the border between the municipalities of Turin and Grugliasco: in practice, on the opposite side of the city, compared to the place of that day’s appointment.
- Are you still convinced to bring on English literature? – Anna, his classmate, had asked him as she exited the morning classes, at one o'clock.
- Huh? Yes, of course... Moreover, by now, I went too far... I mean... I'm at a good point, and I couldn’t change my mind even if I would.
His words betrayed the uncertainty of a boy who was preparing to face his first examination of adulthood.
- Do you mean that, if you could, you’d leave the Special Exam project? - asked Anna, who had taken the nuance.
- No, no... - Stefano answered. - That paper that I'm preparing about Joyce is very interesting, and basically following these lessons I am doing together with others, including a new professor, what I should do on my own.
Anna looked at him smiling.
- It's nice to look at you... you're always so convinced of what you're doing... - she said then.
- Oh, don’t count too much on that conviction... We all have to study, everyone, for our maturity... and so it's worth doing it to deepen something that we like, right? - he replied.
"And then, if you only knew how convinced I am..." he then thought to himself. It had been months since a special friendship had arisen between him and Anna... and he felt that he would have to take a few steps more, since he was feeling fine with her. But he hadn’t done them yet.
- Of course you're right! And you’re doing well in following the project... But I...

Stefano had then arrived home at the usual time, that is, at one and a half, had had lunch with his mother and had made sure that his father had left the car (old, as they called it confidentially in the family) keys in order to be able to go around in the afternoon and in the evening.
"Otherwise, how could I be at school at three, attend four hours of lessons, and then get downtown in time for the March?" he had asked rhetorically to his father the night before. And he had agreed: on the other hand, it was already almost six months that Stefano had a driving license and had never had any kind of problem... or of those things that can cause concern in a parent.

And so here he is at the head of the old Punto , which was currently used as a commission machine in his father's company. The worn seats which betrayed the almost ten years of honoured activity, the smell of smoke and also the general widespread malodour that spoke of a car used by many different people...
"It's not exactly the car you would take a girl out on!"
...he had thought, the first times his father had lent it to him, the year before... while he was picking up his friends.
But basically it was right and normal to start "from the mess".
His father, then, was a severe guy: he had left that car available as an "advance on maturity": that is, in anticipation and confidence that the schools would have ended with positive results. Otherwise, he’d have revoked it!

"Too bad... if I had met Marco and Giuseppe, then we would’ve gone straight to Superga ... passing by the Pino road..."
Finally, after a lap no more than a block long but which lasted over a quarter of an hour, the Punto with Stefano on board was again on Corso Casale. And Stefano decided to aim decisively towards the outside of the city.
"Towards San Mauro... if I remember correctly."
He didn’t know much about those areas... being an inhabitant from the other side of the city. The best known place of those quarters was the Hennessy disco, towards Pino Torinese: that place was now a permanent meeting place for Stefano and his friends, since the winter just passed. It's not that it was driving him crazy: too full of snobby people. But... there were so many beautiful girls, and the music was always "the right one".
Well, and then, of course, there was Superga. The famous cathedral which from over the hill dominates the whole city, a symbol of Turin as it is the Mole Antonelliana.
Love and hate for half of the city's soccer fans.
For the Garnets, Superga was not just a basilica, a hill, a place to reach with the famous tramway Dentiera or with the car (if you wanted to risk a nervous breakdown, especially recommended on Sunday afternoons) or by bike if you were particularly athletic.
For those like Stefano's father and himself, Superga was also the symbol of their footballing beliefs.
The place where 54 years before the strongest football team ever had found death in a plane crash.
And therefore the place where the fans used to go and meet on every anniversary, to bring their tribute to those heroes overwhelmed by an adverse fate. And the place where they went to celebrate a cup or a championship, for the same reason. And finally, the place where all the fans went when they needed to gather and gather ideas, because things were not going well.
And that day was one of these: organized and encouraged by a famous journalist, that Massimo who from the pages of the main city newspaper used to express his support in a wise, ironic and passionate way, all Toro fans had been called to a Manifestation. A torchlight walk to the basilica where the heroes of the past were buried, to ask...
To ask, what?

"In short, I know that I will walk the torchlight alone, in the midst of all the fans... real..."
He would have never thought of walking up to Superga, in the heat of that incipient spring, for no reason.
Yet, for Toro, he felt that he could do that, that day. Perhaps without knowing why, perhaps because he knew that his father would have done it if he had been a little younger and had had a few more moments of tranquillity.
- You'll see, as soon as I retire, I'll start going to the stadium like old times! - he often said.
"Yes... to watch B Series’ games..." thought Stefano.
Yeah... Toro had just been relegated to B Series, again, for the third, fourth time...
Well, Stefano didn’t even remember how many times he had seen Toro recede in B Series, since he was a fan. Indeed, in his life, he could well say he remembered more often the Toro in B rather than fighting for the Championship!
He often wondered why he still cheered for that team. At school he was among the few... in fourth and fifth class, out of eleven boys only three cheered Toro, to which were to add two girls, mostly for solidarity towards their city.
"Ah, when I was attending my schooldays, we were the most... and the hunchbacks were in the minority!" his father had always told him. "Only in some areas of Turin did they overcome us..."
But those were different times. Times when the memory of the Great Turin was still alive, and that the 1976 championship had made it seem within reach.
Andrea, Stefano's father, was attending the university that year, and the details of the Championship festival of May 16th, 1976 were impressed on his mind as one of the happiest days of his life...
"After that of our marriage!"
...he then added, if he was in the presence of his wife Marina.
"Imagine the city all coloured with garnet... people coming from outside Turin by all imaginable means, us fans celebrating in every neighbourhood, out of every bar... car marching, the column of cars and people in Superga... basically 27 years had passed, it was a satisfaction we had been waiting for so long."
Pulici, Graziani ...
Those posters were still hanging in the living room of Andrea and Marina's house when Stefano was born. And then they were joined by a picture of Stefano, his father and uncle Francesco in the corner at the Stadio Comunale .
Stefano could have been eight, nine, in that picture. He was as happy as his dad, who was celebrating for the upcoming Uefa Cup final. Those were years in which Toro used to reach, on average, the top positions... it had also gone close to winning a Championship, in 1985... Stefano's mother always told him that on the day of his first birthday his dad was in seventh heaven because Toro was firmly at the top of the rankings.

But then…
Nothing.
The Uefa Cup had not been won. The Championship, not even. And, just a few years before, they had ended up in B Series!
What a disgrace, for Stefano, in front of his school friends.
Then, of course, the year after they were back in A. But, a little later, again the B... and meanwhile no significant results. While the hated cousins continued to win and win.
And then, now that he was starting to get a little bigger, Stefano had also got to get an idea of what a football team is like, besides cheering, or passion: and he had well framed the societal problems that tormented Toro by too long now.
"Money... famous names... solid sponsors... investments... there's nothing like this, on our side..."
In short, there wasn’t a single reason to cheer Toro.
But, if his father did, then he’d do it too... if only out of respect. Because the love for impossible challenges, for dreams, had been inculcated into him since he was a child.
And that journalist saw things exactly like his father.
"Sure, he puts them down in a written form that is much more learned..." he would say to his father, to make fun of him, when they were talking about the subject.
But for the rest, they had absolute coincidence of beliefs.

Something had to be done
All the Toro fans met that evening, after yet another recede in B Series, which for a curious twist of fate fell after another twenty-seven years from the last championship. All fans would go on pilgrimage to the tombstone, at the top of the hill of Superga asking for a change of leadership, a sign of hope...
"...a divine intervention..." thought Stefano. "What else can help us?"

A few hundred meters after the Dentiera of Superga, the famous and characteristic little train that leads to the top of the hill and the Basilica , where the sign indicating the beginning of the nearby town of San Mauro was visible, Stefano managed to find a place for his car.
"It's already... five minutes to eight, damn it!" He exclaimed, coming down quickly from his car and starting a run towards the square swarming with people. The door of the old car had not closed properly, as usual, but Stefano didn’t have time to go back and insist.

Meanwhile, he had taken his phone from the side pocket of his low-mounted trousers and tried to call his two friends.
But there was no coverage.
"I knew that this phone is old... it's possibly three years old, it's been a long time since I've asked my parents to buy me a new one..."
Stefano tried to call both Marco and Giuseppe while he was at the wheel, even though his parents always told him not to talk on his cell phone while he was driving. He usually did what they told him... except when he was forced to behave differently due to force majeure.
And that circumstance was one of these.
But anyway, even before he had failed to get in touch with his friends.
Stefano arrived in front of the train station at eight o'clock. A human tide was starting to move up the street that led to the basilica: Stefano had wandered around for a while trying to catch a glimpse of his friends, both quite tall, but the hopes of meeting someone in that pit were nearing zero. He had moved on the sidewalk in front, tried to get away a bit... but the phone was like crazy: at times he indicated that there was no coverage, then immediately reported that the numbers called were busy, then gave them as "off"...
To make sure that it wasn't an isolated problem, Stefano had also tried to call home, equally without success.

"Anyways... I'll just have to walk"
His prediction was coming true.
It was not a tragic perspective, far from that...
Tens, hundreds and more of people covered with garnet flags, hats, scarves surrounded him. As happened when he went to the stadium as a child... because in fact in recent years he had begun to go a little less (perhaps shifting the use of his pocket money to discos...). As well as his father, on the other hand.
And all or almost all of them had been supplied with torches by the organisers.
Turned off and put away the phone, which by the way was also a bit down on battery, Stefano had started to walk at a good pace. After a few turns, a sign bearing the distance from the peak "5.5 Km" made him realize that it was going to be a good walk.
From time to time he would turn and see if by chance he could spot his friends. And sometimes he participated in the fans' choirs...
It ranged from pure support to the team, to the classic teasing against the Juventus cousins... but the real highlight were the slogans against the leadership.
Stefano had to admit that he had never heard them "live"! At most he had read them in the newspapers: it was a very recent thing, a motion of protest that had moved its steps starting from the continuous failures on the field, and was reinforced with the observation that every purchase campaign, every promise, every project was inevitably sunk or left to die.
Now the culprits, more than the players, the coach, or the "fate", were the patron and his "worthy pal", that guy to whom physiognomy certainly wasn’t giving a hand and who, for a joke of fate that only at Toro could happen, was back then the driver of that car... the culprit of the accident that had killed a valiant garnet player so many years ago.
"It can’t be true..." Stefano had thought when they told him about it. He didn’t want to believe it.
So, although he was quite good and not inclined to controversy, among the choirs against the leadership Stefano launched himself into passionate screams!
And, after a few more corners, he met the elderly parents of one of his classmates.
- Hello! Are you here too? - he asked them, a little surprised and deeply encouraged in seeing two rather old persons walking at a good pace. It meant that the climb was not so difficult.
The two returned a smile and a brief exchange followed.
Soon, however, Stefano realized another detail: the elderly or at least people the age of his parents were the majority. The young were few... and then there was some child, who was perhaps there just because he followed his father.
Or maybe it wasn’t like that... but in short, it seemed to him that, just like at school, the Toro fans were destined to become extinct.
But not that evening: the human mass stretched as far as the eye in front of and behind him. As the sun settled at sunset, the torches took life and the road became a snake of light.
By now they were almost half-done, as the sign said.
Stefano had tried again to turn on the phone and call Marco and Giuseppe, but equally without success.
The choirs continued. Someone, later on in the street, occasionally seemed to organize and direct the procession. Stefano thought he was the famous journalist, and tried to see if he could recognize him. But, in reality, the head of the parade was a lot farther.
At one point a lady looking at the balcony of a house offered some drinking water to the demonstrators, and Stefano took it too. Several people on the street greeted the protesters and, apart from some Juventus guy, everyone seemed to be in solidarity with the cause.
Finally the last corner was close to an eye!
"Like a Stratorino..." Stefano thought, massaging his thighs and calves, in a short pause. In reality, the stunt run that took place every year was usually at least twice as long...
"However, also considering the steep climb..."
...but Stefano thought that as an effort it could be considered analogous, for someone who wasn’t a great lover of running.
Not much his short trousers, rather Stefano's blue shirt was soaked with sweat: the temperature was definitely high for being in early May. Even if now, the reached altitude and the arrival of the sunset had brought a pleasant fresh air.

Stefano arrived to the square in front of the basilica.
"Hope I won’t get a cold, now... all sweaty..." thought Stefano. But to himself, he was convinced that it wouldn’t happen: it was only the memory of a constant recommendation from his mother.
People swarmed in the square and in the front garden.
Stefano stopped to rest, next to a group of boys. He withdrew the phone, turned it on, and receiving a message from one of his friends encouraged him.
"We just arrived at the top! We’re going to the players’ headstone, will you join us?"
Stefano tried to call, but nothing again. It was as if the lines were overloaded and in fact Stefano thought it should be just like that.
He headed for the headstone of the Toro players, on one side of the basilica.
"The damn hill..."
Every time he had been there, Stefano had always thought of that absurd destiny that the only plane ever crashed against that hill had been the one with the Toro players on board.
"Think, if they hadn’t built the Basilica, your team would not have died!" one of his classmates had told him, many years earlier, perhaps in third grade. And he had actually proved him right. So much that in those days he was convinced that, rather than the tombs of the Savoy, in that basilica there were the tombs of Toro’s players...
No, things weren’t like that, but the substance was the same.
For him, for his father, and for many other people, the truly significant point in the Basilica of Superga was the tombstone dedicated to the players of the Great Torino.

There were several people: some kneeling, all in religious silence or at the limit engaged in prayer. But of his two friends, not even a shadow.
Stefano stopped for a few minutes. Made the sign of the cross. He reread those names... one after the other.
Bacigalupo, Ballarin Aldo, Ballarin Dino...
As usual, he got his heart choked up.
As much as he had only ever seen those black-and-white photos and shorts... axillaries they used fifty years ago, he realized, much more than when he was little, that those names had once been people. Young boys, torn from life far too early.
And delivered to the legend.
"Yeah, like Kurt Cobain..." some Juventus follower had told him, hoping to make fun of him.
Well, actually, there was some analogy. But not that much: he accepted it only because he liked Nirvana a lot.

After a while, Stefano set off again towards the square, ending the tour around the basilica.
He picked up the phone again, in an extreme attempt to find his two friends and not have to go back on foot!
Miraculously, the phone rang.
- Hello?
- Hello? Marco? Hey, finally...
But his enthusiasm didn’t last long...
- What are you saying? Who are you looking for, excuse me?
Stefano looked at the phone's display: no, he had dialled the correct number.
- Marco, is that you...? There's a lot of confusion, I'm in front of the church...
- How do you say? Marco? No, I'm not...
- Ah, it's not the...
Stefano repeated the number of his friend's cell by heart. While doing so, however, he realized that cell phones usually did not... make contact, and didn’t call one number instead of another...
- No, I'm sorry... but I can’t hear well, from where are you calling me? I'm from Turin…
- I... I'm in Superga, you know, the Toro fans... - Stefano said.
The voice on the other end of the phone was quite young, as far as he could make out. But also rather formal, as Stefano noticed.
- Oh really? Bravo, I wanted to go to town to celebrate too, but I have a bad cold... it's so stupid to get a cold when it starts to get warm!
- Well, celebrating... are you a Toro's fan too?
Stefano was happy to at least partially share his experience with someone.
- Yes sure! You’ve told me... you’re going to Superga? So you live downtown, I guess...

- No, I... I live... yes, well, not far from the centre, but on the other side, towards west, do you know?
- Ah, I understand.
There was a pause.
Then Stefano began to speak again.
- We hope it will help something... we really need a good injection of trust...
- No, my friend, what are you saying! This draw is more than good... with this we are pretty sure to do it again this year...
"Draw"?
Stefano was amazed at those words. "You can’t ignore that today... even today, we lost, at home moreover..."

- Excuse me, which draw?
- I mean, even if we only drew, in Milan, because it was a direct clash, we have victory in out pocket...
- Victory... that is?
- But what do you mean by "that is"? What are you celebrating, if not the now sure Championship?
Stefano was dumbfounded.
"Well, we didn’t want to hear a hunchback in the mood for jokes, to immediately turn down my mood..." he thought.
- Listen, I... Oh well, you can say whatever you want, it makes me neither hot nor cold: we will return to A Series, we will return to win... sooner or later...
- But what…
This time it was the other guy who took a break.
- …but what are you saying? – he continued then, with a marked Piedmontese accent.
The background rustle suddenly increased, as soon as Stefano reached the car park on the right of the basilica.
- Hello? Hello…?
There were only fragments of words, now.
Then, the line dropped. Stefano looked at the display of the mobile phone, which again indicated "no signal".
He reached an empty bench and sat down to rest for a while.
"Damned Juventino!" he thought to himself.

Then he returned to focus on the march and the friends he hadn’t met. The square was still full of people: Stefano watched them from a distance and smiled with joy at seeing those garnet flags waving. At one point, a small rally had gathered in the centre of the square, and a couple of people had summoned all the supporters to summarise the reasons for the march.
Strong tones were also used. The general meaning was "we want the old leadership to leave, they're a shame for the Garnet story". And, Stefano’s mind (but he was sure that many had thought the same thing), it had materialised that image of Milan that overpowered a derelict Toro in the season just ended scoring six goals... that could have been even sixteen, for as bad they had played that day.
Naturally, then, the choirs had started spreading and surrounding them all.
Stefano was not an ultras, he had never been. And so his father. He was a calm boy, not inclined to quarrels.
But above all, he could never conceive that violent acts could be carried out because of soccer fanatism. The team of the heart was that thing that you felt inside, that was part of your ego. But it wasn't "real life": it was not to be taken too seriously, under any circumstances.
You could get spoiled, you could curse yourself for a stolen game (and any fan of the Garnets had very clear some images... filled with white and black!) but it had to end there. You could devote your time to choreography for the Marathon, or follow the away team to make your support voice heard. But never put cheers above other more important things in life.
And now the good Toro’s Owner was taken to words...

Of course, Massimo's (the journalist) style was a bit different. He had said, as soon as they’d arrived in Superga, "we are unique, we are the only team which parades for the city when it ends up in B Series". It was the incarnation of the spirit of Toro: suffering, joy for little things, assimilation of misfortune, and the back always straight.
For a moment Stefano wondered if... even his life should have been like that.
"No, that is... it's okay to fight, but being... in love with bad luck it's not..." he said to himself, and smiled.

Then he got up, and walked towards the kiosk: he would have liked a can of anything.
And here it came another message from Giuseppe: "see you at the bar? We are resting for a moment..."
"Perfect!" Stefano thought. But, after a careful check of the surroundings of the kiosk, the disappointment enveloped him again. He sat down on a stool and opened the newly purchased can, sending one good half down his throat immediately.
He picked up his cell phone again. He tried again to dial both friends numbers, but in both cases he didn’t get an answer.
Then his eye fell on the time of the SMS he had read a few minutes before: it had been sent over half an hour earlier... that's why the two were no longer at the bar!
Definitely, that was not a lucky evening for technology!

Two boys and a girl, she definitely younger than the other two, sat down at a table nearby. They put their flags on the ground and, when one of them slipped on Stefano's feet, the girl smiled at him and apologized.
- You're welcome! - he answered.
- Are you alone? - one of the boys asked him.
- Yes... I had to meet with two friends of mine but... - he then added, pointing finger to the phone - we weren’t able to talk...
- Don’t tell me! - the girl intervened. - It's been all evening since I try to call my parents... and I can’t work that out!
The other two made a sign of approval.
Stefano looked at them, and when he saw the t-shirts and the garnet hats shown by the three boys, he realized he was sadly in plain clothes.
"I could not go to school... I mean, I didn’t want to go to school... like that," he thought. "And I didn’t have a chance to change my clothes, later..."
Soon the three began to discuss their common passion, and they involved Stefano. They were convinced, but not excited, as Stefano thought after some exchange. Even the girl was nicely unleashed: with a fair dose of irreverence, she continued to talk badly about the two owners of Toro, as one would have done with an old aunt who was a little stoned!
- I mean, they must go! - Stefano agreed, at one point in the discussion.
- The problem is that no one else is coming forward ... I don’t understand how it is possible: a centenary brand, a fan base like no other in Italy, if not in the world... is it possible that no entrepreneur is interested? - said one of the two boys...
- Ah, I'm Guido, for the record...
...taking the opportunity to introduce himself.
And here the four began to make a list of the possible "rich" Piedmontese who should have detected the Toro and make the team great again. The usual ones: Ferrero ...
Yeah... because without money there's nothing left in modern football: things were different at the time of the Great Torino.
- But how is it possible that Juve, Milan, Inter... all have billionaires behind them... and we can’t find anyone?
- At least an honest one... a normal one... As had been Pianelli, at the time when we won the Championship... - Stefano said, somehow quoting the words of his father.
And so the four were immersed in a new discussion on the leaders and footballers who had been there since 1976 to the present...

A further half an hour passed.
Stefano looked at his watch and saw that it was almost midnight. The girl did the same as well and, when she noticed the time, gave a shake to Guido.
- We have to go... my brother will be waiting for us at the corner... - he said.
He nodded, and bent to pick up the flags.
- What are you doing now? Are you still staying here? - asked the other boy to Stefano.
He looked back at the time and the phone, then said - no, no... I’m getting off too.
- But... are you walking? the girl asked him.
- Eh... yes, because if I had met my friends... they had their car parked in Panoramica ... - he said, looking a bit tired... thinking at the long road which separated him from the car.
She asked him to go with them "because one extra place in their car would have been there for sure". And so they did: but, at the junction of the Strada del Pino, the four discovered that in addition to her brother, there was also a rather gruff gentleman in the car... presumably his father.
- I'm sorry, but... we make ourselves smaller, come on!
Stefano declined. - Thank you, but ... it doesn’t matter... it's downhill, after all!
He greeted the three friends and turned towards the road back to Sassi.
People were returning to the city in dribs and drabs. A few flags still waved, and every now and then some cars tried to make their way through the people...
In less than half an hour Stefano reached his car, and in less than twenty minutes he arrived home.

- How did it go? - asked his father, still awake.
- Beautiful, very beautiful... let's just hope that it’ll be useful for something...
- They've been talking about it on the regional news, both at dinner and in the night edition... You'll see that something will move!
- Yeah... You know, I did it all on foot... I couldn’t meet with Marco! - Stefano said then, pulling out the phone from his pocket and connecting it to its charger.
- Nice walk, huh? - said his father, smiling and giving him a pat on the shoulder.
Stefano smiled. Then he gave him goodnight and went to his room.
Books could wait at least one day.

* * *

- Mom... I'm going out... - Stefano said, wearing his denim jacket.
His mother's greeting echoed around the house and he heard it as he closed the door behind him. His dad was resting, as he did every Sunday afternoon.
Stefano got into his car and walked towards the "usual place", the gardens not far from his house where he used to meet with friends for about a year now.
First, however, he went to pick Enrico up, his classmate for the past six years.
They had met in the last year of middle school: when Enrico had come to live in Turin, from the province.
It had been a matter of work: his father had to look for a new occupation, because the company he worked in near Rivara had closed. A difficult matter... Stefano remembers that, especially in more recent times, when they had grown older, Enrico's father had revealed that the thriving company had closed due to unfair competition: an employee had left and had taken with him projects, schemes, customer archives...
There had been two years of sudden crisis: those were the years when the electronics and computer market was going great, in the mid-1990s... and strangely, business and orders dropped unexpectedly. Enrico's father, head of production, couldn’t understand it.
Then... that ugly story came out. The guy was identified, and reported. So it was for the company that had taken advantage of the situation. But things would have gone long: a civil case that could have lasted years. The owner of the company had summoned all the employees, announcing that, for the moment, he couldn’t afford the expenses.
"He was destroyed... he assured everyone that, as soon as he had the right compensation, he would reopen a new company and put that team back together", so Enrico would tell Stefano his father's words.
And so the whole family of Enrico had moved to Turin. In an area close to where Stefano used to live, precisely.
Now that they were older, Enrico often told how, now, he saw things differently than a few years ago.
"You know, my father was desperate above all because... I mean, my parents thought that changing school just on the last year of middle school would cause me a lot of problems... And I was scared: I was afraid of the city, you know... I had always lived in a village, in the countryside. Instead... if I think of all the people here... all the pubs, the clubs!"
"Yes, I don’t think I could ever live in the country... in a village, I mean..." Stefano answered.
It’s curious, the way you see the world does change, especially during teenage years. The two boys were amazed, but in reality it was all quite normal.

Enrico, always quite punctual, was waiting for Stefano at home. He got into the car and together they headed for the meeting point.
They arrived first. Then, after a few minutes, three more boys joined them. So, after a quarter of an hour, the only couple currently present in their company arrived: Umberto called "Berto", and Simona... happy couple now for over six months.
Someone, among the boys, wrinkled his nose when she arrived.
She wasn’t particularly bright, pretty more or less... and in fact it was perhaps for this reason that she was mostly annoying: you could not communicate with her.
In any case, the boys had something else to talk about... waiting for other, nicer females to join their company.
- ...heh, I told you, yesterday afternoon I went to school... I had to talk to the professor... - Stefano answered to Umberto who asked him what he had done the previous afternoon.
- And last night? - he continued.
Laughing, Michele said "Brad" due to his blond hair, he intervened and said "ah, he went to the losers' march... didn’t he?"
Some people you could have done without them, in that group, and Michele was one of them. Not so much and not only because he was a proud Juventus fan... but also because he had a way of reasoning and, consequently, behaving... very special.
Stefano answered quietly, but hard.
- It was something that had to be done... the team is in deep crisis and...
He was surprised to use those terms. He was not a fan, a football fan. And yet... it was something that came from his heart.
"That's why you're a garnet... visceral!" Enrico often told him, now that he had known him for long. Enrico wasn’t supporting any team, at a minimum he would sympathise with the small province team of Cuorgnè, or for Toro, for a sense of... solidarity. But there was a time when he had been amazed that his friend was interested in football...
- But, Ste'... do you really care what happens in that world? - he had asked, almost worried.
And he had explained that... no, it was not that he was interested in what the other teams were doing. But for Toro he did.
Sometimes, maybe talking to other friends, he ran away from saying "but yes, you know... my father always supported Toro, my grandfather also..." and then he'd be ashamed, especially because he didn’t remember that his grandfather had ever expressed any football preferences!

Michele answered laughing. Another boy too, next to him, laughed; the third, instead, limited himself to observing Stefano with a look between the incredulous and the compassionate.
- Why... what happened yesterday... which march? - the girl asked then.
More than in response to her, Michele, with that arrogance that often distinguished him, began to narrate the facts that had led to the demonstration the night before.
The narration of the disastrous season of Toro was filled with solos and partisan comments, which Stefano tried to ignore. Enrico looked at him and sighed.
Then, Michele finally fell silent. And it was there that Umberto, as was obvious, commented - yes, of course, in the meantime you’re only good at stealing!
They knew that he was a fan too. In particular, he was an anti-juventus guy! It had already happened that the discussion was inflamed because of some talk about football.
- But what do you want? What is it? You, who is hard to understand yet on which side you’re on...
Yeah: Umberto had initially said he was a fan from Inter, when they met him. Then, however, he often seemed to hold for the Toro. Sometimes even for other teams...
- ...most of the other teams play honestly and from time to time they win: you have always and only been stealing!
- But please, go... - Michele replied.
And the discussion went on for a while.

A providential SMS caused Enrico's telephone to ring, as he was sitting on a bench beside Stefano. And, automatically, he also took out his cell phone, and it was at that moment that he remembered that he had forgotten to hear from Marco and Giuseppe since the night before. Then he tried to dial Giuseppe’s number which, again, turned out to be off.
"But maybe he's out for a ride on his motorcycle..." thought Stefano.
Then he called Marco, and finally he managed to talk to him.
- Sorry... - he said, turning to the other friends and moving away a few feet.
Marco told him how the walk had been for them, and Stefano told of his adventures.

The two boys were nine and eight years older than him, respectively. He had met them through his parents, some time before: Marco was the younger brother of a friend of his father. If his father had now...
"51 years, yes, more or less..."
...that friend of his, or Marco's brother, could have been ten or so younger, and Marco, so much younger than his brother Antonio, was seven or eight years older than him. Of course, they had met at the stadium: or rather, his father had known that family one day many years before - Stefano could have been twelve or thirteen, and in one of the rare games not in the "lowest series" that the Toro fought over the last few years, he found himself celebrating a deserved victory together with his father and those two "gentlemen".
They had then kept in touch... they had found themselves celebrating their returning in A Series at the end of the season (it was 1998/99), and then the year after everybody rushed to subscribe, hopeful in a season which finally marked a return to high peaks.
"And yet, again B Series..." had to sadly state Stefano at the end of the next season.
But in the meantime he was growing up, and Marco and Antonio were the first "adult" people with whom he had ever shared his passion for Toro: so friendship grew stronger, and the talk he used to make with them was different from what he had done up to a few years before along with schoolmates or other friends.
And the arrival of Giuseppe - the Juventus fan who initially Stefano hated "on the skin" - served instead to stimulate confrontation and discussion...
- Stefano, the Juventus guy... before being a fan to hate, he’s always a person to be respected, remember this... - his father had told him since the very first football "disagreements".
And Stefano had already learned it - no need to remind him again.
On the other hand, Giuseppe was not that type of fan.
Stefano always remembered with sympathy and a kind of... disbelief that day of the derby, when Marco brought his friend... and he accepted willingly to watch the game together with the "garnets".
- But are you sure? – he had asked him, looking at him as you look at an "old boy" at sixteen - Giuseppe was twenty-five then! - and Marco had smiled.
- Sure, why not? I'm here mainly for my friends... yes, Juve is fine but... oh, if you don’t want me, I'll go there, huh? I’ve got no problems with that...
Marco had patted him on a shoulder telling him to shut up, and Stefano had witnessed the whole scene, with astonishment on his face. If it was true that he had never been an "ultras" fan, it was also obvious in his mind that a derby was to be seen with those "of your own side".
Then Juventus won... Stefano remembered that he looked badly for a few moments at Giuseppe, also ready to tell him something if he had dared to cheer or make any joke.
But he, always smiling, joked a bit with Marco and then concluded with a "a nice game, I'm happy..." and had walked towards the exit of the Delle Alpi stadium.
In a turbulent age and unwilling to accept the "other" as adolescence was, this lesson settled well in Stefano's mind.

- ...damn, so you came to the bar too? Ah, but it was late, yes...
- Yes, because I first looked around the headstone and...
- There were so many people! It was a great event: now we hope they’ll do something... - Marco said.
- We hope that, really! So... we'll chat in the next days, Marco...
- Yes: if we’re still doing something with the group... we'll call you, okay?
- Yes, all right! - Stefano answered, and then returned to the other friends.

- Tamara and Lisa are coming too... - he said, quoting the SMS received shortly before and interrupting the discussion that was still going on between Michele and Umberto.
- Oh! Heaven be praised, Stefano! - exclaimed Simona - These guys would go on for hours...
Stefano smiled and the others let themselves go to a smile.
- How about we go and get an ice cream in Stupinigi? - then asked the girl, and everyone agreed.
- I would also say a granita , since it's so hot! It doesn’t even look like spring... - Michele commented.
And soon they got into Umberto's car and, as soon as the other two girls arrived, they all left for the ice cream shops just outside the town.

* * *

Two days of school, two tests.
This had been Stefano “roster” between Monday and Tuesday: the first one wasn't planned but it was the subject that he was preparing for maturity, and so was feeling confident... while the second had been expected for weeks but, in that moment, it had bothered him a little - History.
A 8 ½ and a 7 ½... in short, more than good for the upcoming exam. Of course, in other situations he’d have tried to get more prepared even to the question of History... among other things, that teacher was nice and serious... he liked her.
"Oh well..." he thought, and while he was watching TV and listening to his favourite music, he started thinking about Anna...
He smiled at the thought of how easy it was for him to visualise her body, her curves... and vice versa how complicated it was to describe - to her but also to himself - the feelings he felt for her.
- All right, this morning? - she had asked him at the second interval, after they had not met each other at the first break.
- Yes, everything is OK... I could’ve done more but...
- Come on, I'd say it's just fine, Ste! - Anna's classmate had commented, and Anna smiled and showed herself to be in agreement.

Then two more words and they said goodbye - each at their own bus stop, in the opposite direction.

And so now he wanted to ask her if she wanted to go out with him... maybe not alone... even if in fact he would’ve wanted...
In short, he’d have thought about it!

He grabbed the phone, visualised her number for a few moments, and then started the call.
But...
- Hello?
The male voice on the other end of the phone cooled him.
Stefano looked at the phone's display to make sure he had called her cell phone and not Anna's house.
"...the number is correct and..."
- Hello? - the man asked again.
- Excuse me, I dialled the wrong number... - he said then, suddenly caught by terror that Anna had someone answer in her place... for example maybe a boyfriend of hers...

Stefano put the phone down on the bed, almost hiding it - and hiding from him!
"No, but she's certainly not engaged... I'm sure!" he said to himself.
He put the phone back in his hand and decided to try again. He had one last hesitation and then started the call again.
This time he could hear someone picking the line but no one answered.
- Anna...? Can you hear me? - he said.
But it answered again the same male voice as before.
- Hello! Look, you dialled the wrong number again... you’ve been calling me once more...
Stefano remained dumbfounded.
"But how’s that even possible..." he said, scared. But then he decided he had to go all the way...
- Excuse me, but... I'm looking for... Anna, Anna Connelli: do you... know her? Or maybe... she lost her phone and...
- What are you saying? I can hear words amongst noise but... Anna, you say? No, I don’t know any Anna with that last name... - the guy answered him.
While Stefano brooded over those words and was about to hang up, the other began to talk again.
- But you... didn’t you call me a little while ago, this afternoon? It seems to me the same voice from the one who was going to celebrate with his garnet friends...
Suddenly Stefano recognized the somewhat old or better "ancient" voice he had heard a few days earlier...
"Yes, that's what made me laugh as I was looking for Marco and Giuseppe in Superga...!"
- But how can it be you, again? How’s it possible? - Stefano asked him.
The guy sneezed loudly.
- Obviously you are dialling the wrong number, maybe my number is similar to that of some other person you are trying to call today... you know, these new devices...
Stefano thought back at Saturday night and mentally visualised the numbers he had tried to call: no, he had not tried to reach for Anna, for sure. He had tried to call Marco and Giuseppe... and maybe his parents’ house and...
"...today?"
...suddenly he focused on the words coming from the guy.
- But are you always in the mood for jokes? Now I remember we talked on... Saturday. Saturday, do you understand? Not today... I didn’t call you...
For a moment he supposed that someone else was using his phone. But the other guy answered him...
- Saturday? No, look, you called me a couple of hours ago... I remember well because I was going to check the rabbit cage, from there... and on Sunday afternoon I never do, but today I left some work behind...

Stefano was listening intently to the guy's words, when suddenly he burst into a laugh.
"Rabbits," did he say? Heh, just some Juventus guy may be wanting to make jokes like that... stupid!
This time it was the other one who took a break.
- I don’t understand... what jokes are you talking about... And then, excuse me, I don’t understand the connection between hunchbacks and rabbits...?
Stefano continued to laugh, and while he was deciding to hang up - and then try to call the assistance to clarify this problem that evidently had his phone.
- I know it annoys you, but calling you rabbits is the least I can do... given your resume. Oh well, I wish you a nice day and I’ll try not to call you anymore...
As he concluded the sentence, however, he realized in a corner of his mind that the guy had used the expression "hunchbacks"...
"It's strange that a supporter of Juventus calls himself like that..." he thought.
And in fact the man on the other end of the phone was somewhat irritated.
- No, listen, you are not allowed to call me juventinian, I shall not let it pass.
Stefano was silent for a few moments.
The guy seemed strangely serious, and then continued to be surrounded by something like a "solemn" charm that Stefano was struggling to decipher.
- OK... okay, I apologize. And... the last time you told me that... the Toro had gotten a draw and that we were about to win another championship... and today you tell me that I called a few hours ago, and in short, understand me... in my eyes these are jokes, not even that funny...

- But I can confirm that you called me a few hours ago... and then everyone knows that Toro drawed, the match against Inter was the highlight match from this week...
"Inter?" Stefano wondered, dwelling on that detail.
Two games, two defeats: Stefano mentally returned to the game at the beginning of the season, a few months before... and on return match, in Turin, a similar fate.
Puzzled, he tried to explain the matter to his interlocutor, even if, within himself, he just wanted to interrupt the conversation.
- See, I don’t know where you… live, but the match against Inter was played months ago. And lost, of course... and so we've already been relegated in the lower series three weeks in advance. And, if you really were a "hard and pure" fan as you claim to be, last Saturday you would’ve come to Superga with all of us...
- But again this thing about Superga! But what use did you go there for? However, for me living in Orbassano, going up there is quite complicated: of course, for you wealthy people who live downtown things are perhaps different, maybe in an hour you get there...
"This guy got stormed!" thought Stefano.
But now he was wanting to hear him speak again.
- Ah, Orbassano... I like that area, I often go there on Sundays with my friends... do you live more towards the ring road or more...
- Toward what, excuse me?
- The... the highway... in short, like you want to call it...
- Dear sir, from the centre of the city to my village you get there via the only road which does exist, that is the avenue by the same name...
His tone became more serious.
- ...and it seems to me that who is wanting to play jokes is you. Anyway...
"He must have some problems with travelling..." thought Stefano, with a half smile.
He began to think that it was an old man a little out of his mind, even if the voice, as it sounded... obsolete, was not an old person's voice.
- I've never heard anyone calling "my village" the Turin suburbs! - he said.
- Suburbs? What do you mean? I don’t understand...
- Yes, the outskirts... the suburbs... Excuse me, but how old are you? Maybe we belong to two... different generations, you see... - Stefano said, thinking back to when he used to speak with his maternal grandfather and wasn’t able to even carry on a simple chat... simply because half of the words used by each of them played as unknown or, worse, of different significance, to the other.

- Me? I'm twenty-eight, and you? You seem to be rather young... but unless you are a scion of some particularly wealthy family, usually the boys don’t use the phone at home...
"Oh my God," thought Stefano.
"I would then be a noble boy? And just because I’m using a mobile phone..."
But his mind immediately turned to that fact.
"Twenty-eight?? But he sounds like sixty... from his tone and given how he speaks..."
- Do you know this is definitely... weird? I believed you were much older than that... About me, in fact, you nailed it, I'm nineteen... and been cheering for Toro forever...
- Ah, I was right then. Life in the city is different, my old man has always told me...
- Well, we can use less formal pronouns, then. If you don’t mind... and unless you're making another joke...! - Stefano then exclaimed, still trying to leave a good relationship with the guy.
- Yes, if it's all right to you, of course... usually the citizens are the haughty ones towards us...
Stefano smiled. The guy was definitely out of this world.
- In any case, look, I don’t live right downtown: we are in Santa Rita, almost on the border with Mirafiori...
- Ahhh, but then you don’t live in the centre of city! And I believed...
Stefano felt a bit relieved to be no longer an "aristocrat" in the eyes of the unknown (a role that he didn’t feel much suitable for himself), but also a bit too much resized.
- But you haven’t yet told me where you live: whether next to... the fast road, to the fields in short, or in the historic centre of Orbassano...
- In the centre, right in the square, I don’t know if you know...
- Ah, yes... if I'm not mistaken over there is the limited traffic zone and...
- Zone what? Of course, the traffic here is limited... ten cars do possibly pass at all through the day... but luckily they are good customers, those!
Stefano rolled his eyes and sighed.
- What do you do for a living?
- We have a butchery - I told you about rabbits, first... we have various animals and....

The line dropped.
- You there? - Stefano said.
Nothing, his phone was silent.
Without even thinking twice, he clicked on the green button and dialled the same number, but...
- Hi Stefano! What a sweet break... from studies!
She was Anna.
Stefano suddenly shook as if from a dream.
- Anna! Hello I...
- Everything okay? - she asked.
- Yes, yes! I got distracted for a moment while... I was dialling your number and...
In an instant he realized that he almost didn’t remember what he wanted to say to his friend, so much he was immersed in the "mystery" of the strange interlocutor from Orbassano...
- ...were you studying?
- Yes and you?
- I was watching a little television, then... I'm keen on... reading something, and so... – he improvised.
- I have this test the day after tomorrow, and about some things I'm not sure enough. I would like to get rid of it as quickly as possible and then dedicate myself to Chemistry...
"Yeah," thought Stefano.
- Look... would you like to go out with... us, tonight or tomorrow...? - he then said, realizing that he suddenly felt an urgent need to clarify the mystery from soon before...
- Oh Stefano, but till Thursday I can’t, really: I want that test to go really well: listen, can we do it on Thursday night?
- Sure! Yes, that's fine... I've got to tell you something, that happened to me...
- Tell me, come on! - she answered.
- It's a bit... long to explain, I'll talk to you later at school...
- All right, then... see you tomorrow...! Bye Stefano!

Stefano put the phone down on the desk, to which he had approached while talking to his friend.

Anna had accepted the invitation - the last time they had seen each other in the evening had perhaps been in March... yes, more or less he remembered a pretty cool evening, even a little embarrassing because in the end it was just him, she and Umberto and Simona. But she must have liked the evening, because she hadn’t stopped looking for him, on the contrary - and his obvious fear of having made half a gaffe had vanished. Nevertheless, however, he had never invited her anymore... postponement after postponement...
Now, another meeting was scheduled.
And he was happy.
But his mind wandered, curious, on that thing of the guy on the phone...

Timidly, he dialled Anna's number again, and found her busy. And then again - and this time she answered, again, at which Stefano excused himself saying that he had accidentally put the phone in his pocket without locking the keyboard...
"Nothing" he thought.
It was obvious that there was a... contact, or something, in the lines...
Stefano put down the phone, a little disconsolate, and turned off the television previously muted and opened the book about Italian literature, to take a look at the tasks for the next day.

Then, at dinner, he turned to his father and told him:
- Dad, I need the car to go to... Orbassano... maybe tomorrow after school...
While his wife was bringing dinner to the table, Stefano's father asked him why he wanted to go there with such urgency.
- It's a strange thing, you know... it's a guy I met on Saturday in the march... I actually met him on the phone, and the curious thing is that... he basically answered me twice while I was trying to call other people... and then he says a lot of strange things: the first time I thought he was making fun of me, but now I want to understand what game he's playing...
- And he lives in Orbassano?
- Yes, he said he has a butchery in the main square...
- Ah, but I know that one! It's called... Ciliegio, I believe... Sometimes we went and buy from them when as we were going for bbqing by our friends in Piossasco...
- Ah, so it’s been there for a long time, right? - Stefano asked him, pouring the water and serving it to his parents too.
- Yes ... well, for more than twenty years, I’d say...
- Ah ... because this guy told me he’s twenty-eight and... that the butchery belongs to him...
- Maybe it was his parents’, first, you can’t be sure about this...
- No, in fact... Among the many strange things, there is this fact that he has a voice... or rather an... expression, how to say, as an old man. And then he seems to be out of time, he didn’t remember what day it was today and not even with what team Toro had played...
- Did you talk to him today? - his father asked him.
- Yes, by chance, again.
Stefano's mother inserted through the chat, a little curious but rightly alarmed.
- Stefano, you can of course decide for yourself, now that you are of age, but... I would recommend you to pay attention to strangers, especially if adult ones...
Stefano's father nodded.
- Tomorrow I don’t know what time I’ll get back... if you like, we can do that on Thursday...
Stefano suddenly remembered his appointment with Anna.
- Yes, Thursday it's better! Because in the evening I have to go and pick my schoolmate up, Anna...
His father smiled, watching his wife smile in turn.
- Then Thursday it's okay, and you’ll decide if you want us to go together or if you prefer to go there alone.
- Thanks Dad! All right! - Stefano concluded.

The highway from his father's office, and then follow the signs to the centre of Orbassano: Stefano was on the usual old Punto that day he had gone and recover at his father's firm, and now he was reaching the infamous square.
"Blue zone... so..." he said, looking for a parking meter. Then he put coins in it and applied the coupon at his car's dashboard, making it clearly visible.
He walked for a few minutes, examining all the signs and the windows. And then, at a certain point, he found the shop which his father had mentioned:
Macelleria Ciliegio (since 1946)

"Is it this one?" he wondered. There was also a telephone number on the sign, and Stefano decided to call it, just to get a confirmation.
But the voice on the other side of the cornet, however correctly presented as a "butchery", didn’t look anything like the one with which he had chatted more or less amiably in the previous days.
So he decided to enter the store.
He took a number and stood in line, even if he didn’t want to buy anything: behind the counter, a boy in his thirties and a younger girl were busy to serve customers.
At one point a lady also appeared... in short, a girl older than the other (Stefano didn’t know how to identify her).
- Your turn... - the boy told him at one point.
- Look... I was actually looking for... a... a friend, a Toro fan I met the other night in Superga and...
The guy smiled.
- Here we are all fans of Toro since forever! But I could not go there, on Saturday, because I worked till late... my father went, but I don’t know if you're looking for him... I don’t think so...
Stefano nodded his head: no, he wasn’t looking for an old person... at least according to what the guy had said...
- What is your friend's name you’re looking for? - continued the guy at the counter.
- Heck... I don’t know, because we only talked on the phone and... he didn’t tell me his name. But he said he has a butcher's shop in Orbassano...
- So... I guess I can’t help you... maybe you misunderstood... - the other answered, throwing a look a bit curious.
At that moment Stefano realized that in fact his request was a bit... strange: he didn’t know his name, he hadn’t seen it in the face...
He apologized and decided to leave.
- Thank you... yes maybe I was wrong... it doesn’t matter!
The others waved goodbye to him.

Not far from there, Stefano found a dairy and then a bakery, but no other butcher's shop; he entered the bakery and asked if there was another butcher's shop nearby, but they told him that the other two in the area were quite far from the square.
"It was the only clue I had, damn..."
The idea came to his mind to call the Yellow Pages and ask for more hints.
"Even if it's something that will cost quite a lot..." he thought to himself, considering his ever-scarce finances - even for what concerned telephone top-ups.
- Hello?
"It's him!" thought Stefano, recognising his voice.
- Hello! It's me, the Toro fan... from last Saturday. Oh, sorry, I meant, from Sunday...
But the other didn’t reply as Stefano expected...
- Hello? What are you saying? Who are you looking for?
- I'm.... I'm Stefano... we talked two days ago and then line dropped...
- I don’t know you, excuse me.
Stefano was speechless.
"But ... it's not possible: this is really crazy... it’s his same voice and..."
- Tell me, who are you looking for?
- I...
Discouraged, Stefano asked him if he was at least talking to the butcher.
- Yes, of course, this is the Ciliegio butchery: what do you want?
"This, at least!" thought Stefano. Then he started running back to the butchery he had left.
- I'm out here, but I can’t see you...
- Be more respectful at me, young man. Out here, where? What kind of house do you live in?
"Be more... No, but he's completely crazy..."
- I don’t live here... in Orbassano... I'm calling with a cell phone... - he said.
- With what?
- Listen, can you come and look out? I'm here in front of it, so we’ll clear all doubts...
- All right, wait...
Stefano heard some cornet noise leaning on something solid like a table, and then some voices and then someone picked up the phone.
- There's no one out here, as I thought: if you think you'll be doing more jokes, kid, with your "phone"...
- But no! I swear to you... I swear to you that we chatted two days ago... we talked about Toro matches against Inter and...
At those words the guy melted slightly.
- Ah, Inter! Oh yes, it will be the highlight match, probably... but there's still time. And I'm sure we'll arrive with a good margin of points over them and all the others...
Stefano was more disoriented than ever.
- But... hasn’t it already been played? You told me...
- I? But apart from the fact that you and me have never talked to each other... wait till I take the A Series calendar... that's it... absolutely not, we're in March and we're playing against Bologna on Sunday.
Increasingly disoriented, Stefano returned to sit on one of the benches in the square.
It was quite obvious that there was something very strange at stake.
"Juventinian, looks like he isn't - that's for sure, he wouldn’t talk like that... he's not kidding me, so... And he's not totally crazy, because he talks about things... circumstantial, at least it seems..."
- ...and, damn it, now that you make me think about it, going to the Fila on Sunday will be a shed because it's almost Easter and...
At these words Stefano jumped.
- What did you say, the Fila? Filadelfia stadium? But what are we talking about, a bunch of young kids from the summer groups? Ahh now I understand!
He felt suddenly encouraged, in having solved the mystery.
But it wasn’t like that...
- Listen, kid, Filadelfia is the stadium belonging to Toro, or the Great Torino as it is called, and it will be forever!
Suffocating a half sob of sadness, Stefano spontaneously commented - yes, it was... until that damn May 4th...
- How's that? What did you say? You there...?

Stefano realized that the line had gone again.
He was about to press the green button again, then stopped.
It was okay that that "show" was interesting, but it was also becoming a bit ridiculous. That is, it wasn’t going anywhere...
"And who knows how much is it costing me this call, by the way..." he thought, spontaneously composing the number that should have reported him the remaining credit.

- Hello?
Stefano heard again the "usual" voice...
"Here we go again... what a nightmare..."
- Hello...
- Ah, it's you... we haven’t introduced yet... my name is Eugenio...
"Now you’re back to informal and you seem to agree we do know each other from... a lot? What is it?" thought Stefano.
- Look... yes, my name is Stefano, but... you do have some problems...!
- Why? - the other answered.
- We talked a moment ago and you wanted me to be more respectful in words, and you didn’t remember that we had already chatted on Saturday... that is, in short, last Sunday... and that we discussed about the match against Inter...
- What? What are you saying? We talked yesterday, you called me at about... yes, in short, in the evening... by the way, can you give me your number so that, in short, it’s always you calling me and I don’t find it right...
"He's crazy, this is quite clear. Mom is right when she says to be careful..."
- Hello? Are you there? Since you live in Santa Rita, if you want we can go and see the game with Genoa, on Sunday... you are close to the stadium... lucky you!
"And again..."
- The stadium... Filadelfia, isn’t it?
- Of course, what else?
- I don’t know, I'd say the Delle Alpi, for example... - Stefano answered, a little ironic.
- I don’t know it, and I don’t know that Toro is playing its games in other stadiums...
- Of course, of course... Genoa, did you say? Too bad that Genoa is in A Series...
- Sure! And in what series should it be? I still remember well the blow from a few months ago...
- Oh, they're fine where they are, it’s us who are the problem...
There was a moment of silence.
- Friend, don’t make jokes like this, it's in bad taste: if you're insinuating that the Toro will go in B Series... you're not a true fan of the Garnets...
- I am not insinuating, I would like things to be different but...
- We are one of the strongest teams in the world and we are preparing to win our seventh championship... and it’s at least improbable that the Toro will ever end in B Series!
Stefano paused to make some math... while mulling over the words from "Eugenio".
Mathematics didn’t make him crazy, but at least to deal with the Toro’s won championships was fine.
"So... when I was a kid we had six plus the revoked one... then they became seven..."
"He should say eighth, or ninth... if only it were true, of course..."
- Why don’t you say eighth, sorry? he asked him.
The guy's answer was ready.
- Because, so... here it is, I have the flag at my hands... 1926, 1927 is the one in doubt... then the 42-43, the 44-45, the 45-46, the 46-47, 47-48 and with this one we are at seven! Seven for sure, let's say...
Stefano was hanging from the receiver waiting for a continuation...
- and...
- And what? This is already ours, as I told you on Sunday!
He wondered for a moment about asking him that question, now obvious, would have offended him too much...
Then he did it.
- Excuse me, what year do you think you’re living in?
In fact there was a pause.
- I "believe", dear kid, I live in 1949, to be precise it’s May 2nd and it is Monday, one day past workers' holiday...
"Oh my God..." thought Stefano.

He was speechless.
- Are you still there? Did I say something wrong? Hello?
- Yes, I'm here... - Stefano answered.
- So, are you coming on Sunday? Come on, leave me your home number so I'll call you back...

Stefano stood up.
- Yes, I’ll be there on Sunday, of course. But you won’t find Toro in Filadelfia stadium... and not on Sunday... because we’re playing in Rome, Saturday. May 10th, to be precise. 2003...
This time he was the other to remain silent.
- What did you say, sorry?
- Which part, sorry?
- The year... and also the rest...
- We're in 2003. At least I am, you and your butcher’s look like not... since I'm here in front of it and you can’t see me...
- Where are you, sorry? You didn’t tell me! But are you calling me from one of the houses on the square? But didn’t you say that you lived in Santa Rita...? Do you have any relatives here?
"At least now you remember..." thought Stefano.
- I told you a while ago... in our other phone call...
- I don’t remember. What house are you in?
- I'M NOT IN A HOUSE! I'm talking with a little phone... a cell phone, in short! Do you know them?
- A... what?
"Nothing..."
He felt he was losing patience.
- A portable phone. Listen, it's funny that you pretend to be a nostalgic Toro fan... you're probably much older than you state and... you live in your own world and you enjoy bringing there those who contact you... and I’m not denying that I was pleased... at least in your world Toro is not the... depression from these years...
- But I'm not joking at all! Listen, Stefano, did you say you're in front of my butcher's shop?
- Yup...
- Then come in! I am here, at home, but I’ll come and open up immediately... it's still early, there's an hour time but there are no problems...
- It's already open... I came in a while ago: there are a boy and a girl, and a lady serving clients... and nobody has your voice. You are making a fool of me...
- I can assure you it's not like that... Look, you said you're in... 2003? So what would this be... some kind of time travel?
Stefano smiled spontaneously.
He recalled the first time he had talked to Eugenio: the cell phones turning crazy, messages coming and going, overloaded lines, radio waves...
"And if it really...?"
- Oh God, I don’t know! I don’t believe in these things... paranormal, I'm not a fan of science fiction and that stuff there... you do?
- Not particularly... but... it just occurred to me...
- Yeah... I'm about to graduate... high school science, and I take English literature to the examination...
- Interesting! I mean, I don’t know a lot but... I like England...
- Good. Come to think of it, do you know what's strange? That the remaining credit of my mobile phone is not decreasing, when I talk to you ...
- What is a remaining credit? - Eugenio asked him.
- It's... it's the money you can still use in order to call... you make a top-up that lasts for some time and you use it to call...
- So you swear you’re in front of my butcher shop, standing with a phone in your hand? And how big is it? It will be cumbersome...
Stefano smiled.
- No, no, it's as big as a... a telephone from home... it's quite practical...
- Crazy. And I can hear you well too! If it were true, it would really mean you've been talking to me from... what year? 2003?
- Yup...
- And Toro... is it in disgrace? Even in B series?
- Yeah: we receded three weeks in advance... crap.
- But it's the first time that happens, I hope. In fifty years, it can happen... we won dozens of championships, right?
- Er, no... the last one was in 1976... and in the last few years we've been more in B Series than in A Series...
- But that's not possible! What happened? With such a big team...

It was rare that Stefano was moved: it had happened sometimes to him, reading Shakespeare and then Coleridge - rather than Italian fiction or poetry - and hence his passion for English literature and the desire to take it to maturity.
With a husky voice, after a pause he replied:
- ...the big team crashed against the hill, on their way back from Portugal, on May 4th... 1949...

1949.
In one corner of his mind, Stefano recalled that Eugenio insisted that he was living in 1949.
"May 2nd..."
Eugenio was silent.
And so was Stefano.
At a certain point he resumed talking.
- Are you still there, Eugenio?
- Yes ... I'm thinking about...
- Did you say that... is it May 2nd at your place?
- Yes. The charity match with Benfica has been scheduled for weeks, long ago we were worried that it could fatigue the players in sight of season end, but given how things are, now... there seem to be no problems... It will be held on Tuesday... tomorrow...
- They'll never come back. It’ll be the end of it all.
They remained silent again for a few long moments.
- That's why... Superga, you mentioned the other time.
- Yes - answered Stefano.
- The plane crashed... that is, will crash, against the hill? How can it be?
- Human error... fog, rain... a bit of this all.
- So... did you go there to... commemorate? - Eugenio asked him.
- Yes, we do it rather enough... often, I mean: many of us go there every year, and in particular this year there was a special event, on that Saturday precisely... because the current management is worth it. I mean, it's worse than last years...
- Wow. In short, the way you describe it... it sounds true. Even if it makes me so scared that I wouldn’t want to believe a single word of what you told me.
- Listen, Eugenio, it came to my mind one thing... I saw people doing it in some science fiction movie, yes... I don’t know if I remember well but... it looked simple. At least, there it was...
- Do tell me.
- Exit your shop and describe what is there... objects, street furniture, in short... piles, manholes, signs... and try to make some sign, a writing... I mean, if this conversation is real, I should see your writing appear... maybe a little aged or rusty...
- Ah, interesting! Let's see... wait for me to grab the phone... luckily it has a long enough thread, you know... here at our place... and then I go... So, my shop sign... by the way, now that I think about it, if you tell me that my shop will be there in fifty years... I'm very proud of myself!
- Yes, it's here... in front of me.
- But it won’t be the one I put... this is rather rudimentary... it's not made to last a long time...
- In fact, what I can see is quite modern...
- So, let's see... the house gate? At the left of the shop... how is it?
- Metal... yes, it looks pretty old...
- Describe it to me.
- It's like a... railing, with... terminals, how to say, above and below, quite sturdy... grey painted...
- That’s it. Should I try?
- To do what?
- I'll fold one... and let’s see what happens.

Eugenio tried to bend the final parallelepiped part of one of the rods, but with his hands alone he couldn’t get any results. So he went to take a pincer and flexed it a little to the right. Then he returned to the phone.
- Done: did anything change?
- Where was it? Stefano asked.
- The last rod on the right, towards the window... I bent it a little...
- I see nothing... different...
- I get it. Wait for me again...

Eugenio went back to the gate and slowly began to bend the end of the shaft back and forth until it broke.
And, with immense amazement, Stefano suddenly saw the top of the shaft change - from a cubic shape to some kind of arrow.
- Yup! It happened... it changed...! - exclaimed Stefano, hearing his friend return to the phone.
- What happened?
- It changed: first it was a kind of parallelepiped... and now it's like a rhombus, an arrow - different from the others!
- Shocking! So... it's all real... I broke it and...
- ...yes, someone has fixed it, in the future... but anyway before... today, for me... in my past...

The idea materialised in Stefano's mind at the time.
- Eugenio... you can... you have to stop them from taking that plane...
- Huh? And how am I supposed to do this?
- I don’t know but... you must succeed!
- I don’t know anyone among the managers... I go and watch the matches but I'm not even too tied to the team... you know, my job...
- You must do it! I don’t know how this conversation is even possible but... you have to do it...
Stefano heard rustles in the loudspeaker.
- Can you hear me? Did you hear me, Eugenio?
The line dropped.

Stefano paused to look at the railing terminal, fascinated.
Only the phone ring brought him back to reality.
"It's almost seven o'clock!" he thought, seeing her number on the phone.
- Stefano! Is everything alright? Where are you? - his mother asked him.
- Yes... yes mom, all right! Yes, I'm still in Orbassano... yes, no, we didn’t meet but we talked because... he wasn’t in the shop... - he said.
He reassured her, picking up the apprehension in his voice quite clearly, which was also confirmed by the phrase "I've been trying to call you for more than half an hour".
He took another look at the railing and then walked briskly to the car.
"I didn’t want to eat late, ‘cause later I have to go pick Anna up..." he said to himself. Then, suddenly realizing that he had left the car parked for a much longer time than he had foreseen, he prayed that they had not fined him...
"Puff, it went well...!"
And within minutes he reached home.
He went in breathless and quickly greeted his father and his mother who were listening to the regional news in the kitchen, and then went to wash himself.
And, in the shower, he paused to reflect on how he was supposed to tell that crazy story to his parents...
"...and to Anna..."
...and maybe to his other friends.
"No!"
In a moment he said to himself that he shouldn't have discussed it with anyone.
"How can I tell them about it? It's... such a crazy story! I'm... in communication with a guy... from 50 years ago... "
Yet the terminal of the railing had changed before his eyes, while he was on the phone with that guy...
"A journey through time... no, it's not a real journey, or maybe yes... it's our voices travelling..."
He finished drying himself up and put on a pair of shorts and joined his parents.
- Sorry mom! - he said smiling, and then sat down at the table with his father.
- So? Did you meet this garnet friend? - he asked him.
Stefano, who had not yet focused on a definitive "strategy", answered him by remaining a little vague.
- Nope, Daddy: he wasn’t in the store, so I tried to call him back and he told me he had to go around for commissions... He told me to try and wait for him, but in the end he didn’t come back and I went away...
- But... - intervened his father, but Stefano continued: - for sure it is confirmed that in that store they’re all Toro fans, and very passionate!
- Yeah, I remember... there's a poster on the wall on the left, right?
- Yup! Like the one in my room... - Stefano answered.
The poster portraying the "heroes"... the Fallen of May 4th.
A thought... the same thought that had come out in the afternoon... crossed his mind.
"And if it were true? And if it were... possible to prevent that tragedy?"

- So, are you going out with Anna tonight? - his mother asked him, shaking him from those thoughts.
- Huh? Ah, yes, yes... I have to pick her up at nine and... yes, I think I’ll be in time for it... - he answered.
- It looked like you were forgetting about it... - she said again, smiling.
- No, mom, no...
The three began to dine. Stefano went back to mulling over what he’d have to say to his parents... he was bothered to lie or conceal things.
Only he hadn’t yet found a... version sounding plausible.
And then there was no time, not that evening, at least
"Time... curious..." he smiled to himself. "Actually it's really time that I should talk about..."
He realized that, in addition to being tight with the times to go and get his friend, maybe even that story... absurd there, was tight in time...
"...Eugenio said it's May 2nd... where he stands..."
Mentally he noted that the next day, in addition to going to speak with his English professor, he should’ve tried again to talk with his friend from the past.

- I go! Bye, I'll see you... later, or tomorrow... - Stefano said greeting his parents.
- Be careful... - his mother told him as always, and he nodded. He didn’t want to not respond to those recommendations, but since at least a couple of years he started to find them a bit... useless and repetitive... and so he decided to limit himself to a nod, which obviously his mother often didn’t even notice.

In about fifteen minutes Stefano had reached Anna's house: she lived shortly after the school, in a small house; the road was quite easy and free, even at peak times.
- Hello! And so? Have you finished studying? - he asked as she left the small gate.
She kissed him on a cheek and then smiled.
- Yes, and everything went great... as you saw!
In fact, at the second pause the two had met and a quite relieved Anna had told about her questioning gone perfectly.
But, as he had to admit in spite of himself, Stefano's one was more a question...
"rhetoric, yes, those things I hate!"
...because in his mind he was thinking about himself and how to tell her about Eugenio and that story over there.
They went on talking a bit, and then the conversation stopped for a moment.
- What was it, that thing you wanted to tell me...? - Anna asked at one point, and at the same time Stefano began to ask her – would you like an ice cream... maybe up at the Castle in Rivoli ?
They both laughed.
- Yup! I like it, let's go! - she answered.
So the two jumped onto the car and walked towards the nearby town.
- Well... you remember when I went to Superga, last Saturday... that thing about Toro football team...? - he started talking, hesitant.
- Ah, yes: the fans’ walk... - she said, not particularly happy that the speech was turning to football.
- Well, that night, while I was trying to call two friends of mine... which I often meet at the stadium, together with my father... a guy answered me... a bit strange...
- Did you have a wrong number? - she asked him.
- No... It was like a... contact, see...
- Ah... But, Stefano, cell phones don’t make contact: it's radio signals, and then everything is sorted by computer and...
Anna had undoubtedly a good scientific and technological knowledge.
"She's really good," Stefano thought, going over to the subjects he knew Anna would take to maturity.
- Yes, I know... or at least I knew it. Because then the same thing happened two days ago. And then again today. And in all cases I was trying to call different people, in one of the cases just you!
- Oh... well, it's weird, yes...
- But it's not ending there. Because the guy I've been talking to... already four or five times, has a way of doing... curious, that seems old or better "ancient"...
- Why? What do you mean?
- I don’t know, there was something in his way of acting that was strange, curious indeed. And so, at a certain point, he told me that... he is living in 1949!
- Sorry, what are you meaning for?
- Nothing, see: that he’s convinced of living in that year...
- So, is he crazy? Or what?

Stefano paused, exploiting the fact that he had arrived in the parking lot behind the castle. He parked his car carefully and meanwhile thought about the conversation just happened.
"Here it comes... he's crazy. And I might even look like that..."
Suddenly insecurity sacked him, and he feared he was making a bad impression to the girl.
He regretted having told everything like that, in a hurry.
- Well, I don’t know... maybe yes. But we talked a bit and, see... some things did fit...
- Well, it's not hard to pretend looking at the window... and instead being looking at an old picture, right?
- Yes, I agree upon this...
- And he's a fan too? Maybe he's mocking you...
- Well, that's what I thought too!
Anna laughed, and so did Stefano.
He decided to cut the story short and talk about something else.
- It’s strange, however, that I found myself talking to him several times, while trying to dial different numbers...
- Yes, this is true...
- Oh well... this is it, then! Ice cream or yoghurt?
- Yoghurt, yes! If it’s available, I love it! Cherry, or banana, that's good!
And so soon the two were enjoying two small cups, walking in the park in the warmth of the now advanced spring.
Stefano was pleased to have dropped that argument, even if he was still thinking about it.
"It's not easy to explain and, I think, even less to believe. Better to overlook... at least for now..."
Naturally, within himself, he absolutely wanted to get to the bottom.
They sat on a bench, slightly dimmed by the light of the little square.
- Tomorrow I'm seeing the teacher for my... research
- Do you think it's going well? - she asked him.
- Yes, I’d say yes. Now I only have one question left and maybe a check in class, and then I can concentrate on that.
- I'm sure something will come out!
- And you? Did you decide, then, whether to try it too...
- No... no. I will just do what needs to be done, trying to make it well. I tried to think of some ideas or hints to be inserted as a special project... but then I lack the inspiration, and in the end I'm afraid of not being able to do the basic things.
- I think you would be able to... - Stefano said, resting the spoon in the cup and pausing to look into her eyes.

Anna stopped too, the spoon still in her mouth, looking at him. Then, with a gesture that caused an involuntary heat wave in Stefano, she returned to take another spoonful and placed it on his tongue.

- Between us, the best one is you. But I will do everything to not let you... go too far! - she said then, and Stefano smiled.

"I have to kiss her... now..."
So Stefano thought.
He kept on staring at her, and the bond lasted for long, interminable seconds.
But he didn’t move, and at one point Anna smiled and took another spoonful of ice cream.
Stefano realized he had lost the moment.
Disappointed, but somewhat happy with what he had read in Anna's eyes, he quickly sought for a new topic of conversation.
“a woman holds her tongue, knowing silence will speak for her”
The words echoed in Stefano's mind.
He paused for a moment. No, it was not Shakespeare, not even Keats, but simply a Norwegian pop band whose record he'd bought recently.
"Very true, as I always believed..."
Then he focused on the present.
- Anna, have you already thought about what to do on your holidays next summer?
- After two or three weeks with my parents, you mean? - she answered with a slightly resigned smile.
Then she continued: - Not that it annoys me, but... since we "are maturing", right? I wanted to go away with Monica and Laura... I told you maybe...
- Yes, yes, I remember...
They had talked about it at least a couple of times in the latest few months. Stefano for his part had planned two weeks at the seaside in the Marche along with two of his classmates: of course, after the "necessary" week with his family, the which thing he didn’t mind but...
"...the umbilical cord should be cut little by little."
They wanted to have fun and wanted to meet many girls.
Oh dear, Stefano was not really the "playboy from the disco", but he liked to have fun and along with those two friends he was feeling very well.
"In theory... no, but she could never come with us..." Stefano thought about the possibility of asking Anna to go with them.
He decided that, somehow, this was giving him more time to recover... what he hadn’t done a few minutes before.
"We'll relax the whole summer, and then we'll meet again in September..."
Anna went on speaking.
- Now it seems that both Monica and Laura can’t come, because Moni must go on holiday with her parents in July... compulsorily, and Laura instead in August. In addition, both of them have been told that they won’t be allowed more than a week alone... I thought that my parents were old-fashioned but those two...
Stefano smiled.
- Boys have more freedom, undoubtedly!
- There are times when I hate you, Stefano! - she answered, and then as if she understood that she had made an implicit admission she wouldn’t want to let go like that, ran a hand through her hair and settled her blue dress on her legs.
Stefano smiled again and took her right hand for a few moments, then let it go.
Anna looked at him again for a few moments, then she forced herself, taking refuge in the thought that "for sure he hadn’t understood the message I unintentionally sent..."

So they chatted for another hour, and then Stefano drove her home.

He was on the bus that would’ve taken him to school in about fifteen minutes, and his stop was approaching.
Firmly convinced to return to Orbassano in the afternoon, even if by coach it would’ve taken “a lifetime" (asking his father again for the car for "that special reason " just wasn’t an option), meanwhile Stefano had already tried to dial a pair of random numbers on his mobile, hoping to talk to Eugenio.
But in both cases he hadn’t been successful.
He preferred to avoid dialling Anna’s or Marcos’ numbers, just to not to look like crazy or obsessive: but he started doubting that the "contact" manifested itself only in those cases above.
He had to temporarily file the matter as he entered school and sat down in front of his English professor's desk.

By little time after midday Stefano was returning home.
At the fourth unsuccessful phone call - and after having worked on various excuses for the impromptu interlocutors - Stefano heard the familiar voice again.

- Ah, here you are!
- Hi Eugenio... how are you?
- There are a lot of people in the store and I don’t know if I can stay longer on the phone, otherwise I'll have to face my father...
- Excuse the question but... given the circumstances, what day is there for you?
- Ah, right. It's May 3rd and it's morning... mid-morning. And at your place?
- Friday, May 9th... we talked yesterday, so at least this time we... went at the same speed, let's say.
- Yes. Listen, I reflected all night on what you said and...
- Yup?
- I don't know if it's true, what you told me about the return flight of the team... from Portugal...
- I can only confirm it...
- ...sure, it isn’t much harder to believe than these phone calls we are making. Ah, by the way it occurred to me that you must have called me more than a month ago but... I didn’t recognize you, and instead maybe you had already talked to me... what a mess...
- No, in fact... I remember: it happened to me yesterday... However, that image from the railing of your store turned into my head all night long.
- Here it’s still broken... fortunately no one has noticed... these days all the money goes into the store and the extra costs are reduced to a minimum... let alone extraordinary repairs!
Stefano smiled.
- And you thought about...
- Yes, I also talked to my father and then with a guy who is often in the shop with us, one very precise, he comes every Tuesday. He told me that the team left on Sunday, by plane, and will come back tomorrow after the match. They’re playing today afternoon...
- everything is going as it should... - thought Stefano, who despite not being a fan of football matches remembered well some dates and some "significant" details.
- So it seems. Listen, I can’t stay further on the phone, and I wanted to tell you that I don’t know how to do it... just talking to the players, the managers, the organisers or anybody who can influence the return trip...
- Goddamn! But it's important, we can’t let it...
Thinking "it's an important thing" of a football match was something that Stefano would hardly have thought of happening to him, in his life. But Toro, the Great Torino, was a different thing.
- I know! Do you think I don’t know it, Stefano? - Eugenio answered him.
- And then...
There was silence.
- Hello? Hello?
The line had dropped, again.
- Fuck...
Stefano tightened his phone, then returned into himself and thought that it was not the case to destroy that object.

He arrived home and had lunch with his mother - his father was hardly at home for lunch.
- You have a dark look, Stefano... is there anything wrong?
- No, nothing, mom...
- With your professor, everything is OK?
- Yes, it's all right: I've pretty much finished the first part and we're starting to set up the second one, you know, comments and considerations...
Stefano's mother smiled. Then she returned mentally to when she saw her son at breakfast and told himself that it couldn’t be something happened the night before, because a few hours before his child had looked serene...
For his part, Stefano tried to finish his lunch quickly but without attracting her attention...
- Mother, I go to my room to rest a little...
His mother nodded.

He tried again to compose some random numbers.
Unsuccessfully.
Then he also tried to call Anna by masking his number... but as it was normal she herself answered, and he had to hang up in spite of himself.
- Nothing... and time is flowing, inexorable...
A little knocked down, Stefano laid down on the bed.
He began to reflect on the stages of this "story" that now completely absorbed him.
"But what do I think I am doing? Changing history, like they say in the movies?"
He felt a bit stupid, and very small in front of that "statement". By comparison, the English literature essay and the whole graduation was a joke.
However, he tried to line up the steps: he got up, took a sheet from an A4 notepad on the desk and went back to the bed.
"We talked the first time last Saturday: here it was 3rd and at him it was the first of May... afternoon. Then again on Tuesday... that is, here it was Tuesday and it was Sunday night over there. Then the third time... here it was Thursday and at his place it was Monday... ah no, wait! There was also that time... I think, yes, always when I was in front of his shop, then yesterday, and he didn’t remember anything about our conversations... because he said it was March... then this morning he confirmed...
"What a mess!" thought Stefano. Then he completed his notes.
"So, today that here’s Friday and at his place it's Tuesday, the 3rd. It seems that recently... time is flowing synchronised..."
So less than one day was left, if this were the case.
"But is it really possible for this to happen? And then... why me? Maybe I'm really just going crazy..."
Stefano smiled at the idea that he had never used drugs, not even "marijuana" or "pot" as he knew it was being called by... someone he knew.
"So I’m not having any hallucinations!"
"And if I could contact him again, a few days in advance? If he could have prevented the departure, if they were still in Turin, perhaps it would have been easier..."

He reapplied for some random numbers, including that one of the Ciliegio Butcher’s - as it was shown in 2003.
"What an idiot, I didn’t think about it before..."
But it didn’t work. And, considering the various calls made, he had already let precious Euros go.
"Maybe I’ll never hear from him again..." he said to himself "and farewell to this all..."
He thought that basically it was a subject that concerned physics, and that it was appropriate to talk about it with his physics teacher.
"Or with Anna ... after all, she is passionate about those matters..."
But he was skeptical.
The next day it would’ve been a Saturday and go looking for a professor, as feasible, was a bit complicated.
"And then, what shall I tell him, anyway?"
He let himself go back to the bed.
Then, after half an hour, he decided it was worth trying to go back to Orbassano.

He changed his shirt, put his sneakers on and, after quickly greeting his mother, left the house.
And, after about forty minutes by bus, he was back in Orbassano central square.
He stood about twenty feet from the window and dialled the butcher's number.
- Hello?

The voice was not Eugenio's, but Stefano decided to try again to ask.
"I was stupid, maybe another of the family answers me and..."
- Eugenio, you say? I'm sorry, there's nobody here by that name...
- Ah...

At the second attempt, however, the same young voice of just before - that Stefano then remembered to be the one he had heard the day before on that occasion when he had talked with the shopkeepers "from the present" - said, a little altered: - hear, unless you're looking for my grandfather Eugenio, there’s really no one here with that name!
Stefano swallowed.
"Oh my God... he's his grandfather!"
Another piece of the puzzle was fine, he thought, with a little anxiety.
- Ah... oh yes, actually I was looking for him and...
- But what would be the reason? In any case, my grandfather died two years ago...
Stefano gulped again.
"Oh hell!"
- I... excuse me... no, nothing, I'm sorry... - he said, panicked.
He made up some numbers, in his mind.
"Twenty-eight... seventy-eight... eighty, in short. In any case, he didn’t die young, at least..."
"Damn... hell ... I'm talking to someone who's dead…" he said in a low voice, then he assured himself the call was over and put his phone in his pocket.
He turned away from the butcher, scared.
Then he tried to calm down: after all, everything was normal... an elderly person was dead...
"Yes, but I spoke to him this morning... and he was alive... and young..."
He breathed deeply, then pulled out the phone again and dialled a random number.
- Hello?
- Hello ... is that you?
The voice sounded like Eugenio's.
- Oh hello. Now we're closing and I'm more calm, I'm sorry for this morning...
- Nothing, nothing, I can understand... Listen, I...
He realized that he was about to tell him about the last phone call, and stopped at last moment.
"I don’t think I should tell him that part..."
- Yes, I know what you want to tell me. There is a possibility that tomorrow morning I can contact someone from the team through another shop customer...
- And today?
- It's almost seven o'clock...
- Ah... here it is only four o'clock. But the day?
- Still the 3rd...
- At least this.
Stefano smiled.
- What did you... mean to tell him? Or maybe you already told him?
- Look, Stefano... I don’t know yet. This gentleman is quite rich and knows a lot of people in Turin: today I met him, and when I recognized him, I said that I would have been very pleased to have a memory from the game with Benfica... ah, for the record we won four to three...
- Yes, I know... - Stefano commented.
- Oh right ... I should’ve asked you, maybe I could have been looking smart against my family... well, I said...
Stefano smiled again, as a whole train of unclear thoughts made its way into his mind: "sports results... already written... meh..."
- ...this gentleman is often around with the presidents... both from Toro and Juve... we came to talk about the game and then I asked him about that thing. I had to insist a bit, so much that my father even scolded me...
- I understand you, yes...
- And, in short, I have to call him in the morning. But I don’t know how to tell him that he must convince those people over there not to catch that flight... and in fact I don’t even know if he would have the power...
- Listen, why don’t you call directly in Lisbon? See if you find the team, say there's a bomb, something!
There was a moment of silence.
- Look, Stefano... I guess that from where you’re talking, you can call all over the world at no cost... and by just pressing a button... but here things are a bit different: you have to contact the telephone company and ask for the number... which of course I don’t know and it isn’t on the phone's directory... and the full operation is quite expensive...
- Yes... but for the expense it could be worth it...
- Will you explain it to my family?
Stefano suppressed a thought that was finding his way through his mouth: "I did it a while ago, I can do that again..."
- I don’t know what else to say. I just wish you could do it... we could do it...

The normal background noise of the phone call ceased, and Stefano saw that line had dropped.
He immediately tried again to make that number, and then others, but without success.
"I've got to top-up my phone..."
And after a few minutes, he received a call: he was a classmate asking him about the lessons for the following day.
In the meantime, it was almost six o'clock pm: Stefano was sitting on a small wall in the square, just like the day before.
So he decided to walk towards the bus stop, dialling for the last time the number of the butchery, but getting only a busy signal in response.
He definitely wanted to talk about it with his parents.
"No, I can’t do that..."
And then, what would it be for?
"I should intervene on Eugenio... but how?"
He remembered that his parents were or at least had been customers of the butcher's shop in Orbassano years ago. So maybe...
"...yes, maybe they met Eugenio, but what good was it if it was ten or twenty years ago? It was still after... Superga... "

He arrived home and had time to wash and sit down and watch the news with his mother, before his dad came home and everyone could start eating dinner.
Stefano realized he was too quiet and so he tried to start some talk, and he began talking about his essay.
His father seemed satisfied: even if the subject chosen by his son was not exactly what he would’ve imagined for him, in general, however, he didn’t mind. And then he had always let him choose the best for himself, and over the years he had seen his trust rewarded.
At a certain point, however, the TV image of a schoolgirl on a trip and, within the group, of two girls dressed in garnet... reminded him of his concern.
He went back to mulling with himself, and luckily his parents began to discuss some news story.
They finished their dinner and Stefano paused to watch a further news program - something his father did often but he himself not.
Then he went to his room, catching only a glimpse of a glance that his parents exchanged in seeing him rather taciturn.

He turned his computer on and opened the usual chat.
Most of the usual friends were there and were organising things to do in the evening, but he wasn’t thinking to go out: after all he had already been out on Thursday and then he had other things on his mind.
Suddenly the idea flashed through him.
"How comes I didn’t think about it before? I can find the phone numbers, and other information about that flight... and then tell Eugenio..."
The enthusiasm lasted rather little, however, considering the little time left and how difficult it was contacting his interlocutor.
But it was worth looking for that information.
The sites were more or less the same... the history of Great Torino, the Annals of Football...
Stefano tried to do more specific research, focusing on the day, on the individual people who had died on that tragic occasion, even on the airports involved.
"Here... there is something... no: it's the numbers of... flight, yes, I think... and then there are the links to the Lisbon airport... wait, then here it says that they stopped in Barcelona..."
"Yes, but the data from the airports are those from today... they are useless. Anyway, I can try to mark them..."
Then, a little annoyed, he snorted "there is no information on where they lodged, and even on the relatives of those... who are there: at least one could try to contact them and..."
"Nothing, these researches are not helping me. I need books about this subject... Maybe... in the library, yes! I should have thought about it before, I was stupid!"
Of course, if he had had more time available...
"I'm at school tomorrow morning and I can try and look in the library there. And then as soon as I finish I’ll run to Villa Amoretti and..."
He had the idea of trying to make another phone call in the hope of communicating to Eugenio the few additional information he had found.
He approached the window because he didn’t want his parents to hear him anyway.
He made a couple of random numbers: the first simply replied "he was wrong", while the second one to the question "is there Eugenio" replied in a annoyed way "it is four o'clock in the night, gosh!"
"Damn it, it was him! Or rather, his family..." Stefano said to himself, who had recognized the same "obsolete" tone in that voice.
Then he thought back to what the guy had told him... "four o'clock at night"
"So now we are going hand in hand... almost, at least: this afternoon it was a few hours later and even now... But this is a problem, it means that we have even less time available."