Utente:Lamigliore31/Sandbox

THE ISLAND REACHED

Another autobiographical memory, the present that becomes the past. It is the month of April, the Monday of the Holy Week and the author remembers the rites that were celebrated day by day and, in the most beautiful and ancient Roman basilicas, the ancient mosaics and the faded frescoes, gleamed in the light of lots of candles. The churches were crowded with faithful and, behind a cardinal carrying the Cross high, the choir sang "The flags of God are advancing" (pag.189).                                                                                                                  

At present, however, behind the Cross there are few people: some curious strangers, some old men and a few women who came from neighboring districts.  The days of Holy Week pass quickly and Holy Thursday arrives, the day of the Sepulchres which, for the Author, has a special meaning, because it is the day on which he met the Lord.   He did not see it, he did not hear it, he did not imagine it, and yet he walked with him side by side and, for the first time, he did not feel alone. There is He who speaks: of you, with you without words and you respond without words, because that presence, that new warmth is enough to fill your heart with happiness (page 191).                                       

Once again a return to the past, this time it is Christmas which brings him back in time, when he set up the nativity for his children who, in chorus, sang "You come down from the stars..." Now the boys are old and only the youngest son has fastly up in a hurry a melancholy nativity scene with faded houses and broken shepherds. Even the crib no longer has the sacredness of the past and is being prepared only for grandchildren and a little bit also 'for grandparents. People now, sometimes believe in God, but associate their idols with the true God, everything aspires to novelty and progress.                                                    Yet, never before as in this moment, when the religious sentiment seems to fade in the hearts of men, the Author feels the presence of the Lord beside him; he has rediscovered the faith of his childhood, he has found God and he no longer feels alone.                                                                                                                                                    

Again another return to the present: the hours have flown by, it is night and it begins to drizzle.                                                                                                                                  

The writer turns his gaxe to Heaven, to the Lord, the only companion of his solitude, and he hopes that, when his time comes, the Lord will find him ready to answer his call. At peace with himself, he finally found the island to land on.