La versione in lingua inglese del racconto pubblicato (in italiano) nell’antologia “Mestre Racconta 2024“, la storia di un amore giovanile, del primo amore che, come afferma il detto: “non si scorda…”
Tradotto dall’autore – Copyright: ©Paolo Giovannetti, 2024
Karin
He had returned several times to that beach on the coast but this time, at dusk, near the shore there was that rescue paddle, it was the same as it had been forty years earlier, the same place, the oars on the bends, sprinkled with wet sand on the red-white hull. He had sat watching the small foams dissolve on the shore and, like a shell pushed by a light hangover, the memory of a young love had emerged slowly, but still vividly.
Then, not yet of age, he had found a seasonal job at the reception of that campsite located in the coastal area west of the Cavallino. Earning some money was used to lighten his family of workers from the expenses of school books and for him to afford some whims. From mid-June to mid-September he alternated with other boys at the entrance bar, recording the guests’ documents and directing them to the pitches assigned to them.
The morning shift began at eight o’clock but the entrance was already open half an hour earlier to allow temporary parking for those who had travelled all night to reach that coveted Venetian coastline. They were tourists from northern Europe, already so soon, mostly Austrians, Dutch, and Germans from West Germany. A very special person was in charge of the opening: an elderly gentleman, but in excellent physical shape, who already at dawn came out of his bare-chested accommodation to wash himself outdoors at the fountain and to make loud considerations about the good times of the regime… It was not advisable to contradict him; otherwise, he threw himself into speeches worthy of a hierarch accompanied by a singular tick to the right eye. Despite this, the night watchman who disassembled did not spare him his daily mockery. For the rest, of the day, he did not cause much disturbance: pedaling fast on his bicycle he accompanied the cars to the pitches giving all the information with his impeccable German.
During the lunch break everyone went to the restaurant (including food and accommodation) where the cook, not really enthusiastic, cooked the meal for the employees during closing hours. And he remembered him as a character with sagacious jokes in a Venetian who betrayed his Sicilian origin. The break before the resumption of service was almost for everyone an opportunity for a nap in the accommodations, or for others to have some tintarella on the beach in front. A beach with very fine sand and very large: to get to the shore, at certain points, you had to do even three hundred meters. In the following years, the sea had to eat some of its width, and to limit erosion those dams made of boulders, called brushes, would be built that would break the continuity of the long walks to the distant lighthouse. During the break, he preferred to look at the sea in the shade of a pine tree, perhaps reading a few pages of a book; unlike others, he was not able to make easy approaches with the Nordic blondes basking in the sun. He liked to imagine a soft, non-invasive approach, unlike what they told in the evening, often with spicy details, his companions boasting of having conquered this or that one. He was listening to them but without particular interest or envy. It was clear that they judged him shy or complex even if they did not say it openly, indeed someone tried to encourage him to come forward that there were foreign girls who liked Italians, there were at will… He told everyone that he was a romantic who preferred a sentimental approach to a physical one. To which the head of the reception group, a boy from the province of Padua, replied with a recurring joke: “Have you seen them yet? Cossa di vol farghe discorsi in italian a quee toche de m…, che noe capisse, quee no speta altro, e vol soeo na roba e ti gà capio cossa I mean!”
It had just passed August and the campsite was beginning to empty, the departures exceeded the arrivals by now, and he, in terms of “conquests” had remained dry: he had certainly been able to admire those slender figures, with light eyes and hair in the straw-colored wind, sunbathing by the sea, with their succinct bikinis and sinuous shapes, but he had not had the courage, or rather, as he said (or thought) the right opportunity. Thus the days had slowly but inexorably shortened, and suddenly there were small gusts of a breeze that slightly lifted the sand trampled by the feet before reaching the shore. The daylight always dimmed a little more, scattering in the glitter of the rays shaving on the small waves that announced the imminent twilight. But that change, those signs would also be harbingers of novelty.
That morning in late August, on the other hand, had been quite hectic: there had been more arrivals than usual and, he had observed, almost all large cars with caravans in tow. In particular, the Germans were admired: in addition to the Mercedes, they entered the massive Opel Admiral or the Ford Taunus with a “D” plate with an entire family inside. It was natural for the guys at the reception to take a look at the photos in the passports and look for some particularly pretty girl faces and then hope for a live meeting, so he also aspired to a new acquaintance, if not adventure… For everyone then, after finishing the registration of new arrivals, there was the evening moment, usually spent at the bar, with friends, in front of the beach. But on the evening of that day he had to become special: in fact, he had decided to take a walk on the shore to enjoy the refreshing sea breeze, when not far away, he had noticed a person sitting on the rescue paddle, whose oars lay inert, stuck on the sand as if waiting for the push towards a familiar liquid. As he got closer he saw a tiny figure with his face resting on one hand, looking at the sea, it was a girl, and she looked a little younger than him.
Intrigued, he had approached her asking what her name was and what she was thinking, she had answered him in German, but then immediately in English, realizing that she did not understand the language well. The latter had to become their language to communicate feelings and passions.
He had sat next to her and she seemed to be glad to have company then she replied: “In a few days I’ll be leaving and I will see no more this lovely place…” Then she added that she was sad about it and that her name was Karin. A ray of a crescent moon had for a moment illuminated that pretty face, surrounded by a brown helmet, a few splashes of ephelides, eyes of a golden green. He told her to look up and see the starry sky that would console her, and then to enjoy all the time that remained. Then he took courage, took her hand, and invited her for a walk. An almost magical understanding had already been created between the two and without talking they walked listening only to the hangover, in the end they had left each other with a kiss.
The next day they had met during his break at the beach bar where his colleagues were winking at him. She, sitting on his lap, had told him that she was on vacation with her uncle and a brother. Her parents were separated and she had suffered for this but those days spent in that campsite had been wonderful, she loved the sun and the sea of that Venetian coast and the memory would reward her for the gloomy days she would spend in the town of Bavaria, where she lived. Now, however, her gaze was veiled with sadness for the imminent departure and also for having to separate from a sensitive Italian boy who had begun to love her.
The following days they had seen each other and he had dedicated all the time he was free to her, Karin told him about her life in her country, the school she still attended, her projects and her friendships and even if the language was not theirs, they understood each other perfectly.
They were a teenage love, delicate and at the same time passionate, and she smiled when he put a blue flower in her hair. The time together passed quickly and it was time for departure and separation. He remembered reading that “After the greetings, there is the departure. And once you’re gone, you discover the thousands of things and memories you still carry with you, tactile sensations, scents, and looks.” And it was she who left and hoped that she would bring with her those sweet moments lived together. The big car, license plate “D” had started early in the morning, they had said goodbye the night before promising to write to each other.
It was only a month later that his first letter arrived, the stamp bore the words “Deutschland”, a very sweet letter in pink paper reminded with nostalgia of the emotions experienced together and the hope of being able to see each other again the following year. She also asked for a picture of him and at the end it ended with: “my never ending love”. Karin was always in his thoughts as he studied for his Maturity Exam and the memory was sustained by their correspondence. But then for three long months no letters arrived from Germany, while he continued to write them and wondered why there were no answers. Until at the beginning of January of the following year an all-yellow envelope arrived and even inside the paper was yellow. Karin apologized for not writing earlier but there was a reason: she had spent three months in bed in the hospital where she had been diagnosed with cancer. Life prospects were a year or so. Even in her despair, she told him that she was surrounded by a thousand attentions and visits from friends who tried to alleviate her suffering but begged him “I pray you, my love” to send her a photo again and then not to write to her again. She would change her address, she would go to live in the countryside where from her bed she could have a view of the landscape.
For him, in disbelief, it had been a punch in the stomach. He had tried again to send more letters to the usual address but without an answer. Only many months later had she arrived from the family: Karin, little Karin, was no longer there.
Many years had passed, he had reread those letters and that memory of a young love, too short but so intense, had never faded. He’d gotten up and started walking to the bar. It was still open, he ordered a beer.
Le Mie Storie 