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Tom



Ps6mi@aol.com


 

Called under the flag

   "Camillo, seek TOM, we must leave".
    When it did not rove in the close streets, it was in its reign: via ZAMAGNA of which he was the uncontested king and where there was our pork-butchery. All the dogs which passed by there, were to accept the inspection: the odor of each one was the identity paper. The attitudes which they adopted during this ritual were revealing of their age, character, culture, courtesy. Young dog bent down abruptly on the front legs and rebounded quickly calling it with the play. The females always finished, except particular cases, by a soft north wind, nose against nose. They separated, TOM was going to fix his print of owner of the district on the nearest post. The meeting with a potential rival was meant by the going up of the hair on the back; this indicated that the ritual was not accepted in total tender. The capacity of nerves control allowed a quiet separation. After the credentiels exchange it moved away while turning,time to time, the head, while TOM took again the posts marking. The abrupt refusal started the brawl: propelled in dust the imprudent one finished the meeting by a ashamed escape.
    TOM slept in front of the store. With the soft rays of the sun of Mars, it accepted, lowering the ears and containing its eyes, the caresses of people who passed.
    "Come TOM, we comes out with dad".
    Attached to the right handle of the tricycle, TOM trailed our vehicle vigorously. Dad, sitted on the saddle, guided it and both were often looked at in quiet and trustful agreement. Me inside the workload, I felt safe. Tom passed, announcing his presence by barkings, in the medium of the bicycles, Trams, rare cars in times of war. The service where dad was to go, was in Palazzo Marino, vis-a-vis Piazza della SCALA, in full center of Milan. Via MANZONI, traversed by many lines of Trams, crossed it on the way which connected piazza CAVOUR to Piazza CORDUSIO. This way was an inevitable node for the trams which connected the various parts of the periphery while passing in full centre town.
    The frontage of Scala, the central part being advanced towards the place, leaves, on its right-hand side and its left, two zones at the shelter of the traffic: in the left corner my father stopped the tricycle. "Tom remains lying and is of good guard for the tricycle; do not move and do not make stupidities with the bicycles! Camillo, remains with him, I will return quickly!"
    After half an hour, Tom started to be agitated, and I had great difficulty to make it remain lying: the attraction of the passing bicycles was increesing. Its protests with the unjust impositions started to appear by barkings which became sharper as time passed. The more it was agitated, the more I retained it by the chain; the more I retained it, the more it was agitated. It was conscious that I would have been unable to retain it, him who once, responsible for a half ton of goods, while taking by surprised my father, had reversed the tricycle.
    A motor bike passed dangerously beside us. Tom rose, furious, and launched out of all his forces against the attacker. He trailed the wavering tricycle, like myself; after a few meters it was reversed; TOM continued the tracking until to bring the whole in the medium of scoff; then it stopped by looking at the enemy who moved away towards via Tommaso GROSSI.
    One hour had passed, my father had not returned yet. The trams were complétement blocked. The chain, which connected TOM to the tricycle whipped the air. I made stunt-flyings to prevent it while TOM moved quickly to prevent the police officers from approaching. Around us a circle of German soldiers. With each projection of the police officers TOM answered with extreme strength by pushing back them. TOM defended what for him was more expensive, his tricycle and me. With each retirement of the police officers, German howled by supporting TOM in his combat.
    The delay of my father was with unforeseen administrative difficulties. It entered the medium of crowd and of a dry order any action of TOM stopped. A police officer, pen with the hand started to write the verbal lawsuit. The face of my father was not at all merry. When the statement was written its eyes scanned alarmed the piece of paper which was presented to him. A hand interposed to take it. It was a German officer. He looked at my father fascinated by the performances of TOM. He wanted it at once. "Not" known as my father, "I am wounded First World War; it is my assistance, my dear friend, the friend of my children; it is only with its assistance that I can return at home with the loads of marchandises". The officer listened in silence, it put the statement in his pocket, it greeted my father militarily and from went away.
    One loved Tom and it had to be put safe from a danger immèdiat. Already three years earlier, during the first days of the air incursions, the iron curtain of the store had been inserted under the pressure of the explosions. Tom, left the store, had remained outside under the rain of bombs. During two days and two nights we had re-examined it more. When we thought of having lost it for always it returned to the house in a pitiful state. While remembering that one thought of hiding it in my uncle, other side of Milan, where it had a coal deposit. That was done as fast as possible.
    The officer was in a hurry to have TOM, indeed the following day we recûmes a chart of the German command mobilizing it so that it serf under the German flag.
    The bombs fell now the every day; an escape at the time of an attack was undeniable.
    Work to provide the store was more painful. The absence of TOM was felt. For my father who had been wounded with the legs it was a true suffering.
    The allies had from now on such air supremacy which they could allow to attack constantly. The exclusively night incursions were a distance memory. During our races, when the sirens of alarm howled to invite to take refuge, we approached the pavement, my father left his cigarette and we remained, the nose in the air, to observe the aerial combats. Once at Piazza Piemonte we had remained in full medium for better seeing. We were not the strategic objective that the planes sought, but that did not prevent with a policeman from giving to a fine to us not to be put us at the shelter. In any event, safe from what?. People survived in a strange way, others died..... died quite simply.
    One day, whereas, I was at the school, the sirens howled. One brought back for us to the cellar which was reinforced by beams. In the school, there was a section of the German command. During the air incursion a bomb fell close to the school and the beams fell. When one went up, my father was there to bring back for me to the house. I lived with five hundred meters approximately of the school "Luigi CADORNA". During this way, drawn by my father to advance more quickly, my eyes looked at gigantic flames and the black smoke which rose in the direction of ISOTTA FRASCHINI. This day there disappeared the factory from the most beautiful cars of the time, they were the cars of the Kings. People survived in a strange way: this day there a lady was whipping eggs in its kitchen with the 5éme stage; it was found whipping eggs in via MAR JONIO in the medium of the street after that a bomb touched its building. The death arrived where she wanted in an atrocious way. The same day always leaving the same school a child who had not arrived yet at his place before following alarm was put at the shelter under a carriage and his father extended on him to protect it from the glares. At the end of the attack the desperate father realized that his child had been killed by a glare which had touched it while passing to the strong current ground.
    In weekend, we were going to return visit to TOM. Of exile particularly was it to like its place. It had in the same court a friend, DIANA, the white she-wolf of uncle CELESTINO and full with cats to be continued. Since its arrival the fantastic agreement with it, the ability that they had to establish together of the traps to the cats had become so effective, which those did not dare any more to show.
    The life of every day was an alternation between a life of peace and a life of war. April fifteen, 1945 was the day of my first communion and it is the only thing which I remember. The previous day, saturdays, we had confessed ourselves and later I had returned in the priest because there was something which I had omitted, by pure distraction, of him to say. The afternoon of the fifteen one had made photographs all together with the parish. This day there it was as if the war did not exist any more.
    Ten days, only ten days after, April twenty-five, 1945 a young person who had left to work, returned with the bicycle while shouting that in the center of MILAN one fought: this day there all ITALY of the North, that which was under the mode of SALO, had raised itself against the German invader. The afternoon of the vans passed on piazzale SELINUNTE, where finished via ZAMAGNA. Men on the external steps drew with the machine-gun. The evening one of it stopped in front of the store which my father had wanted to keep open for all those which could have needed some. These men came to ask us for water. I had left to look at what they had on the workload. I do not know how much time they had remained over there; I remained to look at without any feeling and I returned to reality at their start. The van carried with it a strong odor of drug and blood, blood which ran slowly while carrying small pieces of flesh.
    The engagements continued still concentrated around the places where there were centers of German and fascistic resistance. One of the more frightening places was piazzale BRESCIA, near to my school, or often I had seen passing armoured tanks TIGRE.
    The following day we crossed the city to go to recover TOM and we put around his neck a ribbon with the colors of Italy. The customers, TOM indicator, asked him while smiling if him also had left to fight on the mountains. It smiled to its manner by agitating its tail. And the life continued thus during several days. The night one felt crackling the machine-gun and the following day one saw traces of blood on the pavements and the streets: they were the ways which had brought somebody with died or in safety.
    First Friday of May, I had gone to the mass to the church of the Madonna Addolorata, near to the hyppodrome San SIRO when we intended planes to pass at very low altitude. I left quickly with my Carla sister and one was running towards the hyppodrome. There, for the first time of my life, I have the occasion to see passing, so near, of the planes: they was of DAKOTA American which passed launching supplies. At the end of the operation one of them passed very low on the track of the horses and I live for the first time American, who greeted with the hand since the door of his plain.
      A few days after, the allied soldiers entered to MILAN.

Camillo GOJ

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