One Year One Day

By Raffaele Crispino

This novel analyzes the conflicting aspects of the environment of the Rome film 90s ..The his characters are packed in a decisive and often dramatic, each reacting with the inner strength of which he is capable.
Their existential fragility is only a reflection of the crisis of the society of those years, which continued to this day with all its anxieties.
It is this book, then, that invites us to reflect on the problems of our time and to find possible solutions.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Raffaele Crispino
• Release date: Mar 31, 2015
• ISBN: 9781311692436

Raffaele Crispino

Raffaele Crispino was born in Frattaminore , lives in Formia ( a beautiful seaside town surrounded by mountains ) . He began writing a twenty years ago. He began with a story : The unemployed doc . For this story has won the 1st prize of the Italian Literary Club for fiction . His books range from humor to yellow up to thrillers and horror . Amateur painter , paints , mostly nudes and flowers. He loves to fish though never fails to fill the network. He worked for the railway company Trenitalia. Now retired just in time. The sun is there, the sea also and now there is also the health. Viva la vida.He published :1 " The unemployed doc ( or the art of doing nothing )A semi-serious discourse on unemployment..2 " A pizza with the Queen " ( A chat with Anita Resort Garibaldi in Caprera . A hot chocolate with Cavour to Piazza Castello in Turin . Humorous )3 " The elevator . Boston- ( a thriller you do not expect . After reading this book you will have a fear of taking any lift. )4 “Before the day starts”Crispino Raffaele è nato a Frattaminore,vive a Formia (una bella città di mare circondata dalle montagne). Ha cominciato a scrivere un venti anni fa. Iniziò con un racconto: Il disoccupato doc. Per questo racconto ha vinto il 1° premio del Club Letterario Italiano per la narrativa. I suoi libri spaziano dal umorismo al giallo fino ai thriller e horror . Pittore per passione, dipinge, per lo più nudi e fiori. Ama pescare anche se non riesce mai a riempire la rete. Ha lavorato per la compagnia ferroviaria Trenitalia. Ora è andato in pensione appena in tempo. Il sole c’è, il mare pure e per adesso c’è anche la salute. Viva la vida.Ha pubblicato :1 " Il disoccupato doc (ovvero l'arte di non fare niente)Un discorso semiserio sulla disoccupazione..2 “ Una pizza con la regina” (Quattro chiacchiere con Garibaldi nel Resort Anita a Caprera. Una cioccolata calda con Cavour a piazza Castello a Torino. Umoristico)3 " L’ascensore. Boston-( un thriller che non ti aspetti. Dopo aver letto questo libro avrete paura di prendere un qualsiasi ascensore.)4 Prima che comici il giornoCrispino Raffaele è nato a Frattaminore,vive a Frattamaggiore in provincia di Napoli . Vive a Formia. Quindi è italiano. In inglese per attraversare l’oceano. Dipinge, per lo più nudi e fiori. Ama pescare anche se non riesce mai a riempire la rete. Sfortunato? Ha lavorato per la compagnia ferroviaria Trenitalia. Ora è andato in pensione appena in tempo. Il sole c’è, il mare pure e per adesso c’è anche la salute. Viva la vida.Ha pubblicato :1 " Il disoccupato doc (ovvero l'arte di non fare niente)"Un discorso semiserio sulla disoccupazione.Per questo racconto ha vintoIl 1° premio del Club Letterario Italiano per la narrativa.2 “ Un anno,un giorno”( romanzo che analizza gli aspetti contraddittori dell’ambiente cinematografico della Roma degli anni 90.)3 “ Le interviste alla storia” (Quattro chiacchiere con Garibaldi nel Resort Anita a Caprera. Una cioccolata calda con Cavour a piazza Castello a Torino. Umoristico)4 - L’ascensore. Boston- ( un thriller che non ti aspetti. Dopo aver letto questo libro avrete paura di prendere un qualsiasi ascensore.) In attesa di traduzione in inglese5 - Prima che comici il giorno- (Quando l’assassino bussa alla tua porta)6 -Artemio il monaco- thriller una vicenda oscura7 - L'oro di Cleopatra- Un giallo? Un thriller o piuttosto una grande storia d'amore8 - Frequenza di contatto- Thriller

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ONE YEAR, ONE DAY

of

Raffaele Crispino

PUBLISHED BY:

Raffaele Crispino on Smashwords

One year, one day

Copyright © 2015 by Raffaele Crispino

*****

This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author's imagination and used fictitiously

*****

CHAPTER 1

It was hot. Roberta went to the window and opened it. After observing the scene, returned to sit on the stool with the intention to continue painting. The radio was on and the voice of the presenter invited listeners to phone. Felt she could not continue painting. So wiped her hands with a rag soaked in white spirit. She stayed in the rest position with the rag in her hands to look at what she had painted. The presenter of the local radio station gave her no respite and insistently invited listeners to call.

Phoned.

Asked to hear Sexy Sadie by the Beatles.

She waited, but her song is not heard even a note. Then she tried again to phone.

The presenter King was evasive, while Edwige apologized that she could not fulfill the request because they had in their archives this Beatles album. Roberta was a desire for failure.

She cursed, insulted, humiliated Edwige and her radio.

She had white, the album that contained the song Sexy Sadie, and could not stand that a radio had no copy. Edwige was patient, indeed asked Roberta to record some songs on a cassette album white, and bring it on the radio. So the other listeners could enjoy the music of the Beatles.

Roberta did not answer. It was too much. Hung up the phone with violence. She took off her white coat, and threw it away.

to wait

Be patient.

She thought the proposal that the stupid Edwige had dared to do. Right now with all the mess that's turned around, she would docile and good to record the songs of white: thirty songs, a good hour commitment.

Too Much.

She listened radio Mnemosin only because it had few commercial breaks, or even because the signal came loud and clear.

Roberta had failed to calm down. It was not just the case of paint, also because of the heat.

Passed her handkerchief on the sweaty neck.

Would do well to take a shower, but she thought it was better to postpone an hour.

She poured cold coffee in the cup, then went to relax in the garden.

Her house was a two-storey house, located on the slopes of the hill, not far from the medieval village.

Rang at the door, but she was so good I thought it was the bell of someone else.

She tried to doze off, but the sound became so strong that it can no longer ignore.

When she opened the door, was speechless. Everything would have expected that this visit not so unexpected.

John Astardi looked tired. When he sat down on the soft chair salon, he felt completely relaxed.

Roberta had not said a word. It had been a couple years since their last meeting.

Do you want to drink? I'll take the coke? She asked.

Yes, thank you. A coke can fit, said John quietly.

Roberta poured the coke in the glass and reached out. She looked into his eyes. She felt a thrill go through, and remembered that first time I met his eyes.

Roberta had then thirty-two years when she showed up for the tests; was not a girl, nor one that she was to do that job for the event. She had been lucky, or had not met the right people. But she was an actress, a good actress.

She had had a period when she worked a lot, and had also taken part in major films. Could be satisfied for what she had done and if it had become a star of the first magnitude, however, had managed to build a good economic position.

It was followed a long period of stagnation, not to work and expectations; it seemed that everyone had forgotten about her.

Working with Astardi was the highest in those times and the good fortune that had been in being choice, did not assume that it was just said that would inevitably continue to have secondary roles.

The play was well executed and Astardi was a guarantee of success; she toured Italy and perhaps would come even cinema.

And instead ... there was something else: love, passion.

...

Are you okay?

Yup. I'm fine. I wanted to meet you.

She looked into his eyes and reminded of their love. And to think that was a lightness to end their relationship.

A single mistake she had made, and it was the end of everything.

...

Roberta was at home in Rome.

John was away, out of town; would return the next day. It was a hot afternoon and warm in August of 1984. The city was empty and she did not even remember to accidents which had remained in Rome.

She was there in the bathtub to let refrigerate the bones and flesh, when she heard the phone ring. Would not want to get up, she would not want to answer, but could be John, could be her love; then, reluctantly got up from the water. Not wiped.

Instead it was Francis, her former boyfriend, the dancer with whom she had been linked to more than two years.

What did he want?

Asking?

And why if they found him at home, there, next to her in the bathroom, not if it was never explained, even now.

The long towel slipped suddenly off, Francis approached. He began to touch her. Roberta felt lust melt in the mouth.

Told him to stop. She said this plan, she said it as if to say to continue, but she did not listen. Pulled her to him and put his hands on her breasts. She had a last gesture of rebellion, but Francis kissed her hard.

She liked, Shagged taste. Then slid plan.

Slowly.

Gently.

The first kissed her neck and then down, down even more. Francis, who was leaning against the wall, pulled his fingers through her long hair blacks. Grabbed her hair and pulled her up to bring back his lips in contact with her. Now she was ready, now could take.

She managed to enjoy.

Roberta wore the robe, looked in the mirror: she was satisfied, she was happy, she was happy to have made love.

It had been that hot muggy.

It was the silence of the city, and then she was alone, and it was the month of August.

It was only a moment of madness, a demand of meat, nothing more. She did not love him, she loved John.

Would forget.

John was aware. She could not remember if it was him or tell him to Francesco had confessed her.

Not forgave her, but he hated her.

Roberta, when she realized that she would never work with him, she decided to quit.

John tried to make her, but could not

Oh, do not give it. It's not your fault. Know, however, that if a year, one day you do not have a quiet harbor dock where the boat of your life, I'll be there waiting for you. She said.

Marveled at the love that brought him Roberta. Not asked what she would do and which projects had, nor the place where they sought refuge. Asked her to call him, to phone us and write, if she wanted. Would not have bothered, indeed he would be pleased. Now felt like a friend. Comforted her and gave her courage. In his heart he feared that, left alone, could commit some nonsense. Roberta proved strong, decisive, resolute; discovered the qualities that did not previously thought to possess. She found himself in control of her life. In the early days she spent her days wandering around the city, looking at the windows of shops and visit museums and art galleries. Began to give some interest. She bought canvases and brushes. She began to paint, to throw wildly colors on the white canvas.

She went to St. Peter in Chains to see the genius of Michelangelo, to enjoy the Moses, to see the shapes and hand with the grain and the grandeur of the statue that had to shout to its creator: he speaks!

Then she decided he had to go away from Rome. She chose the place, bought the land: there would sort her home, there would be the right place to spend the rest of her life. She was happy and excited, because she saw that every day something of her was born and took shape; followed step by step further work for the construction of her home. She had done well to choose that place; there a few steps from the medieval village.

She discovered the pleasure of getting up early in the morning to go to church, in the ancient cathedral. The pleasure of hearing the sound of her footsteps as she walked through the narrow and quiet streets of the village. The pleasure to feel the peace when she was sitting in prayer in the cathedral. Imagined to see with her own eyes the women of 1400 with their medieval clothes: I wonder how many people had come to that place?

Who to pray, who to ask for grace to the Lord, for those who celebrate her marriage, who to baptize the child. The local people at first had been wary of that woman, so beautiful, so young that had snuck into their community.

They thought I should have a lot 'of sins on her conscience to serve for choosing a place so out of hand; then with the passage of time had managed to win them over: now knew them all. One by one. If someone was called by the Lord, everyone felt the loss.

That person was part of their lives; not as in large cities, where not even know the people who are on your same floor, where, maybe, your body remains in parking in the mortuary for days, waiting for a free place for burial.

Often called John, to hear his voice, to know how fared; then by the time it had faded. During Christmas and Easter, sent him a postcard on which to play, she wrote: One year, one day

And he replied: One year, one day. Not now, not now.

Roberta had not had any man, but not the suitors were missing; then, after three years since she had made the decision to drop everything, had an affair with a teacher of creative painting; Finally, around thirty-seven years, the meeting with Andrea Argot, the local doctor.