BocelliOnline

[Winnie]

In general, this translation from Andrea's book is not very different from the same section in the English-language editions, but some passages here represent more literal translations of Andrea's words, especially in the last part of the chapter.

Winnie
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Chapter XI, La musica del silenzio, by Andrea Bocelli

“My God, I am sorry for my sins because I have offended you.” The year began for Amos and his schoolmates with this act of contrition, which they recited together, each student standing by his seat with his hands clasped. Miss Giamprini prayed with them as she walked among the desks. Right afterwards came a frenzy of greeting and hugging—a strange lightheartedness that was clouded by memories of the summer and by thoughts about the school year that was all still ahead of them.

As soon as her pupils were seated, the good teacher once again began to interpret the sacred Bible, just as she had during the previous years. In her loving account, she started with Genesis and continued as far as the creation of Adam and Eve. Her passionate narration of such adventurous stories was very pleasing to the children, and they remained attentive and silent, only from time to time asking a few timid questions. The schoolmistress went on to cover in detail the life of Abraham and his son Isaac. She only hastily told about Ishmael, Abraham’s firstborn son because Ishmael was born to Hagar, the slave of Abraham’s wife, Sarah, who was not able to have children.

The schoolboys daydreamed at length about the trials and tribulations of Jacob, and they loved Joseph, with his life full of torments and marvelous episodes. They memorized the names of the twelve tribes of Israel, and during recess, they challenged each other to remember details or names learned from their teacher during her long lessons on the Old Testament.

This was the last year that Miss Giamprini would spend with her class. Therefore, she gave her best every morning, working with great zeal so that in middle school, no one would have any special problems. Before the end of the year, she hoped to be able to give her class a basic knowledge of algebra and some of the elements of sentence analysis. Moreover, loving nature as she did, she wanted to speak again about photosynthesis; she wanted the children to love plants and animals and to retain a profound, lifelong respect and true admiration for everything that the good Lord has created.

With their fingers on the relief maps of the various continents, the children followed their teacher’s explanations as she talked and went from one desk to the next to make sure that everyone was following her directions correctly and little by little developing an accurate idea about the morphology of the globe.

At the same time, she didn’t fail to organize excursions into the countryside and also to stay in touch with some German families with whom she exchanged friendly tape recordings. Her students recorded poetry and songs and talked about this and that, and from the distant families they received back accounts in hesitant Italian about their daily life. The boys and girls in the families told about their school experiences and games. More than once Amos tried his hand by singing with abandon, and all his friends later reported that one time, while he was singing a Neapolitan song, the microphone suddenly broke and they had to send an incomplete tape.

In the fifth year of elementary school, the children were sometimes allowed to extend their last recess of the day—the evening recess—by ten minutes or so. As a result, Amos and his classmates began to have more and more contact with the boys from the middle school. It was from these boys that Amos first heard about an extraordinary drink that for a few hours conferred an indescribable strength to the muscles and a terrible aggressiveness. One obtained this drink by dissolving an aspirin in a glass of Coca-Cola.

Having assimilated this information, there remained for Amos only the problem of procuring an aspirin when he didn’t have a fever or obvious illness. He gathered his courage and visited the infirmary, where, for a few days, a young nurse had been substituting for Nurse Eva, who was ill. He asked for a thermometer, claiming a bad headache. After the thermometer was under his arm, he waited until the young woman was occupied with other patients and then began to rub the tip of the thermometer with both hands, taking care not to overdo. If the temperature did not go up enough, he would try again the next day. It was better not to take chances. When the nurse returned, his heart was pounding. After examining the column of mercury, she nodded, “Yes, you have a little fever, nothing serious. Go to bed and cover up, and tomorrow you’ll be fine.”

“But my head hurts,” protested Amos. “At least give me an aspirin.”

The nurse hesitated but consented. She found the pill and gave it and a glass of water to the child—who then became uncertain and opposed to the idea of having to swallow such a nasty thing. “Well, take it or not,” she said, and then heard someone calling her from the other room. She left him alone for a few moments, which were enough for Amos to put the pill quickly in his pocket and to be able to reassure the nurse on her return by showing her his empty glass and hands.

Amos hurried away from the infirmary and went to the soft drink machine, from which, with 100 liras, he obtained a little bottle of Coca-Cola. After drinking the Coke and aspirin, Amos had the impression that his head was spinning a little, but this was probably only the effect of a strong autosuggestion. So he ran to his companions to tell them his adventures. He seemed to notice in them a considerable measure of respect and admiration compared to before—understandably also along with a big dose of curiosity.

Then he looked for Antonio, one of the biggest boys at the school and the one who had revealed to him the secret of this drink. When Amos found him, he told him right away about his exploits. Antonio listened and then slapped Amos on the shoulder and said, “Well, I have to admit that you’re clever and courageous, but don’t do it often because the acetylsalicylic acid—the aspirin—dissolved in the Coca-Cola actually becomes a drug, which is not good for the body.”

Antonio had assumed a paternal attitude toward Amos, who now felt a little disheartened and disappointed by his act of bravado—which after all had not brought him any particular benefit and had perhaps damaged his health. He said goodbye to his companion and went off to bed, where a little later he found himself bathed in sweat. His heart beat faster than normal, which made him worried and anxious and kept him from falling asleep. But the next morning when he woke up, he felt terrific, jumped out of bed, got ready with great haste and determination, and tried not to think any more about what he’d done the evening before.

Nevertheless, Amos attached great importance to his own body. He worshipped masculine strength and very much loved physical activity. In boarding school, therefore, he felt confined, as if he were in a cage. Perhaps this feeling was one of the reasons why he enthusiastically welcomed news of the imminent beginning of an Olympiad reserved for students at the institute. There would be track and field events, gymnastics, soccer games, and more. Everyone was happy and couldn’t wait until the big moment arrived.

The opening of the games coincided with a splendid day in May that bathed the Lombard plain with an almost Tuscan luminosity. That Sunday morning, all the boys, with their assistants, assembled in the “great courtyard” to attend the opening ceremony, which included a speech by the director, Dr. Marcuccio. He said that he was pleased by this new undertaking and that he considered the values and content of athletics to be of fundamental importance. Then he urged the contestants to be thoroughly fair and sportsmanlike and closed by wishing everyone a good time. Now the games could truly begin.

Amos participated in almost all the events and even won some medals, but he did not get past the high-jump elimination rounds and dropped out of the marathon, which was run around the perimeter of the schoolyard.

The following Sunday was the soccer game. Amos was supposed to have played centerfield, but instead he took over for the goalie, who was unexpectedly sick.

The two teams were tied one all when Amos had to make a daring move toward the opposing center forward. Just at that moment, the center forward kicked the ball with all his might. The ball struck Amos in the right eye, the one, that is, that allowed him to see light and colors.

When he got up from the ground, Amos noticed that his vision was blurred and felt a growing pain that forced him to abandon the game and go to the infirmary, where he was immediately given some eye drops. After a few hours, the pain and reddening began to worry the young nurse, who consulted the assistants on duty and then decided to telephone the child’s home.

The next day, Amos’s mother arrived by the first train and accompanied her son to visit Dr. Bruno, near the hospital in Reggio. This doctor had been recommended to her by Professor Gallenga, with whom she had managed to communicate before leaving home.

Following a brief eye examination, Amos was placed on a gurney. The doctor explained to his mother that it was absolutely necessary to block the hemorrhage caused by the impact of the ball. Then he went up to the child, reassured him affectionately, ran his hand through his hair, and called a nurse. The nurse stood on the opposite side of the boy from the doctor, and together they placed some small leeches on the child’s face, between his eye and temple. By sucking blood at this point, the leeches would help to normalize the blood pressure inside the eye.

Soon, in fact, the little animals swelled up enormously, so much so that it was necessary to replace them. Amos only felt a little itching but did not experience pain, while his mother made herself be strong in order not to be horrified at the sight. As he was leaving, the doctor said that he had some hope of saving a little of the child’s vision, but that this was not his chief preoccupation and concern.

Amos returned to school with a bandage over his eye that prevented him from seeing. His new condition caused him to reflect: he could now lose his sight, and he must get used to the idea of this eventuality. In that case, within his boarding school, he would pass from the category of the seeing to that of the nonseeing. The thought generated in him a certain agitation, an uneasiness he had never before felt.

He tried talking about this worry with some of his friends and realized that talking gave him courage. From that moment on, he sought to get used to the possibility of losing his sight, in the way that one gets used to the presence of a new and disagreeable companion.

When the bandage was removed, Amos realized that his sight was almost gone. He barely managed to make out the light from a lamp and felt a sense of loss. He hoped that gradually his eyesight would return to the way it had been before, but this was a vain hope.

One morning, raising his eyes to the sky in the direction of the sun that felt hot on his face, he realized that he couldn’t see the sun anymore. A mixture of fear and despair seized him. His eyes filled with tears, and between sobs he called for his mother.

She rushed to him—having already expected for some days that she would have to do so—and hugged her son in a desperate attempt to tear him away from the anguish of that terrible moment, but she was defeated in turn and burst into tears. Amos had never seen his mother cry, and those tears touched him deeply. He would have liked to do something for her, to console her, but he felt impotent and alone. There in his mother’s arms, he felt horribly isolated. He was only twelve years old, he had just finished elementary school, and it was the beginning of his summer vacation. What would he do at the seashore? How should and could he act with his playmates? What would they think about him in that new condition?

Back in the house, he found an oppressive atmosphere at lunch, although the others all forced themselves to talk about other things. Every so often silences developed, during which one could hear the buzzing of the flies that in the heat had sought refuge inside the Bardi house, which was fairly cool thanks to its thick walls.

After eating, Amos lay down on his bed for a little while, and his mother, who didn’t want to leave him alone, followed him and stretched out next to him in his little brother’s bed. Edi Bardi had a question to ask her son, a question that she didn’t have the courage to pose. She wanted to know at any cost if Amos saw only darkness. She could not bear the idea that after so many sacrifices—so many desperate struggles and countless trips to Torino—that in spite of these her son would be condemned to live in the dark. She buried her face in the pillow and began to sob.

“Why are you crying, Mama?” cried Amos, himself stricken with an unbearable anguish.

Almost suffocating from weeping, his mother did not answer immediately. Then, collecting herself, she asked quickly, “Do you see everything dark now?”

“No, Mama,” Amos responded timidly.

“Then what do you see?”

“Everything and nothing,” he answered. He paused and then resumed, “I see what I want to see,” he said. “I see my room, the closet, the beds—but I see them because I know they’re there.”

His mother didn’t understand very well the significance of that description. Then, recalling her first meeting with the director of the boarding school, Dr. Marcuccio, who had himself lost his sight because of an accident, she remembered that he had explained to her that darkness is a visual sensation, the prerogative of those who have the gift of sight. “The blind,” he had clarified with some vigor, “cannot see the dark, just as the deaf cannot hear silence, which is simply an auditory sensation that is the opposite of noise, and that is all.”

Mrs. Bardi had not reflected sufficiently about these concepts when she first heard them because Amos could still see then and she hoped in her heart that he would always be able to do so. Now, however, these words came back to her in all their clarity, and in a certain sense consoled her a little. Moreover, she knew that the only thing to do was to look ahead and to help her son as she always had. Now more than ever, she would help him with all her physical and mental strength and would always give him courage. Perhaps not everything was lost.

Amos, on the other hand, did not succeed in tolerating his mother’s dismay. He had never seen her so bewildered. In a certain sense, she didn’t seem like herself to him anymore. Suddenly, he got up and ran to his parents’ bed, where he found his father stretched out, but without his newspaper. Amos lay down next to him, hugged him, and after a short time, fell deeply asleep.

Translation by Winifred Hayek