Acostumbraba in Verl when going to buy some encargo at the other end of the street, Mariners Street, Barceloneta. That man would be sitting in a chair in front of his house, low giving directly to the pavement, type of housing in my neighborhood typical of that era and now the high cost of houses has gone into fashion, since many People have adapted ancient shops turning them into lofts.
always seemed to be absorbed, looking straight ahead without seeing. Leaned back in his chair throwing an arm around the back and occasionally stroked his mustache a huge yellowish-white color that adorned his face. Then he squeezed his chin and finally dropped his hand back in his lap, palm up and fingers contracted, in a gesture of abandonment. When the weather was fine and warm pajamas wearing a jacket with pale blue and white stripes when the weather was more intemperate, wearing a plush bathrobe jacket.
But his pose was always the same. Sometimes, playing with other children in the street, I had stopped to look at him from behind a parked car. Or we watched from our balcony and had always struck me that his routine of spending so much time sitting in the street.
Not that it was rare at that time. In fact there were many people, especially in summer, which pulled the chairs into the street and around it is real organized gatherings of neighbors and a neighbor and old, who even met to hear the serial of five, while they were knitting and chafarderios abandoning animated. But next to that man never stopped anyone. Bertomeu was called, as I said my mother, who could not explain any more of that person.
Contrary to what happened to the people of the neighborhood, who knew life and miracles of Mr. Bertucci seemed that nobody knew anything, or unwilling to explain. His wife had died long ago, before I had awareness of the presence of the man in the street. However once surprised a conversation with a shop in the market, in which about half scandalized neighbors and displaying considerable fanfare said, pretending to speak in a low voice that was not his wife, who were not married, although they lived together.
Once, walking along the sidewalk where he sat Mr. Bertucci, I stood before him. He raised his head and looked at me with very clear eyes, tinged with an immense sadness. He said nothing.
I was going to say something, but impressed by his look I stopped, got off the sidewalk and kept walking, carrying the basket on his back, which did not stop to feel the eyes of man stuck in me.
few days later Mr. Bertucci stopped going out. Surprised not to see him, I asked my mother, who he said had died. Still surprised to see him in front of his house some unsocial hours, some residents had approached him y le encontraron in his chair, with his usual pose, but with your hands to the sides falls becomes progressively. There was a heart attack it is removed.
Nobody is DID charge of their pertenencias, no one to claim their acudió restore his or Burial. Neither thought much about ello yo at the time. Years later I arrived late to the conclusions that Anyone Dead Man There was the loneliness.
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