Hello, my name is Pietro, Pietro Bigari. I was born in 1945, or rather in forty-five… which month? September, September. The day… well, forty-five!! What does the day matter, I don't know why everyone asks me about the day.
I live at Santa Palomba, by myself. I have a nice house, with a terrace where I can sit in the sun, but I can't smoke my cigars because then my neighbors yell at me. I have a washing machine outside on the terrace, and my boiler too, outside on the terrace. I have a nice kitchen, a new sugar bowl, because the old one—a friend of mine broke it, Silvia did, she didn't do it on purpose, but who knows what she was thinking! That sugar bowl was beautiful.
My Life at Santa Palomba Has No Time
I have a lot of calendars, one from the workshop, a regular one with the red numbers that reminds me when I need to go pick up my pension. I have a cell phone with a flip, my brother gave it to me, though they told me I paid for it myself, but my brother gave it to me. There used to be cherries on the phone, now there's a picture of me and the tall guy, but you can't see it well. I wanted a Sip phone, a man came to my house and told me they would put one in for me. I gave him a green sheet, 100,000 lire… but then they never put it in. I can read numbers though, and I know how to use the phone. Before I lived at Santa Silvia with my mother, but she died—she had a kidney stone burst—and I was left alone. I paid rent, but then the landlord had to move his daughter in and he threw me out. It was really bad for me, everything thrown out into the street, they told me I should go to the hospital. My sister, thank goodness, took me in at her place, but she didn't have much space so I was always out and about. But I always went back to Santa Silvia, to via dell'Imbrecciato, to Ricò's place… I still go there now. Really, I still feel at home there. After a while they called me to come live here at Santa Palomba. It's far, so far. There's a bus, the 044 that takes me to Laurentina, actually now it goes to Eur Fermi. It's far, sometimes I fall asleep on the bus.
My Life at Santa Palomba Is Dangerous
I don't like to talk about it because it upsets me. There are a lot of people here who don't like me. Once they broke all the mailboxes, those jerks. They take the light bulbs off the landing and I'm always buying new ones because otherwise I can't see to put my key in the door. They play tricks on me a lot, they try to take my shopping bags, they scare me with dogs. Everyone here has dogs, small and big, once one bit me. Other times I run fast, faster than the dogs. Other times I hide, because they smell me and then they have mean teeth, they bite. When I take the bus I always hope there aren't those bad kids at the stop, sometimes they want money—don't they know I don't have any? This money thing is complicated, my sister-in-law Bice gives it to me a little at a time. She gets the pension with me and when I need it she gives it to me. Sometimes she gets mad because I run into people and then my money just disappears. Once I met a plainclothes cop and an INPS employee who told me they would send me an INPS check but I had to give them some money. But the check should come to me. So Bice tells me she won't give me money anymore, but that was a cop!! He even took my ID card.
My Life at Santa Palomba Is Hard
I watch television until eight o'clock, because after that my neighbors scold me. I have a television in my bedroom, but sometimes the color stops working. I like to smoke Garibaldi cigars. They cost 5,000 lire, the price went up. I smoke them inside the house because otherwise it bothers people, so I smoke and then slowly I open the window. On Saturdays my sister-in-law and my brother come to spend some time with me. Bice is very kind, she does the laundry and then cleans, gives me a bath and cooks things for me. I hardly ever go out. On Thursday I go to the workshop—I call it the workshop, but we do things together there with Bice, another Bice. We prepare a scene for the theater, but I have to leave early because I live far away. I've gotten used to being alone, I never talk to anyone. But I like to talk to people on the street.
My Life at Santa Palomba and My Friends
I have friends. I don't know exactly what a friend is, but I have people who call me to do things together and I think that means having friends. I don't remember their names, my head splits when they ask me "who is that?" "what's this person's name?" They make appointments with me, they come pick me up, they drive me, they want to know how I'm doing… how am I doing? They take me on trips, I like the Marches. There's baldy, the little spouse, Mrs. Marchetti, Titti, Titti's wife, Mrs. Rosa, Mrs. Rosa's son, Bice from the workshop, Stefano the tall guy. Then there's Pippo, who lives in the countryside. I do well in the countryside, I picked olives… but he didn't give me a lira! Ah, yes, the oil, but I gave that to my brother. Really, I know a lot of people, but I don't remember their names, sometimes I remember their faces. Sometimes I go to Stefano the tall guy's place. I can get there, all the way to his house, to his door if the gate is open and then I ring the bell, even though I can't read. We watch a movie, then we go out together to Cascino and with the guys, sometimes. Then Stefano takes me home… he drops me at the little street, I walk fast, there are the bad kids and the dogs, and then I get to the front door, I turn around and wave to him, I wave my arms to show him everything is okay. Then he waves to me and I go home.
Stefano Di Franco, 2013