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There was no woman, man, or child who did not have his picture in his pocket. Vallerosa celebrated the feast of its patron on July 2 nd: It was the day everyone waited for, because, on that day, they all thanked the saint for the blessings they had already been granted, as well as for those that they were hoping to receive. They turned to St. Joseph for their health, their work, to find a husband, to ask for protection from bad people, and for anything else the heart desired.

The celebration started at dawn with the cattle show and sale , an event in which all the shepherds and peasants from half of Sicily participated. They arrived in carts or on mules and horses adorned with pennants and colored ribbons that reminded of Sicilian puppets. The agents handled the sales and the exchanges ended with a down payment or otherwise a hand shake, which, in those days, counted more than money.

At noon, everybody, unusually including the men, went to church for high mass. The feast was an occasion to don the best clothes and the newly polished shoes just taken out of the closet. The day went by fast. The men and the women walked up and down the main street eating calia e semenza — chick peas and salted pumpkin seeds — while the children chased colored balloons. There were stalls on the sidewalks; they were full of sweets, sugar cubes in three colors: When they rang the Ave Maria, everybody followed the cart with St.

At the head of the procession were the priest, the mayor, the Marshal, and sometimes there was even the chief of the mafia in the town. The bells greeted the Saint as soon as he crossed the door of the church, and accompanied him throughout the procession, only stopping now and then to let the people pray. Every year, Bastiano went up to the belfry to ring the bells: In the past, many tried to ring the bells.

Some were good but nobody was as good as Bastiano, an amateur who could transform into music what, for others, was only the sound of bells. His ability consisted of using the right amount of strength. He started with the smallest bell and went up to the bigger ones, until he'd rung all five simultaneously, creating the sound that had made him famous.

At the center of the belfry, he hung onto the pulls and jumped up and down as if he were dancing. For the inhabitants of Vallerosa, the procession represented their only moment of religious piety in a whole year; therefore, on that evening, nobody was missing.

Two lines of people walked slowly through the streets along a course that had stayed the same throughout the years. Those who could not participate waited for the saint, holding a candle in front of the door of his house or on his balcony.

Many emigrants came back for the occasion. The procession became a reason for a trip back into their past; proceeding one street after the other, behind the Saint and the memories that the sound of the bells and the music of the band brought back to them. Being far away had not lessened these sensations, but rather had strengthened them. Then, with the passing of the years, nobody came to the town anymore. And this was the sign that the new generation had replaced the old one.

Those bells were the symbol and pride of the inhabitants of Vallerosa, for whom any occasion was good enough to get to the tower and ring them. For centuries, their ringing constituted a powerful means of communication. In fact, they announced both happy and sad events in the community, such as feasts and funerals, baptisms and marriages, births and deaths.

Even those who died far away, whether in America or elsewhere, was entitled to the sound of these bells: The little bell, called the bell of the clock, rang at fixed times of the day and night to mark the time and life of the people. The sheperds and peasants followed the time by looking at the position of the sun during the day.

For them, it was enough to have an approximate time; so they said the sun was high in the morning and low in the afternoon. At night, they looked at the stars: They did not count the minutes and the hours, but rather the periods of the day and night. And so they spoke of an hour or two at dawn or at noon, and of an hour or two at sunset or at midnight. There was no clock to sign the beginning or the end of a work day; it started with the song of the rooster and lasted for as long as there was light.

Rarely was a new house built in those days; people only repaired the existing ones. This was true in the private and in the public sector. War had not improved things, but neither had it worsened them much since the emergency in Vallerosa was as old as misery. The public buildings were few and in terrible condition. There was the Town Hall, but there were no buildings for schools or for day hospitals. The classrooms were in empty houses and did not have essential services.

It was a miracle if children had a roof over their heads and desks where to sit at. In one of these buildings, on the first floor of an old house that opened onto the street which was actually a narrow lane called The Tube , Pepo started his elementary school.

You got to it through deep stairs made up of fifteen steps. The entrance was closed by a wooden door surmounted by a wrought iron arch with the two letters that indicated the name of the previous owner, who was dead in Argentina. Shutters opened on a balcony overlooking the fields and the mountain.

The very poor furniture in the room consisted of a wooden platform, on which stood a table and a chair for the teacher, a blackboard, and four rows of old desks for twenty students, more or less of the same age.

The classroom was an enormous room whose roof was made of reeds and cement and was held together by ten cross logs. On winter days, when it poured, water filtered through the reed and came down in big drops that hit the desks before falling to the floor.

The children ran to find refuge in the corners where there were less drops and waited for the rain to stop before sitting in their seats again. Pepo was happy to go to school. He was anxious to learn to read and write: Apart from the children's school, there was no other housing in the narrow lane, but only stables and store rooms that held hay. It was a sort of bowel between the buildings where the sun never shone. The part of the town where people lived began a street below. And, late at night, nobody walked by.

The lack of lighting also made the bowel gloomier than it really was. The darkness was so thick it could be cut with a knife. However, it was not the darkness that scared people, but the ghosts that many swore to have seen in the bowel.

The first sighting, according to rumors, was that of za Sanna, who swore she had been attacked by one of the shadows. The sheet was flowing around it and made a noise like the beating of wings. I had to visit my daughter, who'd wanted me to sleep with her. The Tube was the shortcut to her house, so I had ventured that way around midnight. The alternative was the street outside the town that is the same as the cemetery.

Never in the world! And so, I was forced to pass through that road. I have reason to thank the Lord, St. Joseph, Mary, and all the saints that I am still alive. I could even have had a heart attack or have hit my head because of the strong fear I felt.

When I recovered from the fright, I ran so fast it was like I was twenty years old again. Did you see a ghost? I could not say a word after that and I sat on a chair while my daughter threw cold water on my face to get me back to myself. Even my stomach was upset. But as soon as she arrived, she realized that the basket had vanished along with the spirit. The event went around the town, and it was on everyone lips. In fact, there was not one single townfolk who did not bear a mark from his scissors or razor.

And, considering that some people have yet to be introduced to water, these parasites are more numerous than the stars in the sky. What do you expect? That he puts on after-shave lotion and grease too? The custom reappeared when the problem of lice occurred again in recent times. But unlike in the past, the lice leapt from the heads of the rich to the heads of the poor, and not vice versa. Another point of meeting was the workshop of Master Franciscu, the cobbler, widely regarded as a benefactor of the town.

In fact, at a time when hunger was pushed with feet, as they used to say, and not one square inch of leather came from the city, he sharpened his wits and repaired the shoes of all children in the town , But there was a condition: Those who brought shoes to be repaired also had to bring an old shoe.

The other corner was occupied by a pipe where he stuffed everything he could find to make smoke; in fact, he not only used pieces of Tuscan cigars because he could not always find the money to buy them , but also used dried flowers, as well as all other manner of disgusting things that his customers took out of their pockets and dumped on the counter.

Sometimes, he even smoked leather powder that he'd recovered from old shoes saved in a corner. As is easy to understand, there arose two currents of thought on that incident: I know her perfectly well. Ask Enzù, the daughter, what kind of spirit it could be. What else it could be? The customers of the two shops, without any distinction of age, social class, or culture which, truly speaking, was almost absent declared they did not believe in the souls of murdered people or in ghosts — in this case, malignant spirits.

And yet, at a certain hour of the night, nobody ventured into Via Catuso, as they called the street in later years. During the day, the place was a happy place, full of kids who, at that time, were very numerous in Vallerosa. People believed in it and gave birth to many children. On the other hand, it did not cost them anything. It was fun, and so, the classrooms were full of children.

He left to go back to Palermo in the early afternoon, taking back eggs and cheese that he would have sold in the city. In this way, he increased his salary. None of his supervisors complained since he did a good job as a teacher.

Every now and then, somebody knocked at the door. It could be the gofer with the usual circular to sign, or it could be Master Mitri, the postman, who came to bring a letter from the School Board.

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Film x amateur francais escort bandol Per secoli i loro rintocchi hanno costituito un formidabile mezzo di comunicazione per quanti vivevano in paese e nelle campagne. Madre, quanto è buono! Le meilleur porno français sur PornoDingue. The entrance was closed by a wooden door surmounted by a wrought iron arch with the two letters that indicated the name of the previous owner, who was dead in Argentina. Neanche pettinare si poteva! In the central nave, on a pedestal to the left of the wooden Crucifix, stood the statue of Saint Joseph, the town patron.
FILM X MAMAN EROTICA MONTPELLIER Per chi guardava dalla strada per Girgenti, Vallerosa appariva aggrappata ai costoni rocciosi della collina da cui sembrava protendersi verso la vallata sottostante. La moneta corrente era il frumento, barattato per comprare di tutto. Arrivavano sui carretti o in sella a muli e giumente, impreziositi di pennacchi, sonagli e fiocchi colorati che richiamavano alla mente i pupi siciliani. I contadini e i pastori si regolavano osservando, di giorno, film x amateur francais escort bandol, la posizione del sole e di notte quella degli astri: Pepo and his friends waited for them in the street, carrying old war scraps they had found everywhere and with what they played dangerous war games. Sometimes, he even smoked leather powder that he'd recovered from old shoes saved in a corner. Pepo e i suoi amici li aspettavano per strada carichi di residuati bellici, armi perfettamente funzionanti che si trovavano dappertutto e con le quali simulavano pericolosi giochi di guerra.
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There were no books that told its history. The public buildings were few and in terrible condition. The lack of lighting also made the bowel gloomier than it really. Quel che rimaneva della scarpa lo riconsegnava al legittimo proprietario con la raccomandazione di non buttarlo. What do you expect?

E tuttavia, a una certa ora della notte, nessuno di loro si avventurava in via Montagna, come in futuro ebbe a chiamarsi la strada. Di giorno u vureddu diventava invece un posto allegro perché si riempiva di bambini, che a quel tempo erano numerosi a Vallerosa. La gente ci credeva e di figli ne metteva al mondo tanti. Bruno Passalacqua, maestro elementare, arrivava col treno delle sette ogni mattina, piovesse, nevicasse o facesse bel tempo. Ripartiva nel primo pomeriggio, portandosi dietro uova e formaggio che rivendeva in città.

A parte la bidella con la circolare da firmare, raramente un estraneo varcava la soglia della classe. Solo di tanto in tanto qualcuno batteva con forza la mano di rame, posta nella metà superiore del portone che dava sulla strada, che faceva da campanello. Era solitamente mastro Mitri, il postino, con una lettera del Provveditorato da consegnare.

Un secondo a scendere e un altro a salire e la busta era nelle mani del maestro. Aprite il libro a pagina venticinque. In the years in which Pepo dreamed of becoming a man, Vallerosa was exactly as it was one hundred years before. Even the people and animals were the same. Time had stopped moving forward to give way to apathy and resignation. There was no wealth in Vallerosa other than an ancient misery, handed down from father to son along with their genetic heritage.

None, however, made a drama out of not having seen better days. The current money was wheat, which was bartered to buy anything. A kilo of wheat, which not everybody owned, was barely enough to buy a hundred grams of mortadella or salted sardines; to buy the same quantity of ham, twice as much was necessary.

Every morning the train unloaded vagrant sellers bringing goods of all kinds. They sold fish, fruits, and sweets. He invited the housewives to get rid of unused metallic implements and iron items in exchange for ceramic dishes, bowls, and terracotta pots.

There were vendors who even directly addressed the children, to whom they promised colored balloons in exchange for old iron. Pepo and his friends waited for them in the street, carrying old war scraps they had found everywhere and with what they played dangerous war games.

There were no cars, so they could run free from one end of the village to the other. The only danger were the mules which, when bitten by venomous insects that made them crazy, came running as fast as arrows without giving people time to get out of the way. But they had learned how to avoid them.

They played in the street peacefully, sharing the space with domestic animals of all kinds. There was no future in Vallerosa and nothing new happened, because everything seemed to have stopped in the past: The inhabitants only tried to make a living.

How could they care if they were certain that they were not going to go anywhere? A road like an umbilical cord hanging from the world represented, for so long, the only means of communication and escape. From there, people ventured out to emigrate, to go for military service, or to be hospitalized — which was something they rarely did, almost all preferring to die in their beds.

Vallerosa did not have historic buildings or monuments that told of its past, but only old, dilapidated houses that had not seen a restorer in years. There were no books that told its history. What one knew about the town was what was told from father to son, from one generation to another. They were not important events, but simple stories of poor individuals who were born by chance and lived a miserable life. Looking from the old road to Girgenti, Vallerosa seemed to be hugging the rocky walls of the hills and jutted out towards the valley.

The houses were built in ordinate lines; the straight streets crossed the village and kept going towards the horizon. The four houses at the corner outlined what was considered the square; it had a fountain — the big fountain — in the middle, which was carved in granite and had four spigots that poured water all night and day.

Further up, on the right, there was the only church in the town that welcomed both the living and the dead. In the central nave, on a pedestal to the left of the wooden Crucifix, stood the statue of Saint Joseph, the town patron.

To him the people turned trustingly, sure that they were heard. There was no woman, man, or child who did not have his picture in his pocket.

Vallerosa celebrated the feast of its patron on July 2 nd: It was the day everyone waited for, because, on that day, they all thanked the saint for the blessings they had already been granted, as well as for those that they were hoping to receive. They turned to St.

Joseph for their health, their work, to find a husband, to ask for protection from bad people, and for anything else the heart desired. The celebration started at dawn with the cattle show and sale , an event in which all the shepherds and peasants from half of Sicily participated. They arrived in carts or on mules and horses adorned with pennants and colored ribbons that reminded of Sicilian puppets. The agents handled the sales and the exchanges ended with a down payment or otherwise a hand shake, which, in those days, counted more than money.

At noon, everybody, unusually including the men, went to church for high mass. The feast was an occasion to don the best clothes and the newly polished shoes just taken out of the closet. The day went by fast. The men and the women walked up and down the main street eating calia e semenza — chick peas and salted pumpkin seeds — while the children chased colored balloons.

There were stalls on the sidewalks; they were full of sweets, sugar cubes in three colors: When they rang the Ave Maria, everybody followed the cart with St. At the head of the procession were the priest, the mayor, the Marshal, and sometimes there was even the chief of the mafia in the town. The bells greeted the Saint as soon as he crossed the door of the church, and accompanied him throughout the procession, only stopping now and then to let the people pray.

Every year, Bastiano went up to the belfry to ring the bells: In the past, many tried to ring the bells. Some were good but nobody was as good as Bastiano, an amateur who could transform into music what, for others, was only the sound of bells. His ability consisted of using the right amount of strength. He started with the smallest bell and went up to the bigger ones, until he'd rung all five simultaneously, creating the sound that had made him famous.

At the center of the belfry, he hung onto the pulls and jumped up and down as if he were dancing. For the inhabitants of Vallerosa, the procession represented their only moment of religious piety in a whole year; therefore, on that evening, nobody was missing.

Two lines of people walked slowly through the streets along a course that had stayed the same throughout the years. Those who could not participate waited for the saint, holding a candle in front of the door of his house or on his balcony. Many emigrants came back for the occasion. The procession became a reason for a trip back into their past; proceeding one street after the other, behind the Saint and the memories that the sound of the bells and the music of the band brought back to them.

Being far away had not lessened these sensations, but rather had strengthened them. Then, with the passing of the years, nobody came to the town anymore. And this was the sign that the new generation had replaced the old one. Those bells were the symbol and pride of the inhabitants of Vallerosa, for whom any occasion was good enough to get to the tower and ring them. For centuries, their ringing constituted a powerful means of communication. In fact, they announced both happy and sad events in the community, such as feasts and funerals, baptisms and marriages, births and deaths.

Even those who died far away, whether in America or elsewhere, was entitled to the sound of these bells: The little bell, called the bell of the clock, rang at fixed times of the day and night to mark the time and life of the people. The sheperds and peasants followed the time by looking at the position of the sun during the day. For them, it was enough to have an approximate time; so they said the sun was high in the morning and low in the afternoon.

At night, they looked at the stars: They did not count the minutes and the hours, but rather the periods of the day and night. And so they spoke of an hour or two at dawn or at noon, and of an hour or two at sunset or at midnight.

There was no clock to sign the beginning or the end of a work day; it started with the song of the rooster and lasted for as long as there was light. Rarely was a new house built in those days; people only repaired the existing ones. This was true in the private and in the public sector. War had not improved things, but neither had it worsened them much since the emergency in Vallerosa was as old as misery.

The public buildings were few and in terrible condition. There was the Town Hall, but there were no buildings for schools or for day hospitals. The classrooms were in empty houses and did not have essential services. It was a miracle if children had a roof over their heads and desks where to sit at. In one of these buildings, on the first floor of an old house that opened onto the street which was actually a narrow lane called The Tube , Pepo started his elementary school.

You got to it through deep stairs made up of fifteen steps. The entrance was closed by a wooden door surmounted by a wrought iron arch with the two letters that indicated the name of the previous owner, who was dead in Argentina. Shutters opened on a balcony overlooking the fields and the mountain. The very poor furniture in the room consisted of a wooden platform, on which stood a table and a chair for the teacher, a blackboard, and four rows of old desks for twenty students, more or less of the same age.

The classroom was an enormous room whose roof was made of reeds and cement and was held together by ten cross logs.

On winter days, when it poured, water filtered through the reed and came down in big drops that hit the desks before falling to the floor. The children ran to find refuge in the corners where there were less drops and waited for the rain to stop before sitting in their seats again. Pepo was happy to go to school.

He was anxious to learn to read and write: Apart from the children's school, there was no other housing in the narrow lane, but only stables and store rooms that held hay. It was a sort of bowel between the buildings where the sun never shone. The part of the town where people lived began a street below. And, late at night, nobody walked by. The lack of lighting also made the bowel gloomier than it really was.

The darkness was so thick it could be cut with a knife. However, it was not the darkness that scared people, but the ghosts that many swore to have seen in the bowel. The first sighting, according to rumors, was that of za Sanna, who swore she had been attacked by one of the shadows. Brune aux gros seins naturels chevauche 53, Porno fait maison entre un couple 73, Tout droit dans son cul 61, En solo avec son gode k Il est temps de s'amuser 23, Faire quelque chose de nouveau 32, 1: Ne loupez pas ce qui se passe 14, Un couple amateur devant la webcam.

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