A Soldier of the Great War Read Online Free PDF Page B

to school, and he thought of teachers as a dangerous species of male nun.
    Alessandro didn't answer. The sun was low now. Everything was warm and golden, and they were still ten kilometers from Acereto. Soon it would be dark. The old man did not want to waste energy, because he was beginning to warm up, to feel an oncoming sensation of strength and equanimity. If he didn't upset it, the equanimity would carry him forward in a trance.
    They continued on in silence until Nicolò began to dance through his steps.
    "You have so much energy you can't contain yourself, can you."
    "I don't know."
    "Marvelous. I, if I had your strength, could unite Europe in a week and a half."
    "You were young," Nicolò challenged. "Did you unite Europe?"
    "I was too busy thinking about girls and climbing mountains."
    "What mountains?"
    "The Alps."
    "With ropes and things?"
    "Yes."
    "How do you do that? I saw a movie once where the guy fell. Do you throw the rope to catch on a rock, or what?"
    "No. Its different, but if I have to explain, I won't have any breath."
    "You're a teacher. Teachers should explain."
    "Not when they're on long marches."
    "What do you teach?"
    "Aesthetics."
    "Who are they?" Nicolò asked, thinking that they might be initiates in a hilltop religious order.
    "You mean what are they. You're the second person to ask me that today," Alessandro said. "Are you sure you want me to answer? If I do, your squid may die."
    Nicolò's suspicions about the old man's sanity resurfaced.
    "He came all the way from Civitavecchia." Alessandro turned to the boy and looked into his eyes. "Marco ... the water chicken."
    "Don't tell me Marco the water chicken," Nicolò commanded. "What are aesthetics?"
    "The philosophy and study of beauty."
    "What?"
    "What?" the old man echoed.
    "They teach that?"
    "I teach it."
    "That's stupid."
    "Why is it stupid?"
    "For one, what is there to teach?"
    "Are you asking or telling?"
    "Asking."
    "I'm not telling."
    "Why not?"
    "I've already answered you, in a book. Buy the book and leave me alone. Better yet, read Croce."
    "You wrote a book?"
    "Yes, many books."
    "About what?"
    "About aesthetics," Alessandro said, rolling his eyes upward.
    "What's your name?"
    "Alessandro Giuliani."
    "I've never heard of you."
    "I still exist. Who are you?"
    Nicolò Sambucca."
    "What do you do, Mr. Sambucca?"
    With some pain, in the way of self-deprecating beginners who are facing long apprenticeships, Nicolò said, "I make propellers."
    Alessandro stopped to stare at Nicolò Sambucca. "Propellers," he said. "Naturally! I'm going to walk seventy kilometers with a kid who makes propellers."
    "What's wrong with propellers?" Nicolò asked.
    "Nothing's wrong with propellers," Alessandro answered. "They're necessary to drive airplanes. Where do you do this, if I may ask? Certainly not at home."
    "At F.A.I. I don't really make them, I help. Next year I'll be an apprentice but now I'm a helper. I sweep the chips and the curlings, keep the tools in order, serve lunch, and push around the big frames that they make the propellers on. It takes a long time to make a propeller: it has to be tested. We have wind tunnels. Because of the union, I'm not allowed to touch the propellers yet. I can't even put my finger on one."
    "Did you finish school?"
    "I didn't start," the boy said. "When I was little, we moved here from Girifalco, in Calabria. When I was a kid, I sold cigarettes."
    "What does your father do?"
    "He puts up clotheslines, the kind that have the steel towers, you know, near the house."
    "Those are very useful."
    "I don't really understand you," Nicolò said.
    "Good. We met only this afternoon, and we've said very little. I'm glad that I have retained an aura of mystery."
    "Yeah, but you're a teacher."
    "What's not to be understood?"
    "It doesn't match."
    "What doesn't match?"
    "A lot of things, but teachers don't do that."
    "Don't do what?"
    "Walk over ice fields, hunted by armed soldiers."
    "In the war a lot of