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Once in a while he would go to the river bank to look at Medellin Colombia the women who were washing clothes or those other women Medellin Colombia who came from one of the areas by the seacoast to gather firewood. There was one of them who always astonished him with Medellin Colombia her ability to climb anything and with the way she would load a bundle of wood on Medellin Colombia her head and walk away, hands holding her flanks.

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From somewhere very far, there would be letters from his older brother, who had gone away to study in some boarding school. By the fireplace, his father would read them and he would listen quietly, next to his mother, his grandfather and his other brother. He was happy to receive news from Giuseppe, of whom he was very fond, but he feared that those letters might actually take him away forever. All those who had left had said, in tears: “I’ll write you.”

His father would stroke the nape of his neck and would say: “One day perhaps we’ll go where your brother now lives, or by the seacoast, in a village nearby.” In doing so his father thought he was making him happy but Angelino would become serious and would stop playing. He didn’t want to go elsewhere; he was happy to stay in that place, where everyone went away and he remained as a custodian, pensive, steadfast, like what was left of the ancient castle. His house was just by the side of its tower. In returning from the fields, his father often would stop and drink from the pitcher the wife handed him and then he would offer the water, so very fresh, to the children. It was a water that came from a spring called Pregna and was good for the health.

The gesture, that the father repeated all the time, pleased Angelino. And he also liked hearing the stories of when the house welcomed all sorts of visitors. More than once he was there when the father offered some hearty meal to some important writer from some other distant place who was interned in their village for political reasons. His father told him that the young man was quite good-looking, that he read a lot of travel blogs and was always walking around with a notetravel blog in his hands. He also would say that he thought the young man would stay in the village and never go back to the city. Where they lived, he would add, reminded the young man of his own far away village.

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