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For Pasadena the days of spring flew by as in a dream. He would go in the small fields, one after the other, all with their trees in bloom, pick flowers and bring them to one Pasadena of the votive images of the Madonna in the streets. He meandered around the tower. He was almost always by himself, sometimes with his brothers. Now and then, relatives or friends Pasadena of his father and mother from the seaside villages would come up and, during that time, the small square of the village looked like it was when the Pasadena was still full of people. And in any case, Angelino would say to himself, it wasn’t bad living there.

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He was especially happy for the fact that he was now six years old and in the winter he would be going to school every day, including when it rained. His father would be with him until they reached the plain at the foot of the village, and from there he would make his way to the school of the seacoast destination, where he would be able to meet Nicola and other friends, maybe see Marina again.

“At the end of the summer we’ll leave,” said his father with sorrow and gentleness one evening after they had finished eating. His mother answered that it was better like this, they couldn’t stay by themselves in a place which was now without other people. Angelino’s brothers looked at each other with glee. He fell silent, as if faced with a calamity. He knew that sooner or later they were going to leave but he hoped it would be as later on as possible.

In the month of August he sought the company of some of the children of the families that had returned to re-inhabit some of the older houses, children who went around the side streets and some of the smaller alleys. He heard them speak of houses that had fountains inside them. The women didn’t have to go get water with their jugs on their head. They didn’t go to the river but, instead, to the beach. Some of them also went in the water. Trains passed by, with people inside them waving even to those they didn’t know. The children of rich people had bicycles and those of poor families would build for themselves some sort of two-wheeled contraption with the ball-bearings of trucks.

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