Qui, l'autore propone la traduzione di sinossi ed incipit di tre opere, sperando d'incontrare qualcuno che l'aiuti a completare il lavoro. Marti Gruter ha già promesso il cinquanta percento dei proventi a chiunque voglia impegnarsi. I requisiti sono ovviamente: l'amore per l'opera, un animo sensibile ed una padronanza disinibita della lingua inglese.
La stessa promessa vale analogamente per ogni altra lingua...
Looking out onto the future does not mean forecasting, neither hazarding a guess. Considering the already visible signs and imagining how the crunch may evolve, perceiving and interpreting ongoing reality, just to see where it is leading us… these are all abilities of Man, the sole being able to survive on Earth not for his own physical features but thanks to his aptitude for change. Therefore, restoring Mankind to freedom should never be feared, because freedom is just what can save him from both individual and collective failure. On the contrary, limitation on freedom is exactly what can inhibit him from using his own qualities, thus dragging him down.
The surreal plot would provoke a thought about the essential resistance to any idea of suffocating freedom, even if this implies losing comforts provided just for taming and even facing the brute arrogance of power.
After a long travel into a wild modernity, personal stories and social events weave together with all psychological effects that use to make History since ever. So at last, Man goes behind, rediscovering the essential, the vertical dimension as opposed to the horizontal one, the passion beyond the sterile selfishness. A new way of life in the industrious garden, where common good is cultivated without draining joy from the individuals. A social entity whose core cannot be anymore competition but friendship, by free choice: we were not forced to stay in the Garden of Eden, neither to get back to it, as could be done in the Papal Rome of the End Times.
Mario got into the Social Integration Common Services about thirty years earlier. His maternal uncle, a high rank Union officer, put in a good word for him, but getting hired should have been not so difficult anyway. Equilateral, the SICS name at the time, suffered any kind of sabotage and surely the pour salary did not compensate the daily risk of attacks, explosive letters and even infestations. Unforgettable was the one of fleas, nobody knows how bred and put in envelopes addressed to each department. Those were the years of the Global Crisis, some time before the Jew York World Harmony Average Treaty.
The Recommendation Number One of WHAT, had designed the human life on two levels. The former, named Social Unitary Cohesion System, lied in a protected slot where every user could benefit a standard way of life, from insemination to incineration. The latter, so-called Hyper Circuit, stayed open to anybody who could have intellectual and economic resources for risking in competition among free capitals, big companies and professions, in every field of human knowledge and activity. Onto the Hyper Circuit, all economic and financial enterprises persisted in a totally free market regime. In other words, whatever was cool in business before the Global Crisis, could restart from the universal principle that all is permitted, except what expressively not recommended.
As a sole unavoidable duty, WHAT imposed the Taxation of assets, transactions and profits, just to guarantee a worldwide and stable support for the Standard Slot. The System, nicknamed SEX SEX SEX for the three fixed and immutable rates of levy, ensured huge revenue, plainly and effectively administered by the Treaty Hyper Managers. Taxation was not only a financial matter, it involved also goods and services duly equipped by Hyper Industrial Operators in favour of the Standard Slot, accordingly to the WHAT Hyper Managers’ policies.
Everything was carefully arranged in order to avoid that economic and financial global events may any longer affect the daily life into the Standard Slot. So at last, humankind could satisfy the innate bent on oligarchy, without oppressing people just for that.
While onto the Hyper Circuit one could still gaily gore other fellows just for snatching, standard people could graze calmly, in shelter of any velleity and ambition.
Mario’s new accommodation was only few blocks far from the SICS sectorial seat and as if it weren’t enough, the job-home run was totally outdoor. No underground, no subway and suffocating queues. He could walk over the down town buildings and even pass through the Park, whose gates open to him crossing at eight o’clock.
Nobody at work believed that such a favourable assignment could happen by chance. Yet, the sensitive data of the “discoupleds”, gay pun hinting on the Coupling Termination procedure, did not affect the Standard Civil Software processing. Mario knew it well, having been working for years into the CAD, the Civil Advanced District.
Anyway, he would have never forgot when Piera forwarded the Online Termination ritual notice. The process started automatically and Mario was notified during the one p.m. Standard Culture Break. The jingle had interrupted the Yoga session, raising the attendees’ disappointment and a hysteric reprimand by the master. As usual, he had forgotten to mute his Connector. Dressing again quickly, Mario got out of the clammy hall, drenched by sweat and standard deodorant. The worry about his non registered participation - for which he would have not been credited - had just brushed him. He would have continued his break into the bar, ruminating binds and memories messily crowding his mind.
We use to find ourselves thinking about the world upside down. When such a reverse would have happened? At a certain time, very distant from now or a little while ago, we turned our back and left off. What if we had not turned, if we had gone ahead on the same way… may ever be a world still oriented toward the right direction? That’s why it makes sense wondering if there were extraterrestrials or not.
Findings, top-secret files, close encounters, visions and even kidnappings. Not only bizarre news story and shallow literature, even religion deals with UFO and many people made it really a cult, perhaps in contrast with the disappointing ones supplied by tradition. But why should the Creator have any problem in launching other worlds? Rather, He has likely longed for at least one more, as we also usually do for children. A new planet, where the beloved creatures may stay off munching a losing apple, remaining basically faithful to Him and just therefore, ushering in a totally different History.
Right, they are so different and not so good-looking… clumsy and dumpy. They seem stupid and incapable, but once again, looks may be deceiving. The narrative develops as the log of a first person narrator commanding a space mission from Nede, the full opposite of our planet, even in name. Events happen paradoxically, unlikely, sweet and dangerous, as in a dream from which you would not want to be awaked. But was it a dream?
It’s definitely my fault. What jumped to my head taking the Symposium floor? The Guide had realized how simple is the idea and effective as well… so, instead of blotting it out, a few days later he called me, just to talk about. There is no way back now.
I have never been in a Local Guide nook before and I frankly feel a little bit shy with my sweaty hands and shiny nose. I ring the doorbell and the Guide himself comes to open:
- My dearest…
- ...I worship, our Guide…
We take a sit in the studio, where a large screen broadcasts celestial music blended with waterworks:
- May I offer you any fragrance?
- No, thank you. I had breakfast just now…
- Something to drink?
To tell the truth, there are seed cookies on a little table tray and I am greedy, but crunching them noisily would me put in a spot:
- You are so kind… some water, please… rainwater, if possible…
Shuffling, he reaches the shelf and keys something on the waiter screen:
- ...did you say rainwater?
- Yes, if you can… - I answer clumsily, reasoning about what would have happened if I had asked for some fruit juice.
The glass wall fronts directly onto the garden, a nice golden moss, where high stones stick out together with big pink pumpkins, half-hidden by marvellous bluish leaves. The First Moon is about to set and through the laughing-willow thin branches, the shining daybreak shows up in the warm breeze of the third morning.
At last, he hands me the transparent rubber glass and slowly sinks in the hammock:
- You see, brother…
- Jess, Our Guide…
- Right, Jessie… you know how the Great Symposium of the Sages works…
- Really not, Sir... but I suppose they don’t use to beat around the bush… otherwise, what race of sages would they be?
- Exactly.
Am I wrong or his messy hairs go along with the look on his face?
- You also know what are the practical problems up for discussion…
- We are too few… - I confirm, absently.
He explains that in case of approval, they will ask quite me to improve the project… and therefore, I should be available, no ifs, no buts.
- Any bond with anybody? – He asks me suddenly frowning.
- No, Our Guide…
- …health?
- Very good, so far...
I must tell him that I have no idea of intergalactic expeditions:
- Don’t worry about that… we have technicians and unlimited means.
- Thank goodness...
The virtuous mechanism which has improved planetary prosperity in the course of time, is ingenious and quite simple.
One of the earliest editions of the Great Symposium, we are talking about thousands sections ago, established as a main goal, the economic independence of families and other groups identified by territorial homogeneity.
Always grappling with brothers’ always whimpering and claiming for something, fed up with putting on patches that may open bigger holes somewhere else, with further complaints, they joined in a plenary continuing session, determined not to get out before having found the right solution. After tens and tens of days of unceasing prayers and heated disputes, there came the brainwave, likely inspired by the Father, tenderly merciful upon such a trouble.
In the vision of those primitive wise men, grew the awareness that brothers should have been able to do well, counting on their own resources and that, in order to spread faith and wealth, their own projects and expectations fulfilment should have been duly honoured. Just to put concretely into effect their appreciation, the Sages conceived to award prizes in the form of currency. Therefore, they coined the glorious Headed, then commonly nicknamed as Hardhead, due to the smiling incision on the indelible rubber of different denominations.
From the beginning, the fact of achieving prizes did not mean a mere compensation for job, talent or any other social utility, but rather it conferred distinction and prestige among the brothers, in itself.
So therefore many things rose as buildings, bridges, roads, plants, orchards of all sorts, means of transportation and machinery more and more sophisticated, seminaries, hospitals with scientific, art and religious academies, not to mention the most disparate kinds of art and craft.
Whoever got prizes, used to accumulate and invest in further efforts, thus rewarding other brothers’ work and talent.
Over time, the Great Symposium devoted itself mainly to the stewardship of the precious mechanism, confining its activity to educational matters and main public interest initiatives.
In truth, there was a dramatic break, maliciously caused by a misunderstanding and perhaps, also by the more and more frustrating feeling of irrelevance with respect to fraternal affairs.
In fact, the Fraternity used to make progress in every field, without any need by now of informing the Symposium and even less of obtaining its appraisal.
When a young charming and breezy sage, already distinguished for some innovative health care reforms, expressed his fear for the problem of problems, the elders were very happy to become influential again, even if because of a terrible doubt: what could have happened if anybody had started hoarding a lot of Hardheads, abusing of such a potential for conditioning, orienting and even corrupting the brothers’ vulnerable mind?
What a man can do expecting his retirement and being divorced, homeless, unemployed, without money and essentially alone? He makes the revolution. Not that blind-alley desperate one, basically useless and doomed to end rotting in jail: the Labyrinth structure is too complex by now, and striking it down for a short stretch would be nothing. The true revolution will be inside.
First of all, the change of perspective: from a bit coward and sedentary one still anchored to the Big Mechanism, to the stealthy and detached one of an undetected fugitive. No compromise, no regret, no concession to fear… of what, then? Even if there is no idea - yet - of a possible life beyond the actual one, the Man eventually released from the ignoble tangle of the nothingness, may come to it, just climbing the rugged paths of a lonely precariousness. With two great and crucial supports: the Nature and some unexpected travel buddy toward the same unknown.
The door was left ajar and Sandro knocked on the jamb:
- May I…
- Come in! Hi, Sandro, have a seat…
The dumpy intern smiled clumsily and soon vanished, hugging a heavy binder from where greyish printouts were about to fall.
“The Old Man” - as the staff use to call him for ages - had his brow beaded with sweat and his few white hairs ruffled.
One more sleepless night… assumed Sandro, slightly discomforted on the black non-leather chair.
- I have an offer that you cannot refuse… - The Old Man said, sly smiling.
- I listen to you, I’m curious…
Sandro arrived at TexCo when his second daughter was born. Actually, he was not a sales clerk, but he learned quickly and he liked to chat with the clients along the lines, in front of the big shelves, whispering suggestions about some new entry or goods in stock…
- You know how many shops are closing, one after the other…
Sandro nodded absently.
- …and we, their supplier, we are in crisis… – the Old Man pointed out, more and more seriously.
- …and people don’t buy household linen anymore! – Sandro added as if it were the following verse of a lullaby, already heard too many times.
- Ok, you are right… let’s go to the point.
The wholesale store has been prospering for many years earlier, together with its clients, mostly small retailers really passionate about that job, without no schedule, but simple and fun as a game… before that taxes and accounting turned it into a nightmare.
The company used to pay for the meals to staff in a little truck restaurant few minutes walking, but he personally used to offer them some wine.
Never the bulk Bonarda that would have flowed as orange juice... only a high quality three quarters bottle he only could order.
The director was a bit as a gruff father, but everybody used to obey him because they trusted.
Suddenly, Sandro remembered him sitting at the head table, skilfully handling his toothpick.
Oblivious to the diners’ lacking attention, the Old Man - as he often used to do - had thought aloud: “...when things go well, they can only get worse...”.
Thanks to such a discreet long view, the Old Man had been prudent, chasing the company financial independence.
How many times advisors, financiers and even the company business consultant had censured him, pungently:
“Director, you are losing development opportunities, the company does not grow... such a liquidity surplus is absolutely useless and even damaging!”
However, now he could dismiss his veteran boys, without ruining them:
- Besides your severance, we can pay ten thousands Euro in three years treasury bonds... after which your pension comes and you are ok as well!
- Please Boss, tell me in Lira currency... I understand nothing of these fucking Euros! – Sandro rumbled, more bothered by the phone ringtone than by the just heard amount.
- Double it, blessed man, double it! After ten years, you don’t be used yet... because you’re stubborn, as a mule! The Old Man brandished the cordless, sighing resigned to a long excited talk with the consultant.
Sandro could concentrate and imagine.
Until he burst, as soon as the call finished:
- Fifteen... or nothing to do about it!
Synopsis
If you chance upon this book, you may leaf it through distractedly and put it down soon, with a motion of displeasure. Touched by fate, your heart closed, hardened by Obvious and frozen by Doubt, you cannot have an idea about whatever is rolling down on the slimy inclined plane of your apathy.
Suddenly, a desperate whisper from pages:
Wait a moment, read me!
Just once, don’t stiffen and listen to me. I promise you will not regret forcing yourself, because – that’s for sure – care and attempt are always rewarded! Don’t forget that human brain is equipped with nine million billion of connections and never, as in this age of digital devices, such a huge space is left turned off, sadly unused.
Actually, it doesn’t seem an handbook. There are too many around, most of them excellent, but so much boring. This book does not presume to teach how to play Bridge decently, but it would reveal how and how far you may fall in love with him.
Chapter one: a miniature life.
No one would even dream of claiming that tennis and golf are ball games: I start to say that Bridge is not a card game as well. So therefore, the mortifying let-down felt when somebody I tried to involve, says:
Come on, I hate playing cards…
The best answer would be:
That’s why you may be a great Bridge player!
However, the shutter is too heavy, hard to be lift up. You may show it is a purely mental human activity, which actually needs a 52 cards deck, but just like a means of a complex and well-structured discipline, whose goals go very far beyond the lazy handling of glossy cards.
Right, by means the same tools, you can play the fate and fleece careless players … with my Friend Bridge, the call out is always and only for yourself. No gamble, no competition, no victory, no defeat: there is only the incomparable satisfaction for having managed the situation at your best.
By the way, the Poet used to say:
In life and playing Bridge as well, the question is how far you go by what you have …
In other words, some kind of a miniature life, where very intense delights and satisfactions alternate with bearable and never fatal snags and flops.
At the beginning...