venezuela

Marco Giroldi 07
From: Italy

Interests: Traveling, children, soccer, poetry
Service: Working with street children

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"The Spark of Hunger"
Often in the evening, at the moment that divides in
half the time between supper and my bedtime, a
rumbling of hunger is heard from my stomach. My
mouth waters, my brain gives free vent to the most
varied food fantasies. In fact it is a sensual
hunger, not a need. The desire of having
something tasty and juicy to wash away the salty
taste of supper, allowing sweetness to accompany
the dreams of night. In the amber and well lit
corridors of the FMA Provincial House there is no
one. Like a feline I walk towards the kitchen when
without warning a small and curved figure walking
in the opposite direction appears from behind the
corner. I do not pay attention and go on my way,
my mind is already envisioning the snack. Then I
recognize her; it is Sister Celia. In the afternoon
she had warmed my heart telling me how when she
was little she would make her father happy by
scratching his back. I do not know why but for
some strange reason, the most simple and
unattractive story when told by the elderly, with
their eyes sparkling with nostalgia, always have an
extraordinary effect on me. At any rate, I stop and
between us, who had already become friends,
immediately clicks a conniving look and an
understanding greeting.

S: "Where are you going so alone?"
M: "I am going to eat something. I’m just a bit
   hungry... "
S: "Ah, that’s good! Would you like me to prepare
   something for you?"
M: "No thanks, you must rest... See you later. See
   you soon "
S: "Yes, it is true. You are already a man... Go,
eat well, good night."

I left her behind and continued to walk. In the
twilight of the evening, I thought about the strength
of that woman, about her life, so hard, devout and
chaste. To her legs that walk with such effort. To
her will and her goodness—with the weight of old
age, she was ready to go to the kitchen with me,
to prepare and serve me what I desired, even a
Christmas dinner if I had wanted It would have
been enough for me to ask for it, I am sure.

The dining room was empty and dark, I approach
the counter and I take one apple and two oranges.
The hunger is gone. Sister Celia had already
nourished me with the sweetest and most
wonderful thing that I could ever find. I have an
indigestion of love. In the moment in which my
teeth first bite into the apple, a tear falls from my
eyes.