Trench Foot Discovery

The letter of yesterday (and that perhaps one day will come) ... and be happily

If you work in a library can happen to have in his hands a letter like this.

If you work in a library, you may have read, although a part of you feels guilty, as if he were browsing in the privacy of others.

But if you work in a library, you say that you do for work, and laws.

"For a week I was given the title of doctor , but I must say that I do not feel different from before [...] In fact, maybe now I'm a bit 'worried because they seem to be blocked the assumptions: I want to stay in the institution where I made the claim and will work willingly, but the idea of \u200b\u200bit scares me a little free '[...] I'm in these days as the habit of writing has been lost, must be the fault of the hectic life that we have to do and the postal service: in fact seem to those legendary times when a letter arrived after three days [...] Vicenza is a city that can not well appear in everyday life: the few times I was there I always had the ' impression that it was empty ... "

And when you finish it and throw our eyes to the date, you get a little shiver down my spine.

November 3, 1974

think that these same words could be written today. That the concerns of that time seem the same. What is it for you (including the postman).

But nearly four decades have passed, most of your life, and we're back to square one.

And you wonder when things will never change.

This letter was found between the pages of a book by Piero Nardi. To write is a niece, which I do not feel that much different.

Nardi was a teacher and literary critic Vicenza. A rethink his life, see his personal library full of books with autographs of friends and pen of letters, some 'hope you are. Read the dedications of Giorgio Bassani of Eugenio Montale of Sibilla , full of affection and gratitude, and smile.

But those were other times , as Nardi decided to entitle his autobiography. Times when the culture still mattered - and had universally, not just for you. Working in a library you do not know for how much, and do not want to remember how.

Hoping one day to write a letter other than this.