Walking as every day on the narrow street from work to university, I noticed that nothing had remained from the old house at the end of the street, apart from the columns. Some men were standing in the front yard, talking. I used to see the old house every day, walking to university. It was something melancholic in that past-time villa that drew your attention. It was something similar to that feeling you get from someone very proud of himself, that proud he makes you listen to him carefully, even if you know you will never agree with him. It was like the shadow of nobility that seduces everyone, even those who harshly preach against it.
I wasn’t sure what had the house been on the past times; sometimes I would hear it was the residence of someone with influence, one of those whose name would still be mentioned on stories and speeches; sometimes I would hear it was the villa of some millionaire who gave it away for charity to the orphanage; I had even heard it had been a mysterious investigation office.
Now the house had only its columns, standing upright stubbornly, weathered and fragile. I stopped in front of the brown (I guess from the rust) door and I looked at three aged men discussing aloud, gesturing vividly with their hands. They were all in old-fashioned, but well-maintained suits, one of those expensive suits bought a long time ago that slowly becomes part of their master’s image. One of them held some papers in his hands, talking and shouting to the others while raising his fist up. The other two listened carefully and nodded convinced. In the front yard, there were two other men, much younger, simply dressed. One of them was working on the bushes, cutting and pulling them out. The other one had bend over to the ground with some tools and looked like he was doing some measurements.
I looked around on the street, checking if there was anyone I could ask about what was happening. Not a single soul. The only people on my sight were drinking on the little bar at the end of the street; they couldn’t see or hear anything from the house. I was late for my classes, but curiosity pushed me into the front yard, heading to the men in suits. They stopped talking as soon as they saw me. The one with the papers in his hands had an angry face, but he carefully smiled right away and approached me with big firm steps. He shook my hand and introduced me to the others. They would completely reconstruct the big house; they would make it “stronger than a castle”, as the man with papers said enthusiastically. They were doing all of this “so that people would have a shelter to feel safe, would have a place where to get help, for all their problems”. There was something in those men that attracted me, maybe because they seemed so credible and authoritative. I agreed to help them somehow, I wasn’t feeling like going to school anyway. The two men who were working in the yard told me what I could do. They seemed to be there on their will too, without asking for any benefit, and that was something I liked. They told me to fix and strengthen the roof skeleton, old and damaged like a spider’s web. I climbed into the week columns with some wires on my belt and started working. The air was clean and I was really enjoying the view from up there.
It wasn’t long before two other men entered the front yard, one in his thirties, the other a bit older. I saw them talking to the man with papers, who seemed always very enthusiast. Then both of them approached the man occupied with the measurements and he delivered them some tasks. The younger one started flattening the ground, digging out the high soil, the other one started fixing the ruined brown door. From up there I could see the bar at the end of the street. Tables crowded with people talking about mundane topics. I felt proud to be working there.
I turned my head to the man with papers and he was meeting another guy that had entered out of curiosity. It was a young boy, my age, a smiling guy that shook hands with the men in suits, and then met the one who did measurements and joined me up in the roof. Even though the rusted skeleton seemed very fragile at the beginning, it was looking quite strong now; together with the young boy, we strengthened it with additional wires and iron rods. There were no bushes and crabgrass in the yard anymore. Three other men started plastering the columns. The door was now fixed and stood strong upright. The man that fixed it was now working on the ruined walls next to the door. The man doing the measurements was talking to two girls about getting some bricks for the house.
At the bar at the end of the street, people stood up and sat down, they all seemed the same to me, all busy with their tiny unimportant things, gossiping about the latest sensations on the newspapers. The man with papers was now in front of ten or fifteen others that listened to him carefully and interested. They soon joined us working in the yard. The man with papers together with the other two in suits arranged a table and three chairs, somewhere near the door. Up in the roof joined a girl that started working and chatting with the young boy. I felt good in that warm atmosphere where everybody worked willingly.
We grew in numbers quickly. In some hours, there were hundreds of us. I was one of the first there and yet everything seemed so natural, all these events and developments. Everything felt just right. Now the roof was almost over, we had put stone roof tiles and made the iron skeleton twice as strong. The house was almost over too, the walls were doubled, very steady. The yard was all clean and organized; in two parts of it, they were setting up large tents. The table near the door where the man with papers stood was now inside one of these tents and we couldn’t go there anymore, apart from the man who did measurements. He would enter the tent time after time to get new tasks. Now and then, one of the men in suits would approach the working people and talk to them aloud, raising up one fist. Crowds of people came together in the front yard and listened to the man with papers, shouting some speech.
The bar closed. The young boy and the girl working in the roof with me were standing at the roof edge, chatting and laughing. I noticed the man with papers nodding towards them to one of the men in suits. The young boy approached the girl and kissed her; she looked at him, kissed him back and put her hand in his shoulders. At that point, the man with papers shouted outraged to the one next to him. He approached with three others and told the kissing couple to get down the roof. A moment of silence in the front yard. The young boy and the girl got down; those four waiting for them took them forcefully and walked them to the door. The crowd followed the whole scene nodding affirmatively. The man with papers stood on a booth near the table and started giving an angry speech. The crowd shouted and I couldn’t hear anymore up there on the roof. The man with papers raised up his fist and headed to the people in an overwhelming powerful voice. The people screamed vigorously.
Everything went so fast, so very fast. The crowd was mad. I was getting down when a missile destroyed half of the roof. Terrified, I tried to understand where it came from and on the horizon, at the end of the street, where some moments ago I could see the bar full of people, in the fading light, I saw tens of tanks with their muzzles pointing to our yard. I turned immediately to the crowd that had stopped screaming right away to warn them about the tanks, but they seemed already prepared: their faces were wild and in their hands, they held rocks and sticks. I looked at the door and the walls. Thousands of armed soldiers surrounded us. One of the soldiers was shouting from a megaphone. Rocks and sticks were thrown from the crowd inside the yard to the other side of the wall. I saw the man with papers throwing the papers in the booth and pulling out an old revolver. Those outside ripped the door apart and now the crowd inside pushed insanely trying to get away and run. Most of them turned at the back of the yard and tried to find a way out climbing the wall. I got down and ran toward the wall too. At the very last moment, when I was on top of the wall I saw the man without papers trying to escape the hands of the armed men. Two missiles one after another demolished the whole house and turned the yard in a mess of dust, bricks, and irons. I jumped on the other side of the wall and ran without looking back.