A bunch of grapes
Like every day I sat on the bench next to the old fountain of the aqueduct to meditate in the silent hot midday sun, almost abandoned after the walk along the west promenade, when two Arab men approach the fountain, a boy and an adult, the latter elderly , about sixty, with a tired, humble appearance, but bearer of a great and innate dignity.
They take off their t-shirt, worn out and without any more color, take some other garments from the old backpack and wash everything with great calm and patience, then hang out the laundry with the expertise of a housewife of yesteryear, in turn they also refresh their body and finally they sit on the bench next to mine, in silence, also in meditation.
At a certain moment the boy opens a plastic bag and extracts a beautiful bunch of grapes, of a color between blue, red and black, the harvest is about to begin and in this period it appears in all its majesty, without hesitation hands it to me as you do between real friends.
We enjoyed this gift of nature together and I was able to learn about their history of immigrants from Tunisia and above all to understand the dignity and extraordinary humanity of these friends.
Yes, friends, truer than we think we have in our hometown … racism, terrorism, the epidemic
This is our nature, our essence, compassion, in the literal sense of the word, the sharing of the passion, which we lose from an early age, since they educate us to fear and authority.
