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Paolo Cognetti

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“Diceva il mio amico Mario Badalassi che i vecchi del quartiere Alessandrino – questo quartiere di povere palazzine basse color diarrea, aggruppate schiena a schiena sul traffico – hanno tutti la stessa camminata da ministeriale. Diceva che è un fatto biologico, proprio. Cioè, la schiena si incurva naturalmente nei trent'anni di scrivania, di genuflessioni sui lombi del settorista, e i piedi anno dopo anno, infimo scatto di carriera dopo infimo scatto di carriera, ti diventano a papera.”

“Nevertheless, the idea is deeply embedded in American Protestantism that the clergy go to seminary in order to become theologians. I recall, for example, giving a lecture at a seminary a while ago in which I made a remark which particularly agitated the Dean of the seminary, and he said to me, 'No responsible theologian would say what you just said!' That seemed to me reassuring news. A few days later I received a letter from someone who had been present at this exchange. The letter declared that the Dean had been mistaken and that in fact Soren Kierkegaard had written in his journals somewhere the substance of what I had said. I reported this comforting and distinguished citation to the Dean, who without hesitation announced: 'Oh, Kierkegaard is not a responsible theologian.' How could he be? He was no seminary professor. How could he know much about the mystery of God's presence in the world? Kierkegaard, after all, was only in the world - where God is - not in the seminary - where the theologians are!”

“Il y a trente-cinq ans, Paul et Percival Goodman estimaient que seuls cinq pour cent du travail effectué alors - il est probable que ce chiffre, pour peu qu'il soit fiable, serait plus bas de nos jours - auraient suffi à satisfaire nos besoins minimaux : alimentation, vêtements, habitat. Leur estimation n'est qu'une supposition éclairée mais la conclusion en est aisée à tirer : directement ou indirectement, le gros du travail ne sert que les desseins improductifs du commerce et du contrôle social.”

“Gundar, seeing Halt upright for the first time in two days, stumped up the deck to join them. 'Back on your feet then?' he boomed cheerfully, with typical Skandian tact. 'By Gorlag's toenails, with all the heaving abd puking you've been doing, I thought you'd turn yourself inside out and puke yourself over the rail!'... 'You do paint a pretty picture, Gundar,' Will said... 'Thank you for your concern,' Halt said icily... 'So, did you find Albert?' Gundar went on, unabashed. Even Halt was puzzled by this sudden apparent change of subject. 'Albert?' he asked. Too late, he saw Gundar's grin widening and knew he'd stepped into a trap. 'You seemed to be looking for him. You'd lean over the rail and call, 'Al-b-e-e-e-e-e-r-t!' I thought he might be some Araluen sea god.' 'No, I didn't find him. Maybe I could look for him in your helmet.' He reached out a hand. But Gundar had heard what happened when Skandians lent their helmets to the grim-faced Ranger while onboard ship... 'No, I'm pretty sure he's not there,' he said hurriedly.”

“The Mayflower sped across the white-tipped waves once the voyage was under way, and the passengers were quickly afflicted with seasickness. The crew took great delight in the sufferings of the landlubbers and tormented them mercilessly. "There is an insolent and very profane young man, Bradford wrote, "who was always harrassing the poor people in their sickness, and cursing them daily with greivous execrations." He even laughed that he hoped to 'throw half of them overboard before they came to their journey's end.' The Puritans believe a just God punished the young sailor for his cruelty when, halfway through the voyage, 'it pleased God...to smite the young man with a greivous disease, of which he died in a desperate manner." He was the first to be thrown overboard.”

“What . . . fellow?” The wind was cool, but I could see sweat trickling down the back of Jamie’s neck, dampening his collar and plastering the linen between his shoulders. Duff didn’t answer immediately. A look of speculation flickered in his small, deep-set eyes. “Don’t think about it, Duff,” Roger said, softly, but with great assurance. “I can reach ye from here with an oar, ken?” “Aye?” Duff glanced thoughtfully from Jamie, to Roger, and then to me. “Aye, reckon ye might. But allowin’ for the sake for argyment as how you can swim, MacKenzie—and even that Mr. Fraser might keep afloat—I dinna think that’s true of the lady, is it? Skirts and petticoats . . .” He shook his head, pursing thin lips in speculation as he looked at me. “Go to the bottom like a stone, she would.” Peter shifted ever so slightly, bringing his feet under him. “Claire?” Jamie said. I saw his fingers curl tight round the oars, and heard the note of strain in his voice. I sighed and drew the pistol out from under the coat across my lap. “Right,” I said. “Which one shall I shoot?”