William Bertoja
It was pouring rain on that Wednesday night. It was the postwar period and the rain was falling as if it wanted to wash off the dust the war had left on the roads and in the spirits of the people who would have never forgotten what had happened.
Like in a movie, a little boy, too young to understand but too old to forget, was watching the drops of rain falling against the window. He had no particular thoughts in his mind. He was just a little sleepy and enjoyed standing there, dreaming.Imagination is everything to a kid. It makes the difference between soul and ability, between dream and reality.
“William! William, come here!”
“Listen to me. Stop dreaming! You are always day-dreaming. I know you are a small kid but you ought to do things not only imagine them. Anybody can do that. You must do both, imagine and then act.”
The kid nodded. He knew that it was the best way to keep him going on. As the old man didn’t speak, the child provoked him: “What can I do?”
“What? What can you do? Ok, I have something for you to do. Wait a minute!”
The old man stretched his hand into one of the pockets of his ragged jacket and fumbled. He finally found a small satchel made of some faded dark cloth as worn out as his fingers.
“Here you are! This is a bag you must not lose ever! There are precious tiny tile in it. You must keep them with care.”
“Can I have a look?”
“Yes... No! Don’t you dare play with ‘em! Ok! You’ll get into deep trouble if you do. You aren’t supposed to play with ‘em, ok! You’ll keep ‘em and won’t lose ‘em. That’s all. You’ll use ‘em when you are a big boy”.
“How big?”
“When you’re big enough. Now you’re a little kid and you can’t understand. It’s just you’re a kid; it’s not your fault you know… Kids just don’t understand!” The old man dismissed the child...
Like in a movie, a little boy, too young to understand but too old to forget, was watching the drops of rain falling against the window. He had no particular thoughts in his mind. He was just a little sleepy and enjoyed standing there, dreaming.Imagination is everything to a kid. It makes the difference between soul and ability, between dream and reality.
“William! William, come here!”
“Listen to me. Stop dreaming! You are always day-dreaming. I know you are a small kid but you ought to do things not only imagine them. Anybody can do that. You must do both, imagine and then act.”
The kid nodded. He knew that it was the best way to keep him going on. As the old man didn’t speak, the child provoked him: “What can I do?”
“What? What can you do? Ok, I have something for you to do. Wait a minute!”
The old man stretched his hand into one of the pockets of his ragged jacket and fumbled. He finally found a small satchel made of some faded dark cloth as worn out as his fingers.
“Here you are! This is a bag you must not lose ever! There are precious tiny tile in it. You must keep them with care.”
“Can I have a look?”
“Yes... No! Don’t you dare play with ‘em! Ok! You’ll get into deep trouble if you do. You aren’t supposed to play with ‘em, ok! You’ll keep ‘em and won’t lose ‘em. That’s all. You’ll use ‘em when you are a big boy”.
“How big?”
“When you’re big enough. Now you’re a little kid and you can’t understand. It’s just you’re a kid; it’s not your fault you know… Kids just don’t understand!” The old man dismissed the child...