Flood in Marche. Cantiano. The three streams of children become claws

Flood in Marche. Cantiano. The three streams of children become claws
Flood in Marche. Cantiano. The three streams of children become claws
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At least this morning, under the fortress, no one is mourning a dead man. It is a miracle everyone says. And it is also the only consolation, because perhaps it is the country that is dead, my country as a child. A heart attack hit him in the heart. A river of mud, at night, swept away the restaurant, the bar, the wine shop, the newsagent, the church, the bank, the pharmacy, the bakery, with a sadistic persistence on all the places that make “community” , which transform an agglomeration of ancient stones into a hearth of friendships and affections.

The “cursed tool of war”, the castle of Cantiano, which not even the ferocious hosts of Braccio da Montone were able to conquer, had to surrender to two hours of tropical rain. The liquid hammer crashed everything, in half an hour 300 milliliters of water fell, more than 3 quintals per square meter, a steamroller that ran over cars, entered homes, took away warehouses, animals, until it expanded with its fury in the countryside covered by millions of liters of mud.

It was night, the electricity went out, the cell phones stopped receiving the signal and so did the fixed telephone lines. In this black, with the rising roar of the water, sixteen-year-old Giulia gets out of her mother’s car and is convinced that she can do it on foot. After all there are a few tens of meters to the front door. But the river broke its banks and transforms the ancient Borgo road into a riverbed, accelerating its impetuous run with a wave two meters high. Giulia is slim and agile, she takes refuge with a leap behind a stone arch, but the water rises from her, she reaches her chest in a few seconds. She almost overwhelmed she begins to climb first to an iron grate, then she slides down with her wet and shaking hands, but she finds the downpipe of the roof – which Cantiano calls “canaleccia” – and begins to climb it. She clings like a spider to this crumbling pole, she screams, she is about to fall into that black magma and she would be her end. Until two strong arms, those of Emiliano, grab her under her armpits and pull her on her, upwards and safety. Mountaineer arms, because Emiliano, hearing the screams, put on his harness and lowered himself from the window into the void with the climbing ropes. In those same minutes, the hairdresser of the center is hoisted out of the shop thanks to knotted sheets, a reverse escape, upwards. While Elena, who, like many elderly people, prefers the known to the unknown, she does not hear reasons and she does not want to leave the house despite the pleas of the firemen. The water has reached its first floor, there are just three more steps to separate the apartment from the monster that is climbing. But Elena doesn’t hear reasons: “From here I won’t move, I take ten drops of Lexotan and go to bed. May what has to happen happen.” Filippo, on the other hand, is on his way home, unaware of what happened. He comes from Cagli. Arriving at the Pontedazzo hamlet he sees the monster running towards him, just in time to nail and run away with a U-turn.

The mad rush in the night ends in an uphill lane, while the brown wave spreads all around. At the top of the road a cottage, strangers open and heartened him. He will spend the night with them, because tragedies are approaching and man recognizes himself in the other.

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In the morning ghosts covered in mud roam the streets in fishing boots. Gianni the photographer manages to save the hard disk floating in the shop just in time, inside there are three weddings. Daniela’s newsstand is blocked by mud and debris. Every day Daniela publishes on social networks a photo of a cantianese who recommends a reading: books, newspapers, the puzzle week. What will you publish tomorrow Daniela? Davide is a courageous young man who opened “La Cantina sociale” in the square, which is not a cellar at all but a refined restaurant that attracts gourmands from all over the region. A child will be born to him in a week, the summer season went well, the pandemic seemed to be behind us. And now this. His room, housed in the ancient cellars of a historic building, is a cave full of logs, boulders, filthy water, debris. Davide wanders around the square at the first light of dawn, hesitates but does not enter. He comes back hunched over: “I don’t have the courage, there’s nothing left”.

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The Tenetra, the Bevano, the Burano. Three streams where every cantianese child learns to play, throwing stones in the shallow and clear waters, trying to identify chubs and “ciambotti”, as toads are called here, hidden under the stones. Three harmless rivers that the water bomb transforms, in just thirty minutes, into the steel claws of a harrow that shatters everything in its path.
Come on Cantiano, hold on tight.

The article is in Italian

Tags: Flood Marche Cantiano streams children claws

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