Il Gatto addormentato
(The Sleeping Cat)
Nursery tales by Elisabetta Mancini Camporeale

Published online: 6 July 2007 5
English version
L'Angelo
PDF version


In una tiepida notte d’estate un manto nero tempestato di stelle sormontava la città ma nessuno poteva ammirarne la maestosità, perché gli uomini correvano come impazziti in un turbinio di luci al neon, tutti presi dalle loro faccende.

Nessuno s’accorse quindi che all’improvviso una di quelle luci nel cielo si fece più vivida e intraprese il suo viaggio sulla Terra.

La scia luminosa che lasciava dietro di sé terminò di là della città, lì dove nel buio s’intravedeva appena una misera casupola.

Dietro i vetri opachi brillava la tremula luce di una candela.

Non c’era molta luce all’interno.

Poco si poteva vedere perché il buio s’era acquattato in ogni angolo della stanza e il gelo lo aveva cristallizzato là.

Su di un tavolaccio accanto alla candela asfittica un bicchiere vuoto faceva compagnia ad un uomo che stringeva tra i pugni un volto che appariva vecchio di cent’anni, anche se l’uomo a cui apparteneva poteva averne solo la metà.

Quando la luce discesa dal cielo si avvicinò alla catapecchia, trovò l’uscio socchiuso.

Intorno ad esso v’era un ramo rinsecchito e al posto dei fiori che un tempo lo adornavano v’erano grosse spine.

La luce entrò nella stanza illuminandola tutta e si avvicinò all’uomo.

Passò lieve sul suo volto e poi scivolò via veloce.

Questi si svegliò stordito, sicuro che una carezza amorevole gli avesse solcato le rughe profonde, ma la stanza era vuota.

Corse immediatamente fuori nel buio.

Subito lo investì un tenue profumo di gelsomini e s’accorse che, impigliate tra le spine, v’erano due piume candide.

Istintivamente sollevò gli occhi al cielo, unico essere in quel momento sulla Terra a poterne ammirare la bellezza, e vide accendersi un altro puntolino più brillante degli altri.

Chissà perché, si sentì meno solo.

Milano, 2 maggio 2002







Published online: 6 July 2007
Italian version
The Angel
PDF version


It was a mild summer night.  A black mantle studded with stars surrounded the city, but there was no one to admire its majesty. Everyone was too busy, madly rushing around in a whirlwind of neon signs.

No one noticed a pin point of light in the sky becoming ever brighter, as it began its journey to Earth.

The trail of light it left behind, ended on the other side of town, where in the darkness, a rundown old house was barely visible.

Behind a clouded windowpane, shone the trembling light of a candle.

Inside, there was very little light. It was difficult to see, as the darkness, crystallized by the cold, filled every corner of the house.

On a wooden table, an empty glass sat next to a spent candle, keeping a man company, as he clasped his face in his fists. He looked a hundred years old, but was only fifty.

As the little light approached the old house, she saw that the door was ajar.

Around the door was a dried up old vine. It had once been adorned by flowers, but, now only big thorns grew there.

The little light entered the room, filling it completely with her radiance, and approached the man.

She gently touched his face, and then quickly slipped away.

He awoke bewildered, yet was certain that a loving caress had stroked his deep wrinkles. But, the room was empty.

He quickly ran out into the darkness, where he was met by the delicate scent of jasmine. He turned to notice two white feathers tangled among the thorns.

Instinctively, he looked to the sky, as if on that night, he alone was capable of marveling at its beauty. There he saw another pinpoint of light brighter than the others, and in that moment, felt a little less lonely.

Milan, May 2nd, 2002

(English translation by Mariangela Canzi)








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When not otherwise specified, the English translation was made by the author.