Or: boats disappear in the triangle... but of what importance is just one boat? In the “Corriere della Sera” we read during the flight tells us the usual unfortunate things about Italy. We Arrive in Italy. We are searched. Has war broken out? No, it hasn’t. It’s just the fault of 4 terrorists who New York believes to be on the plane. Goodbye, Maiorca family! Malpensa, raining and empty. Has it really ended?
I would like to know, (but will they ever tell me?), what those iron bits, discovered above the wall, were. They say they were "archaeological finds". I’m not so sure, in my opinion what they recovered, and what I saw, was simply part of an old, rusted, common connecting rod, which probably fell from a boat a few years ago. It now has a different form from the original, because of the deposits of calcareous substances accumulated during the years... We’ll see. However, it is still a mystery. Like others before us, we have neither added nor removed anything from the legend.
At least as far as I understand.
There must be something true in all this, because ships and aeroplanes still disappear in that area.
The American Coastguard says that they are simply normal accidents, which happen because of the tremendous traffic in the area. Those Americans, how sly they are! They tell us so; and, as we cannot contradict them, we have to secretly go there. The truth is that they are afraid we might find something, so they make fun of us. The Americans! The real ones. I mean the gringos. No, I don’t believe it. Those people left their footprint on the moon; is it conceivable that they have been unable to unveil a closer mystery?
It is like them telling us that they discovered the prickly pears in Lampedusa. The fact is that the secrets they hid, after making numerous studies and checks, about so many planes which disappeared, must be so awful and unbelievable that they keep it to themselves. We mustn’t forget that the American people see themselves as the Almighty’s scapegoat for all mankind’s evils. However, sooner or later, as happened with the "Watergate", a journalist will manage to unveil the secret and tell it to the rest of the world.
Then we will finally know the truth. I just hope we haven’t disturbed the eternal sleep of the Gods of Atlantis by going for a walk along the wall of Bimini. I hope no accident will happen to me, not like as happened to those unlucky chaps who went to see death inside the pyramids of the Pharaohs. Anyway, we took nothing away of that we saw because there was nothing to be taken, except those big rocks which formed the wall, and they actually were much too heavy. Meanwhile, the Americans are happy having fun on their beautiful yachts in and around the waters of the Triangle.... even though sometimes a boat disappears; but they don’t seem to care about it. The ocean is so big, what is a single boat among the thousands of boats? The main point is to survive.
It is suppertime. Alitalia gives us a few small things to eat. I manage to eat them with greater effort than before.
Later I read a few pages in the “Corriere della Sera”; they say that in Italy there are the usual problems of prices and the underworld; never mind. Then they switch off the lights as the film of the day starts; I stop reading the newspaper and look with interest at the film starring Charles Bronson. I sleep. I am all stiff, now. The stewardess wakes me up and gives to me a smile and a coffee that I appreciate.
It is 7 am on 24th February.
February 24th
I look out of the window. We are now flying over France. The ocean is behind us. I see many passengers going to the toilet to freshen up. The Americans also have to brush their teeth, since they always have the toothbrush in the small pocket of their horrible shirts.
Sironi is angry with the American sitting in front of him because, without asking, he has lowered the back of his chair to sleep more comfortably; and in so doing has forced my friend to doze even more uncomfortably than ever, and he now has stiff legs. We are about to land, the pilot says. It is eight thirty and we get off, sleepy, upset, and shaken at Rome Airport.
There is a surprise waiting for us! We have to walk through a line of police, and there are some “carabinieri” in military uniforms with guns; my goodness, what’s happening?
It is a normal reaction; we look incredulously at each other.
We are forced, one by one, to be searched by a gentleman, not in uniform, while a lady in uniform does the same with the women. They opened our bags and touched us everywhere, a scandalous show; what a beautiful welcome home the Italians gave us! We stay quiet as we realise that it is a typical situation in Italy these days.
But what makes you furious is that they look everywhere without telling you why. To talk to a police officer is really difficult; in our country it has been like this since the time of Franceschiello (a king of Naples in the 17th century), but now it’s too much. They touch you and you conform, silently, as if it were a normal thing. No reaction, not a word.
You just obey. Perhaps by submitting to it all you are able to avoid being beaten, you just give a pale, crooked smile. Dear Totò, we really are corporals! (A famous Italian film, featuring the equally famous actor, Toto, called “Siamo uomini o caporali?” Where the few “uomini” were the brave people, while the majority were “caporali”, i.e. the cowards). I put a hand in my pocket to get a handkerchief, and the lady in uniform immediately stops my hand. But my dear, you have just searched me! It doesn’t matter sir, keep your hands out of your pockets and be quiet. Again. We go down the stairs to collect our suitcases and in the luggage collection area we find the same excitement. My God, has war broken out? At last, while we wait for our baggage, a police officer kindly tells us that all this is happening because there had been a warning from New York that four terrorists were travelling on our plane. Have you understood? This is a normal event nowadays in the society in which we live. A Spanish lady with her children is so happy at having escaped the danger that she swears never to come to Italy again. As you please madam, but tell this to the Alitalia gentlemen who allow their customers to be treated in this way without any explanation. But Sir, didn’t the police check everybody’s luggage in New York? I ask myself the same question madam, they certainly checked me. After many hours of being dragged from one side to another, here and there, waiting for them to decide to do something; but what are they going to do? Finally, after being subjected to X-rays, our suitcases appear on the conveyor belt. It’s eleven o’clock. Now we just have to take them to customs control, yes, another check, before they are put onto the Milan flight.
Thanks to Maiorca’s presence, we are able to find a customs officer who, good-heartedly and intelligently, just gives a casual glance to our luggage. Done. We put the suitcases on the belt again and go upstairs to the internal flight connections.
We say goodbye to Maiorca and his family who are going to Catania.
I thanked Enzo for having been so tolerant with me. Meeting and getting to know such a great athlete, a brave, sincere and loyal man, has been a great pleasure.
The aeroplane for Milan departs at twelve o’clock.
Not even enough time to fasten our seat belts and we are in Malpensa.
It is 1 pm.
A light, incessant, and lazy drizzle beats against the windows of the plane... we can hardly see the foggy country around. Couldn’t Milan have welcomed us in a different way?
I don't know why, but I feel in my heart a great sadness.
We pick up the luggage and go down the stairs of the aeroplane one by one, trying not to get soaked... In the Airport building there is nobody. Did you hope somebody from the TV would have been there? Don’t make me laugh. Only the Camilli and Tirelli ladies were there, apprehensively waiting for their husbands. I can see two “carabinieri”, an officer of the “Guardia di Finanza” in uniform and an immense void... empty everywhere, in the café, in the waiting rooms, in the corridors. Not even a cat! No taxis, no buses. Only rain, fog, cold, numbness, hunger, sadness, tiredness. Camilli is happy to hug his wife again... he has been able to return to Milan unharmed... in fact, he was the member of the expedition to whom the sorceress had foretold a sad return, on a stretcher! What can we say? We say goodbye to each other and agree to keep in touch.
The expedition to the Bermudas really ends here. Good-bye, hugs. Mrs Tirelli kindly takes the Prof and me to the Bocami head office. It is 2 p.m. on 24th February. The great void that I feel inside is soothed only by the thought that tonight I can hug my marvellous family again.
This is the end of this chronicle.
I have scribbled these lines and I declare without fear of being denied by anyone, that what I have written in this sort of diary, or chronicle or memories of the voyage to the Bahamas Islands made by the Mizar expedition during the month of February 1977 is completely true.
You can see that this is not a fantasy; it is a true record of what happened to me, together with my observations and impressions about the expedition and the people and friends I was with. I apologize if sometimes I had a little fun when writing about some of the human weaknesses of these great and famous men. They clearly taught me something, and I had a lot to learn; therefore I hope I haven’t upset anyone. I can assure everybody, male and female, black and white, great and small, that this was a wonderful journey for me. I have had the opportunity to see and learn many things; things that I could only have seen in a film had I not had the good fortune to have been invited on this expedition. Thank you Caterina. Now I am able to see things more clearly, and I think that one of these days I will go to see the boss of the Bocami, the man with a huge belly, and I will tell him to stop smiling when he orders me to go and defuse bombs under the water.
One summer day, having just had permission to go on holiday, I was travelling along the motorway, minding my own business, when I see the big light blue car of my boss, Mr.Mario. He asks me to stop. He comes up to me and, displaying his usual beautiful gentlemanly manners and with an innocent look on his face, he asks me to do something for him. He is very good at this and he does so with a nice smile. If he were a priest, he could have had a bright ecclesiastical career; he might also have been a good politician. He tells me to follow him to the river Ticino; it would only delay my holiday by about half an hour he insists. Even though I know half an hour wouldn’t be enough, I follow him. He says: “A bomb has been discovered in the water in front of Sofia Loren’s Villa and the police are already there”. I follow him; we leave the motorway but since he always drives as fast as his car will go, we are given a speeding ticket near Bereguardo. Well done!
As soon as we arrive, we put the diving suits on and jump into the water.
The river was flowing so fast that we had to tie ourselves upstream with ropes before we could work in the cold water and defuse the device.
The work was not easy because it was difficult to see anything; we finished at three o'clock, without having had anything to eat. But then, a fisherman approaches, gesticulating a lot, and saying that there was another bomb further downstream; I was quietly cursing. Unfortunately it was clearly visible and had to be removed; damn! At nine o'clock in the evening we were still in the water, probably looking like pale, soft pieces of smelly cod; we eventually removed four bombs. A record I say. But if that time I did everything my boss asked me, this time it’s different! If he wants me to continue to work for him I want an increase in salary; after all he must realise that I am the only one of the whole company who has been to the Triangle of the death! That’s all.
Finally, I would like to apologise to everyone, especially to the Prof because I have certainly made some observations that diverge from theirs and his; I put that down to my Tuscan nature drives my hand and also my tongue, just for the pleasure of being polemic.
Curzio was right: we all are damned. GOODBYE.
I would like to know, (but will they ever tell me?), what those iron bits, discovered above the wall, were. They say they were "archaeological finds". I’m not so sure, in my opinion what they recovered, and what I saw, was simply part of an old, rusted, common connecting rod, which probably fell from a boat a few years ago. It now has a different form from the original, because of the deposits of calcareous substances accumulated during the years... We’ll see. However, it is still a mystery. Like others before us, we have neither added nor removed anything from the legend.
At least as far as I understand.
There must be something true in all this, because ships and aeroplanes still disappear in that area.
The American Coastguard says that they are simply normal accidents, which happen because of the tremendous traffic in the area. Those Americans, how sly they are! They tell us so; and, as we cannot contradict them, we have to secretly go there. The truth is that they are afraid we might find something, so they make fun of us. The Americans! The real ones. I mean the gringos. No, I don’t believe it. Those people left their footprint on the moon; is it conceivable that they have been unable to unveil a closer mystery?
It is like them telling us that they discovered the prickly pears in Lampedusa. The fact is that the secrets they hid, after making numerous studies and checks, about so many planes which disappeared, must be so awful and unbelievable that they keep it to themselves. We mustn’t forget that the American people see themselves as the Almighty’s scapegoat for all mankind’s evils. However, sooner or later, as happened with the "Watergate", a journalist will manage to unveil the secret and tell it to the rest of the world.
Then we will finally know the truth. I just hope we haven’t disturbed the eternal sleep of the Gods of Atlantis by going for a walk along the wall of Bimini. I hope no accident will happen to me, not like as happened to those unlucky chaps who went to see death inside the pyramids of the Pharaohs. Anyway, we took nothing away of that we saw because there was nothing to be taken, except those big rocks which formed the wall, and they actually were much too heavy. Meanwhile, the Americans are happy having fun on their beautiful yachts in and around the waters of the Triangle.... even though sometimes a boat disappears; but they don’t seem to care about it. The ocean is so big, what is a single boat among the thousands of boats? The main point is to survive.
It is suppertime. Alitalia gives us a few small things to eat. I manage to eat them with greater effort than before.
Later I read a few pages in the “Corriere della Sera”; they say that in Italy there are the usual problems of prices and the underworld; never mind. Then they switch off the lights as the film of the day starts; I stop reading the newspaper and look with interest at the film starring Charles Bronson. I sleep. I am all stiff, now. The stewardess wakes me up and gives to me a smile and a coffee that I appreciate.
It is 7 am on 24th February.
February 24th
I look out of the window. We are now flying over France. The ocean is behind us. I see many passengers going to the toilet to freshen up. The Americans also have to brush their teeth, since they always have the toothbrush in the small pocket of their horrible shirts.
Sironi is angry with the American sitting in front of him because, without asking, he has lowered the back of his chair to sleep more comfortably; and in so doing has forced my friend to doze even more uncomfortably than ever, and he now has stiff legs. We are about to land, the pilot says. It is eight thirty and we get off, sleepy, upset, and shaken at Rome Airport.
There is a surprise waiting for us! We have to walk through a line of police, and there are some “carabinieri” in military uniforms with guns; my goodness, what’s happening?
It is a normal reaction; we look incredulously at each other.
We are forced, one by one, to be searched by a gentleman, not in uniform, while a lady in uniform does the same with the women. They opened our bags and touched us everywhere, a scandalous show; what a beautiful welcome home the Italians gave us! We stay quiet as we realise that it is a typical situation in Italy these days.
But what makes you furious is that they look everywhere without telling you why. To talk to a police officer is really difficult; in our country it has been like this since the time of Franceschiello (a king of Naples in the 17th century), but now it’s too much. They touch you and you conform, silently, as if it were a normal thing. No reaction, not a word.
You just obey. Perhaps by submitting to it all you are able to avoid being beaten, you just give a pale, crooked smile. Dear Totò, we really are corporals! (A famous Italian film, featuring the equally famous actor, Toto, called “Siamo uomini o caporali?” Where the few “uomini” were the brave people, while the majority were “caporali”, i.e. the cowards). I put a hand in my pocket to get a handkerchief, and the lady in uniform immediately stops my hand. But my dear, you have just searched me! It doesn’t matter sir, keep your hands out of your pockets and be quiet. Again. We go down the stairs to collect our suitcases and in the luggage collection area we find the same excitement. My God, has war broken out? At last, while we wait for our baggage, a police officer kindly tells us that all this is happening because there had been a warning from New York that four terrorists were travelling on our plane. Have you understood? This is a normal event nowadays in the society in which we live. A Spanish lady with her children is so happy at having escaped the danger that she swears never to come to Italy again. As you please madam, but tell this to the Alitalia gentlemen who allow their customers to be treated in this way without any explanation. But Sir, didn’t the police check everybody’s luggage in New York? I ask myself the same question madam, they certainly checked me. After many hours of being dragged from one side to another, here and there, waiting for them to decide to do something; but what are they going to do? Finally, after being subjected to X-rays, our suitcases appear on the conveyor belt. It’s eleven o’clock. Now we just have to take them to customs control, yes, another check, before they are put onto the Milan flight.
Thanks to Maiorca’s presence, we are able to find a customs officer who, good-heartedly and intelligently, just gives a casual glance to our luggage. Done. We put the suitcases on the belt again and go upstairs to the internal flight connections.
We say goodbye to Maiorca and his family who are going to Catania.
I thanked Enzo for having been so tolerant with me. Meeting and getting to know such a great athlete, a brave, sincere and loyal man, has been a great pleasure.
The aeroplane for Milan departs at twelve o’clock.
Not even enough time to fasten our seat belts and we are in Malpensa.
It is 1 pm.
A light, incessant, and lazy drizzle beats against the windows of the plane... we can hardly see the foggy country around. Couldn’t Milan have welcomed us in a different way?
I don't know why, but I feel in my heart a great sadness.
We pick up the luggage and go down the stairs of the aeroplane one by one, trying not to get soaked... In the Airport building there is nobody. Did you hope somebody from the TV would have been there? Don’t make me laugh. Only the Camilli and Tirelli ladies were there, apprehensively waiting for their husbands. I can see two “carabinieri”, an officer of the “Guardia di Finanza” in uniform and an immense void... empty everywhere, in the café, in the waiting rooms, in the corridors. Not even a cat! No taxis, no buses. Only rain, fog, cold, numbness, hunger, sadness, tiredness. Camilli is happy to hug his wife again... he has been able to return to Milan unharmed... in fact, he was the member of the expedition to whom the sorceress had foretold a sad return, on a stretcher! What can we say? We say goodbye to each other and agree to keep in touch.
The expedition to the Bermudas really ends here. Good-bye, hugs. Mrs Tirelli kindly takes the Prof and me to the Bocami head office. It is 2 p.m. on 24th February. The great void that I feel inside is soothed only by the thought that tonight I can hug my marvellous family again.
This is the end of this chronicle.
I have scribbled these lines and I declare without fear of being denied by anyone, that what I have written in this sort of diary, or chronicle or memories of the voyage to the Bahamas Islands made by the Mizar expedition during the month of February 1977 is completely true.
You can see that this is not a fantasy; it is a true record of what happened to me, together with my observations and impressions about the expedition and the people and friends I was with. I apologize if sometimes I had a little fun when writing about some of the human weaknesses of these great and famous men. They clearly taught me something, and I had a lot to learn; therefore I hope I haven’t upset anyone. I can assure everybody, male and female, black and white, great and small, that this was a wonderful journey for me. I have had the opportunity to see and learn many things; things that I could only have seen in a film had I not had the good fortune to have been invited on this expedition. Thank you Caterina. Now I am able to see things more clearly, and I think that one of these days I will go to see the boss of the Bocami, the man with a huge belly, and I will tell him to stop smiling when he orders me to go and defuse bombs under the water.
One summer day, having just had permission to go on holiday, I was travelling along the motorway, minding my own business, when I see the big light blue car of my boss, Mr.Mario. He asks me to stop. He comes up to me and, displaying his usual beautiful gentlemanly manners and with an innocent look on his face, he asks me to do something for him. He is very good at this and he does so with a nice smile. If he were a priest, he could have had a bright ecclesiastical career; he might also have been a good politician. He tells me to follow him to the river Ticino; it would only delay my holiday by about half an hour he insists. Even though I know half an hour wouldn’t be enough, I follow him. He says: “A bomb has been discovered in the water in front of Sofia Loren’s Villa and the police are already there”. I follow him; we leave the motorway but since he always drives as fast as his car will go, we are given a speeding ticket near Bereguardo. Well done!
As soon as we arrive, we put the diving suits on and jump into the water.
The river was flowing so fast that we had to tie ourselves upstream with ropes before we could work in the cold water and defuse the device.
The work was not easy because it was difficult to see anything; we finished at three o'clock, without having had anything to eat. But then, a fisherman approaches, gesticulating a lot, and saying that there was another bomb further downstream; I was quietly cursing. Unfortunately it was clearly visible and had to be removed; damn! At nine o'clock in the evening we were still in the water, probably looking like pale, soft pieces of smelly cod; we eventually removed four bombs. A record I say. But if that time I did everything my boss asked me, this time it’s different! If he wants me to continue to work for him I want an increase in salary; after all he must realise that I am the only one of the whole company who has been to the Triangle of the death! That’s all.
Finally, I would like to apologise to everyone, especially to the Prof because I have certainly made some observations that diverge from theirs and his; I put that down to my Tuscan nature drives my hand and also my tongue, just for the pleasure of being polemic.
Curzio was right: we all are damned. GOODBYE.
No comments:
Post a Comment
Leave your comment here. thank you very much!