September 12, 2021
Some call them miracles. Their characteristic is that they are unexpected, they are flowers in the bewildered desert where we wander around like straw men. And here the gratuitous goodness shines in a glance, then in a gesture. The goodness? This word has been thrown away, communist or Catholic or humanistic ideology has downgraded it to a hypocritical value to distract children from the great cause of “good”. But we are tired of stentorian enterprises “for the good of the cause”. That cause is too far from the heart to be enough to give us back the joy of wonder. On page 65 of the Milanese chronicles of the Corriere della Sera last Thursday lies a strange and intact pearl. Elisabetta Andreis discovered this metropolitan history. In recent days a retired doctor, Giuliano Rovere, he walked with his beautiful beard of seventy in a very busy square in Milan, there is the metro station that takes its name, Wagner. It is an excruciating moment. Powerful heart attack. Oak crashes to the ground. He hits his face on the asphalt, and there’s a lot of blood.
A crowd of passers-by forms. They are not indifferent, ten telephones call the ambulance, but they are inert. What to do? A boy makes his way. Turns that big man, presses his chest, heart massage. From the “Carlino” bar in front of him, another boy leaps out in his Milan waiter uniform, always ready to carry around the cabaret with coffee and ham sandwiches. He points to the subway stairs, jumps over the turnstiles, the conductor shouts at him “stop, what are you doing”, shouts “emergency”, breaks the glass case with the defibrillator, in three jumps he is there next to the other quick and young guy, this life-saving machine in action. The heart resumes its beating. The life! The ambulance arrives. A young doctor from the emergency room of the Sacco Hospital descends, knows how to do it, intubates the patient, tries to stabilize him, makes the coma deeper. He recognizes not from the face smeared with blood but from the Byzantine Byzantine cross placed on his chest that now moves who that man is in his hands and that crucifix: he is the best friend of his father during fifty years of studies and profession as he grows old together. . People of Communion and Liberation and of Christian Russia, so to speak. And I too – who am now writing – know Giuliano Rovere, he was the primary radiologist in the hospital of my town in Brianza, we have seen each other for a lifetime.
All coincidences, all coincidences? Everything is fortuitous in life, except chance. What were those two boys doing next to a dead man? According to the stereotype about young people who are so comfortable to eat, they should have been on a bench or on a sofa in trance to navigate between games and social networks, perhaps to organize gatherings financed by citizenship income. Instead punctual as death (they say so), they arrived with her, first a boy who went away with no name on his way, and then Alessandro, an off-site student who keeps himself as a bartender, and they put her runaway. It will come back, it is written in our destiny. But how can you not see a sign in all this? In those student-workers the cynicism did not sit on the chest to crush the desire for something infinite and pure, to help those who fall even if you do not know them but they are your brother. Not if I imposed it with the will, this impetus was stronger than the inertia of nothing.
It is a period of boulders that suddenly fall, crushing the lives of peoples. And yet rays of light pass through the cracks that warm the heart, not just those with heart attacks. A few days ago in Repubblica a luminary of oncological surgery, an avowed layman, made more or less the same speech. He saved his life with his wife during the fire of the Torre del Moro, the eighteen-story skyscraper consumed by flames in an instant. He lived on the top floor. For the first time in years, he and his wife did not spend Sunday afternoons reading and chatting in the quiet holiday rest. A case. “But why this case?” Dr. wondered Lorenzo Spaggiari. And here, once the question is posed, a hint of an answer to the riddle. In the absolute desolation of the apartment reduced to a furnace where everything has been annihilated and the safe has liquefied, the surgeon finds in an absurdly intact plastic bag he finds «a small golden cross shot out of the wall». Shiny. Spaggiari confessed to the reporter Giampaolo Visetti: «My faith has clouded over the years. But let me think of an inexplicable miracle “(September 3, Chronicles of Milan). Eugenio Montale wrote: “The unexpected / is the only hope”. Then he added: “Mami say / that it is foolish to say it (” before the trip “, in Satura). They say wrong, Rovere would say, the two boys from Piazza Wagner, and Spaggiari. Maybe we are not alone in nothing.