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Rating: A normal, sweltering summer day. One of many, where the sun drenches everything with its relentless rays. It's late morning and a photo is taken at the central train station. It's not an artistic shot, capturing neither a particular view nor any special lighting. Just ordinary people. People crowding the platform of the first track, further heating the tiles already roasted by the sun. What does this photo hide? It seems absolutely anonymous. However, the clock above reads 10:24, and that is the platform of Track I at Bologna station.
10:24 10". Let me go take the underpass because if I dare to cross the tracks the Polfer will get me. Besides, I couldn't even if I wanted to, since the train to Chiasso is stopped here. Maybe I'll stop at the ice cream kiosk. With this heat, it wouldn’t be a bad idea…
10:24 20". Even the sandwich kiosk is full. Yes, that's the train going to Chiasso. It just arrived…Please. Angela? Love, can you stay still for a bit? Mommy is tired and we need to set off on a long journey, okay? Be good and I'll buy you an ice cream…
10:24 30". My goodness, it's so hot. Just thinking about catching the train in this heat is daunting. Damn, I start sweating just thinking about it. You can tell vacations have started…look at the line at the ticket office. I'll be here at least half an hour. Ughhh…
10:24 40". Excuse me, how long does it take to get to the Asinelli Tower from here? I'm not familiar with the city… do you know the bus that gets there or would you recommend taking a taxi? Ah, it's nearby, just fifteen minutes on foot. Via Amendola, Piazza Maggiore, Via Rizzoli and it's there…
10:24 50". Let’s see…yes, there's some space here. Guys, come here to the second-class waiting room! At least here we can sit down for a bit while waiting. We can finally put down these heavy bags…Ahh. Finally…
An unusual and invisible warm wind emanates from a briefcase placed on the ground, near the wall. It's 10:25 and of the ordinary people in this even more ordinary photo, nothing remains. A white flash erases them in a moment. The "lucky" ones still feel that warm wind on their skin. And soon, almost forty years have passed…
The Angela of the imagined dialog is Angela Fresu, the youngest victim of the carnage. 3 years old. Of the mother, Maria, nothing remained. When the bomb exploded, it seems she had stood up to chase after her daughter who was leaving the waiting room. Horrible timing completely disintegrated her. A fragment of skin stuck to a piece of cotton cloth was found among the sleepers of the first track and was identified by DNA compatible with what was left of her daughter…
To let this image seep into your skin, just perform a small experiment. Try to stare at it without blinking. With a good amount of endurance, after a handful of seconds, the photo will inevitably become blurry. Theoretically, it happens when your eyes focus on the same object as if trying to hypnotize it. In reality, the people in that photo are dissolving. After a few more seconds, your eyes will start to burn. I know it's annoying but in reality, it's that mysterious warm wind enveloping those people. A fragment of time and your eyes will rightly have to close. They hurt. They were begging for a blink to moisten them a bit. Just to chase away the burning. In the darkness of closed eyes, you see nothing. In reality, you no longer see anything because those people in the photo have disappeared.
Open your eyes. The image is there again in front of you. It's a memory. The memory of those who were captured a minute before vanishing forever.
From that day, even though I was relatively young, I have a bewildering flash imprinted in my mind. I was in Rimini on vacation with my family. We were in the car. A red Ford Escort L and we had the windows down. Air conditioning in 1980 was a luxury for the few. I don't remember what time it was, I imagine noon or one o'clock. My father slowed down to a stop. He wondered what had happened and got out because the road was completely blocked. No horns were blaring. I remember a sea of stopped cars and people outside, with wide eyes. Somehow the news had arrived. Uncontrolled. My father was talking to someone in the next car and was repeating what they were saying to him: "…in Bologna…at the station they say they planted a bomb under the train…they say 100 dead…Madonna...maybe they attached it under the rails…"
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