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Rating: Primo is an atheist. To be fair, he is not entirely wrong. Not in his situation.
Even an old man in Polanski's "The Pianist" chooses to become an atheist. He’s not entirely wrong in that situation either. One cannot believe in God, or rather in God’s existence, if there is a demon called Hitler on Earth who, out of a baseless whim, decides to destroy everything related to Jews, people included (especially). I have to agree with Primo. With him and with all those who experienced what he has and had the fortune (or misfortune) to tell their story.
Primo is confused. Something strange is happening in the camp. Unusual explosions, unusual turbulence. Those Nazi beasts spare no prisoner, not even those fleeing. But why are they escaping? What's happening? Someone breaks down the prison gate, and a different scent can be perceived. Limping, I manage to see beyond the barbed wire. If there ever was a sun, today I can see it bright and round, no longer in squares or hidden by electric metal spikes. Someone is coming. Perhaps the Nazis are returning, and the different scent is turning into the deadly stench I’ve had to breathe all this time...but they are not Germans. They are Russians and have come to free us.
Primo has a degree in chemistry, and the Russians cannot temporarily place him in the transit barracks. The bright eyes of a nurse who speaks his language overwhelm him. Could you help me select the medicines to treat the injured or sick deportees? And there are so many. What beautiful eyes... After all, the Russians aren't so bad. Gentle in peace and atrocious in war. But who isn’t atrocious in this war? What isn’t atrocious in this war? Even a piece of bread is, if one can chew it.
Primo wants to go home to Turin, hoping it hasn't been bombed. The Russians are setting up trains to take us home. Finally, trains where we can sit, unlike the cattle cars where the Nazis left us to suffocate. The journey is long and cold. We are forced to stop because the railway is sometimes interrupted. Cursed war! I tried to sell a shirt for a few zloty and made some friends. A Greek and some Italians, one a pickpocket from Milan, another a violinist, then a loud Roman. I also met a woman who gave me the sweetest and most innocent love one can imagine. A fleeting kiss meant as a thank you. And my friend Daniele, a companion in misfortune.
Primo hears gunshots and feels that terror again. Could it be the Germans? Berlin is ours! Hitler is dead! The war is over! The terror vanishes, and the trembling dissolves. Yevgeny Khaldei is photographing that Red Army soldier raising the flag over the newly conquered Reichstag. Here, instead, vodka flows, songs are sung, and dances happen. How wonderful that warmth is. Finally, warm hands gently touch my back. Now let's get back on the train because it seems the Russians have repaired the railway. We’re going home between a song and a piece of cheese, between laughter and soft bread. We stop in Munich, and I get off for a moment to stretch my knees. There are Germans working on the tracks. I can't resist. I show them the number, the star, the stripes, the tattoo. The German loses his courage and kneels for penance.
Primo has reached Turin. He races towards home and, upon reaching the stairs of his building, receives hugs he hasn’t felt for years. Hearing his name called by familiar voices. Feeling his face moistened by the tears of someone who loves him. Primo breaks bread and dips a piece into a bowl of warm milk. He picks up the notebook where he jotted down lines during the journey. He sits among the books he loved so much, stops and faces us: "Considerate whether this is a man/ Who works in the mud/ Who knows no peace/ Who fights for half a loaf of bread/ Who dies for a yes or a no".
Meditate on this, that it has been...
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