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Rating: In the wake of a post-war Italy under reconstruction, Nuto Revelli, former Alpine officer during the Russian defeat and mighty pillar of the Partisan Resistance, armed himself with a tape recorder and began to plow the endless fields of the Langhe, gathering hundreds of experiences of women who had forged their souls in rural life.
When women were considered the weaker sex, the stupidity of men imposed itself with the mere force of nerves, surrogated by an egoism likely influential only among the tufa of a house. There are hundreds of "matote" denigrated from birth, when it was hoped until the last moment that the midwife would perform the miracle of a male from the aching thighs. So many sighs of disappointment, magnified by that forced consideration they should have given, driven by some unknown hidden propulsion. Daughters brought up with sacrifices from mothers and slaps from fathers. That strange love that envisaged absurd limitations and equally unthinkable impositions. What a peculiar humanity.
The man in the fields and the woman with the animals. What a great lioness. That indestructible link that endured any effort, any dart, any humiliation. Somewhere it is said that a mother can raise a hundred children, but a hundred children will never do the same. And at night, it wasn't wise to resist the fiery desire of the sweaty pig. He would grunt elsewhere without hiding anything. Wounds in the soul. Wounds to protect.
How many dreamed, buried, and suffered loves. When the monthly cycle was hidden like an involuntary sin and marriage, mostly arranged, seemed like a liberation from chains. Touching, profound stories, sometimes wonderfully naive. And that splendid honeymoon in a black dress. Hand in hand with the fresh husband down the path. That long-awaited first opportunity that would allow you to feel a warmth until a minute before inconceivable. Down the path almost alone. Despite everything still targeted. Under the nervously incredulous gaze of the father hostile to resignation. And pulled away forcefully by the secretly relaxed wife.
Little education, sometimes none, artisanal jobs, poor cuisine, daily blessings, stale sweat in the scarves wrapped around the head. There's also room for politics, at the time founded on two parties. Some for the Christian Democracy and some for the Communist Party. And in any case, they believed in God, even if some priests threatened excommunication for a vote to the PCI.
What a beautiful animal woman was. Of brute strength under fair appearances. Hard to take down just as it was difficult to pierce, that mother’s heart without which everything would have other meanings.
In the chain of the world, the strong link.
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