My Brother Massimo Troisi
by Rosaria Troisi
WAS one evening in 1953. I was eight years old and was accepted into Latvian of my aunt, who was sleeping in the bedroom attached to one of my parents. While I was listening to understand what was happening on the other side of the wall, suddenly I heard the voice of joyful grandfather Pasquale who exclaimed: "'O purciell'! 'O purciell !" My brother was born. It weighed five pounds and his grandfather was the first to take arms. He was a kid full of life and always had so much hunger that soon began to milk my mother not enough. She surrendered to integrate it with the powder and, as even the capacity of the bottle was getting low, he replaced it with a bottle of beer, which applied a pacifier. From there he began to nurse Max, growing stronger and stronger. Jealously preserve an old newspaper photo of a little 'faded: it is an advertisement of Mellin, milk powder, which has nurtured generations of children. The testimonial is just a small maximum. When he was a few months, our mother had tried to send the game to them and had his picture published, to his surprise and immense pride.
Palazzo Bruno
Massimo was born in San Giorgio a Cremano, small country squeezed between the sea and Mount Vesuvius, a place out of hand, then more than ever a suburb of Naples was in the shade. We lived in what they called 'or palazz'e miezz'e Tarall Bruno, a six-storey tower block remained standing until 1978. There were long galleries of each of which looked out the doors of two apartments. In ours, the third floor, also lived in the grandparents and uncles. We grew very close and the family has had for us to value above all else, making us feel strong and invincible. Even today it is clear how we are alike in behavior, gestures, expressions. I, Maximus, Annamaria, Vincent, Louis and Patricia: six siblings grew up without snacks and games invented. Between us we created alliances depending on the age and Maximum for example, was very close to Patrick, the youngest. They used to play with a ball of paper in the bedroom of our parents. When did the fall of the chandelier hanging from balls with Massimo and Patrizia, and even when they became accomplices of those only two were left pending, none of them would never confessed. The complicity between me and Max passed through other forms of sharing. Both, as children, we were very curious about what was happening in the world. My father, a railroad man, returning from work brought home magazines and newspapers that travelers indulged in the seats of trains. We then did a competition to see who could read more news memorizing even the most minor details in the news.
Arrive monsters
We kids were growing up and it was increasingly difficult to live in confined spaces of the house of square Tarallo. So, in 1956 we moved away Bronze Horses, a few meters from the main square. It was around this time that Max began to cultivate his passion for football. The windows of the new house looked out onto a patch of wasteland and dusty pitch that he spent as much time as he could. If at that time he had been asked what would be great, would have answered the player. This sport was, moreover, a passion for all my brothers, grew up with a father and a mother, former football supporter. Max played the role of quarterback and Dad was careful to not reveal his enthusiasm for him to mount the head, but his eyes are very proud to read that little player so full of determination and talent. The passion for the ball evaded much to Max that he should devote time to school books. He repeated the seventh grade for three times and began to disamorarsi school. I am reminded of the Savior, a schoolmate of his who lived in our building. It was carried in the palm of your hand because it was all first class and Maximus was a torment to feel constantly compared to him. Salvatore bogey track is Groundhog Day three, in the scene where Frankie Gaetano tells a child prodigy who had ruined his childhood. The monster knew the multiplication tables by heart, he knew the capitals around the world and even played the piano. Parents should keep it together with "monsters" like him - Gaetano concluded with a reflection that Maximus had to have done so many times as a child - rather than let him ruin your life to others.
I want a bicycle
At that time, the maternal grandparents lived with us. It was the home of "permanent company", as Max had called our family. And indeed in the family were always hilarious insights. It is engraved in the memory one of the first shows that Massimo did for us when he was about six years. It was the feast of the Epiphany, and like every year our father had brought home gifts that donating a state railway employees' children. Over the years my brothers had only ever seen to deliver electric trains, so Max had decided to write a letter asking it to Befana, once and for all, to bring a bicycle. But now that yet another train arrived on January 6. With great amusement of his little family audience, then Maximus staged his first mini-sketches: "But chest is just stupid? But I wrote accussi bell ': I WANT A BICYCLE. And chella che ffa? M' porta n 'atu train ? Chest hath been senile. "
Another De Filippo
One day the opportunity presented itself that allowed Max to test. There we saw him return to school with wide-eyed and flushed little face, the blue apron crumpled as usual and collar of white pique all wrong. He was elated as when he returned victorious from a football game. We proudly announced that he had been cast in the role of Pinocchio in the recitation of the end of fifth grade year. It was the first time that Maximus was able to shed her shyness and began to explore that debut with his flair for the stage. Later, when asked how his sketches were born, he replied: "At school, while 'or professor explains Dante and Machiavelli." Once he performed a monologue at a meeting of protest for failure to heat the classrooms and the deputy went away saying, "He's doing the actor! It came out another De Filippo."
The school was wrong with him
The period of the school was for the moment when Max began to experience intense friendships. Unforgettable motoring to the hill of St. Alphonsus, piled into the old utilitarian some more affluent classmates. The favorite destination was the beach. They came with bulky books under his arm, their shoes and pants rolled up and then, like magic, he always managed to emerge out of a balloon. When summer came the beginning of the first baths. Once, out of the water Maximum no longer found her clothes. The worst thing was that they had also stolen house keys and the card signed up for the train. The main concern was not to know our father, and so a friend came home secretly to take a change for Maximum. It is not hard to guess what his school career has been slow and difficult. His literature teacher was one of the few to hit the target and in recalling Massimo once wrote: "It was him that was bad in school. It was the school that was wrong with him. His imagination was breaking the walls, glass, the walls of that room. He realized outside. "
You see phones here?
When Massimo began to take its first steps in the theater, my father took it willingly. He would never have thought that would make it to break and always repeated: "But can it really be that blindside you to you?". But yes, the end was successful. Our father was happy even though he was constantly in fear for his health and grumbled seeing him always on the go. Massimo on the other hand, lazy as he was, wrote and telephoned often. It occurs to me that Max sent us a postcard from Costa Rica A desert landscape in which we see nothing but an expanse of sand and sea. Clearly the sense of guilt for not having made alive down there was giving truce and tried to silence him with one of his ideas: "You see phones here?".
His uncle is the actor
Massimo was close to his grandchildren. In '77, when my daughter was born Lynda, wrote her a cute card to wish to welcome the world in an age decidedly not reassuring. Continue to keep it as a treasure, she along with her ??cousins ??grew accustomed to recognize the television image of the famous uncle. But for all of them there was no difference between the image on the screen and that of his uncle affectionate and patient with whom they enjoyed playing at home. We adults, then, that what chiarivamo always came to visit was not an actor: one that went around the house in pajamas and discussed at the table with us or you appartava for hours on the phone, in short, he was always Uncle Max. I look up in what had once been his kitchen. I look around while I'm writing on his desk, now littered with papers, photographs, notes and scattered as if this space is so full he can not admit of his absence. I can see him for a moment in his seat at the head. It is as if it were still there.
Massimo
Troisi
