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buckets stuffed into each other. The buckets were once made of copper and glistened. 

It's time. Return to the crossroads. The cars arrive, slow down, continue in different directions. One drop, two drops, drizzle. Here is a car that comes from Codripo, certainly and Carlo; no, he proceeds to Trieste. Sarà this one that swerves towards me, spotted, accelerates, sprays me with water, damn it. 

It rains harder. I go back to the shop to repair myself against the wall. I peek into the window, count the hoes and bolts, check the prices... what if Carlo doesn't come at all? Very capable of having climbed into the saddle for a moment to make one of his horses move and now gallop through the countryside, forgetting everything. But what did it matter to me that Carlo Kechler was the best knight in Italy, that the coveted "Gold Cup" in London also dominated the countless cups won at the horse racing competitions, so rude was he to forget me. Yet it was he who had made me this appointment to take me to Nanuck's Valley. He was always so kind to me, Carlo, despite the difference in age, although I know he often enjoyed making fun of me. 

Almost an hour has passed. If I go to call, Carlo doesn't see me, he will think that I haven't come. If I stay against the wall, he might go straight on. Better to go back to the intersection. 

At the intersection I put the bag on the ground, I care if it gets dirty, I too am all muddy. One car, two, maybe and one, four, five... Carlo isn't coming anyway, I am stupid for wanting to cry, I just can't go to the Valley. Seven, eight... I'm tired of counting cars and then what does it matter to me about going to the Valley, I can imagine that monotonous expanse of water interrupted by the reeds, the Lagoon full of vale, the seagulls, nothing special. I'm leaving now. 

A few steps, I stop. What if it comes right now?