Silvana Gandolfi - Run for Your Life

On Santinos fifth birthday, his father, Alfonso Cannetta, took him to Mondello, a beach resort near Palermo. They went in the car, just the two of them. Mamma and his grandparents stayed home in Tonduzzo with the flu.

The boy had never seen the oceanor maybe he had, but when he was too small to remember it.

Papi, can I go swimming?

Its too early to swim, Sant. The water is like ice. But Ill take you to a restaurant on the shore for pasta with sardines. You like that.

It was April. The sunlight spread over the sea like a gentle caress. The sand, millions of glistening grains, promised unknown sensations. Santino didnt know that the water could be bluer than his favorite marble.

They parked next to a clearing between the rocks, near a sailing club. Santinos eye was drawn to three young boys who were fiddling around with some small boats in front of a shed.

Come on, lets go into the caf. Arent you thirsty? his father said, shaking his head.

Wait.

What is it?

He pointed. Are they going out on the water?

You think those kids are doing all that work just to stay on the beach?

So lets wait.

Since it was Santinos birthday, he was the one to decide. They sat down on the steps of the rotunda to watch the kids more comfortably.

Three men arrived: the coaches.

A final sailor joined them, a boy of about twelve. He entered the shed and a couple of minutes later came out towing a dolly with a boat. The mast wasnt up yet.

The latecomers maneuvers were precise to the millimeter, swift, without any slip-ups. Click click and the mast was up, click click and another part was up; Santino didnt know what it was called.

The boys were still rigging out their boats and the latecomer had already finished.

Santinos eyes stayed fixed on him.

The boy was thin, suntanned, his face alert, his black hair hanging over his forehead. Cool and calm, he waited patiently for the others. A prince.

Santino realized they were all finished when he saw them putting on life jackets over their wetsuits.

While his father was off getting something to drink, an old man dressed in white approached the small boy on the steps.

I see that you like the Optimists. When youre eight years old, you should ask one of your parents to get you one. Thats the minimum age, eight.

Optimist . It must be the name of the boats.

The man leaned toward him. I can tell you, theres no better boat for a kid. It sails like a dream and never turns over.

Alfonso returned carrying two cans.

Are you staying for the race? asked the old man in white. If you stay, you might want to sit on the edge of the dock. You can see better from there. He walked away with a friendly nod.

They went to the dock.

Very soon curious spectators were gathering from all directions. The Optimists were lowered from the dollies into the sea. The boys sat on the edge of the boats, leaning over so far that their backs were almost touching the water.

Santino kept his eye on his hero.

The boats all stopped at a certain distance from the shore. Three motorized lifeboats with the three trainers approached each of the waiting boats in turn.

The race began. Alfonso picked up his son and hoisted him onto his shoulders.

I see him! Its him! Hes the champion! Santino shouted.

The man dressed in white appeared beside them. He was holding binoculars. Want to have a look? The one with number 15 on his sail is going to win.

The old man turned toward Santino.

Youre such a picciriddu , can you read the numbers?

No, he cant read them, this lazybones. Alfonso squeezed Santinos legs and he kicked against his fathers chest in protest.

Yes I can! Its that one there! The fastest! He pointed to a speck out on the sea.