Edoardo Nesi - Sentimental Economy

Some time back, well before the pandemic, the screenwriter and director Giovanni Veronesi, who had a show on TV called Maledetti amici miei (Damned friends of mine), reached out to ask me if Id like to write something about friendship, which would then be read on air by the actress Valeria Solarino.

I had only recently finished writing La mia ombra tua (My shadow is yours), and I felt drained, but Giovanni and I have been friends since high school, and I didnt want to tell him no, so I tried writing it, this thing about friendship. Try as I might, though, it wouldnt take form, and just as I was about to tell him that I couldnt do it, it occurred to me that maybe, just maybe, I might be able to write something for my father, my babbo, disguising it as a message for a friend, because I couldnt stand to think about him anymore. Id stopped dreaming about him, I couldnt even bring myself to cry about him.

I gave that a try, and it worked like a charm.

Anyone who knew me realized that I wasnt writing to a friend.

Those who love me understood and mercifully said nothing, and so, that eveningit was late, past midnightI watched Valeria step on stage, lovely as the noon sun, and transmit my first message to my father since what had happened.

Oh, ciao, listen, I wanted to tell you something.

Yesterday I thought back to that interview with Muhammad Ali you read me a long time ago.

Where he says that Earnie Shavers hit him with such a powerful right it shook his kinfolk back in Africa.

It was such a hard punch that Alis legs folded beneath him, and he was forced to cling to the ropes to keep from falling. Muhammad Ali, the greatest, explained that if he had been knocked to the canvas, hed never have had the strength to get back up.

So he stayed up, wasnt knocked to the canvas, and somehow managed to survive to the end of that round and indeed went on to win the fight.

So, I thought maybe you read it to me because you wanted me to be like him in my life. Like Muhammad Ali. That you wanted me to refuse to hit the canvas, no matter how hard I might get punched.

But he was Muhammad Ali, and Im just me. And I hit the canvas hard that day. And I stayed down.

For months on end, I stayed down.

Im only now starting to get back up on my feet.

Thats what I wanted to tell you.

That Im getting back on my feet, and that I miss you. I miss you so much. Id give my right arm to be able to hug you once again. Just once, that would be enough. But I know its not possible, so I send you my best wishes.

And when you see himMuhammad Aliplease tell him that I miss him too.