Summary
Jean Portante: Mrs. Hareja or the memory of a whale: Chronicle of an emigration
From the cover:
With the firm intention of recounting the first ten years of my life in this book, from birth to first communion, I realize that the events that marked it are scattered in the time before and after the trip. Travels, that only reliable signpost. Our stay in Italy lasted a year, a year and a half at the most, but no matter how short it was, that period represents the point from which everything starts and in which everything is gained. In a way, Italy divides time. Italy is also a compass. My memory is guided by her.
Even all those who appeared in my life at that time, found anchorage in that small piece of time spent in San Demetri. A mountain seems to rise between them, with a long tunnel that just needs to be passed through, in one direction or the other, for everything to become logical. And that ever since the first Italian thought a hundred years ago to stop by here, where the first Italian child would be born in Luxembourg. After him, everything unfolded as if they were in the middle of a Russian wooden babushka. That first Italian born in Luxembourg returned to Italy, stayed for a while, then returned to Luxembourg again. His children did the same. And their children's children as well. Everyone felt the need to return to the starting point.
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