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Anyman
He was a simple man of few words, all the same he felt within a powerful will to exist, crying out his rage to the world.
Life had basically reserved for him what was to be expected, a lot of trials and tribulations, some joy, few satisfactions and the odd good drinking bout. Though now he was befuddled, he couldn’t make things out anymore.
All that he had ever believed in had turned out to be different: he had even lost all his hard-earned savings - after having put them in the bank - and he felt alone in a world administered by persons who seemed to love playing with the fate of others, this in the guise of improbable characters, dangerous due to their egoism and incapacity.
Carelessness and dishonesty were in his eyes the only attributes that were good for success. But alas, even more seriously, he was not able to understand how given illustrious high-flying charlatans could plummet to earth in the time it takes to go on holiday, to be then replaced by “ball-crushers” with a licence to kill, perhaps in the pay of those that at any rate are always interested in making sure that nothing ever changes.
“May justice be done”, he would have liked to shout out, but he wasn’t even sure whether he was still able to tell apart the judges from the accused.
And he could no longer blurt out “it’s raining, bloody government”, because he had no more tears to shed.
Fortunately, deep down he knew he was a man who was self made and that he had never basically needed to curry favor, that he was not - either by chance or by choice – like them. He would carry on, if only he could go back to believing that “it is not true that everybody steals” and that the common good, meaning the people, was sovereign.
But he was beset by a doubt, even if there were many things in life that were obscure to him. A question was tormenting him, giving rise to confusion and ambiguity within: were it not true that, if men ended up behaving like sheep, were they not destined to have nothing less than a ram as their leader?
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Era semplice e di poche parole, eppure sentiva dentro di sé una prepotente voglia di esistere, urlando al mondo la sua rabbia. Dalla vita aveva avuto in fondo quello che si aspettava, tante fatiche e tribolazioni, un po’ di gioia, poche soddisfazioni, e qualche buona bevuta. Ora però non riusciva più a raccapezzarsi.
Tutto quello in cui aveva sempre creduto si era rivelato altra cosa: aveva perfino perso tutti i sudati risparmi, dopo averli messi in banca, e si sentiva solo in un mondo amministrato da persone che amavano giocare con i destini altrui, vestendo i panni di personaggi improbabili, pericolosi per egoismo e incapacità.
Pressapochismo e disonestà si confermavano ormai, ai suoi occhi, come gli unici attributi, buoni per avere successo. Ma cosa ancor più grave, ahimè, non riusciva a capire come certi illustri imbonitori potessero precipitare, nel tempo di una vacanza, dalle stelle alle stalle, per essere poi sostituiti da “strizzapalle” con licenza di uccidere, forse al soldo di chi ha, comunque, sempre interesse a non cambiare nulla.
“Che giustizia sia fatta”, avrebbe avuto voglia di gridare, ma era incerto di poter ancora riuscire a distinguere con chiarezza i giudici dagli imputati.
E neanche “Piove Governo Ladro” riusciva più a dire, perché non aveva ormai altre lacrime da versare.
Per fortuna, in cuor suo, sapeva di essersi fatto da solo e di non aver mai avuto bisogno in fondo di favori, di non essere - per caso o per scelta - come quegli altri. Sarebbe andato avanti, se solo avesse potuto tornare a credere che “non è vero che tutti rubano” e che il bene comune, “il popolo”, è sovrano.
Ma aveva un dubbio, anche se non sapeva molte cose della vita. Un’evidenza gli dava il tormento, alimentando in lui confusione e ambiguità: non era forse vero che, se gli uomini si fanno pecore, avrebbero avuto in sorte come “capo” niente di meglio che un montone?
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