It was a humid November night,
the roads glistened with dense fog.
Novara appeared dark and tired.
Gray figures hurrying under the dark porticos.
The moon was a pale halo in a black sky,
while the city's muffled murmuring could be heard.
A vague perfume of wet dust
spread over the cold stones of the monuments.
The colonnade of the center was tall and solemn.
Inside, a few windows emitted a yellow light
which reflected on the walls and cobblestones:
the American Bar for after-dinner.
Its sign was old but well-preserved
and the view of the room was filtered through elegant light colored curtains...
A young couple emerged from the darkness around the entryway,
he pushed the door and together they walked in.
Inside, there was a pleasurable warmth and the smell of coffee filled the air.
Here and there were round tables with cloths and a candle in the center of each.
Clients... someone was sipping a tea, another reading a book...
Two women were chatting with low voices and a soldier was searching for the waiter...
In the center of the room there sat a shining black grand piano:
it was a spectacle for the eyes and the ears.
A talented piano player around 50
was performing without interfering.
His music was sweet and soft.
The ups and downs on the keyboard were cradling the thoughts.
An ending at swing rhythm
passed him to the next song...
With absent eyes the piano player continued to observe his own hands.
Carrying a tray, a waiter walked close
and put a glass of wine on the piano.
The musician, with a nod of the head, thanked him.
Another piece began... while the room maintained it's buzzing.
The piano player enlarged his music,
as the room kept it's distance
and time passed slowly and with indifference.
Tens of lives crossed each other in that bar.
Tales of meetings, friendships, loves...
The progression of things...
Like on a silent path.
These lives all had the same background:
the sound of a generous piano player,
silent and discreet... nearly absent,
alone with himself and his music.
