Là fuori, nel buio, un gigantesco animale invisibile si stiracchiò, si allargò, prese possesso dell’aria, dell’acqua, della fragile struttura degli scogli. Un soffio repentino, come il fiato emesso di colpo per spegnere una candela, e l’immobilità fermò ogni suono. Olì non sentiva più lo sciabordio delicato del mare al piano di sotto, il tintinnio delle funi metalliche che ancoravano il pontile, lo sventolare diseguale della bandiera coi quattro mori in cima all’antenna corrosa.
Out there, in the darkness, a huge invisible animal stretched, expanding, taking possession of the air, the water, the fragile rock structure. A sudden blow, like the breath that extinguishes a candle, and stillness stopped every sound. Olì no longer heard the gentle lapping of the sea downstairs, the tinkling of the metal ropes that anchored the pier, the fluttering of the flag with the Quattro Mori on top of the corroded antenna.
Ni siquiera me he quitado los tacones cuando entra la llamada de mamá. ¿Y si no contesto? Acabo de llegar; Gary todavía me está dando el estado general: falta leche en el refrigerador, las manzanas van a echarse a perder, una ventana se quedó abierta en modo manual y se apagó la calefacción. Quiero bañarme, meterme a la cama, olvidar todos los problemas de abrir un nuevo invernadero en la ciudad. Me apoyo contra la pared, dejo salir el aire mientras la alarma parpadea en la esquina superior de mi campo de visión. Podría ignorarla y pedirle a Gary que comience a calentar el agua para un baño.
Debería contestar. Mamá ha llamado tres veces durante el día y no ha dejado ningún mensaje. Eso no es normal.
The girl’s name is Lina and she works in an ice cream parlour at an airport. One morning, seeing that they’ve almost run out of pistachio flavour, she decides to open a new container and in that container she finds a human limb sticking out of the synthetic tropical green slab.
I haven’t even taken off my heels when my mother’s call comes in. I wonder if I should answer. The door hasn’t closed yet, and Gary is still reporting the house conditions: no milk in the fridge, some apples about to rot, window set to manual, heat turned off. I just want to take a bath, get into bed, and forget how hard it is to open a new greenhouse in the city. I lean against the wall, which is cold against my back. I let out a breath while the notification blinks in the upper corner of my sitefield. I could ignore the call and ask Gary to heat the water.
But I should really answer. Mom has called three times already, and she hasn’t left a single message. It isn’t like her.
Read in Italian here
People who know me know that for some years I have been involved in an almost impossible mission: to promote and spread not much the concept of SF “diversity” (a positive idea that hides, in my opinion, a fundamental error, that is diversity from a common standard; from a normality that has become a benchmark for evaluating any phenomenon, yet which doesn’t exist in reality) but instead a fairer distribution of “the future” and therefore of opportunities between dominant cultures and languages and those ones considered minor for the only reason of being “other”.
Fortunately, as a small publisher and SF writer, in five years of translations from at least six languages, and with a catalogue of over seventy stories published from around the world I can affirm:
Quality has no colour,
Quality has no nation,
Quality has no language,
Quality belongs to everyone.…