valuable testimony, the story is that it gives a glimpse interesting about that story that normally, during some evenings at home or dining in a fire in the country, the grandparents tell their grandchildren, drunk with fantasy and suspense. Treat an interesting book Professor Malfa, "True stories of magic and ghosts" phantasmagoric aspects of central Sicily, "the Mystery of the Sisters in Red" is a story which flows into the mystery of the facts in a framework inspegabili history as the Second World War. "I was born and live in Raddusa: my mother's family is originally from Ramacca, my father's of Castel di Judica. My parents moved to Raddusa at the time of their marriage, perché in questo paese mio padre ha trovato lavoro presso una ditta di autotrasporti. Andiamo spesso a trovare i nonni, ma quando vado a Ramacca dalla nonna materna, confesso di provare una gioia diversa, come dire, più squisita e più raffinata per la mia fantasia, che si sente eccitata e stimolata piacevolmente durante quelle visite. Non voglio dire di sentirmi meno legata alla nonna paterna, né desidero fare delle parzialità affettive, ma la nonna materna, di settantasette anni e di quindici più anziana della nonna paterna, ha una presa diversa sul mio carattere di per sé fantasioso. La nonna di Ramacca conserva una vivacità mentale e una facoltà di novellare che mi incantano, soprattutto quando m’intrattiene sui tempi and on the facts of his youth. Among the many episodes that I want to tell a narrated, that struck me particularly.
At the time of World War II, my grandmother, already miss, and the family had retreated to the countryside and often, to escape the danger of bombing and air raids, which constantly beat the plain of Catania, sought shelter in caves which, by their distress, is perhaps more legitimate to call it, which is open along the side of a hill owned by the family. Within those holes, my grandmother spent many a night during the air strikes carried out in the brightness of the atmosphere in summer. Each time, she is so sensitive and gentle mood, was surprised to see, from the mouths of the caves, the pervasive glow of the full moon, drowning in its opalescent light, nature raped and scarred by lightning and rumbles of the bombs dropped on claims nearby cities. Other times my parents went to the caves for some sort of addiction to a form of scaremongering, which was painfully accentuated and exacerbated by the psychological imbalance that had been established because of the anxiety of the war. During those outputs serotypes were sometimes spared them the air raids, which usually beat and strafing, but the fear in their hearts was fed by other phenomena. What I am about to narrate took place, according to the grandmother, in an evening no wind, full moon, which, mounting slowly, had drowned in the sky last glimmer of the dying sun. The white metal and the moonlight flooded in a cascade of light, the hills and plain, mottled, yet fiery midday of the day, in the extreme languor of summer. Everything seemed to sparkle even more than in the splendor of the noon and evening, amazingly, the air was filled with dense aromas of all kinds of flowers, herbs from the heavy and unbearable sweetness. The stillness eased deeper nature; stopped the chirping of cicadas and crickets, the calls of birds died away at night. The calm and the charm of things, immobilized not to disturb the moonlight, spread a veil of shine to decorate the scene of a miracle. This time, in those hours of waiting for a bomb, then did not arrive, the night silent, suddenly became animated and began to swarm of sinister presence. Formed to view images before confused, then clearly delineatesi, as nuns, wrapped by reddish light rays, which drew in the background of the sky s'imbruniva. Those shadows luminescent wore a big hat, also red, and the figures were always and only visible from behind, never ahead. The sisters flew before my eyes even more detestable because impregnable; their robes, raised by the vortex of swirling air dance, shake in a sort of animation snake, circling high and soft as clouds of incense. The spectral shapes were moving on to the next file of the wheat harvest now, you maintain balance on the Caulfield and supported in their movements and in their steps, the swaying of the grass, light created by the breath of summer breeze just alzatasi. The ears of corn did not bend under the weight of those figures, even seemed to support that easily. Everyone who watched the fluttering shapes in the liquid light of the full moon they felt attacked by total fear and frightening, a thrill, along with a paralyzing sense of panic, kept bystanders chilling e artigliati ai bordi delle grotte. Il terrore non permetteva agli spettatori di agire e questi, non potendo muoversi e seguire le visioni, non erano in grado di dire come quelle entità si materializzassero, si muovevano in fila processionale circondate da un luccichio tremolante, leggermente librate a mezz’aria, e poi scomparivano del tutto con analoga subitaneità. Quelle apparizioni danzavano nell’aria e si perdevano nelle ovattate sfumature della notte; in quei momenti nell’aria si percepiva la sensazione di una recondita e attonita stupefazione, si coglievano i silenzi incantati della grande pianura sottostante, che premeva, come un mare fondo e tenebroso, tutt’intorno al colle, nelle cui pareti sono aperte le grotte e tutto sembrava immerso nella bruma di un sogno. La guerra con le sue angosce in quei momenti pareva lontana, inesistente. Sopraffatti dall’incanto, scossi e col respiro strozzato, i miei parenti nel mezzo della piana deserta e sconfinata, stavano appoggiati con i gomiti puntati sulla cimasa delle fosse, allungando lo sguardo sulla pianura che andava scurendosi, cercando di svelare quell’arcano che permeava di sé la natura ed invadeva le anime di un desolante terrore. Tutto diveniva irreale, le fosse rifugio sembravano buche tombali, sul cui sfondo i miei parenti stavano immobili come figure scolpite nella roccia. Era la sera dell’incantesimo e tutti rimanevano impietriti a guardare per un tempo indefinito storditi da quel silenzio che ricopriva ogni cosa. After the apparitions, when the soul find its peace and power of reflection, my grandma reconsider his mindset and his apprehensions. He thought his father's appearance especially during the occurrence of the phenomenon and he hoped to resolve the mystery, for he possessed great wisdom and insight particular to penetrate the occult. In the face of appearances my great-grandfather did not assume an attitude of indifference irreverent, or terror as the others, his eyes remained motionless, lost in the interiority of his inquisitive mind, searching for a faith and a certainty. He reflected, in comparing himself to all aspects of the thorniest question in which prudence, skepticism, feelings, faith itself warred with each other tanks, pointing it at each other, the kinds of subjects: the end result would certainly open the way for clarifying the truth to the soul. My grandmother was the only one who understood the way down the riots in the soul of his father, who, despite being a taciturn man, was very sensitive and thoughtful, as the daughter, the two understood each other just by looking into his eyes. The great-grandfather was comparing the data of that experience with knowledge gained in his life, with stories of other people, with traditions that had been inculcated; advice and asked other people to quiet lights, with a response clarifying and illuminating, her anxiety and that of their families. He knew that close to the plain of Catania in Sicily and the Interior have been handed down from generation to generation, stories of apparitions of ghosts. In particular, on the slopes of the mountain, which is built the village of Castel di Judica, there are huge caves and rocks, which, beatings, resonate cleft, a clear sign that they hide in cracks and cavities. The voice of the people has always been passed down from people who, attracted by some kind of mirage, have entered into those caves, but no longer exits. In particular nights of the year in the plain of Catania roam the ghosts of the disappeared, which appear as forms shiny, to travelers. A Raddusa there are secret passages and underground, which connected the house of the sisters to Canossian clash of the bandits, brigands shelters, rock casings, which are lost in the bowels of the earth, within which are buried the bodies of men and mischief makers. A Barry, there is a district, not far in the country, chiana of Parrini (the plain of the priests), which, in ancient times, was used as a cemetery for priests. Each year, the night of May 1, the district is covered with dense fog, which, disordered by the wind of spring, is draped like a shroud over the plain dripping. At midnight, this doomsday scenario comes to life the ghosts of the priests. Details to all appearances coincide: the spectra of missing persons appear in the form of shimmering entities, like the nuns in red Ramacca. My great-grandfather came to the conclusion that a common thread could tie the various phenomena in different parts of the island and the ghosts, in their manifestations, are the metamorphosis of the soul, which for unfathomable reasons, do not find peace in the afterlife. "
From:
MALFA See True stories of magic and ghosts , Enna, The Almanac, 2005.
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