(by Gianni D'Amico) It was around three o’clock in the afternoon when the D’Angelo brothers warned me that stannu trasennu ‘i Miricani, the Americans were arriving. From the countryside we rushed towards the sea, on the road 113, arriving at the lido Petrucci. 300 metres further, near the Spanò Restaurant, the sight was astonishing.

 

We only knew the roar of the bombers, the squeak of sirens and the explosion of the bombs launched

over our Palermo, almost dead. How could we forget the bombing of May 1943, of which still today there are the scars in the historical centre sdirrubbàtu, fallen into pieces? But at the time rumours said that many bombers unloaded death far from the coasts, because those pilots had Sicilian origins, and they knew the area. Three enormous tankers were proceeding slowly, occupying the entire road. The first one, placed in the middle, was flanked by another two, a couple of metres back, which looked like a gigantic pointed launch covering the Jeep with on board a high military official with many decorations.

 

On the right and left of the trucks there were a hundred men with a great deal of weapons, walking in a feline way because of their frightening machine guns. Women were terrified seeing that war scenario, they ran into their homes and barred the shutters. That image was the real prelude of the following battle. Us piccirìddi, the children, maybe a dozen, followed them walking close to the walls of the houses, hoping that, in case of gun shots, we would have been protected. Somebody ordered the tankers to stop. We had the impression that something suspicious had been sighted. The long cannons took aim all at the same time, pointing to an invisible target, a hundred metres distant.

 

They looked like three hounds pointing the only fox. When a short whistle, blown by one of the marines, with two fingers in his mouth, broke that religious silence, our breath stopped. The whistle was followed by a hand that invited me (I had no doubt that I was the person it addressed) to cross the wide road. I ran bravely jumping like a gazelle, going towards the person who had called me.

 

Translated by Chiara Nunnari from John Milton Institute