A few steps away from the majestically ruins of the antic roman colony, coastwise of Pontus Euxim sandy beach, not faraway from shore, were you can still hear the heavy swells of the sea, your sight might meet a tower made from pale rocks.
The building seems to have fallen in oblivion, the old wood of the roof it is addle and the metal door notch with burgees models it is eat by rust.
Over the door, on the rock arch you can still see the fade face of a woman which carry a Latin inscription on his shoulders: "Bona Fortuna", and if urge by curiosity , you will ask an old fisherman which often wonders this paces how this tower is called, he will answer short: " The Genovese Lighthouse".
I usually come to this land in my childhood; I loved the peace, fishing and specially the mystics feeling of the shore, sacred in some certain way.
I liked to sink my legs in the salt water of the sea, to hear the sharp voices of the hungry seagulls and I wished to remain in that melancholic landscape the whole perpetuity.
It was the evening of a late autumn, I was dissembling my fishing line and preparing to leave. And then I heard a sad crying full of grief.
-Oh, my. Oh, my...my mama left me and she's now long gone.
It was a strong voice which push through the vast waters of the Earth, faraway and suppress, but intimae. I stood up and I claim a rock, I try to see from were this lonely voice comes but she disappeared in nothingness, unexpected.
In the night that follow I didn't thought to anything else but the deserted sole that suffered somewhere, unfound able.
Next day in the evening I heart it again, I stand still with my fishing rod in my hand and with my feet in the sea water. It was the voice of a child desperate of his loneliness, he started to wail.
-Nobody hear me...
-I can hear you, I answer in my thoughts, and he heard me.
I've talk that night, looking together at the same silver moon and the stars, we were so far away from each other but the seas and oceans brought us so closer as to old sailors.
His parents left him on an island along time ago, he shelter him self under ancient megalithic rocks and was eating roots to survive. In that night I thought him to fish and prepare the food. But soon the dawns come and I felt that his voice becomes unclear and clog. Often I think about that autumn night with the clear sky and I go there to see the old lighthouse. Sometimes I try to convince myself that all was in my reach, childish imagination; but when I walk bear food on the sandy shore of the sea, I slip from time to time a wondering thought: "Hi, can you hear me?...".