When I was a young child I began to collect books. I heard of a bibliomaniac who had owned more than one hundred books. I was besot to have more than a hundred myself. Most of the books I collected were out of print and authors who had been forgotten by time. One of those books was written in the 1800s by an Italian ten year old boy. The last print date had been 1890. The book was filled with thick parchment paper, bounded by a yellow hard cover, sewn onto cords attached to a wooden board. For an old book it was in pretty good condition. The cover of the book was rather plain with only the title of the book and the authors name. The book was called, ‘Il Giornale di Emilio.’ Translated to, ‘The Journal of Emilio.’
When I bough the book I assumed it was fictional but I was eager to read anything. It was written in Italian. I knew a bit of Italian so I didn’t think it would be difficult to read it. It took me about a month to finish the one hundred and fifty pages. The first pages were blank, not even a content page, just a page with the title of the book and the date it was published.
The book began with the boy explaining his reasons for writing the journal. Young boys his age were encouraged to keep journals. He decided to began one because he thought it was fitting. The first day he wrote about his long dull walk to school only made pleasurable when he met up with his friends. They would have all looked like brothers because he noted that they all wore the same knickers, white blouse and coat.
The walk to school was long and difficult because it was a continues stretch of muddy roads often busy from carts, horses and people. Though, he lived in the city there was only one school house for all the children. The number of children were not as large as one would assume. About a few months ago it had started to rain and it kept raining. Some parts of the city had flooded and a few school mates had drowned in the flood. He wasn’t sad about it. He didn’t know those children but the adults were still mourning. The atmosphere was somber for them but he didn’t think about it.
to be continued.