Carlos Luján Berenguel, author of "Ciao, Carlo!Life around Carlo Acutis", he lends us an excerpt from his book. It is a conversation between Carlo and one of the poor, Donato, as seen by the parish priest of Santa Maria Segreta.
"Don Mario, behind the window overlooking the parish choir, watched not only the traffic on Via Lorenzo Mascheroni, but also the quietness of the garden in the square. That green wrought iron fountain that always lost a trickle of water, the bicycles passing by and, unexpectedly, Carlo.
Sitting on the back of the bench, blue slippers on the seat, he chatted with Donato. The contrast between the accattone and the boy was not shocking to don Mario. Because don Mario was used to seeing the world from a different angle, as now, from the false balcony of the façade, with his back to the spectacle of his neo-baroque parish, he contemplated Milan. "You also have these views from the Sagrario, don't you?" -was his morning prayer.
-No." That man continued to shake his head, vigorously, silently. A man cannot change when he has grown old.
-Or maybe yes..." Carlo looked at Donato's head, covered by the checkered Gatsby cap and felt sorry for him, "Maybe, Donato, a simple movement of the eyes, from bottom to top...
-Where to? -Donato turned his head foreshortened and leaned his hands on the seat to place himself on the back, at Carlo's level.
-To Him, Donato, to Jesus! -The boy rested a hand on Donato's shoulder and then repositioned his tracksuit jacket. It contrasted with the plaid shirt he was also wearing.
-Jesus? -Donato looked down again.
-His style is to make all things new..." Carlo recalled, "To be born again... That is impossible...".
-Nothing is impossible for God! -Carlo protested.
-I wish I could believe those words! -Donato looked at Carlo frankly -I wish! -It's a matter of trust..." Carlo hesitated "Who brought you here? -Misfortune, Carlo...
-No..." Carlo got down from the bench and stood in front of the beggar. His height brought their gazes face to face, "I mean here, really, to the parish of Santa Maria Segreta.
-Albertina... -The man's eyes lit up for a moment, as he raised his eyebrows, nostalgic- Albertina brought me... When I was about to... leave senselessly, she brought me. She had an intuition. She thought there was something in me... She told me so, believe me!
-I believe you... because there is. -Carlo could perceive how hope rose up to the heart of the accattone While Donato recognized the good around him- That's how the Spirit is, that you don't expect it and it surprises you. That it is confused with an outburst of Albertina, and that it is Him, blowing where He wills. We don't see it, Donato, but we do see how it has changed your life... And you say you don't think it can change it even more?
Donato raised his eyes to the dark sky of Milan, that cloudy October day, and a very light wind caressed his face. He did not feel a shiver, but rather it seemed like a warm, delicate wind.
From the parish window, Don Mario could not hear the conversation. A few days later, at the boy's funeral, he knew that wherever Carlo passed, hope made sense again. And he thanked God for having crossed paths with the boy."
