The First Page
The Register opens here, in the old school where the workers' children learned to read numbers. Before leafing through the village, I write you on the list. I keep the accounts, you do the walk.
Every house has its number. Every number hides a story.
“Good morning. I am the Register Clerk, and for a very long time I have noted everything: timetables, houses, tombs, turbines. Nobody wrote down my name, and that is fine.”The Register Clerk
What the narrator asks you. The answer, and the true fact behind it, is for you to find on the spot.
The Register opens here, in the old school where the workers' children learned to read numbers. Before leafing through the village, I write you on the list. I keep the accounts, you do the walk.
Turrets, battlements and a fairy-tale air. The family watched the factory from here, as one watches a clock. The Register has never had permission to go in.
To reach the village from the Concesa side you still cross a narrow bridge over the water. The Register calls it the slow gate: nobody arrives in a hurry.
The Register is full of signatures of the same architect. In Trezzo, another cathedral of water stands at the foot of the castle, made of the same stone of the Adda.