Il benefattore anonimo

The news was arrived at the newsroom like they arrive always the stories best: by chance.

The editor of the newspaper local had received a phone call anonymous: someone was paying off the debts of the families most impoverished of Collebasso, without leaving a name.

Elena Ferretti had thirty-two years, three years of experience at the newspaper, and the suspicion chronic that every act of generosity was hiding something.

She began by knocking on the doors. The Marchettis, a couple of elderly people who were at risk of losing of losing the house, had told her had told that a notary unknown had settled had appeared and had paid off everything in cash.

"We don't know who it is, » had said the Mrs Marchetti, pulling close her shawl around her shoulders. «And we don't want to know. »

That phrase stayed with with Elena as she visited other families. All of them described the same scene: a man of middle age, dressed in a ordinary way, who handed over documents already signed and left went away away without waiting for the thanks.

Elena tried the records at the town hall, questioned the notaries of the area, checked the movements bank that she managed to to trace. Nothing.

It was the barman of the bar central who gave her the first clue without meaning to: every month, on the first Saturday, a customer regular would order two coffees and sat seated by himself for half an hour, watching the square.

Elena went the Saturday following. The man was there: about sixty, a coat grey, hands hands wrapped around a espresso cup. On the table, the other coffee was steaming untouched.

Elena sat down sat across from him without him without asking permission permission. «Is it for someone? » she asked, pointing at the cup empty.

The man her looked at for a long time before answering answering. «It was the coffee of my father. »

Elena stayed in silence. The man explained that his father had lost the his workshop thirty years before because no one had extended the credit of a few weeks that would have have saved everything. He had inherited the pain and, later on, also the means to make amends.

"I don't seek gratitude. » He stood up, leaving on the table enough for both the coffees.

Elena had the name. She had the story. She had everything that which was needed for a article. And yet as she watched the coat grey disappear into the square, she opened her notebook and closed it again without having written anything.