“Despairing of the written word’s power, some chose silence. The silence of death. Was it because as guardians of memory they felt misunderstood, unloved, exiles in the present, guilty of having failed in their task? Were they afraid of having spoken too much—or not enough? In light of the tragedies that continue to tear apart society, did they admit defeat? I knew three of them well. Their final acts continue to haunt me. Primo Levi, speaking of “experts” on the Holocaust, said: “They are the t...hieves of Time; they infiltrate themselves through keyholes and cracks and cart off our memories without leaving a trace.” Why did Primo, my friend Primo, fling himself from the top of a staircase, he whose works finally succeeded in shaking public indifference, even outside Italy? From our first meeting in Milan, during the seventies, we had formed bonds. In a way we were meeting again, having already “met.” Over there, in Buna. I had spent some time in his barracks. I had seen him without seeing him.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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