The wild animals probably sense the presence – beyond the stream that forms my boundary – of Maggi's creatures (Giancarlo Galli, ed.), a former Swiss customs officer. White hair, red cheeks and large-framed glasses. With a face that hints at a smile. He puts you at ease. But his eyes and soul still seem to be investigating. Wearing his border guard uniform, never discarded in its greyish blue hue.

Born in a small village perched on the slopes of Generoso – not far from Mendrisio – where the air is crisp in winter and cool in summer, his railwayman father sent him to border guard school, where he grew up with an innate sense of duty and belonging to a culture with atavistic roots of simplicity and order (Chapter VI).

We have lost the culture of the land, Rodolfo and I tell each other, and we have assimilated another, one that is geared towards immediate results, whatever the cost, no matter what you produce. Only necessity, perhaps, will push us to re-evaluate where we are going and discover the missing link in the chain (Appendix – Chapter 05).

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