The signature

“Martinelli for the last time: you pronounce Kierkeg-"oo"-rd, not Kierkeg-"aa"-rd! If I hear you say it wrong at the final exam be certain to lose two marks on my behalf.”

“Professor it’s the foreign language fault: I am Italian and used to pronounce things the way they are written. It’s already impossible to understand this philosophical thinking, and now this dutch block even makes it hard to understand his name!” thundered Richard, sitting in the last bench of the classroom and intent upon snapping the marker cap, as if aiming at Kierkegard.

“It’s not the path that is difficult, the destination is the path.”

Among the desks silence came, which often did after the savvy quotes of great philosophers.

“If you had been listening in the first lesson we wouldn’t fight on this. The questions on being human, the dilemma of choice. As Kierkegaard said: “Life is lived going forward, but can only be understood backwards.”

“Is it possible that in this subject we can only talk about transcendent things beyond human understanding?” continued Richard, moving on the chair as if the philosophers’ words were poking him. “Let’s be honest: in a few months we’ll go to university and Kierkegaard reasonings won’t save us from the truth: artistic pursuits don’t pay the rent and it’s better to study something constructive.”

The majority of classroom turned towards him with disdain, but Ferrari smiled with pleasure.

“Martinelli, I am sure you don’t want to be invaded by the hell you are causing in my heart, so if tomorrow you’ll find yourself immersed in the grey squalor of modern civilization, I will know you didn’t understand anything about Kierkegaard. For how compelling the graphs of the stock market and your future consulting company may appeal to you, remember this. Men, Richard” and saying this he took a marker and went towards the blackboard “lives to find his infinity.” The symbol occupied a large part of the blackboard, reflecting itself in the eyes of each student. 

But from the far corner of the room, Richard didn’t dare to blink and he cockily addressed his companion saying: “Numbers reason with everyone: better study finance than become a teacher and not make it at the end of the month.”

The next hour the final test of the year took place. While students were writing, prof Ferrari checked all the initiatives that the high school would organize the following year: philosophical discussions, literary and filming contests… He checked the box of the latter, imagining how better they would be with all the investments they had made.

Five minutes prior the end of the lesson, a confident guy in the first desk stood up. After he left his test on the teacher’s desk, Ferrari said:

“You know Patrick, what I love about the third year is throwing out the good students when they least expect it.”

The guy turned red as the wardrobe behind him.

“I am really sorry I didn’t make it this year,”

“Neither three years ago if you ask me.”

In a split-second all eyes were fixed upon an handsome guy who had emerged from behind the door.

“At least you didn’t kick me out.”

Indifferent to the gazing pressure of the others and the clear amazement of Ferrari, he moved decisively towards the teaching position, with a faint smile on his lips.

Any person sitting in the first rows would have noticed the incongruence between the mouth bended in a smile of the professor and the total lack of expression in his eyes, as if that ex-student represented at the same time a pleasant surprise and an undefinable source of anxiety. But that contrast lasted only a few moments, since Ferrari recomposed himself in his aura of serenity and welcomed the boy with open arms, exclaiming so everyone could hear: “What a pleasure to have you here Tobias. Three years have passed and you are brighter than after your high school diploma. Maximum grade if. I’m correct?”

“Exactly professor, I don’t remember the last question you asked me but I know it was considered devastating by the examining board.”

In the classroom comments and fragmented sentences began to circulate, as if the echo of that question had reached them as well, and the only plausible answer was silence.

“Parallelism between Aristotle and Kant, how can I forget. One of my best gimmicks, and one of the most witty answers” smiled Ferrari complacently, avoiding to leave the boy’s hand too quickly.

While the rest of the students finished their exams, Ferrari and Tobias started talking about the usual topics demanded by professor and ex-student.

“Do you see any of your class mates from 5BS?”

“Few to be honest, unfortunately having remained in Italy to study makes it difficult to stay with them. The majority have migrated to the States and some work there. Alexander moved a month ago and keeps gaining money and success at a consulting company.”

Tobias hesitated an instant after the last words, as if sharp blade had scratched the hair on his arms. But it was only a matter of seconds before it cut deeper.

“And you instead?” said Ferrari “What plans do you have for the future?” Now he was staring at him apprehesively.

“Well now that I got my bachelor I suppose I will go and work at my dad’s firm, I have never been really confident on keeping studying.” A light sigh, like a shortness of breath, followed that last statement.

“Well it appears appropriate to me. Nothing better than a good father and son collaboration, and with a firm worth millions of euros like yours it guarantees secure expectations.”

“I suppose it does professor, secure and monotonous” answered Tobias with less enthusiasm, breaking eye contact.

An awkward silence followed, and Ferrari broke it.

“Well Tobias I am very sorry but I will need to go soon, stuff to do. By the way why did you come and visit me?”

But in that moment a short man with a radiant smile entered the room, illuminating the gray aura surrounding the other two. Not even a storm could prevent him from expressing his clear joy.

“Oh Tobias my dear I’m so happy to see you! No one informed me you had come visit us, but I would have expected to be visited first!”

The hug of the professor was welcomed with warmth by Tobias, who seemed far more relaxed with his arrival.

“Years have passed and you have no idea what we have accomplished. Do you keep making short films, any at all? I remember you were a genius with framing, you were always able to get exactly those details expressing the meaning of the story and attracting the audience!”

“Unfortunately I think I have lost my touch professor. Let’ say the economics and management department doesn’t grant much space to pictures and imagination.”

“Oh I understand I understand. To be honest with you I have never quite understood why you went down that path. I mean a boy so sensitive and talented in visual arts could have pursued a rather different career! I remember the judging board of the first context we participated in, with that renewed director who congratulated you on your point of view…”

“Raggi you’ve made your point about the sight already” Ferrari interrupted, with a voice tone higher than an octave.

“Oh don’t be silly, no one talks as much as you about the things he is passionate about. The question of being, wisdom and choice. When someone loves what he does he can’t restrain himself from going deeper. How else would we be able to motivate our students?”

But that romantic longing didn’t get much out of Ferrari, who seemed more uncomfortable than ever, and eager to let Tobias stay with his visionary colleague.

“Now that I think about it you should definitely see our cinema spaces.”

“Do you have a screening room?” asked Tobias excitedly.

“Oh yes, and a few sets and…”

“Unfortunately they are unfit for use right now…” interrupted Ferrari

“Nonsense! My class is on a trip today and they are free for the next hour. Show him around Ferrari will you mind? I have loads of things to do.”

And with that said professor Raggi left the room, leaving them alone.

“Can you lead the way, professor?” asked Tobias, looking with a penetrating gaze the old man who for three years had guided him in that high school, showing him the routes he should have taken.

“Of course Tobias of course.”

Tobias couldn’t believe his eyes. Far from being the work of simple amateurs, the professors had arranged the school basement with divided spaces, each dedicated to a specific set. From a living room and a bedroom, to a restaurant and a club, Tobias wandered in those spaces with ecstatic glances. A few cameras had been put aside, together with a tracking dolly. On the opposite side of the sets there were a few desks, with piles of screenplays and storyboards.

“You really pushed yourselves professor. This isn’t like anything I could imagine. How could you get of all this?” said Tobias, all the while taking the cameras in his hands , as if his deepest desire was to hold onto them forever. Prof. Ferrari observed him, firstly rigidly, then a wave of warmth engulfed his glance, looking at how confidently and precisely Tobias held the camera. In a few seconds he was filming one set and the camera was perfectly positioned on a tripod.

“The headmistress was rather sympathetic, she granted us space to do everything we wanted. She had faith in us and gave a handful of possibilities..”

In that moment Tobias stopped dead, his hands trembling on the lens. He stuffed them in his pockets, looking once at what was surrounding him. Then he moved them at chest height, as if he was trying to gain balance or to grab something, something that was long lost.

Then he spoke:

“ How many films we directed without all of this. We didn’t need much, just our imagination and the curiosity to interrogate man and his biggest questions.” Tobias voice echoed in the basement, hitting his professor like a gong whose sound never fades.

“You always told us that even the easiest things can be complicated, to discover our being infinite. It seems decades someone told me something like that.”

After saying this the young man sit on one of the desks behind him. The professor. took a seat opposite him. For the first time that morning, their gazes lingered on each other and stopped.

“You asked me many questions in three years of oral tests professor. Now that you have no more, let me ask you one.”

Prof. Ferrari didn’t move an inch.

“Why didn’t you do what I asked you three years ago? It was so easy, simply writing your signature. There was no need even to write that recommendation letter.”

“I told you three years ago: you were simply not good enough,”

“Not good enough with respect to what? What was wrong in me?” said Tobia, his voice steady.

“On the concept of your works. Besides you weren’t able to direct your actors well, everyone said that.”

“Everyone but you, from what I remember. And don’t tell me I didn’t have enough memory: I still remember all the quotes from your philosophers by heart.”

At that moment Tobias stood up, and with large paces he walked back and forth, like on an invisible path.

“The fact that not everything came to me naturally didn’t mean I wasn’t inclined to what I loved doing.”

Prof. Ferrari couldn’t stop: he let out a deep sigh.

“You told me so many times: I had talent professor, and you stamped upon it with no clear reason! Shouldn’t a teacher teach you critical thinking and help you find your way? Isn’t that the greatest question in philosophy: how men should live their lives? Instead you left me alone, with no answers, nothing to hold on to!”

“How would you like to live Tobias? You already know, at just 22?”

“I want to be fulfilled professor, be happy with what I do! Or at least try to be, doing what I love and have an inclination for. What did my father tell you after you talked with him at my place? Did he persuade you to drag me down?”

“Your father isn’t responsible for anything I did. He simply expressed his doubts about a son so excellent in any subject who wanted to go down such an hazardous career path, instead of making a difference for the family business. In the end I agreed with him that letting you cross the ocean to pursue an illusion…”

“It wasn’t an illusion: it was freedom! The freedom to be myself, on my own!”

In that moment his eyes become wet and the ghosts of the past years pounced on them. The ghosts of short films filmed late at school, of lessons in which the words man, questions, being, choices, were interrogated and figged into, to find the essence of life.

“In philosophy you always ask the why of things, why we are, why we live” whispered Tobias, more to himself than his listener. “For three years, during which I studied things I despised, I asked myself: why didn’t he help me? Why did he open my mind to possibilities and then shut it down like an awful game? The night before sending my application to UCLA I was so thrilled”. Tobias glanced for a moment at the sets before continuing. “And then it came back. Refused. A signature was missing, an approval I hadn’t been able to get.”

Prof. Ferrari seemed to shrink down, compared to the enormous regret invading the room. It seemed like all was said.

But Tobias wasn’t finished.

“I didn’t come here simply to pay you a visit professor. I have come because, crazy as it may seem, I need your help once more. I never gave up on my dreams and have applied to a Master at UCLA. This time three recommendation letters are needed. While the majority of economics professor either would never go against my father wishes or lack the necessary empathy to do so, I managed to get three of them on board. But I need you to write one letter. Not all three of them, just one. Only you know me well enough to bring together the right words and amaze the examiners. Only you” and with each word Tobias moved closer “know who I can be when I am inspired by what I do.”

After saying this he took a piece of paper out of his pocket, with exactly ten lines printed on it.

“As you always said at the beginning of each test: only ten lines are needed to convey a powerful concept.” and tightening the hand of his teacher, he left it in his palm and headed to the door. When he reached the threshold, he paused, then said:

“For the record, the question wasn’t on Aristotle and Kant. It was on Platon and Hegel: the world of ideas always suited us better than harsh reality and reason.”

When he arrived at home, Prof. Ferrari took out the piece of paper from his pocket. He noticed the back wasn’t blank, but carried a quote scribbled in handwriting.

“No one in the world is able to tell you why you exist, but since you are here, work to give a sense to your existence.”

He asked himself when his favorite student had written it, if he had chosen Kierkegaard by chance or on the basis of the yearly program he laid out.

He glanced at the wall: hanging there were his bachelor degree in philosophy, a prize for “Best teacher of Emilia Romagna” and next to it, the next year, another for “Best teacher of Italy”.

Without hesitation he headed towards the living room, to a furniture with drawers. It took him few seconds to find what he wanted. At the bottom there was yellowed check from his father, a renewed broker. To his rebel son, an aspiring screenwriter who had gone against his will, he had written with sharp handwriting: the money I give to you goes to the same place your dreams go: in nothing.

Prof. Ferrari sit on the floor, looking with disdain at that check and with an utmost joy at the crumpled piece of paper. He though about what he had defined as his failures, ad the look of his father when he told him he was worth nothing beside teaching, and how true that was. He thought back to the wonderful moments spent with his students and felt shame at Tobias. Shame because he wasn’t able to take responsibilities for the students he himself had educated, because he wasn’t able to tell that talented guy the only reason for his missing signature was the deep terror of seeing him end up as him. Following his dream of a creative career to end up, simply, as a teacher. But soon he asked himself: what was wrong with that? What was wrong in what he had become? Who was he to prevent a student (especially that student) to go down his path and, maybe, discover his own concept of being infinite, of being a man?

So he opened another drawer: two letters were in there, the one written for him by Tobias, the other written by himself, shredded by his cynicism. He wasn’t sure he would manage put the pieces together again. But in that moment, he knew what he had to do.