Poems have wolves inside...
except one: the most wonderful of all...
she dances in a circle of fire
and she gets rid of the challenge with a shrug.
Jim Morrison
Author: Eva Mikula
https://www.facebook.com/ev a.mikula.75
Editor: Marco Gregoretti
Editing: 8 Media srl
Cover graphics: Augusto ‘‘Ace’’ Silva
Publication: 2021 Italy
Copyright: © 2020 Eva Mikula
DRS filed on 22-01-2021
© Edition Il Ciuffo
Translated by Nevia Ferrara
Published by Tektime
Eva Mikula
LOOSE END
Hidden truths about the White One Gang
by Marco Gregoretti
INTRODUCTION
The life of each is the sum of what each of us is into the depth of one's heart and not of what others think of us. It is the essence of one's self that intersects with those close to us and with those who cross our lives.
I don't believe in destiny. Destiny is a convention, a construction for those who use to feel sorry for themselves. However, everyone is the arbiter, aware or not, of their own life, always and regardless of whether or not they are inclined to spend a senseless and flattened existence on the interests of others.
This is Eva Mikula's story, a young girl who was wrong of growing up very quickly, perhaps too quickly, in a difficult if not impossible context, and of trying to change her existence for the better, and this did not can be considered a fault.
She did so with the very few tools she had at her disposal given her age, looking for shelter, stability and new affections in a world alien to her that soon became hostile, finding herself alone among the wolves.
What she thought to be the golden world of a beautiful fairy tale soon turned into a nightmare from which it seemed impossible to wake up. It might seem like a story similar to many girls like her, but this is a different story, very particular.
Eva will become, in spite of her, the protagonist of the recent history of the Italian Republic, the story of the criminal gang of the White One that will indelibly mark her existence from a very young age. Six criminals, including five policemen on duty in different locations in Emilia Romagna, will cross their lives with Eva's. Criminals who with their actions will produce a long trail of blood, robberies and mourning from 1987 to the end of 1994.
Despite her being dragged into black news stories and international judicial intricacies that have sunk her even more and exposed her to public mockery, she never gave up, never stopped to feel sorry for herself.
Eva struggled to survive, not to be killed by criminals first and distorted justice later. She fought against everyone, even against those who would have had the task and the legal duty to protect her. She did it for her sense of justice, for her future, for a life under the banner of normality. She fought and won the first half of her most important game, a game that is still open, and she must continue to do so in order not to be once again banned by society, by those who have divergent interests regarding the truth.
Eva got back in the game and decided to do it for her children, so that they never have to suffer abuse or be ashamed of anything in comparison with others, just like their mother did many years ago.
Enjoy the reading.
Làszlò Posztobànyi
Poet, composer, journalist.
1. THIS IS MY STORY
This story, my story, begins on August 18, 1975 under the sign of Leo and ends on July 28, 2020, the day of the turning point in the year of catharsis.
That day, between random web searches and what I read about my past, something clicked in me. As if a crazed embolus had circulated in search of all those emotions that each of us holds and keeps inside the soul.
I was surprised to see that my feelings: sadness, disgust, anger, joy and fear were all in total conflict with each other. Along its path, the embolus also encountered awareness, which in turn led to the search for consciousness. In this great confusion shrouded in the darkness of memories, my ego exclaimed: "Who are you? Who is Eva?". After a moment of silence and hesitation, the conscience spoke: "We must mend the threads between us, with all our feelings to find peace. To do this we have to take a trip back in Eva's life, do a bit of order without neglecting anything".
The embolus dissolved, vanished, Eva looked in the mirror, spoke again and decided: the truth will be our guide, as always.
The truth is not what you find on the web, written in the newspapers, said on TV or manipulated in certain courtrooms.
So, on August 4, 2020, after thinking about it for a long time and after reorganizing the first documents, I wrote to Marco Gregoretti, a journalist.
A dry and decisive email with which I asked him to get in touch with me.
Why him? I don't know, I felt I could trust. I managed to get his phone number too. I called him, I wrote him long messages that touched my memories, since I was a child. I have sent him complicated e-mails relating to some of my letters and others, which related facts that you will find in this book. I asked him to help me put them in good shape, in a more correct Italian than mine. In short, I tested him. I wanted to understand if my instincts were still alive in me; I needed confirmation and to know that I could truly trust him.
It was thus that throughout the summer we talked, wrote and exchanged opinions, thoughts and memories, even hard, very hard, like those of the events related to the infamous White One Gang, a brand of horror.
I used a thousand tricks to scrutinize his personality. But he too was cautious at first, incredulous that I had looked for him, without mediation. Then it didn't take us long to abandon our respective distrust to their fate. We talked a lot. I jammed his email with documents. I remembered some articles he had written about me; that of Panorama in the days following the arrests of the Savi brothers and the other members of the gang, and the one in the magazine of the television program Quarto Grado, where he only talked about me.
So I didn't have too much trouble starting to talk to him about my children too, about my personal, professional and sentimental events that have crossed my life.
When we finally met in person in October it was as if I have known him, not since ever, but very, very well.
He phoned me from the train to tell me that the B & B where he used to stay during his trips to Rome was closed. So he was a guest in my accommodation facility.
There have been many other meetings, real and virtual, also due to the limitations decided by the Government due to the coronavirus pandemic.
I told him everything I wanted to tell in front of a mirror. Even the most intimate things that happened to a woman, whose suffering began very early, as a child.
There is no present until the past