Lorenzo isn't actually called that, because for some old-fashioned people, good things have to be done with a balaclava, like in robberies: you shouldn't even let yourself be spotted by the mirror. If you see someone driving around the city in a specially made car, handing out bribes to the poor, you can be absolutely sure that it is not Lorenzo. At one point they seek him out to tell him the story of a girl who was evicted in her eighth month of pregnancy after her partner lost his job. It seems like a vague replica of Bethlehem and Lorenzo quickly sets up his manger: he finds decent accommodation for the displaced and a decent monthly salary for the fired.
On the day of the move, the two boys take to the streets with their belongings to take them to their new destination. They know there is a van waiting for them, but they don't know that Lorenzo is behind the wheel of the van. They thought he was one of those benefactors who simply wrote checks from their hermitage of bliss, without considering the discomfort they deservedly helped to alleviate. But for Lorenzo, charity means much more. It means putting your face on it, not as an image on a package, but in the truest sense of the word. The face and everything. To be there, invisible and yet present. Ready to appear, but only for a moment and only for those who need it.
Then one day, almost on the eve of Christmas… (continued tomorrow).
Gramellini's Caffè awaits you here from Tuesday to Saturday. Anyone who subscribes to Corriere also has access to “PrimaOra”, the newsletter that allows you to start the day in the best possible way. If you are not yet a subscriber, you will find options here and have access to all content on the site, all newsletters and podcasts as well as the newspaper's historical archive.