Love me, love me, say that you love me, fool..
"Wicked, heartless liar, may lightning strike you. How dare you use the name of my poor son Baudolino, son of Gagliaudo, here in person, and Aulari too, who left his home so many years ago with a grand Alaman lord, and after all maybe was one who made monkeys dance because I never heard another word about my poor boy and after all this time he has to be dead, so my sainted wife and I have suffered these thirty years, for the greatest sorrow of our life, that was already miserable enough, but to lose a son is a sorrow no one can know unless he's suffered it himself!”
At which Baudolino cried: "Dear Father! It's really you!" His voice broke and tears came to his eyes, but they could not conceal a great happiness. Then he added: "And it hasn't been thirty years of suffering, because I left only thirteen years ago, and you should be pleased because I've spent those years well, and now I'm somebody." The old man came over to the mule, looked carefully into Baudolino's face, and said: "Why, you're really you! Even if it was thirty years, that jackass look you've never lost, so you know what I have to say to you? Maybe you're now somebody, but you mustn't wrong your father, and if I said thirty years it's because to me it's seemed thirty, and in thirty years you could have sent news, you wretch. You're the ruin of our family. Get off that animal that you probably stole, and I'll break this stick over your head
At which Baudolino cried: "Dear Father! It's really you!" His voice broke and tears came to his eyes, but they could not conceal a great happiness. Then he added: "And it hasn't been thirty years of suffering, because I left only thirteen years ago, and you should be pleased because I've spent those years well, and now I'm somebody." The old man came over to the mule, looked carefully into Baudolino's face, and said: "Why, you're really you! Even if it was thirty years, that jackass look you've never lost, so you know what I have to say to you? Maybe you're now somebody, but you mustn't wrong your father, and if I said thirty years it's because to me it's seemed thirty, and in thirty years you could have sent news, you wretch. You're the ruin of our family. Get off that animal that you probably stole, and I'll break this stick over your head