He passed me on Via Filippeschi, a few steps from the hardware store he owns with Frangelico, his brother. Hey, Raffaele! “Oh, ciao, I didn’t see you.” It’s been awhile. Are you working?
Raffaele also owns a business, called Multiservice, that specializes in restorations and improvements. He bought the hardware almost on impulse a little more than a year ago, and with his brother’s help, runs both. He bursts with energy and enthusiasm, and frequently employs the linguistic device of repeating a word three times for emphasis. That, coupled with his earnestness, causes me to giggle. I like Raffaele.
He answered my question about work; “Sempre, sempre, sempre!” I giggled. “You know that shoe store opening up on Corso?” You mean the one sort of across from La Torre where there was a shoe store before? It was his turn to giggle, “Si, si, si, that’s the one. My work.” Right, I noticed there was something going on in there. For, how long? Maybe the last couple of weeks? “No, no, no, the last couple of months! The paper just now came off the windows, and they open tomorrow. Take a look when you pass!” And he was off to join his brother, excited as a child.
I decided to walk home on Corso, glance at the new shoe store, and since I was in the neighborhood, have a gelato. The store came first, but only geographically. The Liberty style doors are refinished and clean, a rich, deeply colored wood gracefully frames glass panels. Beyond them, the store is crisp and fresh and white. I congratulated Raffaele in my mind, and imagined his “grazie, grazie, grazie”. I giggled, bought my gelato, took a place on one of the Michelangeli benches, and savored the nutty flavors.
On my way home down Corso, my attention sharpened by having viewed Raffaele’s latest project, I counted three empty shop fronts I’d not noticed before. All are being renovated, these in addition to the rather large project that has been underway for several months next to the supermercato. The activity feels good. The people involved seem happy.
At the end of my street, during the cold months, a construction team added a second story to a little house of no particular significance. The building now stands immaculate and modestly magnificent, between its somewhat shabby neighbors. That one team did everything from beams to plaster. I wanted to ask about their work, but my house-parts vocabulary lacks nuance, and I was fairly certain that instead of expressing collegial interest, I would present myself as an annoying dilettante; so I contented myself with the occasional nod.
A month or so ago, a scaffold went up on Hotel Virgilio in Piazza del Duomo. It came down a week later to reveal fresh plaster and paint. A few days after that, the building to the left was covered, and days later, another restored facade was in evidence. On San Giuseppe Day, I stood with friends in the square and wondered aloud if the building to the right was next, and sure enough, early this week scaffolding went up there, too.
Orvieto has been struggling economically since the turn of the century when the national government closed the caserme, huge fascist-era barracks, that had housed the two thousand people stationed here for their 18 month national service stint. Local businesses were affected instantly. Not only were they deprived of custom from the residents of those barracks, but also that of visiting family and friends. Shortly after, the provincial government began to move official services and functions to other cities, activities that had been centered in Orvieto for centuries. The full-time population of centro storico in 1998 was about 16,000. By 2006, it was 4,000. That rapid shrinkage is visibly expressed in the abandoned houses and palazzos in all parts of town. People are now beginning to move in and move back, but the town took a serious economic hit and recovery has been gradual.
Still, shops open, restorations are in progress, facades are upgraded. Even though (as I am told) many of its young people feel stuck here, and standard services are in danger, neglected, or less frequent as the city government scrambles to stay afloat, Orvieto displays a peculiar confidence and vitality.
Recently, Bloomberg Global Health Index declared Italy the healthiest country in the world, this despite a sagging economy in which as many as 40% of its youth remain without a means of earning a living, or at least without a reportable job. National Health can take a good deal of credit for this first-place ranking. I’m only beginning to understand how that system works (it’s a variant of what is called single-payer in the States) but the security of knowing that the cost of healthcare is unlikely to trigger bankruptcy allows Italians to relax, take chances, and be creative in ways most Americans would envy.
One must also give credit to a fluid attitude, responsive communities, and an informal support system that ties families together and to one another. A strong economy is a wonderful thing, but what is it worth if its members have no time leisurely to walk dogs and push babies in strollers? Or to pet the wandering cats (who are the the real lords and masters of this town). Or to stop in the middle of a street to trade information on what cultural events are coming up, exchange tips on the best cheese available this week and at which markets, or to solicit (and offer) decorating advice for a favorite bar?
The day after seeing Raffaele in Via Filippeschi, I deliberately re-routed my passeggiata to pass the new shoe store he had helped bring to life. It was celebrating its opening. The proprietress was elegantly dressed, and beamed as she welcomed fellow townspeople into her new-born creation. Her smile sparkled, the store sparkled, the air around her sparkled. There is a kind of magic to those first moments of creative sharing, and watching that little corner of town bask in its glow was heartwarming.
Several months ago, I went into Frangelico and Raffaele’s hardware for yet another item demanded by my new home and garden. Frangelico was on his cellphone, texting. He winked as I entered and raised a finger to hold conversation at bay until he had finished. The phone lay flat on the counter, so I could see that he was responding to a message from his brother. He touched “send”. The reply from Raffaele was “Te amo.” Frangelico returned the same two words to his brother and looked up at me, refreshed and eager to advise, provide, or crack jokes — whatever my situation required.