“Carissimo, la busta?” asked the blue-eyed checker. The verbless question with a superlative form of endearment threw me for a moment.
“Sorry, yes, I have my bag with me, thanks.” In Italian, of course. Slightly late and slightly perplexed, but with fairly good grammar.
I’d taken a long route to the store. I skipped my morning walk because I got to bed too late and slept too long for a walk to be reasonably possible, and by 14:30 every muscle in my body was screaming at me, move! for pity sakes! move! On my way to Piazza della Repubblica I passed two of my pharmacists, both masked. They nodded. They may have smiled, too, I couldn’t tell. I began to think of heroes unsung, not only the health care professionals putting themselves at constant risk, but those in essential shops who continue to be exposed to the rest of us and our usual random collection of microbes, one strain of which might be a very unwelcome guest. As taciturn as my wordless mornings make me, I tried my best to thank the guys at the supermarket for being on a front line they may not be especially aware themselves that they’re on. I managed to get out a “grazie per tutto” and with great feeling. It wasn’t much, but it seemed to have landed.
On my way from Repubblica to Metà, I’d taken an alley parallel to Corso, and past some lovely nineteenth century apartments with gardens and terraces. It sounded as if someone were on their terrace finishing up a Bach cello suite. I stopped to appreciate the last few bars. The town is brimming with musicians. I trust the cellist is not alone in sharing.
I dropped my purchases at home, and went up the Passeggiata Confaloniere, the northwest promenade along the top of the cliff. A few people were walking dogs, among them Hélène with her white poodle. She’s an American from New Orleans who lives here with her Italian doctor husband and her aspiring pianist daughter. I’d not seen her for months. I told her about the cello.
“Did you see the video from Firenze?” she asked. “A trumpeter at his window playing ‘When the Saints’. I rarely post to Facebook, but that one I did, for all my family and friends. Hmm. Our piano is by the window, when my daughter plays, we have to remember to open it so neighbors can hear.”
I asked after her husband who works at the local hospital.
“He’s still assigned to pronto soccorso (emergency). So little happening there last few days, he took along a book. But if someone has to be airlifted to Perugia’s ICU because of the virus, he has to go with them in the helicopter.”
“How is he kept safe?”
“We don’t know because it hasn’t happened yet. Probably the usual protocols, maybe something extra. They have it together, he won’t bring the virus home with him.”
“Does Orvieto hospital have ICU’s?”
“Sure, but they’re trying to leave them open. It’s not like with the virus around, all the other diseases go on vacation. Did you hear about the 97 year-old man who was in an ICU with the virus and recovered? Wonderful.”
He deserves to live to 115 after that ordeal. I was encouraged to hear that people so at risk are still able to be treated.
“So, I’ve heard various things, but what do we do if we experience what we think might be symptoms?”
“There’s a hotline to call. They will send a doctor to your home to see if your case warrants special care. If not, you stay home and they’ll check in twice a day.”
“By phone?”
“Oh no, in person. Then if hospitalization becomes necessary, they can act on it immediately. The idea is to keep you home as long as possible, with supervision, and isolated, so the hospitals don’t become more stressed than they already are. But listen, if you notice something, call me. My husband will make sure you’re attended to.”
I suddenly felt a lot better. My Italian is terrible on the phone.
Her poodle intensified his whining after not being able to sniff a fellow canine that had just passed, so they moved on. “So much fun to see you! We shouldn’t wait for a pandemic.”
At the crest of the grade the beautiful, green-eyed, three-legged cat sat contentedly in the middle of the street. I often pass to find her on the top of a car. Given that she lacks her left rear leg I cannot help but wonder how she gets there. She purred and cuddled and let me know that she had her secrets, and that everything was fine.