An early post today. I took a walk around noon along with trips to the pharmacy and supermarket (on Via Signorelli) and, if my body can stand it, will not walk again until this evening. Don’t know if I’ll make it, but any walk between now and then is likely to be uneventful and will not add much to today’s story.
We don’t know how long this public health emergency will last. No one does. It’s human to want to know the end of any plot, but life is seldom structured that way. What we do know is that worry and fear are far, far more contagious than any virus, even this one. Consequently, they spread faster and affect us quite deeply.
I took a back street to the pharmacy. Halfway there a man in full protective gear was exiting a house, a youngish couple waiting together, but separated, on the street. I tried to give the woman a sympathetic smile. She returned it. The man did not, could not. The man in protective gear walked ahead of me. An ambulance waited on the cross street. The rest could be deduced.
There were three of us waiting for the pharmacy, everyone contained, circled by an invisible shield. I leaned against a wall and wondered if it was safe to do so. Someone told me that a sneeze can implant the virus on pavement, and that you can carry it on your shoes to the floors in your house. I’ve searched the Web for confirmation, but have been able to find nothing. At some point you’ve got to determine, on your own, what is prudent and what is excessive.
The pharmacist ordered something for me yesterday evening. When she told me it would arrive this morning, I was so surprised I effused. That pleased her. When I came in this morning, she seemed glad to see me, that maybe there weren’t many people effusing about anything these days, and she needed some levity, even if it were only about an-earlier-than-expected delivery. That and other items came to twenty euro, twenty centesimi. Venti, venti. I repeated it for the music. So did she, her eyes smiling behind her mask. I determined then that I would greet and smile – even effuse, when it is honest – whenever I could.
I went on to Via Signorelli. The owner of a lovely restaurant called Enoteca del Duomo was first in “line”. He smiled, I smiled back like I was seeing a favorite friend for the first time in thirty years — no exaggeration, it felt that way. We chatted from a distance, someone came out, he went in.
The usual checker at that store is a neighbor of mine. He seems as if he’s had a damaging history, evidenced in part by a longish scar on his right cheek, in part by a conscious distancing, even in normal times. I try to be as warm as I can to him. Slowly, trust has built, and we’ve gone from passing without recognition, to exchanging nods, to murmured greetings. He checked today. Even with a mask on, some people know how to smile with their eyes quite as graciously as they would mask-less. I was astonished to learn that he was one of them. In fact, the mask may enable the smile. My heart flew open.
Exiting the store, I bowed to the man next in line, he bowed back. Little bows, Italian bows. On Via del Duomo the cook from that same enoteca was walking her dog. She wore bright red lipstick and a jacket to match.
“How’s it going?” I asked.
“Marvelous! You?”
“Me, too.”
“The dog is good company for me. To him, everything is normal.”
At that moment her canine buddy chose to relieve himself. As she prepared her plastic bag…
“A very small price to pay for having an excuse to get out. And for friendly companionship.”
“Very useful, that fellow.”
“Very.”
We wished each other a good day, four different ways, she blew a kiss, I blushed a bit and grinned like a sophomore.
Yesterday afternoon on the way back from the bank (and holding to the back streets) I passed a man of about my age sitting on a low wall, resting his bicycle. He’s a nodding acquaintance in normal times. Yesterday, he looked in my direction, but no expression showed. I took a chance.
“Buona serata.”
His face broke into a shy smile. He looked so relieved it almost made me cry.
“Buona serata,” he nodded. And then repeated it. Twice.
As always, thanks to Erika Bizzarri for the photo of children’s art.