It was almost 16:00 when it dawned on me that even the supermarkets would be closed tomorrow and Monday, and that if I needed anything, I’d better get it right away.
It had not been an easy day to that point. I’d kept my schedule, but only after a restless night with what seemed like a lot of gaps in my sleep (though some of those I think I dreamt). Meditation didn’t turn the day around as it did yesterday, and at the end, it turned into a rather long nap. I’ve been uncomfortable in my computer chair all day, so didn’t work on the play. I did walk a fair amount in the courtyard, a kind of therapy that delivered good results while I was in motion, but didn’t sustain. I started a soup, a good one as it turns out, but not particularly inspired.
But when I realized it was now or never for the weekend, that overcame the blahs, and before I knew it I was on the street and headed toward Piazza Cahen for the edicola at the bottom on the hill. I have a CVC digital thermometer that needed a battery, and you never know when a working thermometer might be a good idea – especially these days.
It happens that the edicola is across from Antonny and Romina’s. I knew that because the last time I saw him and his kids it was because I’d stopped to read headlines, but I didn’t put it together today, so when I approached, and Romina was on their balcony with little Linda, hanging a comforter out to air, I was pleasantly surprised.
“Buona sera, Romina!”
“Ciao, David! Buona Pasqua!” Linda smiled and waved three times.
I also knew tomorrow was Easter, of course, but forgot that meant you can wish anyone a good holiday or a good Easter whether or not you know them. The shape of the next two hours was set in that moment. Antonny came out. We talked a bit. Linda smiled and waved another four or five times. I was delighted to return each one.
I pass the woman who owns the edicola often, and we always exchange greetings even though I only make it in to buy something once a year or so. She is a purple person. I’ve noticed for a long time that people who love purple love it to a degree that others with other color preferences don’t share. She always dresses in purple, usually to the exclusion of any other color. Nevertheless, she provided the not-purple battery, wrapped it in its not-purple receipt so I’d be less likely to lose it, and we wished each other a happy holiday – Easter, which always includes a little purple.
A few more waves with Linda, and I continued up to Metà.
The guys there all call me caro or carissimo, that is, dear or dearest, not at all unusual in Italian. I’ve always loved that, but it took me three years to comfortably return the favor. I asked Gabriele if they would indeed be closed tomorrow and Monday.
“Oh, yes, both days, caro.”
“Good! You guys deserve some time off after this past month.”
“Grazie, carissimo! Tanti auguri per la Pasqua.”
“Altrettanto, caro,” I managed to say without the least embarrassment.
“How is everything going with you,” he asked.
“I’m not complaining, but for instance it is so good to hear another voice!” And that was profoundly true, at that moment hearing him say anything, even stuff on the phone I didn’t understand, was like listening to an angel. Of course he’s been working twelve hours a day for a month and conversing most of the time, so there was a moment of incomprehension before he nodded in agreement. I choked up and chose to leave it at that.
I returned home, unloaded, and went back to the Via Signorelli store for stuff Corso doesn’t stock, then to the bank, the housewares store, and indulged in a couple of unnecessary jogs just because I was out. I wished well to people I don’t know, to people I sort of know, to people I know but not that well. We were all of us with masks concealing our main features, but recognition managed to happen just the same.
I’ve related this sort of thing before, but it continues to surprise and delight me. Today, it was a kind of resurrection – perfectly appropriate.
This morning I received word that a friend and colleague in New York has been taken by the virus. He is the first of people I know, and I hope he is the only. He left a legacy of more than fifty years of unselfish dedication to a school he loved, and gently touched the lives of thousands, always for the better. We shared a first name and a last initial. He would have loved it here.
Buona Pasqua, Zip.