Are you alive? And gifts start coming - 10 april 2009
FRANCAVILLA - If it were not for the humidity that we Aquilans dislike so much and for the musical sound of the sea backwash, it would seem a bit like being in L'Aquila. Along the promenade of Francavilla I am under my Portici: there's Fausto with his daughter and son-in-law, there is Flaviano with his family, there's Maria Cristina, there's Antonio ... "Are you alive?" Is the first question. "I am alive, I am alive" is often the answer, repeated as we still needed to convince ourselves. "And where are you? In a hotel?". "No, my mother-in-law has a small house here for the holidays. A mini-apartment that looks like a royal palace to us...". 'But who, the "Granny Fausta" of your article? Sure you owe her your life...".
Life here in Francavilla is beautiful. We are displaced, disrupted, exhausted, we jump at vibrations in the streets even for the passage of a truck, but we have much, so much warmth around. Unimaginable. The family of the newsagent along Viale Alcione where, in summer, I used to buy newspapers (and junk for my daughter) came immediately with shopping bags full of everything. The beach-cabin neighbors hurried to offer anything, even lending their only car. The beach cabin owners want to help us to download our luggage. Our friend, a carabiniere, offers his network of acquaintances. A friend in Pescara, sends credit to my mobile on behalf of a group of friends. All the young girls, friends of my daughter at the beach cabin, are around, with the wink of an eye to their mothers, not to leave alone their companion who now has such sad eyes. Even the bank clerk, who notoriously belongs to a category difficult to deal with, does wonders to solve bureaucratic problems that would make everyone's hair raise. The other night, then, coming back home (oh, how beautiful it is to be able to say this again!), surprise: a friend, who some days ago lost his job suddenly, delivered a pair of jeans, some shirts, a sweater, even an elegant blue suit. I sat down and I cried. I often get these blues.
And often I cannot keep tears back. It happens at every phone call, especially now that there is the courage to go round the mobile phone book and call everyone, really everyone. Or, perhaps, because the mind starts to write out urgencies in a list that at each item generates other memories: seeking a viability inspection for the house; cancel electricity, methane, water bills, satellite TV and DSL subscription, the insurance of the now useless cars. And in making out the list, giving a glance at the calendar, you find out that in three days it is Easter. Easter?
The other meeting point of the displaced Aquilans is the autogrill in Brecciarola, along the A25 highway. Yea, because many do not want to just sit where they are, and at dawn they start towards their (former) city to return at night, with swollen eyes, a hoarse voice and increasingly weaker hopes. For three days now, at 7am the meeting place is there. "Of course, our Antonello's coffee was better, but let's be content with what we have ...". The first days are passing, thanks especially to the warmth of the people of Francavilla, but also of all the other places that are hosting the Aquilans, displaced today, and tourists until yesterday. We know it will be over. While the great distress for the huge problems of today, and especially of tomorrow, is insinuating and growing. "We need a shake" says Cesare to me on the phone. No, sure not a shake...
Life here in Francavilla is beautiful. We are displaced, disrupted, exhausted, we jump at vibrations in the streets even for the passage of a truck, but we have much, so much warmth around. Unimaginable. The family of the newsagent along Viale Alcione where, in summer, I used to buy newspapers (and junk for my daughter) came immediately with shopping bags full of everything. The beach-cabin neighbors hurried to offer anything, even lending their only car. The beach cabin owners want to help us to download our luggage. Our friend, a carabiniere, offers his network of acquaintances. A friend in Pescara, sends credit to my mobile on behalf of a group of friends. All the young girls, friends of my daughter at the beach cabin, are around, with the wink of an eye to their mothers, not to leave alone their companion who now has such sad eyes. Even the bank clerk, who notoriously belongs to a category difficult to deal with, does wonders to solve bureaucratic problems that would make everyone's hair raise. The other night, then, coming back home (oh, how beautiful it is to be able to say this again!), surprise: a friend, who some days ago lost his job suddenly, delivered a pair of jeans, some shirts, a sweater, even an elegant blue suit. I sat down and I cried. I often get these blues.
And often I cannot keep tears back. It happens at every phone call, especially now that there is the courage to go round the mobile phone book and call everyone, really everyone. Or, perhaps, because the mind starts to write out urgencies in a list that at each item generates other memories: seeking a viability inspection for the house; cancel electricity, methane, water bills, satellite TV and DSL subscription, the insurance of the now useless cars. And in making out the list, giving a glance at the calendar, you find out that in three days it is Easter. Easter?
The other meeting point of the displaced Aquilans is the autogrill in Brecciarola, along the A25 highway. Yea, because many do not want to just sit where they are, and at dawn they start towards their (former) city to return at night, with swollen eyes, a hoarse voice and increasingly weaker hopes. For three days now, at 7am the meeting place is there. "Of course, our Antonello's coffee was better, but let's be content with what we have ...". The first days are passing, thanks especially to the warmth of the people of Francavilla, but also of all the other places that are hosting the Aquilans, displaced today, and tourists until yesterday. We know it will be over. While the great distress for the huge problems of today, and especially of tomorrow, is insinuating and growing. "We need a shake" says Cesare to me on the phone. No, sure not a shake...