Instead of Easter wishes, a poem of hope - 14 april 2009
FRANCAVILLA - On Easter Day we left Francavilla and went to the "Hawaai" ... The "official" beach cabin of Aquilans in Silvi Marina, on Sunday it was like a restaurant at the foot of the Gran Sasso. A nice seafood meal by the sea, instead of the traditional Easter lamb at the cableway base. I organized the Easter dinner (I have this obsession for organizing the family reunions so dear to both my grandmothers, a D'Amario from Sulmona and a Fusari from Tornimparte, who lived only for their families) at Silvi where among the displaced are my parents and the family of my brother whose wife has lost family members at Tempera. And I was right. Because Easter, this Easter and all the future ones, will be for us, earthquake survivors, a synonym for apocalypse, not Resurrection!, We know this. But life goes on.
And that's why the family reunion at Silvi, already a "new town" for many Aquilans. Sergio, the owner of the Hawaai cabin, granted us a huge discount as well. My father wanted to pay for everyone: "When my money is gone - he said - you children will help me." It's a good sign, since "Sciabolone" as he is nicknamed by friends who revere his total dedication to children and grandchildren, is struggling to recover psychologically: in the area of San Pietro, the heart of downtown L'Aquila, around his house there was only death among the many elderly people, then he had no news from me for hours while he was learning that Via Sant'Andrea, in the area of Via XX Settembre, where I live, was among the hardest hit and saw terror in the eyes of my brother who had witnessed the collapse of the building next to his in via D'Annunzio; when he saw me coming with a broken head he almost fainted with Mum, and then his gutted house: all the efforts of a life devoted to children gone up in smoke. Dad - I said - you've always been our reference point: if you collapse, we're screwed. Take out what you must and let us go forward. Do it for your three grandchildren.
In the morning, with Raffaella and Grandma Fausta, we brought Camilla to mass. Unable to enter the church of Sant'Alfonso in Francavilla: too many people. Outside, all Aquilans. We embrace one another. There are kisses. "I love you" is the final sentence. "Let's not give in. We will do it" is the regular greeting. I give to whoever I meet my visiting cards (I had one in my wallet and made photocopies) putting myself at disposal: be strong, strong, strong! Let's not give in! And a Happy Easter to everyone!
Driving along the state road towards Silvi I think that perhaps it is right to send wishes to the so many friends. We did it in the past with cold sms messages, why not do it now. While I'm thinking about what to write to give a signal, a message arrives from the usual Cesare, the 'Indiana Jones of Aquilanitas". The message says: "A poem by Dino Bontempo:
Aquila me, come scj bbella
quandu 'n celu è nnotte
e qquandu ju reloggiu, a mezzanotte,
reconta tutte quante le cannelle!
Ju corzu te me pare nu surrisu:
quijiu que lluce 'n mocche all'aquilane;
Aquila me, scj ccome na quatrana,
te' tanta storia, ma scj sempre sposa
e, de l'Abbruzzu nostru la riggina!
Aquilani fieri, orgogliosi, forti e gentili,
piangiamo chi abbiamo perduto
e rialziamo ora tutto quello che è caduto!".
(translation: O my Aquila, how beautiful you are when it is night in the sky, and when the clock at midnight counts all the 99 spouts. Your Corso looks to me like a smile, the smile that shines in the mouths of Aquilan women - o my Aquila, you are like a girl, with so much history but always a bride, and of our Abruzzo the queen - Courageous, proud, strong and gentle Aquilans, let us cry for those we lost, let us raise now all that fell down!"
And that's why the family reunion at Silvi, already a "new town" for many Aquilans. Sergio, the owner of the Hawaai cabin, granted us a huge discount as well. My father wanted to pay for everyone: "When my money is gone - he said - you children will help me." It's a good sign, since "Sciabolone" as he is nicknamed by friends who revere his total dedication to children and grandchildren, is struggling to recover psychologically: in the area of San Pietro, the heart of downtown L'Aquila, around his house there was only death among the many elderly people, then he had no news from me for hours while he was learning that Via Sant'Andrea, in the area of Via XX Settembre, where I live, was among the hardest hit and saw terror in the eyes of my brother who had witnessed the collapse of the building next to his in via D'Annunzio; when he saw me coming with a broken head he almost fainted with Mum, and then his gutted house: all the efforts of a life devoted to children gone up in smoke. Dad - I said - you've always been our reference point: if you collapse, we're screwed. Take out what you must and let us go forward. Do it for your three grandchildren.
In the morning, with Raffaella and Grandma Fausta, we brought Camilla to mass. Unable to enter the church of Sant'Alfonso in Francavilla: too many people. Outside, all Aquilans. We embrace one another. There are kisses. "I love you" is the final sentence. "Let's not give in. We will do it" is the regular greeting. I give to whoever I meet my visiting cards (I had one in my wallet and made photocopies) putting myself at disposal: be strong, strong, strong! Let's not give in! And a Happy Easter to everyone!
Driving along the state road towards Silvi I think that perhaps it is right to send wishes to the so many friends. We did it in the past with cold sms messages, why not do it now. While I'm thinking about what to write to give a signal, a message arrives from the usual Cesare, the 'Indiana Jones of Aquilanitas". The message says: "A poem by Dino Bontempo:
Aquila me, come scj bbella
quandu 'n celu è nnotte
e qquandu ju reloggiu, a mezzanotte,
reconta tutte quante le cannelle!
Ju corzu te me pare nu surrisu:
quijiu que lluce 'n mocche all'aquilane;
Aquila me, scj ccome na quatrana,
te' tanta storia, ma scj sempre sposa
e, de l'Abbruzzu nostru la riggina!
Aquilani fieri, orgogliosi, forti e gentili,
piangiamo chi abbiamo perduto
e rialziamo ora tutto quello che è caduto!".
(translation: O my Aquila, how beautiful you are when it is night in the sky, and when the clock at midnight counts all the 99 spouts. Your Corso looks to me like a smile, the smile that shines in the mouths of Aquilan women - o my Aquila, you are like a girl, with so much history but always a bride, and of our Abruzzo the queen - Courageous, proud, strong and gentle Aquilans, let us cry for those we lost, let us raise now all that fell down!"
I send the sms to all 750 numbers in my phone book. It takes me almost the whole afternoon. Many reply, strong and proud: "We do not give in". A chain of letters (I also sent " Strong is not who falls, but who falls and raises again... L'AQUILA RISE AND RETURN TO FLY ... Please transmit this sms, do not extinguish this hope "). My friend Giancarlo, who works at Ansa, even "launches" an agency news with a translation from dialect into Italian. In the evening, while strolling along the seafront promenade of Francavilla to cool down my brain, I meet a displaced, Patrizia. Looking into her fine sad eyes, I send her my sms. She reads it. Ticking on the keys she answers: "Thank you! It's so beautiful! Give all gas, angiolè. " Who knows she may have been an angel too ...