THE CHURCH BELLS IN LECCO

Somewhere in the digital library of a thousand virtual photos are reminders of the last time we were in Italy. I was younger then, we all were, all four of us: my husband David, Christine, Fab and I.  But I guess that didn't matter. Italy took no thought for how old or young we were, she just sat comfortably on the Earth's veranda, intoxicatingly lovely but calm and coy. She flirted with our senses relentlessly. I suck on my tongue, beckoning back the luscious flavors of the fruits of the Mediterranean vine. I inhale the decadent aroma of cheeses and salamis and olives bedded down together in neighborhood gastronomia; close my eyes and feel the air rush by as we drive through rolling fields basking in the Tuscan sun. Of all the places I have visited, Italy is perhaps the most aesthetic, appealing to every sense, sentiment and taste.

Fab and Christine, who lived in Milan at the time, took us up to Lecco, where they were in the process of completing the rebuild of a wonderful old building. Their condominium, almost finished at that point, was situated on beautiful Lake Como. The sea birds landed on their windowsills. Colorful boats rolled peacefully on the water, tied to wooden posts along the promenade. I have, somewhere, photographs of the layers of terracotta roofs that could be seen from their kitchen window. Beautiful architectural patterns that blushed in the sunlight, their vertical lines broken by an occasional horizontal strand of laundry flapping in the clean Lecco air. Fab and Christine call that charming place home now, and have for many years. We have been remiss in returning.

This morning I emailed Christine to check in, knowing from the news that Italy is suffering immensely with the ravages of the corona virus pandemic that has paralyzed the world. We see reports of makeshift hospitals being set up in historic landmark places. The streets are empty otherwise. It looks devastatingly tragic.

Here, in part, is what Christine wrote back to us this afternoon:

"The past days have been extremely difficult for doctors, hospital staff, ambulance staff. Hospitals are overflowing. Patients everywhere. Our 3 doctors who are living in our small condominium are fine, but exhausted and not coming home more than a few hours. Fabrizio and I have been closed in for a month now. I just go out once every other 10 days for food and drugstore. As of Friday, we are not allowed to go out of our village border at all, once a week for supermarket or drugstore.

The silence is spectral, even birds stopped singing. We hear only ambulances, helicopters, bells every time a soul is flying away,

Fabrizio, all considered, is quite ok, not driving me crazy, only a small half, but he gets very tired extremely quickly, I am fine, but like everybody, quite stunned." 

The thought of church bells echoing over those terracotta roofs, marking the passing of neighbors and friends, leads my hand to clutch my heart. I am reminded to remain vigilant in our quest to keep the demon at bay. If we can do something here in America, then we should. Let the evidence of our Italian brothers and sisters serve us with soberness. We have control over where we go and what we do. This is a test of our tolerance, and our patience, of course, but it is not impossible. We are not weaklings! We can, and we should, be vigilant. 

We do not have church bells in our sleepy little town here in the foothills of the Wasatch mountains of Utah, though there are plenty of steeples. But if we did, I pray they would be silent.