A sad story

Friday, September 30, 2005

THREE



   Everywhere you turn in Mandanici, you see evidence of a limited gene pool. For a community of 800 people, the frequency of some sort of handicap is exceptionally high. There are people with obvious, serious physical handicaps, like M.S. I have seen several people with less serious, but still visible defects, like cross-eyedness. And, there are a few people who are slightly mentally handicapped.
   There is a younger gentleman in the piazza across from the bar everyday. I couldn't say exactly what his age is. I say younger only as a contrast to the rest of the retired men who usually congregate there during the day. He is always wearing the same clothes (I don't know if he never changes his clothes, or if he simply owns several of the same outfit), sitting on a bench smoking, or wandering around smoking. He has taken to saying hello to me every time I walk by. I mean every time I walk by. Even if the last time was only fifteen seconds ago.
   At first he would just nod, and say, "Buon Giorno." As time went on, he got bolder, and began walking up to me, and shaking my hand. Now, he has whole conversations with me, even though he has been told numerous times that I can't understand a word he is saying. He's a nice enough guy, but I don't have the time, nor the inclination to stop and say hello to him forty-six times every day. I'm beginning to see why many people around here cross the street when they see him coming.
   Good times.

   This is a sight that has become all too common here in Mandanici. You can imagine that when a thriving community of almost three thousand shrinks to eight hundred people, there are left behind a large number of abandoned buildings. The problem, of course, is that it's a new world.
   Sixty years ago, my father-in-law used to ride his bicycle down the mountainside to the oceanside town of Roccalumera carrying a basket of fruit and vegetables. When they were all sold, he rode back up again. On a good day, he might have time to do it again. His family lived on that income.
   Not that they needed for much. They built their own homes, and grew their own food. Cut their own wood for the stone oven, and raised goats. Today, the young people have to leave town to find work in the larger cities. Mandanici is dying. In another sixty years it may be completely gone.

tags:Italy vacation