Venice: I am not making this up

The battle of the funeral directors

March 15, 2020 12 Comments

As was totally predictable, some people have been scoffing at the drastic regulations to control the COVID-19 contagion, because scoffage is fun. There is a special breed of human who looks at rules like they’re the gates in a giant slalom racecourse, put there just to challenge your skill in avoiding them and provide entertainment in the process.

By now, though, some 4,000 blithe spirits across Italy have been fined for not staying at home — and more to the point, they left home to do things they’re totally not justified in doing. Somehow, meeting up with ten of your friends in the countryside in an old abandoned shed to drink beer doesn’t fall into any of the three approved categories for being out of your house (Work? Medical/health? Necessity? Or did they claim to qualify in all three?) Four members of a family in town A went to town B outside of their province to join the birthday party of their two-year-old relative. Cue the Carabinieri. People with holiday houses in the mountains are thinking of escaping there? Not a chance. A walk on the beach? The mayor of Jesolo is imploring people not to be seduced by a sunny weekend. Because Carabinieri. Because virus. Because just stay at home.

All this — the subject of skipping a rule you don’t like or understand or want to bother with or forgot — brings us to don Riccardo Zanchin, the parish priest of the church of Santi Vito e Modesto in Spinea, a nearby town; Spinea is also the legal residence of Luigi Brugnaro, the mayor of Venice. A town where you might think that the art of obeying governmental edicts would be more advanced than elsewhere, but actually, no.

Among the earliest bans affecting normal life was on public funerals; that was back when we could still be shocked. The rule was that only the closest family members would be allowed to attend, without the usual mass. Subsequent edicts on March 8 and March 11 intensified the ban, up to the one forbidding all religious services. No weddings, funerals, baptisms, First Communions, Stations of the Cross, reciting the rosary — nothing. Anything that involved more than two or three people was prohibited. But when one of don Riccardo’s parishioners passed away, the family inquired about a funeral, and he said “Fine.” Here is where things begin to get murky.

Even murkier than this; I’m sure the two pilings have a perfectly good reason for finding themselves aground in the middle of a muddy barena.

Don Riccardo doesn’t appear to belong to the sub-group of priests who like to protest (not to be confused with Protestants). There was one priest the other day who was nabbed for conducting some ceremony, and his clarion call to disobedience was reported as “God is my boss,” and God requires him to continue his sacramental duties. That would be fine in a world where extremely contagious diseases didn’t exist, but as God’s vice-boss observed in the Garden of Gethsemane, “The flesh is weak,” and people are getting sick. I imagine that God’s vice-vice-boss, pro tem, a/k/a the bishop, had something short and sharp to tell him about all this.

Back to don Riccardo, who says that he hadn’t received any instructions to the contrary from the diocese (blame the bishop? Not a good move). Therefore he was all set to conduct a funeral Thursday afternoon of a 93-year-old parishioner. Family? Check. Mortal remains? Check. Hearse and funeral director? Check. Another funeral director? Excuse me?

Alessandro Gardi was the funeral director whose company had undertaken the work and had already loaded the coffin into the hearse. But at that moment who should be driving past but Manuel Piasenti, director of another funeral home. He saw what looked like a funeral drawing to a close, stopped his car, and called the Carabinieri.

Let’s pause and think peaceful thoughts for a moment.

“It isn’t possible to celebrate funerals,” Piasenti explains, “it’s a lack of respect toward the families and also toward other funeral homes that, respecting the regulations, aren’t working.” I’d interpret that as meaning especially a lack of respect to other funeral homes, such as his, just to take an example at random. What I don’t understand is his assertion that funeral homes aren’t working — that doesn’t seem to fall into any prohibited category of permitted work, and their services are, sadly, clearly required these days. I suspect Something Else is going on here; for all I know it might have been something that happened when they were in second grade.

The Carabinieri come and discover that the situation has become a little heated. The family members are furious with Gardi, the first funeral director, because evidently they blame him for getting them into this mess. Gardi’s mad at Piasenti because “He blocked the hearse with his car,” Gardi stated, “and the people who were going to the cemetery.” That’s an audacious move. Everybody had something to say, and I’m guessing they were all saying them at the same time, and in a way that attracted the attention of the neighbors.

“I never blocked anybody,” Piasenti rebutted, “I was only waiting” (in a blocking position?) “for the arrival of the officers.” And so it went until the Carabinieri had taken everybody’s testimony and found all three contenders guilty of something.

It’s a big world out there, something that’s easy to forget when you’re stuck at home day and night. We need to keep our perspective on things.

Don Riccardo had broken the decrees banning religious ceremonies, which in point of fact had not been issued by the bishop, but by a commission headed by the Prime Minister of Italy, so the good priest was probably a bit mistaken in thinking the bishop had the final word on this.

Mr. Gardi had also flouted the decrees, though he defended himself by saying “It wasn’t a funeral, it was a strictly private ceremony. There were only eight people, all of them four or five meters apart. We spoke to the priest and he said that he hadn’t received any opposition from the diocese for the celebration of that funeral rite, so we proceeded.” Noted, but he still broke the rules.

Mr. Piasenti got two fines: One was for being out in his car even though he wasn’t going to work (one of the three reasons that justify your being out of your house; it was stopping in front of the church that gave him away), and the other because he had no authority to use his car to stop a funeral procession. Well, neither does anybody, probably, except the firemen.

So in the end, everybody was unhappy, including the grieving relatives. That flash of euphoria Mr. Piasenti enjoyed by reporting his competitor to the police was so sweet, but so brief.

So let’s review: Stay at home. In the end, it makes life simpler for everybody.

This full-page ad for a car dealership is a masterpiece of bad timing. “Escape with your new C4: we’ll give you (as in gift) the weekend.” You’re selling cars when nobody can go anywhere, then you rub it in with special offers linked to “escape”? I think this could be interpreted as a veiled incentive to break the law by not staying in your house, and “weekends,” as they’re commonly understood, have ceased to exist for the duration. I’m sorry the company paid for this ad because I doubt that “Going to buy a new car” is a valid reason for anyone to be out traipsing around. It’s all so difficult right now.

Uncategorized

Supermarket correction

March 14, 2020 14 Comments

This is just a quick note concerning my most recent post. I’ve made an important correction.

The supermarkets are NOT closing on the weekend; that was my misunderstanding of something Lino said (his fault!). It’s the big commercial shopping centers that are closed on the weekend now — but they are required to keep open the entrance to the supermarket component. So food, yes, but you can’t plan to fritter away Saturday afternoon anymore wandering around looking at shoes and accessories for your phone and lingerie and whatever else people look at in big shopping centers.

Of course you realize that I could have adapted to the lack of a supermarket on Saturday and Sunday, if it should have gone that way; it did not shake the foundations of my universe. But I’m glad to know I was wrong. And how often can I usefully say that?

Supermarkets make me think of lines. Venice makes me think of lines. Not the same lines.

Venice is a cat’s-cradle of laundry lines.

Everything lined up perfectly (on the line). But there’s something very wrong with this women’s laundry today. The sock thief has struck again.

Uncategorized

Andra’ Tutto Bene

March 14, 2020 7 Comments

This announcement was posted at San Francesco da Paola yesterday and this morning it bore fruit. “You too should participate in this fun initiative!!! Every family can design a rainbow with the words Andra’ Tutto Bene on a piece of cardboard or a bedsheet and hang it on your balcony or window Saturday 14 March. A moment of creativity and of hope. Sometimes words aren’t enough… and so we need children, colors and feelings.”

The children have spoken. “Everything’s going to be all right.”

I got this message from several windows as I walked along via Garibaldi. I don’t know what’s happening elsewhere in the city — I’m hoping that the calli and campielli are smothered in festoons of “It’s going to be all right” sheets and scarves and beach towels and boat tarpaulins and painters’ old dropcloths. Somebody’s father’s favorite shirt…. Mom’s once-a-year taffeta evening skirt… What we can see on the windows may just be the tiniest part of the creative volcano.

Walking up the street, the first rainbows were above the Coop.

Actually, we spied them last evening, and it looks like sitting outside all night was pretty tiring.

This is impressive: The world in the colors of the Italian flag, and the Italian peninsula makes a strangely convincing nose. I say “strange” only because attaching Sicily threw the proportions off kilter and now the boot is overpronated.

The flag! Some enterprising person pulled it out of mothballs, where it’s been since the last World Cup. But it works too, and will be just as useful for the next World Cup.

Meanwhile, with the waking-up of via Garibaldi the lines begin to form outside the shops of prima necessita’ (first necessity), the only type that’s allowed to be open. They are orderly and correctly spaced. At least for ten refreshing minutes in the morning I get to see people who are not on my computer screen. They’re amazing! In three dimensions!

Starting from the foreground, at right we see one person waiting outside Gabriele Bianchi’s delicatessen (in Venetian, *biavarol*); his limit is two persons at a time. At left is a lady with a dog who is not in line for anything, as far as I can tell. Then a few people on the left in line to enter the pharmacy “Al Basilisco,” even though everybody knows it by the name of the founding family, which is Baldiserrotto. At right is a longer line waiting to enter the *forner*, or bread bakery. The fruit and vegetable stand on the right gets away with people standing along the edges, though I’m a little surprised that they (and also the supermarkets) haven’t installed any plastic or even plastic-wrap shields between the customer and the produce. Beyond that is the line for the Coop, shown below.

The line at the Coop is never ends; it’s like that famous imaginary line of all the Chinese (sorry) that never gets shorter. Further down the street are lines outside the detergent/housewares shop, another forner, and on the other side of the canal, there’s one outside the wine store. The fish market doesn’t usually (I don’t want to say “never,” but…) have enough customers to be troubled with organizing a line. The pastry shop is closed, then there’s Alberto, the butcher, who can manage with the space he’s got. And that’s the end of obtaining “prima necessita'” in our little pocket of the world until we go down to the end, turn left, and stand in line outside the Prix supermarket.

What’s interesting about all these lines isn’t so much that people are forming them — though that certainly is noteworthy, being a sort of Nordic, Anglo-Saxon sort of practice that I’d never have thought to see here, where groups of people (I remember the banks) generally tend to arrange themselves as an amoeba. It’s astounding to recall that the same number of people going into stores in via Garibaldi, however many there may be, always used to just go into the store. Whatever store. You just walked in. It was like the vaporetto; if there was space for you, you took it. If there wasn’t space for you, you made some and took it. Even if there were 40 people where now they can allow only one, that was normal.

Now that we’re stuck at the other extreme of the living-together phenomenon, I am amazed that we lived like that. When all this is over, I’m also going to be amazed to see whether we will continue forming lines, or whether the amoeba instinct will re-assert itself. I’m putting my money on the amoeba.

Events

Another day in detention

March 13, 2020 10 Comments

Off to a foggy start this morning. Where once I might have reviled the vaporetto for ruining the scene, I have to say that now the vaporetto IS the scene. Yes, we’re still alive…..

And the headlines set out by the newsstand: “Virus, 2000 city employees at home and ACTV cuts runs.” All of that was highly predictable, especially the cutting back on the vaporettos. You see them pass and they’re like the Marie Celeste (empty, but with clear signs of recent life). I will tell you the story about the funeral and the denunciation of the parish priest tomorrow.

Our small but perfectly formed walk in the early morning is our one chance to buy the Gazzettino, to breathe some air, to walk around like normal people for about 20 minutes. And inevitably I notice the signs that are stuck on doors — there seems to be a sort of progression taking place, as if we’re all coalescing around certain tiny hard truths: Distance between people, no touching, headlines, isolation.

Here are some discoveries, yesterday and today:

The government’s quarantine comes with a catchy hashtag, since that’s how we communicate now. *#iorestoacasa* means “I’m staying at home,” and it seems a little more jaunty to put it this way rather than “God, we’re stuck in the house together night and day we’re losing our minds,” etc. It’s succinct, it’s civic, it’s easy to remember, and on the whole it seems to be working.

The people in this shop tend to sell items which are a bit unorthodox, which leads us to this notice: “Open intermittently If open we’re in the office, come in and greet us loudly (don’t cough….). If we’re closed, for urgent matters 3351227777.” That number is a little too perfect; I suspect if I were to call it, I’d just get voicemail and they’d never call back.

Via Garibaldi wakes up. The trash men are out, the fruit and vegetable sellers are setting up, and the supermarkets are receiving the daily cargo, brought in those large containers you see in the middle of the street, being hauled back to the barge by the guy who drew the short straw. At least the containers are empty now.

There’s more activity than the news reports give you to believe, but it appears that many try to get the shopping done first thing in the morning.

Luca is handing Massimo the scale (cash register to follow), so they’re just about ready to open. That, and the never-diminishing abundance of their stock, maintains the illusion of normalcy. Don’t ever stop, you guys.

In the Prix supermarket, elves have been working overnight laying perfectly spaced strips of tape one meter apart on the runway to the cash registers. Next we’ll have the person with the huge ear protectors and flashlights moving us into position.

At the entrance to the Coop, this innovation: ” Roll of paper towels and disinfectant to use for cleaning the carts.”

Shops are beginning to work half-days. The tobacco/toy store announces that they’ll be working from 9:00 AM to 1:00 PM, closed on Mondays.

Also the detergent/housewares/everything store. The owners would appreciate being at home, especially if everybody else is.

On the door at the Paties glasses and eye-examination store: “Communication to our Clients Based on the recent Ministerial Decree the optical stores (with a licensed optician present, not the simple eyeglasses seller) may remain open because they furnish medical devices. NEVERTHELESS My sense of responsibility toward myself and toward others obliges me to reduce as much as possible any opportunity of contagion. For this reason, OTTICA PATIES will close for the entire period established by the Italian Government. For any necessity, for example the depletion of your supply of contact lenses and liquids, an urgent need for new eyeglasses, excluding obviously the measuring of your eyesight and the application of contact lenses, for the evident impossibility to effect these safely, I invite you to contact me without any problem at 3388790493 and on WhatsApp or by email info@otticapaties.it A hug, and good luck to everybody! I’mstayingathome. Andrea Paties”

This shop takes a slightly sterner tack: “Attention According to DPCM 1 March 2020 art. 2, point ‘i,’ we invite you to respect the distance of 1 meter between persons, to safeguard the health of the clients and to avoid penal sanctions and the consequent closing of the shop. We thank you for the collaboration.” I never realized that I could hold, not only my own fate, but that of an entire commercial enterprise and several generations of the owner’s family, in my hands. It’s too much. I’m going to make it two meters, minimum.

The door of the trattoria “Nevodi” is beginning to resemble a university dormitory bulletin board; the only thing missing here is somebody looking for a ride to Boston on Friday. The white handwritten rectangle contains a play on words (glad somebody’s still up to it): “We will be closed for some 40 days.” The pun is “quarantena” (quarantine) and “quarantina,” which would be the normal conversational term for “forty-ish,” “more or less forty.” Everybody knows that the word “quarantine” is derived from the 40 days imposed on cargo, ships, and people suspected of being infected with plague. So this person has taken a common expression and revised it in a charmingly frivolous way. Good for you, Nevodi Staff. Meanwhile, the bigger sign shows some improvising in light of the disruption to routine resulting from closing the restaurant: “For consignment of packages (for) Colauzzi and Nevodi (go to) the fruit and vegetable vendor across the street or call 3499021934. I’ll be here in 2 minutes Thanks.”

Evening draws nigh on via Garibaldi as the latest shoppers arrive and depart. Shopping takes time now; first is the wait in line to enter the supermarket, then the checkout procedure takes even more time (you can’t approach the cash register till the previous customer has paid, packed up their stuff and left). Life now requires me to adapt and to be patient — two of my least favorite things ever. Except in this case I’m not alone. It’s everybody’s routine now, and there’s no point in muttering about it.

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