Turn and Face the Strange

Tremare, meaning to tremble or shake in Italian, was a word I learned quickly after arriving in L’Aquila. Once a beautiful, medieval city perched in the Apennine Mountains, the earthquake of 2009 morphed the elegant labyrinth into a land of phantom structures bereft of human voices or activity. Indeed, the ruins of L’Aquila have etched their image into my memory in a way I will never forget.

Shortly after arrival, the forbidden “Red Zone” beckoned to me. For two years this fragile core of the historic city lay abandoned and decaying behind a barricade of wire fences and “Keep Out” signs. Being a tiny woman, I easily slipped past.

After that I crept towards the heart of L’Aquila. Beneath a jungle of scaffolding and plastic mesh, I happened upon the remains of a house that resembled a behemoth of the Gothic imagination. Its cracked plaster skin was enclosed in a metal cage. Gazing with its darkened windows, it stood in mute shock as if remembering the day it had been so suddenly abused by the earth beneath it. I entered where a wall had crumbled away, leaving a gaping mouth exhaling dust and debris. At the end of a musty passage filled with warm, humid air, I discovered a splintering wooden door, slightly ajar. I peered inside.

Pulse quickening, I then entered a bedroom. Strewn about haphazardly, bathed in hazy, yellow light, lay the mundane artifacts of everyday life. A heap of clothing on the bed accompanied the unsettling sensation that I had trespassed upon a man’s room. Next I noticed a strange freshness, as if the pile had been recently disturbed. Out of the corner of my eye, I detected movement. Another bed and another, more human shaped, heap lay obscured in shadow. Did it just move? Did it just breathe?

Swiftly and silently, I fled. I didn't cease running until I finally reached the Fountain of the 99 Rivers on the other side of the city. Safe within its ancient embrace, I contemplated the stone patterns on its walls. Abstract roses of red and white spoke of soothing geometry. I was pleased to discover that the fountain had been rebuilt and, through each of the 99 restored fountain heads, clear water flowed abundantly. Each fount possessed the head of a mythical creature that roamed the nearby mountains in the age of superstition. I wondered, however, if I imagined the being lying under that heap of clothing, just as the medieval artist imagined those monsters. In any case, that day, and L’Aquila, had shaken me, deeply, as much as any quake.