Stefano Vignaroli - The Shadow Of The Bell Tower

With a dramatic gesture, Lucia pulled the electronic cigarette out of its neck with the cord, turned off the switch and put it in its case, which she slipped into the bag. From the same bag she took a pack of cigarettes and a lighter and gained the entrance hall to go and smoke a real cigarette outside.

Tuesday, May 30, 2017, from the early hours of the morning, it was a clear, late spring day. The sky was blue and, although the sun was still low, Lucia was dazzled by the light as soon as she closed the front door behind her. She had found an excellent accommodation, renting a renovated apartment in Via Pergolesi, in the historic centre, a few hundred meters from her place of work. But the more interesting thing was the fact that she was right in the building that had housed, on the ground floor, in the 16th century, one of the first printing works in Jesi, that of Manuzi. The huge hall used as a printing house had been used for other purposes over time, even as a gym and as a meeting room for some political parties. But this did not take away the charm of the place. Leaving the main door and passing through a small courtyard, Lucia used to stand back and admire the arch from which one could go out onto the ancient paved road, Via Pergolesi, once the Cardo Massimo of Roman times, later called Via delle Botteghe or Via degli Orefici, for the pre-eminent activities that had taken place there during the various periods. Of the splendid shops of the past, in fact, very few remained. Many of them had shutters that had been lowered for several years, and the open ones showed off goods and services that had little to do with antiquity, with the pomp and splendour of the goldsmiths’ shops of the past. The tourist sign smeared with pigeon shit indicated that the arch of the Verroni’s Palace was not of Roman origin, as appearance might lead one to believe, but had been built in the fifteenth century by Giovanni di Gabriele da Como, an architect who had worked alongside the more famous Francesco di Giorgio Martini in the construction of the nearby Palazzo della Signoria. So much so that someone in the past had also attributed that arch to Di Giorgio Martini. According to Lucia, the Romans must not have been completely unrelated to that work, which overlooked the Cardo Massimo. Perhaps the Renaissance architects had limited themselves to restoring an ancient arch, whose remains had survived the centuries and the ruinous earthquake of the year 848.

A few steps between the austere buildings in the historic centre were enough to make Lucia pass from the shady Via Pergolesi to the bright Piazza Federico II. It was still a few minutes to 8:00 a.m., the time when she had to attack to work. She would have had time to smoke another cigarette before entering the Palace, but her attention was drawn to the four marble statues that supported the balcony on the first floor like caryatids. For a moment, she had the impression that the four “telamons” were animated with their own life, as if they wanted to come towards her to talk to her, to tell her centuries-old stories, whose memory had been lost. It was like a dizziness that made her imagine the balcony, no longer supported by the mighty statues, leaning dangerously towards the ground, and brought to mind the dream that had made her the protagonist of a story that had happened exactly five centuries earlier, in those same days of the year and in those places. The images of dreams flowed through her mind during her sleep like scenes from a serial novel. They were so clear that Lucia impersonated herself in her eponymous ancestor as if she was reliving her past life, both as an interpreter and as a spectator.

Suggestion, just suggestion!, she repeated for the umpteenth time the young woman to herself. All because of the books I’m working on and the missing parts of the History of Jesi. My unconscious makes me invent the missing part of the book!

She took two deep breaths, reached a bench, sat down and observed that the facade of the building was there, intact and unharmed. She decided to cross the square, reach the bar and take a strong espresso before going to work. That diversion would have cost her a few minutes’ delay, but the dean never arrived before nine o’clock. She quickly consumed her coffee and left the Bar Duomo, a few steps away she reached the side of the square where Via Pergolesi converged. On her left was the mouth of Via del Fortino, on his right the beginning of the Costa Lombarda, through which she could reach the lower part of the city. Right under his feet, on a large bronze tile was engraved the map of ancient Aesis. A little further on, the inscription in various languages, including Arabic, on the white tiles along the entire perimeter of the square: “On 26 December 1194 Emperor Frederick the Second of Swabia was born in this square”. Still a dizziness, still a vision. Now the square no longer had its present appearance. The lions’ fountain, with the obelisk, no longer stood in the centre, but the space was completely free. The Cathedral, on the opposite side, was a white building, smaller in size than the recent one, in Gothic style, with spires and pointed arches, a sort of small Cathedral of Milan. The bell tower was to the right of the facade, isolated and in an advanced position on the front of the church. The Baldeschi Palace, on the left of the Cathedral, was different, more massive, more sumptuous; the facade was surmounted, as embellishment, by three stone arches, perhaps taken from an ancient Roman construction and put up there in a false way, as a decorative element, but of no use. The statue of the Virgin Mary with the baby Jesus in her arms was already present in a niche between the windows on the top floor, while there was no trace of the four “telamons” supporting the balcony on the first floor. On the contrary, the balcony, although not completely absent, was very small compared to what it was used to seeing. The entire right side of the square was occupied, in place of the Bishop’s Palace and Palazzo Ripanti, by an enormous fortress, a sort of castle, decorated with typical arches and swallow-tailed Ghibelline merlons. On the left side there were the Church of St. Florian, with its dome and bell tower, and the Ghislieri Palace, not yet finished, surrounded by the bricklayers’ scaffoldings. Lucia looked towards the beginning of Via del Fortino, where there was a dyer’s shop, in front of which the craftsman had lit a fire to boil water in a pot encrusted with carbon black. A little girl had approached the fire dangerously and a strip of her dress had caught fire. In short, the girl found herself wrapped in flames. Lucia wanted to run towards to help her, but she couldn’t take a step. She was horrified, hearing the girl’s desperate cries ringing in her ears. Then one, two raindrops, one roar, the flames were extinguished. The feeling of no longer touching his feet on the ground. Lucia was lying on the pavement. When she opened her eyes again she saw the blue sky, a sky from which not a single drop of rain could have fallen. A distinguished man, elegantly dressed, with a briefcase in his hand, tried to help her get up.

«Are you all right?»

«Yes, yes», and refusing any help, Lucia stood up. «It was just a failure, a pressure surge. Everything’s all right now, thank you!»

She crossed the square, which now had the usual appearance, at a good pace, to try to get to her place of work as soon as possible, before the dean could notice her delay, but with the images she had experienced for a few moments well printed in her mind.

Suggestion, only suggestion, nothing but suggestion. There is no other logical explanation for dreams and now for visions!

Yet, a voice from her subconscious seemed to want to tell her that they were memories, that they were episodes she had lived in another life, in a remote past, as a different person, but always bearing the same name: Lucia.