People and Pigeons

There they are, a gaggle of ladies sitting ìn a row on the long metal bench under the portico of San Andrea. There’s an odd male between one contingent and the other. There used to be a florist here, with her offerings of calla lilies, fuchsia cyclamens, carnations, and roses from Israel or Holland. It will be chrysanthemums come November. The florist has now been transplanted to the side street next to the travel agency. When I lived in New York I once visited the wholesale flower market in the lower East side hoping to interview the sellers. October is still a good time of year to be outside. Perhaps even seeking shade from the summer sun. No sign yet of the linden trees turning gold as they march up the road leading into the city. In the main piazza the sun has shifted and it is time for the daily gathering. Mostly ladies, women, seems that their favorite haunt is now under the portico of the church that shares its octagonal tower with the city hall next door. The city hall and the church. Sort of like the women, whose allegiances go more to the church than to the mayor, even if the mayor is now a she. They sit there, in the company of their canes or walkers as they keep an eye on passersby.  They never seem to be at a lack of words even though they see each other every day. One wonders what they have to talk about. Most of them have been parked there temporarily by their caretakers, who take a run to do a bit of shopping and exchange a few words with their compatriots, reverting to their more familiar native languages. Russian, Moldavian, Romanian, or what have you. Although most of them do speak good Italian by now.

I can’t help but think of the pigeons I see every day on my way down from the country to what used to be called a two-horse town. In a row on the phone wire I wonder why they don’t go further south. Besides which, it’s too early this year. The swallows left weeks ago and the pigeons stick around to pick up crumbs. The ladies, now where else could they go? Their flights are flights of fancy, as they share in the lives of their contemporaries. Although in their bright orange and red outfits it would be more suitable to compare them to budgies.

The men? You’ll find most of them in one or the other of the coffee bars, huddled around a table discussing politics or sports. Although if you can eavesdrop you’ll find it is the men who are gossiping as well as the ladies. Eavesdrop. Funny word. Originally referred to the water that fell from the eaves of a house, it ended up meaning someone who stood within the eavesdrop area of a house so they could overhear what was being said. And now it means listening in on a conversation not meant for your ears.

I once one thought of gossip as belonging the realm of the fair sex. Except one can’t really speak of fair sex here, for most of those who while away the time under the portico of San Andrea are well over seventy or even eighty. Some do pay attention to their looks, with bleached hair, painted nails.  And even lipstick. Once, back on the farm they would have been knitting or crocheting, or husking corn around the fire or sewing a quilt. Now it’s no longer their hands that are kept busy. But their tongues. Passing by one catches snatches of their conversation.

Have you heard?

Did you know she …

The latest is that ….

Oh, no, she ran away with a fireman

Left her…husband, three children….

They say she wasn’t all that much to look at ….

Oh, you know, my knee won’t let me walk much anymore.

And my caretaker? She’s really quite nice except there’s not much I can talk to her about.

She sometimes drives me crazy.

Oh look. Must be nice to have a dog to keep you company.

What did you say? Speak up, can’t hear you. My hearing isn’t what it used to be.

Did you see that girl go by? Bare legs and arms. Think she’d be freezing to death.

And her shoes! With heels like that she’s likely to fall down.

A few of those one encounters are familiar. Like the elegant blonde with the three Pomeranians who will soon be swaddled in red and blue coats. Wonder how she keeps them so fluffy. 

And there’s Pietruccia who took care of my children when they were little.  She doesn’t look bad for her age – almost a hundred. She’s managed pretty well except seems to have lost most of her teeth. Doesn’t keep her from expressing her opinion though.

Oh yes.  I fell down over a week ago. That’s why I have this dark spot on my nose. How are the boys? And your granddaughter? How is she doing? Where is she living?  Does she have a boyfriend?

 Yup, I manage fine with a cane and my caretaker will be back soon. She’s Moldavian,  good and strong, nice enough, but I wish she would smile more.

Wonder what she’ll make me for lunch. Fine by me if she makes her cabbage and bean soup.  Better than the usual pap.

Walking along the Corso there seem to be more people with walkers than without. Depending on the time of day and if the Korean contingent has arrived yet. Or a few with small white poodles in baby carriages. Nowadays dogs seem to have replaced the babies.  Some people with walkers do their daily gymnastics up and down the Corso. Ten times. From San Andrea up to the tower at the crossroads, turn right and then up to the Cathedral. Gets pretty crowded as the hours pass.

The city pigeons continue to bob around the piazza and often find crumbs left by children or tourists who have picnicked on a bench across from a human coffee bar. As the weather gets colder people will decide to stay indoors for their daily coffee klatsch. If they do decide to include coffee, they will have to move inside, elbowing out the men, or they will stay home and pay more attention to their cooking. The men will be happy anyway.

And the pigeons? We don’t really know what they are saying. Commenting on those two-legged creatures probably. Just as we comment on them. As usual it’s them and us.