Ten Beads Within a Decade

by Timea Barabas (Romania)

Making a local connection Italy

I want to believe. But I don’t think I do. Still, during my six-month stay in Italy, I went to a church in Pompei every week. The outline of the script stays mostly the same. Scene 1: On the train from Salerno to Pompei. For 45 minutes I watch the sunset over the seaside, houses scattered on mountainsides, faces of people from the stations, debating whether or not to eavesdrop on conversations, listen to some music, read a little… Prossima fermata: Pompei. As soon as I exit the train station I am met by some very eager tourist agents, inquiring if I am going to the archeological site or Mount Vesuvius. To which I answer a simple No, or I have already been there. Sometimes they rebound quickly with the next tourist. But other times, they throw somewhat of a skeptical glance and insist on offering me information and maps I have no need for. I know where I am going, how to get there, just not sure why… Scene 2: The Shrine of the Blessed Virgin of the Rosary of Pompei. The church tower rises high over the other buildings in the area and is straight ahead from the station. A ten-minute walk, paved with temptations: cafés, restaurants, pizzerias and the most dangerous of them all, gelaterias. I have succumbed to the latter several times. The small square in front of the church is humming with the simple pleasures of life, children running around, lovers talking wordlessly, the elderly stretching to take it all in... Yet, as I enter the church it all goes silent and dark. The story starts with Bartolo Longo, a man who turned from the occult to Christianity. His path took him to the marshy lands of Pompei. It was here that he heard a divine calling to promulgate the Rosary. And so he did. Among other things, he started the reconstruction of an old church, for which he obtained an image with Mary from a convent in Napoli. The painting, however, was in a very bad condition and so he organized fundraising for its restoration. Soon after, the icon became celebrated as miraculous. In the church complex, there are what seem endless halls filled with paintings, photographs, letters, silver plates of the healed body parts, and locks of braided hair sent by people from all over as a sign of gratitude for a miracle attributed to Our Lady of Pompei. People are drawn to the icon of St. Mary of the Rosary, which hangs over the altar. But the benches closer to the entry are free. That is where I take a seat. There is a small child in my vicinity. He is learning to walk to the rhythm of the prayers. Of course, he always falls at each attempt, but not once does he cry. The boy seems pleased with the little progress he makes and tries to take everything in with savvy eyes. After each fall, his father comes, picks him up, takes him back to their seat, wipes off his hands and sits him down. But off again he goes… At the end of the religious ceremony, a haunting melody rises from the centuries-old organ and people wave white handkerchiefs as a veil covers the painting. As the crowd is heading to the exit, a man and a woman stop at one of the holy water fonts. He reaches into the vessel and then stretches his dripping hand towards the woman who brushes off some droplets. They both make the sign of the cross and leave. Outside the streetlights are casting their shadows over the darkness. The square is slowly drifting into slumber to the lullabies of passersby. Scene 3: On the train from Pompei to Salerno. By now it is dark outside. Everything fades into the night and for the next 45 minutes it is just my reflection staring back at me from the train’s window. Prossima fermata…