Time and the Lion

by João Gabriel Baroni de Moura (Brazil)

I didn't expect to find Italy

I’ve never had an eye for architecture. Even though, standing in the middle of that square, under the turbid Italian winter sky, anyone could tell that the austere sober-colored buildings surrounding Brescia’s Piazza della Vittoria did not belong there. And even though it’s been eighty years since the Italian government shaped them like that, I couldn’t be more intrigued. It was at the end of our road-trip through northern Italy that my uncles decided to show me this historic Italian city. By that time, I’ve been living in Italy for four months. I was thankful I could have endured the last moments of 2018 away from home, once Brazil’s presidential run had frazzled relationships. This foreign law student, amid the land that has given birth to our known legal system, feared the totalitarian nuances now influencing his country – and how those close to me felt just comfortable about that. Some minutes before encountering the Piazza, we were strolling along Brescia’s century-old streets, witnessing many symbols of the city’s culture. Not only the tight crooked alleys, framed by typical Italian exposed brick houses which the feeling of embracing its pedestrians was a sensation I was pleasantly used to, but also many reminiscences of the Venetian dominance over this city. The colorful arches above lean columns that were delicately sculpted made a beautiful contrast with the sepia walls and dark rock pavement of the medieval era. Standing tall, a big gold carved clock filled with zodiac signs symbols and references to celestial bodies made me wonder if telling time was its main objective. It took just a few more steps until we hit the corner. My eyes once inebriated by the warmth of a past environment suddenly met a new type of past: white and gray, marble and concrete, solid lines and straight angles, order and progress. A past that was meant to be the future. Standing in the middle of that square, I started to prescribe the elements around me. A tall white clock tower, its pointer and numbers stuck on plain blank marble, time urging to be noticed. An ocher and white striped brick box, which three burly columns underpinned the thick ceiling of the local post office. A brown building with tiny lined up windows that could hold a newspaper, a company, or a prison. Italy’s fascism had wiped out the elements of Brescia’s historical center to give place to an relentless representation of an uninviting new history. It was like a worn out future. Like those futuristic cartoons from the sixties. As I gazed around, trying to pin myself at the right moment in time, my eyes met a tiny sculpture on the other side of the square. A winged lion. That was Venice’s symbol. “They would have killed the Duce if he had destroyed that too!” my aunt pointed out to me. I hesitated. When people give up their diversities in search of a united, strong nation, are they aware of how much they have left behind? I could have never imagined I would witness retrogression transfigured as progress in such a raw and solid way. Sometimes, to build a wall, you just have to break down the old ones. Brescia accepted being forever trapped in a fascist façade, but its people kept a symbol to remind us of the past they want depicted. As we left the square, each step I took felt like time was ticking. I wondered if I would be able to realize that turning point when past and present would play antagonists. When today needs to look like something yet not achieved. I hoped that the walls of my country were thick enough to endure the charges from the future. That the multiple paths we choose to follow remained captivating. That our future could embrace our past. I hoped our past remained colorful. Even when hope is the last thing remaining of it. Is a lion hope enough? Maybe only time can tell that. I just hope it flies.