You said today, Dr. Connell, that in Rome there is an art to everything. There is an art to churches (obviously, of course, chandeliers and oil masterpieces are suspended from the ceiling and hanging on the walls of Santa Maria Della Scala, and that's just one church tucked away into Trastevere) but within churches more than the walls and the domes and the altar pieces is artful. Every Catholic knows when they enter, dip into the font, bless yourself, genuflect, sit, kneel, stand. Crossing a church floor we know to stop and bow before the tabernacle. It's graceful, a mix of habit and awareness that comprises practice.
In Rome, all things are artful.
On our way back to the villa we squeezed onto tram 8 in the midday crowd that makes the tram resemble a sausage. We made it three stops before I was shoved by an old man, pushing for the exit.
I knew something was up, to sound very American. Every old Roman I'd encountered had been polite, whether warmly or briskly, never quick and busy and alarming. They made eye contact, where as this man kept his head down and his sunglasses on the bridge of his nose. As he shoved I covered my purse with one hand and with the other grabbed the pole before me as to not fall right into a child. As soon as my hand was out of my pocket, my pocket was emptied and the men on either side of me gone. The tram doors closed quickly.
Artful, I think. Between my rage, my embarrassment, and my sinking my stomach, there was just enough room to be impressed. It was a well played con, perfect timing, perfect opportunity, ill intention.
I do not mean to compare the Church to a pair of thieves (a trio if the bambino was in on it all along). Rather I think it is natural that people recognize their place, play their part, and perfect it. In Mass, I know to kneel and stand and bow at the altar. In that moment on the tram, I played the fool, but a fool who was watching, and hopefully a fool who learns.
Thank you again for the cappuccino.
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