L'Italo-Americano

www.italoamericano.org 10 THURSDAY, OCTOBER 4, 2018 L'Italo-Americano LA VITA ITALIANA TRADITIONS HISTORY CULTURE ANTHONY DI RENZO W hen J uno, Q ueen of O l y m p u s , needed to vent her spleen, she visited Aeolus, god of the winds, on his draughty island off Sicily. Juno was out- raged that the fugitive Trojan prince Aeneas was destined to found Rome and des troy Carthage, her favorite city, so Aeolus ordered a cyclone to cap- size the Trojan fleet. Ever since, Rome has feared southern winds. If you visit St. Peter's Square, you will see them marked on a wind compass surrounding the V atican O belis k. Before the Papal States were blown away, Pius IX noted their names and directions. The ostro, the warm and humid south wind, brings summer storms and flash floods. The libeccio, the southwest wind from Libya, raises high seas and causes squalls. But the most malevolent is the scirocco, the southeast desert wind, a wither- ing blast whose hot and clammy touch hastens death and putre- faction. The scirocco begins in North A frica, roaring in from the S ahara like a goum of w ild Bedouins, its burnouse laden with sand. Sharper than a scimi- tar, it pierces the lungs and shreds the bronchial tubes of consumptives and asthmatics. Algerians and Tunisians barri- cade doors and windows, stop chimneys and key holes , and cower in back parlors until the dust storm passes. Crossing the Mediterranean, the red desert sand mixes with moisture, and the wind becomes the First Plague of Egypt. It rains blood in Palermo and Naples. Horrified by the stained monu- ments and polluted fountains, the superstitious cross themselves, and the old faint. As the wind travels further north, however, it turns more insidious. Scientists cannot explain why, but by the time it reaches Rome, it is a cloud of nuclear fallout: invisi- ble, pervasive, and toxic. Residents know it is blowing even before they open their eyes and glance ou t the w indow . Everyone, from the Pope to a pushcart vendor, wakes up with a dull headache. By 8:00 AM., the air is sultry and low, grey clouds fill the sky. A leaden pall hangs over Rome. Nerves fray. Eyes cannot focus. Skin turns to burlap. Lungs gasp. Throats clog. For three days, the damp liver-spots walls and ceilings and makes mildew blos s om everywhere. The grit penetrates bank vaults and s cratches machinery. Finally, a cleansing rain dissolves the evil wind and leaves the city's cars with red- dish-yellow pockmarks. The ordeal debilitates and oppresses native Romans, whose history feeds collective anxiety. The scirocco of October 1867 brought cholera and madness. Horses panicked, bolted from carriages, and trampled pedestri- ans to death. Visitors, however, are immune, particularly in win- ter. "I don't find this sort of weather disagreeable," Goethe records in his diary on Novem- ber 7, 1786. "It is warm all the time, which it never is on rainy days in Germany." George Augustus Sala, the British journalist, would open his casements and let the sciroc- co fan his cheeks and ventilate his apartment. He likened the w ind to "w arm milk in a volatilized state." Staying in Rome two weeks before Christ- mas in 1866 and knowing that London was choked with fog and drenched by Fleet Street mus t, he foun d the "balmy" southeaster "inexpressibly grate- ful and refreshing." These imperturbable Anglo Saxons will never understand. Like radiation poisoning, sensi- tivity to the scirocco is cumula- tive. The south wind blows 200 days a year in Rome. O ver decades , it s aps res is tance, increases lassitude, and stokes misanthropy, as certain tropical climates, which seem perfectly tolerable at first, drive colonial- ists to commit atrocities. When the scirocco hits, it blows the lid off Pandora's box. Office workers and sales assis- tants mope and s ulk. Café patrons get dejected or quarrel- some. Waiters scowl and snap. Teachers humiliate students. Doctors mock patients. Suicide rate and traffic accidents spike. If domestic violence occurs, a court may consider the weather an extenuating circumstance, pro- vided the judge has not brained the bailiff with a gavel. The human heart is a whirligig. The worst thing a critic can say about a new book is : "é s cr itto in tempo di scirocco." It was writ- ten during the scirocco, which makes it a giddy mess. The Temple of the Tempes- tates, the Wind gods, once stood on the Appian Way. Lucius Cor- nelius Scipio built it in 259 BC to fulfill a vow. Caught in a storm with his fleet off Corsica, Scipio prayed to the gods for deliverance. Romans s till appeas e the w inds . A s mall anemometer whirls on Bernini's colonnade in St. Peter's Square. Meteorology is always truer than morality. Mere mortals are sel- dom better than the weather. P as quino's s ecretary is Anthony Di Renzo, professor of writing at Ithaca College. You may reach him at direnzo@itha- ca.edu. Scirocco, sharper than a scimitar, it pierces the lungs and makes us moody. © Fabio Pagani | Dreamstime.com In Rome, residents know Scirocco is blowing even before they open their eyes in the morning and glance out of the window. © Sphraner | Dreamstime.com Scirocco Pasquino copes with an ill wind

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