Out of the Ashes

by Lori Dillon

  “The thermopolium?”

  She stopped and turned to glare at him.

  “The thermopolium is where I’d been excavating for the past year, until you came along.” She paused, and seemed to reconsider her words. “It was a neighborhood bar.”

  “A bar?” He wasn’t sure if he’d heard her correctly.

  “Yes. Well, actually, it was more like a café. It served wine and warm food. No seating, though. You either had to eat standing or take it with you. We’ve also excavated a brothel a few streets over, complete with numerous frescos depicting all the, um, various services one could purchase from the prostitutes there. I’ll have to show it to you sometime.”

  “Well,” he cleared his throat and tried to control the flush racing up his neck. He couldn’t tell if she was flirting with him or not. This was not a topic he typically talked about with a woman. “That would definitely be something to see.”

  She continued walking beside him, a smug smile on her face, and he couldn’t help but feel she was finding humor at his expense. That was okay. He would much rather have her laugh at him than be angry.

  As they made their way past the empty shops and villas, he sensed the ruins slowly turning into a ghost town. The setting sun created long shadows, reaching out from dark crevices like groping fingers trying to pull him into a vacant alley or doorway. During the day, the city was alive with the sounds and activity of the archeologists, laborers, and tourists moving about. But now, as darkness fell and the ruins where once again left to stand by themselves throughout the lonely night, he could all but feel the dead preparing to come out from the shadows and claim the ruins for their own once more.

  He glanced at Sera walking quietly by his side. The creepiness certainly didn’t seem to bother her one bit. In fact, she appeared to be almost serene in her surroundings. She looked so at ease in the ruins that he could almost picture her as a young Roman girl from centuries ago on her way to the market or a play. If he wasn’t so acutely aware of her being a living, breathing woman, he might think her one of the ghosts of Pompeii, too.

  They came to an intersection, then walked along a large open area, the grassy lawn surrounded by tall white columns standing like silent sentinels as they passed.

  “What’s this place?” he asked with a nonchalance that belied his unease at the silence threatening to envelope him.

  “Hmmm?” Pulled from her reverie, she looked to where he pointed. “Oh, that’s the Forum. Two thousand years ago, it was the heart of the city. All day long, it would be filled with hundreds of people going about their business, visiting with one another, and politicians giving speeches. Slaves and wealthy alike could be found here side by side. Everyone had to cross though the Forum at one time or another.”

  Yeah, I can almost see them walking around there right now.

  Sera stopped at a sheltered area cut into a long expanse of stone wall.

  “This is the horrea, or what we lovingly call ‘the pottery shed.’ It used to be a grain warehouse, but now it’s where we store some of the artifacts until they’re ready to be shipped to the museum or restored and returned to where they were found.”

  The so-called pottery shed was actually a large recess built into three stone walls two stories high. It was open on one side and covered with a wooden roof which he didn’t doubt let in more rain than it kept out.

  Metal scaffolding lined the three walls, its wooden shelves overloaded with a myriad of clay pots and amphorae. He could practically hear each shelf groan as it bowed from the weight of its burden. Between the wall shelves and tall freestanding shelves threatening to tip over at the slightest touch stood makeshift tables created from boards supported on wooden sawhorses. A menagerie of items sat piled on top, with many more objects shoved underneath. Every available space held some artifact or relic, leaving barely enough room to walk among them.

  “A fine way to protect priceless artifacts.”

  It was only after catching her sharp glare that he realized he’d said the words aloud, and for a moment he worried that he may have spoken them in English.

  “Yes, well, government funding only goes so far, especially when there’s a war going on. We do what we have to do.”

  David breathed a sigh of relief. All it would take to blow his cover was one slip of the tongue.

  “Here, put the amphora on this shelf.” She indicated one of many shelves lined with identical clay vessels.

  He did as he was told, surprised when the shelf didn’t collapse under the added weight. As he turned, he noticed a small statue on one of the tables.

  He wedged his way between broken columns and waist-high pottery to take a closer look at a statue of a young child lying on its side. David reached out and ran his hand down the child’s leg, its surface bumpy and rough to the touch. Definitely not the smooth marble work of art he had come to expect from the ancient Greeks and Romans.

  “I hope whoever carved this didn’t quit his day job, because he sucked as a sculptor.”

  “That isn’t a statue.”

  He glanced up at her. A sad smile tugged at her mouth, but there was no joy in her expression.

  Setting down the backpacks, she walked over and delicately touched the top of the figure’s tiny head.

  “It’s a plaster cast of a young boy who died in the eruption.”

  He snatched his hand back.

  “You mean this was a real person? A kid?”

  Sera nodded. “Flesh and blood.”

  He looked at the body cast again, now seeing the delicate features clearly for the first time. The boy appeared to be sleeping peacefully, without a care in the world.

  “But, how… ?”

  She stroked the child’s head, running the back of her hand down the boy’s cheek much like a mother would caress her own son.

  “When Vesuvius erupted, small stones and ash fell from the sky for several hours. During that time, most of the people of Pompeii had time to escape, but many stayed behind thinking they could wait it out and the danger would pass.”

  “That was stupid.”

  She shrugged. “Not to them. At the time, Pompeii was still rebuilding from a major earthquake that occurred ten years earlier. Most of the people fled the city then, too, only to have to return with all their belongings. Much of what they didn’t take with them had been damaged or looted by thieves. I’m sure they thought this time would be much the same.”

  He shook his head at the idiocy of it.

  “I find it hard to believe they couldn’t tell the difference between an earthquake and a volcano eruption.”

  “They couldn’t see the volcano. In fact, they couldn’t see much at all. The first phase of the eruption blocked out the sun, turning day into night. Even with their lamps and torches, they could only see maybe a foot or two in front of themselves because of all the soot and ash in the air. The ones who decided to stay sought shelter where they could.”

  “Bad choice.”

  “Unfortunately for them, it was.” He watched her draw in a deep breath as if she couldn’t get enough air into her lungs. “The pumice rained down for hours, piling up twelve feet high. Some were crushed when the weight built up and the roofs collapsed on top of them.”

  “Ouch.” David glanced up at the flimsy wooden roof over his head, now looking more insubstantial than ever. It wouldn’t hold back twelve inches of dust, much less twelve feet of ash and lava rock.

  “Others were trapped inside their hiding places as the volcanic debris blocked up the doors and windows, and they couldn’t get out.”

  “So they were buried alive?”

  “Basically. Eventually poisonous gases seeped in through cracks and crevices and killed them.” He found himself holding his breath. Was that the faint odor of sulfur he smelled? “We usually find their skeletons huddled in the corners of buildings or in the cellars.”

  “What a horrible way to go.”

  “There are worse ways. Once the rain of ash and pumice stopped, tho
se who weren’t trapped or crushed thought it was safe to leave and tried to escape the city then.”

  “Do I really want to know what happened to them?”

  Sera’s eyes took on a distant look, as if she were in another place, another time, and no longer aware that he was there.

  “The mountain’s sudden silence was deceiving. Vesuvius wasn’t done yet. Up until then, she’d only been warming up. As the last of the citizens of Pompeii tried to flee the city, Vesuvius erupted with a vengeance, sending a pyroclastic flow racing down the mountainside.”

  “A pyro-what?”

  She continued on, as if she hadn’t heard him. “The hot air and toxic gases hit them first, dropping the people in their tracks, blistering their skin and scorching their lungs, suffocating every living thing in their path.”

  He tugged at the collar of his shirt, finding it hard to breathe himself as she told the tragic story.

  “A shower of ash came next, covering everything in sight. Rain followed, turning the ash into mud that later hardened like a layer of cement over the victims’ bodies.”

  David could almost feel the hot, wet ash on his skin, weighing down his clothes and clogging his throat.

  “As the centuries passed, the flesh decayed, leaving hollow cavities in the ground where the bodies had been. When we find one of these cavities, we pour a plaster compound into it. Once it hardens, we chip the volcanic layer away and are left with a perfect cast of the person at the exact moment of their death.”

  He looked at the child, a boy who couldn’t have been more than three or four. He had hardly begun to live before the volcano had taken his life.

  “Poor little guy.”

  She continued to stroke the plaster face of the child, oddly comforting a small boy who had been dead for nearly two thousand years.

  “In the confusion and chaos, he must have been separated from his parents. We found him curled up in the doorway of a villa, all alone, lying there just as you see him now.”

  He glanced up from the cast in time to see a tiny tear fall, leaving a sad trail down the dirt on Sera’s cheek. Reaching across the plaster child, he caught it on the pad of his thumb, startling her back from wherever she had been.

  She stared at him, obviously surprised by the gesture. When she began to pull away, he stopped her by cupping his hand against her damp cheek. A wealth of emotions shadowed her face—shock, embarrassment, sorrow. Then she closed her eyes and ever so slightly turned her face into his palm.

  David didn’t know what to say. What could he say? The reality of the eruption seemed all too real to him now, as if he had just experienced the horror for himself. He sensed she felt the same way.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered when she finally did pull away, leaving his empty hand to hang in the air between them. “I don’t normally do this.”

  He let his hand drop to his side, curling his fingers to capture the warmth left by her cheek. The air around them felt too intense. He needed to find a way to lighten things before it became downright awkward.

  “What? You don’t give ignorant laborers personalized guided tours of the ruins every day?”

  His attempt at humor seemed to work. She smiled, swiping at her cheek and smearing the wet tear trail into a muddy streak. He was suddenly struck by how beautiful she was in the fading light, smudged cheek and all.

  “Well.” She cleared her throat, donning her normal reserve like a protective coat. “I guess that’s the end of your history lesson for the day. We should get going if we want to be out of here before it gets too dark.”

  Disappointed that whatever spark had flashed between them had died, he nodded. “Yeah. I guess so.”

  They left the pottery shed in silence. After retrieving their bicycles outside the east entrance, they headed down the road toward the modern town of Pompei, built in the shadow of the sleeping giant, Vesuvius, just as the ancient town had been.

  Sera confounded him. One minute she seemed made of stone, the next she cried over a child whose only trace of existence was now a plaster cast. He wondered if she ever felt that deeply for a living person, if she ever let her guard down. Or did she only put up the walls when she was with him?

  But she had shown him a crack in that wall tonight, and as they went their separate ways, David found himself wondering if he might be able to knock it down, stone by stone.

  Then he reminded himself that he didn’t plan on being there that long.

  *

  Serafina parked her bicycle in the small courtyard behind the Angelicos’ villa and slipped in the back door. As she made her way down the center hallway, she tried not to make noise on the black and white tile floor.

  Her attempt was in vain. As she passed by the Angelicos’ door, Maria stepped out, wiping her hands on her stained apron.

  “Serafina? I thought I heard someone. My, aren’t you late coming home this evening?”

  Serafina continued on, then paused with her hand on the newel post at the base of the stairs.

  “Yes, well, I got a little side-tracked tonight with work.”

  “Oh, any interesting discoveries?”

  Yes, about myself. I’m soft-hearted and a sucker for a handsome face.

  “No, nothing yet. But then, I’ve only just begun in the new area. It’ll probably be a while before I uncover anything at all.”

  Maria nodded in understanding. “So, how is it with the new young man?”

  How was it that the old woman could come right to the heart of the matter?

  “Fine,” she lied. If she felt differently, she wouldn’t admit it, not even to herself. “I’m really tired, Maria. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  “Good night then.” Maria smiled and slipped back into her rooms.

  Serafina raced up the stairs and closed herself inside her flat. She should feel safe and comforted there, but she didn’t.

  She looked around, seeing only a place where she slept and kept her clothes. Just the bare necessities remained from her life before her mother died—a beat-up table with three chairs in the tiny kitchenette, a worn green couch and scarred coffee table in what passed as a sitting area, a quilt-covered iron bed and wooden dresser in the back near the window.

  No, this place wasn’t her home. The ruins were. They were where she felt the most comfortable. Usually.

  She attempted to hold back the sob that threatened to choke her. She did her best to remain detached from the personal tragedy of the disaster, but every now and then something would slip through the cracks.

  The child.

  She hadn’t been the one to discover the body cavity or to pour the plaster into the holes to make the cast. But she had been there when the other archeologists chipped away the hardened shell and lifted what was left of the tiny body from its grave of ashes. Her heart had broken thinking of an innocent child suffering so, all alone with no one to help him.

  Just like she felt right now. Alone.

  She pushed herself away from the door and dropped her pack on the kitchen table.

  She needed to get a hold on herself. What had brought on this upheaval of emotion? Granted, her simple life had been disrupted the past few days, but that shouldn’t have her in tears. She’d faced worse hardships and disappointments in her twenty-three years. She was a stronger person than that.

  Taking a deep breath to clear her head, Serafina lifted the flap of her pack to take out her empty lunch pail and canteen. As she reached in, her fingers brushed the wilted petals of forgotten wildflowers, and one last tear escaped to fall slowly down her cheek.

  Chapter 10

  The chunk-swoosh-thunk of his shovel stabbing into the dirt, sliding off the blade, and landing in the wheelbarrow had a hypnotic effect, creating a rhythm to David’s labor. He shoveled without conscious thought, the monotony of the movements helping him forget the strain on his back and the blisters on his hands.

  Day after day, he and Sera worked in veritable silence as the sun rose high in the Mediterranean sky,
baking the exposed dirt until it cracked. This morning, a gentle breeze blew in from the sea, bringing some relief from the heat. It also picked up the fine volcanic ash that coated the ground and swirled it upward to sting his eyes and parch his throat.

  Taking a break to get a drink of water, he glanced up from his pit to where Sera worked at the screening table. Using a screen stretched on a wooden rack, she sifted the dirt he shoveled to catch any small artifacts that might be present in the upper levels of debris.

  It was becoming a typical scenario. Ever since the evening he comforted her over the plaster child, Sera had kept her distance around him, sticking strictly to the business of excavating. She avoided any of his attempts at pleasant conversation or—heaven forbid—friendship. Apparently that small crack in her carefully structured facade had scared the daylights out of her, and she was doing everything she could to prevent it from happening again. The woman put up walls higher than the crumbling ones surrounding the ruins.

  Her back was to him as she bent over the worktable under the tent, and David leaned on his shovel and took a moment to observe her.

  She was in her element in the ruins. At times, she seemed to be one with the rocks and dirt. He’d joined the army partly to please his father, but he had never had Sera’s level of dedication for her work. He almost envied her commitment. It was a strength that he lacked in his own life.

  He also admired her shapely backside. Bent over the table as she was, it was shown to rounded perfection in the khaki trousers she wore. The loose cut of the pants gave no hint of the shape of her legs, but the tight waistline suggested a slim figure. She wore a pale yellow blouse today, with the sleeves rolled up and cuffed over her forearms.

  David was so busy studying her attributes, a moment passed before he noticed the music. He didn’t have to see her face to know that she was the one singing. The fact that she sang as she worked didn’t surprise him, nor was he surprised that she had a pleasant voice. The shock was in what she was singing. The song was unmistakable.