They Shall Begin Again

by Giacomo Papi

  “Carlo, go fetch the priest, don Gianni, or whatever his name is. He’s the only one who can remember Latin. Go! Run!”

  Medioli ran off. He was good at that. Adriano led the girl to the nurse’s station and motioned for her to sit down. Without taking her eyes off him, the girl touched her nipple. He filled a cup of water from the pitcher, but when her hand touched the plastic she jerked it away and the cup fell to the floor. He poured her another and she took hold of it with two hands, drawing it near her nose to smell it, and then gulped it down with fury. She sat like a man, legs spread wide even though she was naked. He handed her a pair of scrubs that a nurse had left hanging on the door. The girl put them on, fiddling with a button, embarrassed because she didn’t know how they worked. To make her feel more at ease, Adriano spoke the first words that popped into his mind.

  “Ubi est domus tua?”

  Rufina laughed again.

  “Roma domus mea. Lucius pater mihi.”

  Medioli and don Gianni entered. The priest began to translate.

  “She said that she’s from Rome, and that her father is a certain Lucio.”

  “Try asking her where she came from, don Gianni. How did she get here?”

  “Unde venit hic?”

  She laughed again, now more loudly.

  “Nescio unde pervenerim huc. Experrecta sum, omnia mutata erant.”

  “She said that she doesn’t know. She woke up and everything was different. Quot annos nata es?”

  “Ferme viginti annos nata sum.”

  “She’s almost twenty.”

  “Ask her when she was born.”

  “Quando nata es?”

  “Nescio. Sed recordor. Flavius Honorius imperium habebat. Postius barbarae gentes duce Alarico per omnes vias cum horribile clamore currunt, omnia praedantur. Urbs perculsa terrore fuit. Lex christianorum fracta est.”

  Don Gianni continued.

  “The emperor was Flavius Honorius, but the barbarians came and invaded the city. Christian law was suspended.”

  Adriano sat at his computer and was searching on the Internet.

  “She speaks of the fall of Alaric, the siege of 410 AD.”

  The priest swallowed and continued.

  “Saint Jerome speaks of this. Try searching for the epistle A principia, dottore, that’s the one that talks about Marcella, the widow.

  A few seconds went by. The girl stared at them without understanding. Adriano kept looking. Then he stopped.

  “Here it is, I found it, it’s got to be this.”

  “Read the part that describes what they ate.”

  No one spoke. Adriano began, out loud.

  “The City which had taken the whole world was itself taken; nay more famine was beforehand with the sword and but few citizens were left to be made captives.”

  He paused. He continued.

  “In their frenzy the starving people had recourse to hideous food; and tore each other limb from limb that they might have flesh to eat. Even the mother did not spare the babe at her breast.”

  Rufina was immobile, her muscles tense, her eyes waiting for someone to translate that which they had just discovered. But the three men stared at her without speaking. The girl shut her eyes and parted her lips.

  “Per tres dies urbs crematur incendio. In denso pulvere solem occidentem, sanguine rubescentem videre possum. Postius nihil.”

  She looked like a buried city that had re-surfaced from the sand after millennia and begins to pulsate, to make noise and to stink. To be beautiful. The priest gestured the sign of the cross and whispered.

  “Quomodo morta es?”

  Rufina did not reply. She lowered her gaze and placed her hands on her stomach.

  Twenty

  The second wave was powerful, and yet almost nothing changed. In the beginning of July the number of reborn multiplied. The World Health Organization estimated three hundred thousand people came back to life over the course of three days, too little to pose a real threat, but big enough a number to make people believe that this was the final wave. The rebirths made the living feel uninhibited. Insomnia was a widespread condition among the living dead. Their hunger incited hunger in everyone else. In mid-month, the rebirths slowed down as suddenly as they had appeared. Several hundred reborn individuals were admitted to the hospital, and almost all of them, except for Rufina and a few others, went through the registration and examination processes and ate in the cafeteria. Mandatory overnight stay was suspended. They came and left, lured in only by the prospect of a meal.

  Food gained a new importance. Medioli had foreseen this and obtained the authorization from the new health director to stock food. People felt a sense of surrender in the air. Normality was becoming blurry. Adriano tried speaking to Aloni about it, but the official played down the situation, and acted distant. He told Adriano that the ministry had more serious problems to deal with than the general order of the ward and their food supply. The only reason why finances had still not been blocked was because the hospital, together with the Institute of Higher Health, had collected and retained greater part of the data. Aloni confirmed that the conference was forthcoming, that it would take place just over a month, and that the country needed to make a good impression.

  “By the way, Dottore, how far along are you in your report?”

  Adriano was certain: the reborn could not procreate. Not one of the thousands of individuals examined presented traces of FSH in his or her bloodstream. Their bodies could not produce gametes. They were sterile.

  “So this is where they differ from us?”

  “Yes, together with sleep. They are tireless. I am working with an Israeli colleague to find out whether these two phenomena, insomnia and sterility, are in any way correlated. It is possible that the FSH can have an impact on sleep cycles and wakefulness.”

  Sleep became an obsession. Adriano was not the only one. Insomnia was a widespread condition. Leaning out their windows and balconies, insomniacs waved to each other and nodded at each other. Life began after sunset. All kinds of activity took place in the dark. Adriano would often wake up at four, walk barefoot to the window and watch the people below. One night he watched as a small group set fire to a bench after tearing it apart. Another time he saw an old couple kissing against a wall. They were laughing. Across the street, in the building facing his, he saw someone who looked just like he did. He was smoking. Embers vibrated, red on black. He looked at the balconies and windows more closely and counted at least ten other people leaning out.

  The number of patients admitted to the hospital increased, but they were mostly children. Adults did not come in, and if they did they wanted to leave immediately. It was estimated that almost three thousand people worldwide had reappeared. Two sisters who had been killed in a bombardment on July 19, 1943, were admitted. One was nine and one was six. Some cashiers found them at the mall, which had been built over the spot where their home had burned to the ground. They didn’t say a word. The nurses nicknamed them “the fish sisters.” After a long search, they tracked down a family member, a cousin who had been much younger when they were alive. The sisters remembered that she was three years old and couldn’t accept the fact that she had become an old woman over the course of one mysterious night.

  Even in the ward, things were different. Ever since Medioli had taken on executive power and the second wave of rebirths had quieted down, inspections at the entrance had become much more lax. Police officers bargained with family members, suppliers and patients. New cases were now part of the routine. The role of the chief physician changed dramatically. In the hallways Adriano spotted faces he had never seen before. Each time he would ask himself, “Are they living or dead?” When he observed them carefully he noticed that some gave off more presence, they had a greater body mass.

  His task was to focus on his research, which was something of a relief. He needed to get ready for the big conference. Medioli would take care of practical matters while he was gone. Medioli and Rufina were now s
eeing each other, and he seemed happy. He had been incessant in his pursuit of her. For weeks he showered her with gifts and attention, and gave her sweets. He had them sent up from the cafeteria. He was so brazen in his love for her it was almost endearing. The nurses spoke of nothing else. Traccanella, at the reception desk, swore to Adriano that he saw them together with his own eyes.

  “They were in the bathroom, Dottore, you know the one on the third floor reserved for doctors?”

  “Please, Trac, don’t tell stories.”

  “No, Dottore, I swear, they were having sex, standing up! He was behind her, I could barely see the girl!”

  “Maybe it wasn’t her.”

  “No, no, she was half turned around—he was feeding her chocolates.”

  Adriano could imagine the scene. Several days after her arrival, Rufina had come to his studio in a thin dress. She said nothing. She sat and looked at him. He thought of something that had existed for a long time, beyond good and evil. The splendor of her body was outrageous, her gestures were dazzling and viscid, her gaze was excessive and yet ordinary. Her hands were manly. Her smell filled the room. It paralyzed him. She waited, expecting some kind of movement on his part, but nothing. She looked him in the eyes. He closed his eyes. She got up without saying a word, smiled, and left.

  They waited for August to pass. Maria reached her eighth month, the point when new life immobilizes the existing one. The gynecologist said that the baby was showing signs of normal activity, she was in the right position for birth. She expected the birth to take place in mid-September and September was only three days away.

  Adriano was getting ready to leave. The conference would take place from the first to the fourth of September.

  One afternoon, while chatting online with Ari Gastel, his cellphone rang. It was Maria, and she was upset. She was crying. She couldn’t speak. He had never heard her like that.

  “Calm down, darling, where are you?”

  “Please don’t leave.”

  “What’s going on, Maria? Tell me, calm down. I’m coming to get you.”

  “They took everything, Adriano. They’re here.”

  “Who is here, Maria?”

  “Them, Adriano, the people inside our house.”

  “Where are you? I’ll come get you.”

  “I’m outside, on the street. Please come get me.”

  Twenty-one

  She lay sleeping on her side in a T-shirt and underwear, showing off her belly, on a cot fixed up by one of the nurses in the primary physician’s study. It took her two hours to calm down. There wasn’t time to find another house, and if they went to a hotel she would feel even lonelier. It was best if she stayed in the hospital, where she was safe. Adriano would leave early the next morning.

  He watched her sleep. The veins that ran beneath the skin of her arms and part of her neck were pulsating. Her fear had forced her to give up, deep inside. He was still dressed and sat at the foot of the bed, caressing her gently. All of a sudden, through her white cotton T-shirt, he noticed a quick movement near her belly button, a sudden dart. He propped himself up on his elbow so he wouldn’t bump her and he lay down beside her. He put his arm around her and cupped her bulging stomach. A few seconds went by, and then the movements started up again. He felt the dart once more. It felt like he was playing a game, his first ever with his daughter, a basic game that used the mother’s body as both shield and means of transmission. It was as if the baby were answering, searching and feeling his fingers with curiosity and shyness, trying him out, surprised at the reaction. His unknown baby was swimming inside of Maria. She moved her legs and arms in a dark and cocoon-like world. And what world were they swimming in? He slipped into sleep, still dressed, his white coat wrinkled from the past few hours, and he tried not to think about what she had said.

  She had gone home around six that evening, after going to the grocery store. She ended up buying too much and was forced to drag four plastic shopping bags, cursing the gods against heavy loads. She set the shopping down on the floor and put the key into keyhole. What shift did he have that day? Maybe Adriano would be home soon. She opened the door and put the bags down inside, next to the fridge. She saw a coffee pot on the stove. Not far off, in the sink, she spotted a dirty cup and a teaspoon crusty with sugary coffee. So Adriano had come home. But he usually drank his coffee black. The door to their bedroom was closed. Maybe he had fallen asleep. She put the groceries away in silence. Everything was in order.

  She turned the door handle gently so as not to wake him. The door opened slightly. Maria looked into the semi-darkness, and screamed. Seated on the queen-size bed, in front of the open chest of drawers, were two elderly people, a man and a woman. They didn’t notice her immediately, but the light from the outside made them turn around. The old woman glared at her with a pair of small, gray eyes, her bony fingers rummaging through Maria’s underwear drawer. The man jumped to his feet. He was big and tall, but had a short bust and long legs that seemed liked they went all the way to his armpits. His hair was thick and greasy, combed back, still raven-black, and he wore a checkered shirt and dark slacks. Maria noticed that the bedspread was creased. They had been lying on her bed. They had rested their heads on her pillows.

  The old lady cleared her throat.

  “You’ll need to leave now, darling.” Her voice was feeble, her tone aggressive, but calm and uniform. Like glass.

  Maria tried to respond, but nothing came out, her mouth was dry. When she spoke, an awkward cry came out. It was scared and strangled.

  “What are you doing in my house? Who are you?”

  “This lady says this is her house, Attilio. When did we come here? Do you remember, Attilio? Was it 1962 or 1963? And this tramp comes in and tells us that this is her house.”

  She spoke as though she were bemused. Her husband sneered like an imbecile. Maria forced herself to keep calm, to seem convincing, but she could only let out a weepy sound.

  “Please leave.”

  “Ask me why I’m fumbling through your lingerie, darling …”

  Her husband spoke up.

  “Why, Clelia?”

  “In my opinion, you can tell how much of a whore a woman really is by looking at her undergarments.”

  She held a black thong between her index and thumb finger, as if it were dirty, and waved it at Attilio, who nodded his head.

  “Judging by these pieces, my dear, you belong to a special category of heifers. I see you’ve managed to get yourself pregnant, or are you just fat, darling?”

  The old woman stood up and took a step towards her. Her hair was up in a bun and she looked like one of those grandmothers from fairy tales.

  “Maybe she got too greedy. What do you think, Attilio? Who knocked her up? Would you knock this whore up?”

  The man sniggered with excitement. The woman twirled around on her right foot and waved her arm in a semi-circle, pointing to the walls.

  “Look, Attilio, they even stripped the wallpaper. Do you remember when we chose it with my mother? It was nice wallpaper. A pale yellow with little flowers. Why isn’t it up any more? Can you tell me? Did you take it off?”

  “I don’t know, Signora. It was like this when we arrived.”

  “It must have been Mario’s doing, Attilio.”

  “Yes, yes. It was Mario.”

  “He never had much taste.”

  “He takes after me, Clelia.”

  Maria tried to interject.

  “Listen, we pay rent here. We have a contract.”

  Clelia turned around in disgust, as if Maria were just an unpleasant sound.

  “He didn’t even change the lock. You see how young people are these days, Attilio? Mom and Dad die and their son wastes no time in renting out the house out to the first whore he finds.”

  “That’s enough. You have no right. Get out of my house, now.”

  The old woman approached her with a malicious expression.

  “Now you shut up, you tramp. Or I’ll scratch
you.”

  She clawed at Maria’s face. Maria drew back but the woman came towards her. Her husband stepped up from behind her to prevent her from fleeing. She felt her back press up against the man’s hard stomach, he blocked her from behind with one arm under her neck and the other one pressed against her chest, holding her still with his fingers under her armpit. He pressed her against his stomach and widened his stance to push harder. Maria tried to wriggle free but his grip was too strong. His hand landed on her belly, it lifted up her shirt and slipped inside it. She smelled his breath in her hair.

  “Look, Clelia, what a big, beautiful belly.”

  He held her face still. She felt his skin above her bellybutton, the woman’s nails moving slowly up her skin. The man’s hands, meanwhile, were on her breasts.

  “I wonder whether this whore can spray any milk yet? What do you think, Attilio?”

  Attilio let out a grunt and lifted her bra. He was panting and laughing, grabbing her breast with his open hand and squeezing her nipple with his index and thumb fingers. His wife stood on her toes to look her in the eyes.

  “Do you understand that you need to get out of here, darling?”

  Maria couldn’t say anything. The old woman kept on.

  “You understand that my Attilio, back there, would be happy to have some fun, don’t you? He’s a good man deep down inside, but he’s very strong, you know, you should see him. When he goes at it he’s like a bull, he’s hard to stop. He can’t help himself when he’s excited. Do you understand me or not, bitch? You need to get out of here? Answer me!”

  “I understand … yes, I understand …”

  “I didn’t hear you, little girl. Can you speak up?”

  Maria tried raising her voice but she could only let out a shrill sound. Attilio let out a laugh and gripped his fingers around her breast.

  “Yes, I understand!”

  “One more time, bambina, and louder now. Be a good girl and say it again. One grows a bit deaf, at my age.”

  “I understand, Signora. I understand!”

  “Now, let her go, Attilio. I don’t think she will bother us any more.”