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CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
The distance of my living quarters was taking valuable time and I moved close to the University. In February, I was ready to submit to examination on the three subjects left over from the previous year. I passed the first one successfully.
I was sitting on a little balcony, reviewing the second subject, when a film of fine dust formed on my book. I brushed it off, but the dust accumulated again. I looked around to see if any of the roofs were being swept, but all was dormant. The sun, which in Naples is always piercingly clear, seemed shrouded as by dense fog. I thought the weather was changing and went indoors to continue my review. After a while, I went on the balcony and saw the air laden with the same gray dust which had settled to perhaps a quarter of an inch on the balcony. I thought of a possible sand storm. But the rare sand storms from the coast of Africa, came with strong winds and the sand was brownish. This was ash gray. I concluded that clouds of ashes were being blown from the Vesuvius. There was, however, hardly a breeze in the air. I stopped speculating and went back to study, as only a few hours remained for the examination. I heard some shouting in the street, but the back streets of Naples were always echoing with shouts or singing.
My review ended, I went downstairs to get something to eat, before going to the University. The ashes were coming down like fine gray snow, it was considerably warm and people were in great commotion. The unusual event broadcast by newspaper boys was “Eruption of Vesuvius.” I went into a cheap restaurant, grabbed a “pizza,” a flat cake covered with tomato and cheese or anchovies, and rushed to the University. The examinations were being held according to schedule, with all windows shut and lights turned on. I passed the exam, with good marks, on the interesting subject of “legal medicine” or medical science related to crimes.
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Although still early afternoon when I went out, all lampposts were lighted, owing to a most complete darkness, and the crowds were swarming in great excitement. The falling ashes had covered the pavements by several inches. I made my way to Via Toledo, the principal street of Naples, the stores were lit, but the doors closed. The noise and scramble were mounting fast. Some peddlers were selling smoked eye glasses, like our old automobile goggles. Where did they all come from? I bought a pair and started back home. The going was extremely difficult, with people bumping into each other. On turning a corner, I got a bloody nose, but continued plowing through. I was glad to be back in my room, on the fourth floor of a decrepit tenement. The walls of some of those building were shored up with heavy timber, for generations.
My landlady served dinner in a hurry and rushed out. The exodus became general. Where were they all going? I didn’t know. In the evening, I heard loud chanting. I looked out and through the cloud of ashes I saw a long procession, lighted by blazing torches, carrying the statue of a madonna, from whom the panicky mob was invoking protection. I closed the casement window with much effort and sat down to do some brushing-up for the third examination. I was now the only one in the apartment and perhaps in the building, except for a little white pup which I had bought a couple of days before for a few cents.
At long intervals, I heard the spasmodic belching of old man Vesuvius, like the rumble of a far away thunder and it did concern me. It was nearly two A.M. when I crawled into bed, dead tired. I dreamed being in an unsteady boat and seeing a funny little mongrel try to bark, but unable to utter a sound. It seemed as if that went on for a long time.
I was suddenly awakened by the frantic yelping of my pup. I struck a match and the yapping stopped. I reach for the candle, next to my bed, and it wasn’t there. I struck another match and found the candle on the floor. I picked it up and lighted it. It was 5:30 A.M. and not a sound. Looking at the little scamp with its ruffled fur, I thought it had seen a mouse or a cat and I was ready to turn under cover again. But, lo and behold, my bed rocked, the candle rolled on the floor, a coffee pot crashed down and the pup leaped and barked furiously. There was no mistaken guess. It was an earthquake of no mean proportions, which had caused my dream of a rocking boat. I picked up the candle, lit it, braced the holder with books and hurried to get into my clothes.
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The building shuddered as I was stumbling down the creaky stairs, with the pup under my arm. There was a faint misty daylight. The streets were deserted and covered with twelve to eighteen inches of ashes, which luckily had stopped falling. I plowed through the ashes in a southerly direction and came to a point where some soldiers were blocking the street, while others were shoveling ashes from the roofs. I made a detour and again the same scene.
After several hours, I found myself on the main road to Pompei, submerged by clouds of ashes raised by bouncing military trucks, on one of which I managed to get a lift. A soldier accepted the gift of my mascot. We came to a stop at Torre del Greco, which is near the northwest approach to the Vesuvius. The skies were blue, the sun was blazing over a countryside buried under a sea of ashes.
Looking at the old volcano, I saw a huge cloud of smoke dispersing and fading into a southerly direction. The top of the crater came into clear vision. A few minutes of lull, then a deep rumble, a tremor, a terrific explosion and then a black column shot thousands of feet into the sky, having the appearance of a gigantic pine upside down, with its tip in a flood of orange flames. The pine unfolded slowly, flattened and veered to the south. It was an almost visionary show, re-enacted every fifteen or twenty minutes.
I was in the midst of a gaping, stupefied mob, dragged with it as by an undertow. I came to a place from where the whole northwesterly slope of the Vesuvius was visible. From the rugged, concave summit you could see fitful vomits of fires, at frequent intervals, then a red molten mass degorge, swell and flow down, like a slow avalanche of glowing mud. This would gradually lose its brilliant hue, turn into a metallic gray and then gray black. Over the boiling surface you would see continuous spouts of fire, as so many little volcanoes. The air was laden with gaseous odors which gripped your throat.
The discharge from the earth’s bowels came to a stop in a valley bordering a cemetery, which gave rise to a supernatural credence of respect for the dead. The heat was scorching. From the spent lava, small lumps would get detached and, while still hot, we would kick them out and form them into odd souvenirs, at the expense of our shoes.
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The miracle of the cemetery barrier was shattered by the news of the tragedy which had overtaken the “Chiesa delle Tre Case,” the church of the three houses. That little church had stood in the middle of the volcano’s slope, for centuries unharmed by the many eruptions. In the night of this last eruption, the faithful flocked into the church, believing in its unfailing protection and…five hundred of them were buried alive, as the lava buried the church many feet above its roof.
It was nearly sunset when I elbowed my way back to Torre del Greco. Restaurants and food stands had been cleaned out, but I managed to get a piece of bread and cheese. The town and railroad service were under martial law. At ten P.M. I was herded into a train back to Naples.
Order having been re-established and the University re-opened, I passed my third examination, in an atmosphere of indulgence, from which I benefited with a high mark.
Next: Chapter 25
