Part II - Rome Campus Reunion: Layer Upon Layer

9:10 AM. Time to leave Hotel Pantheon for class. We close the shutters, buckle on fanny packs, and head downstairs past the marble reproduction of an armless, naked Venus. In the hall, Svetlana with her beautiful smile and heavy eyeliner pauses from folding linens to bid us Buon giorno. We say ciao to Roberto at the front desk and head out onto Via dei Pastini.  

The street is nearly empty but for the homeless man who slumps against the wall in his usual spot near our hotel. His face is gaunt, one eye sunken and scarred, and a strip of hair runs along the crest of his shaved scalp. Despite the warm day, he wears a red vest and burgundy parka over his tattered jeans. He barks and grunts at passers-by, but most walk on without a glance, even when he lunges at them and punches the air.  

 

For several days after our arrival, I was unnerved by his efforts to alarm and neglected my vow to let no one be invisible.  Like everyone else, I averted my gaze despite the man’s desperate efforts to be seen. Lately, however, I’ve made a point of greeting him, and instead of growling, he nods and touches his forehead in salute. I hope one day to earn a smile.  

 

In a few hours, the restaurants along the street will open with a clatter of glasses and china as tables are set.  Crowds of tourists on their way to the Pantheon will edge past the hosts standing in doorways striving to entice diners to pull up a seat. Strands of braided garlic and artful arrangements of eggplant and oranges add visual appeal to the alluring aroma of baking bread.

 

We pause briefly so I can check my well-creased map, something I do countless times a day during our wanderings in Rome. Throughout the week of our reunion, some of the professors have generously included us in their tours and classes, and today, once we are oriented, Dave and I meet Professor Livio Pestilli and some of our TCRC 1973 classmates at Chiesa di Santa Maria in Piazza di Campitelli. 

 

After a brief introduction, Professor Pestilli guides us from church to church, commenting on the significance of changes in architectural elements from one era to the next. Like the students we once were, we listen intently and lift our eyes as he points out the artistry of flowing draperies and trompe d’oeil shadows painted on ceilings arching high above us. 

While different styles and techniques emerged over the centuries, some things never change. As the group waits outside the Chiesa di Sant’ Ignazio di Loyola, Dave does not appear. Friend Pamela assures me, “No one is concerned or angry except you, so don’t worry.” Having lived with the man for 47 years, I am not concerned, angry, or surprised… well, maybe a little annoyed. Kindly, she says, “I’ll go look for him.” 

 

She returns alone. Minutes tick by. I try texting my husband, but no response. I apologize to all and suggest we continue on. Dave is resourceful and this is familiar territory; I’m confident he’ll meet up with us eventually. Ours is a caring, forgiving crew however, and everyone insists we wait, but I know Professor Pestilli has an appointment at 1:00, and I’m starting to feel guilty about the delay.  

 

Sigh. “I’ll try to find him,” I mutter. Honestly Dave! But I have no more luck than Pamela as I dash across marble floors and dart between massive columns beneath extraordinary paintings of ecstatic encounters with the divine, ignoring all in my search for wild gray hair and a black polo shirt. I return to the group and convince them to move on.   

 

At our final stop, Dave appears, abashed and apologetic. “I just went back for one more picture, and lost sight of time. Without WiFi, I couldn’t reach you.” As I said, familiar territory; Dave and Time have a fluid relationship. 

 

The next day, we accompany Professor Cristiana Filippini and her students to the Basilica di Santa Sabina all’Aventino and her particular passion, San Clemente al Laterano.

 

As Professor Filippini leads us through the 12^th century basilica down steep, rough-hewn stairs through a 4^th century basilica, and then, to an even deeper level, her mounting excitement is contagious. At her direction, we peer through arches at vestiges of a 1^st century house with running water, something only the very wealthy could afford. 

Water continues to flow through troughs along the side, brought to the city by ancient aqueducts. Technology two thousand years old is still in operation, planned obsolescence a shameful invention of the future. I have been guilty of condescension in thinking my, those Romans were advanced, as if theirs was a primitive civilization that managed to exceed contemporary expectations. It is unnerving to consider the modernity of ancient Rome and the factors, increasingly frequent in today’s news, that led to its demise. 

Three levels below the street, the world of the present hushed above, walking a narrow passage in muted light, I feel the elation of exploration and discovery that so captivated me in my youth. I love this about ruins, about Rome. Almost every construction project stalls when excavation reveals the residue of long-ago lives. 

 

“This is the lasagna that is Rome,” says Professor Filippini.  “Layer upon layer upon layer…”