Writing Assignment Four

An Unexpected Adventure

I stepped off the train at the Stazione Santa Maria Novella of Florence at eleven o’clock p.m., accompanied by five of my friends, tired after a busy day spent in Siena. We had come back to Florence to return to Rome, as there were no trains that went directly from Siena to Roma. I led the group to the self-service ticket machines, where we could buy our ticket to Rome on the 11:45 p.m. train that we had seen on the schedule the day before. However, to my dismay and shock, as I looked through the full schedule of trains to Rome that day, there were none that ran after 9:30 p.m., and the next train was not until 6:40 in the morning. “This can’t be right,” I said, “Where is the time that we saw on the schedule yesterday?” No one could answer that question, as a train was obviously not running at 11:45 p.m. to Rome—at least not from this train station. After much discussion about what we should do, we decided that we should ask for the advice of the only person we saw working at the station—the man at the baggage check.

We proceeded to the glass windows of the baggage checkroom, eager to speak to the man. He opened one of the windows with a “Dimmi” and I asked, “Are there any trains going from Florence to Rome tonight?”

He replied, “Not from this station. But there is another in Florence that does. It is called the Stazione di Campo di Marte, and it is in the south. You can get a cab there.”

“The trains run throughout the night?” I asked, skeptical about whether he was telling the truth.

“Sí, sí,” he said, “They always run throughout the night.”

With a “Grazie” we left the baggage check and found a taxi that would take us to the Campo di Marte, and even though it was five euro per person, we decided it was worth the money with our cumbersome and heavy luggage. I confirmed with the taxi driver that the trains ran at night to Rome, and was able to feel reassured that we would make it back to Rome that same night. When we arrived at the Stazione di Campo di Marte that had one train on the tracks already, we started to make our way to the ticket machines, only to be stopped by three Caribinieri. “Passports please,” they said, and with a nervous glance at my friends, I dug it out of my purse and gave it to the officer. They did the same, and we waited anxiously as they looked through our passports and read off information through their walky-talkies.

“Do you guys have your permessos?” I whispered quietly, only to have several people shake their heads with a no. Worried about whether we would be arrested, we waited as they finished talking to whomever they reported to, and eventually they gave us back our passports. When it was clear that we were not going to be thrown into jail, Ryan asked, “Do you know when the train to Rome leaves?”

One of the officers replied, “Yes, I think it leaves in five minutes. Hold on a moment.” Suddenly, he yelled across the platform to the conductor outside the parked train in rapid Italian, and the man answered back incomprehensibly. The officer turned to us, “Yes, it is that train right there. It is leaving now. Run to platform seven!” Without any hesitation, we all picked up our luggage and sprinted to platform seven, approached another conductor, and asked, “Vai a Roma?”

“No,” she said, “Non vado a Roma.”

“What?!” exclaimed Laura, “What is she talking about?”

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I said. “When does the next train leave for Rome?”

“Next train is not until 5:30 a.m. I do not know why they don’t run,” she replied, “Sorry.”

In complete dismay, we sat down to discuss what we should do as the train rode away. After much debate, we decided that, rather than spend money on a hotel that would probably not check us in this late (by this time it was already past midnight), we would return to the Stazione Santa Maria Novella, where the trains are faster, check our luggage again, and go out all night in Florence. After all, we might as well take advantage of being in Firenze for the night.

After waiting fifteen minutes for a taxi, we caught one that took us to Santa Maria Novella—another five euro. We entered the train station for the third time that day, and when we thought that it couldn’t get any worse, we saw that the baggage check was closed. At that point, we had no choice. A hotel it was. We wandered around the streets near the train station, looking for a place we could regroup, and were utterly rejoiced to find the golden arches of McDonald’s. At least here was a place that was open, had food, was warm, and had a place where we could sit.

Several of us ordered some burgers and fries while Ryan, being the only man in the group, decided to go searching for a hotel that was affordable and would allow us to check in this late. After about fifteen minutes, he returned to tell us that he had found a hotel that had three doubles for twenty-two euro per person, and that even though he had to wake up the owner, he was willing to take us in for the night. We immediately took advantage of the opportunity and gave our passports to Ryan so that he could check us in and get our room keys. After finishing our American meals, we made our way to our hotel rooms where there were warm beds awaiting us. The next morning, we finally returned to Rome, happy and relieved to be home in the Campo di Fiori where we belonged.

Fable: Melinda's Wish

Every morning, Melinda looks at her reflection in the mirror, and every morning, she is disgusted with what she sees. Her hair is stringy and gray, her skin is wrinkled and warted, her lips are thin and cracked, and her body is misshapen and disproportionate. More than anything else, Melinda wishes for beauty; the kind of beauty that the young girls of nearby Atessa possess and that always seems to entice young men. Melinda only sees these girls from afar, for she lives in the isolation of her secluded cottage on top a small hill, where no one comes to visit or befriend her.

This particular morning, however, is not ordinary, for it is Melinda’s eighteenth birthday. Like many of her past birthdays, Melinda plans to enjoy it in solitude, perhaps by tending to her cottage, or reading a book, or listening to the birds sing. After gazing at her hideous reflection for what she thought had been far too long, Melinda left her mirror and walked out to her garden, where some unruly weeds had sprung to life in the past couple weeks. She knelt down to start pulling them out by the roots when a billow of smoke accompanied by a loud pop appeared next to her. Melinda jumped back and shrieked in fear, only to see that a beautiful and majestic cloaked woman stood before her. “Hello, my child,” the women said, “I am the Witch of Wishes, and I have come today to grant you a wish. It is your eighteenth birthday, is it not?”

“Y-y-yes it is,” stammered Melinda, “But I do not understand. Why have you come to see me when no one else has?”

The witch replied, “Well, I always grant wishes on eighteenth birthdays, for those who truly wish for something, which almost all of us do. But I must warn you that I cannot give something to you without taking from another, for I cannot upset the balance in the world, you see. So we must find a way to grant your wish together. What do you desire most, my dear?”

Melinda did not need to think long about what she desired most, “I desire to be beautiful, like the young girls in Atessa, so that I can find myself a husband and not be lonely anymore.”

“Well that is simple,” said the Witch, “Simply find a beautiful girl who you can entice here, and I will make you beautiful. Meet me in three days, and make sure you have the girl with you.”

The Witch disappeared, leaving Melinda confused and perplexed. How am I to entice a young girl to my cottage, thought Melinda, and what does the Witch plan to do to her? But instead of dwelling on these questions that she could not answer, Melinda decided to leave for Atessa at once, for she only had three days to complete her task. Melinda left her cottage for the village that very same afternoon, dreading the moment when she would enter the village for the first time. On her path to the village, Melinda found an orange tree, and she thought it to be the most beautiful orange tree she had ever seen. She took from it an orange and tasted it, only to be amazed by the burst of flavor that tingled her tongue. It was the most delicious orange she had ever had. These will surely entice a young girl, she thought. She picked a couple oranges, stashed them in her knapsack, and made her way into the village that very night. For two days Melinda searched for a girl who she could entice, but all who saw her shunned her, too afraid to look at her hideous face, let alone talk to her.

When Melinda was ready to give up any hopes of achieving her wish, a kind and beautiful young girl named Cynthia took notice of Melinda. She said, “You poor soul, all alone here and being shunned by all. What is it in your hand that you are offering?” But before Melinda could answer, her eyes were drawn to the man that accompanied Cynthia, for he was the most handsome man Melinda had ever seen. She immediately fell for him, and knew that she must entice them both to her cottage in order to fulfill her wish. Melinda replied, “I offer to you the most delicious orange that you have ever tasted. And I have many more at my cottage atop the hill yonder.” Cynthia and her fiancé, who was named John, tried the orange and were immediately hypnotized by its taste. They agreed to follow Melinda to her cottage where they were promised more oranges of its kind.

That night, the third night since Melinda had met with the Witch of Wishes, the Witch returned and was pleased to see that Melinda had fulfilled her task. She performed her spell upon Melinda and Cynthia, turning Melinda into a beautiful version of herself, and Cynthia into an unrecognizable and ugly being. The Witch then cast Cynthia back to the village, and left John to live with Melinda for the rest of his days.

Yet John did not wish to stay, for he knew that he could never love any other woman but Cynthia. Even though Melinda was one of the most beautiful women in Atessa as a result of this spell, he could not fall for her, for his heart would always belong to Cynthia. One night, when Melinda was fast asleep, John escaped the cottage and took off for the village in search of Cynthia. He found her at her home, curled up in her bed and crying. She had broken all the mirrors in her home; glass shards were scattered all across the floor. He came to her, embraced her, and whispered that he wanted to marry her the next day, for he still loved her, and Melinda would not be able to keep them apart if they were married. They arranged for a priest to marry them the next day, and by the time Melinda came to reclaim John as her own, it was done. In her rage, Melinda called for the Witch to return and nullify the marriage, and the Witch did come, but this time, she was angry with Melinda. “You cannot call upon me again, Melinda, for I granted you your wish already. I cannot change things that are a matter of the law, and since you angered me, you will be the way you once were.” It was then that the Witch of Wishes reversed the spell, as if the wish had never been made. Melinda returned to her cottage atop of hill, shunned by all in the village who heard her name thereafter. Cynthia and John returned home to raise a healthy family and live a happy life, never to see Melinda or be reminded of her again.

Modern-Day Myth

Marcus and Daphne

Many have wondered about the metal rods that sit atop the houses of our modern-day world. For whatever reason, the rods are a mystery to us, yet no one seems to doubt that they are there for a reason. There are few of us who know the true story behind how the rods came to be—why they stand erect with their long and intricate branches of steel where blue birds come to perch and sing to us. I, myself, am one of the few who know the truth, for the story was passed on to me by my mother, Ceres, the goddess of the earth.

Quite some time ago, my mother knew a god by the name of Zeus, the god of lightning. Zeus loved a nymph by the name of Daphne who took no greater pleasure than in enjoying the fields of nature, and he loved her as a father would love a daughter, for she was his favorite. Many men loved Daphne’s innocence and naiveté, yet they knew that she was still too young to be courted, and many waited patiently for the day when they could call her their own. They were drawn to Daphne because she was a friend of the blue birds, as she would sing to them and they would sing to her. Each day, she sat in the fields for hours, picking wild flowers as the birds surrounded her and admired her innocent beauty.

One day, a man by the name of Marcus was passing through the fields where Daphne liked to spend the warm afternoons, and he stumbled across her in a thicket of reeds. “Excuse me my dear girl, I did not see you and am surprised to find you here. What are you doing so far from your home?” said Marcus. And Daphne replied, “I come here every day when it is warm, for it is my favorite way to spend the time, in this field, with the bluebirds and the flowers.” Daphne turned her head to look at Marcus, and it was then that Marcus saw Daphne’s face, with her bright green eyes, pink cheeks, and golden hair wrapped in a garland of daisies. It was then that Marcus loved her.

Marcus knew what he must do. “It seems that you should not be out in this field on your own, my lady, for you can never know if the wolves are wandering about. Come with me to my palace, where I can give you such luxuries that you can scarcely believe, and please, tell me your name.” Daphne replied sternly, “My name is Daphne, and I do not wish to come with you. For I am happiest when I am here, in these reeds with the blue birds, and they will warn me of any wolves.” But when Daphne said this, it did not matter to Marcus, for he had already decided that he would take her by force if she did not comply. Without warning, Marcus seized Daphne by the arm and carried her against her will. He carried her all the way to his palace, far from the fields that she had begun to call home.

My mother, Ceres, witnessed all this, as she often watched over Daphne when she played in the fields. When Marcus had taken Daphne and disappeared, my mother went immediately to Zeus and relayed what had happened. As you can imagine, Zeus was angered by this news and swore revenge. He struck Marcus’ palace with lightning bolts that same night, demanding that he return Daphne to her rightful home. In his pride and stubbornness, Marcus refused, and the lightning burned his palace to the ground. He barely escaped the palace alive, as he rode off in his carriage with Daphne screaming to the forest for someone to save her.

But no one heard her—not even my mother, and Marcus took her to his palace in another land, where Zeus would not find them for at least a little time. The next night, Marcus called upon Vulcan, the Smith God, son of Zeus and exiled from Heaven by his father. Marcus pleaded for Vulcan to help, for Marcus knew that he did not have much time before Zeus would find them. In his thirst for revenge against his father, Vulcan agreed to help Marcus, as even his selfish motives overrode the anguish written on Daphne’s face.

Vulcan explained to Marcus the only weakness that Zeus’ lightning bolts had ever met—metal. He explained that if he propped a metal rod onto the top of his palace, Zeus could never harm him. The lightning would strike the metal and disappear, rendering the bolts useless. Vulcan did indeed create this rod for Marcus, and his plan worked without fault. Zeus could not harm Marcus, and could not persuade him to release Daphne from his palace. For this reason, every house has a lightning rod atop its roof, as Zeus still searches for the means by which to free Daphne. In his most angry and unpredictable moments, Zeus will strike. The metal rods protect us from his wrath until he can find his beloved Daphne. Some still believe that she waits for someone to rescue her, peering out of a window in Marcus’ palace, watching and listening to the blue birds sing atop Marcus’ lightning rod.

Calvino Writing Assignment

Invisible City: Menaca
Theme: Death/After-Life

I stumbled upon the city of Menaca by what I thought was a mistake. I was searching for the sea of Utopis, the one where the shadows of dancing girls with silvery scales swim beneath the medusa-shaped chandeliers. I entered Menaca without knowing where my feet were taking me, as if the city were controlling my every move. I could not leave, for my curiosity overtook me, and the buildings seemed to be whispering my name in an attempt to captivate me further.
At first glance, the city seemed deserted, a place where mildew grew in every dark and damp corner, where dead grass and weeds that were once unruly had grown between cracks of concrete so that they overtook the streets, where doors and window shutters hung unhinged and on the brink of collapse. Shortly after I had concluded that there was no other person in Menaca but me, swirls of white smoke began to sneak through the windows and doors of the houses, as if fires had been simultaneously lit within their walls. Slowly the smoke began to take form, and images of translucent people watching me walk by began to haunt my steps.

They continued to pass through the walls until they filled the streets, whispering in undecipherable tongues, and I saw that some of them were faces I had once known—the old and wrinkled man who lived near me long ago, who always smoked his pipe full of sweet tobacco; the young girl I befriended as a child, who still played her game of jacks on the street corner; the first woman I had loved, her eyes piercing and her hair long and flowing. I was certain I had fallen into a dream, for I knew that all these people were dead now, but my feet continued to lead me to a fountain that stood erect in the middle of the street, and the translucent figures surrounded me as I came to a halt.

Without warning, they threw me into the water and held me down, and I laid there helpless and terrified, as all I could do was stare up at their blurred faces through ripples of water. I soon felt my soul being wrenched from my body, and my skin began to fade before my eyes. When there was none of my body left, I emerged from the fountain as swirls of white smoke and took my new form in the middle of the crowd, just like them, a ghost without a voice or a beating heart. It was then, in the city where I was destined to remain forever, that I realized my fate.

Invisible City: Laosa
Theme: Fruitless Pursuit

One morning your desires awaken all at once and surround you in Laosa. In the city, you live only with men, and on this morning you will become a fool like the rest of them. There are no houses in Laosa, no buildings, nothing man-made. It is only a labyrinth full of towering walls of prickly, green leaves, and the men sleep under the bushes and eat the berries off their vines.

There is one woman in Laosa, and she is what turns all the men into fools. She wears a long, translucent robe, so that her nipples are barely visible beneath its glow. Her locks of hair are wavy and dark, and her eyes are the color of the sea after a vicious storm. Her skin has a glow that almost matches her white robe, and men can hear her light breath as she runs barefoot among the bushes. Men live in Laosa only to catch her, to seduce her into their arms and feel the comfort of her body against theirs.

However, for many men who lived in Laosa, a possible future became only a toy in a glass globe. No matter how hard you try to catch the woman, she is never within your reach. If you ever come close to grabbing her arm or robe, the towering labyrinth of bushes will create a tunnel in which she can disappear, not to be seen for days or even weeks. Many men have wasted their days pursuing her, and in the anguish that develops after years of trying, they eventually lose the will to eat and perish. Even if you wish to leave Laosa, as many men have tried to do, you are so lost within the maze that there is little hope of escaping its dreary depths. No man knows if the woman of Laosa has been captured before, but she is the only hope that gives him the will to live. All men in Laosa are slaves, never to be truly content or satisfied, never free to live their lives the way they wish to, the sun rising and setting on their lonely beds.

Invisible City: Zoma
Theme: Memory

When you come to Zoma for the first time, the city can never be foreign to you. The city itself is beautiful, as the buildings have spiral staircases encrusted with spiral seashells, doors outlined with golden engravings, tall painted towers with views of the distant sea, and shiny cobbled streets that dully reflect the sun’s light. When you walk on these streets of Zoma, your gaze runs over patterns following one another as in a musical score. Select memories begin to fill your mind, detailed ones that were lost for years and could never be recovered until the day you came to Zoma.

The inhabitants of Zoma will always be friendly to you upon your arrival, keen to invite you into their homes to hear stories around their comforting fireplaces that smell of alder wood. Their food is hearty and their laughter is contagious, and often times you will be invited to tell your own stories as well. This is when your past comes to life, when your stories become part of someone else, when you begin to feel as if Zoma is your home.

You must be wary, however, that as you walk along the glimmering tree-flanked streets of Zoma, you draw yourself further and further away from where you came. As your lost memories become stronger, you begin to forget about the people in your life who have raised you, loved you, and cared for you. The remembrances that would never leave you before you came to Zoma will begin to disappear within the city, swept away in the light breeze that tickles your face. After you come to Zoma, those who live outside the city will wait for you to return, wondering why you have been away so long. They will miss you, but unless you have the will to leave the city, you will never miss them again.

Invisible Cities: Eusinia

Eusinia is a wondrous city, surrounded by sea and lakes, snow-capped mountain ranges, and hundreds of tall, green trees. The inhabitants of Eusina live on a dark gray, sandy beach laden with seashells, colorful rocks, and bits of smooth, washed up glass. The Eusinians build huts using driftwood and the grassy reeds that surround their beach, creating welcoming homes in which they raise their children and entertain their guests.

On the surface, the city of Eusinia is a happy place, where old men tell stories and children laugh as they run over the clams that shoot water through their burrowed holes in the sand. Women gossip as they wash clothes and linens in the playful creeks that surround the reeds, and young men hunt for clams and fish near the sea. When you come to Eusinia, the light breeze dances upon your skin and elates your spirits. Birds soar among the trees and clouds, waking the city every morning with their entrancing songs.

However, if you spend a few days in Eusinia, you will begin to notice that the entire population is separated from each other by race. The five main tribes who live on the beach have begun to build walls around their individual villages. Even though those who visit Eusinia will be utterly content during their stay, they will soon learn that it is not a place where they wish to live. You will see that the Eusinians are continually plagued by the strife and anguish of their racism, by the fragmentation and disconnection of their pointless prejudice. They will tolerate each other, but never accept each other, and they will ever change. If you stay in Eusinia, you must be prepared to experience utter happiness along with utter pain, as there will always be someone who will never accept you.