“Il rientro”: back to work

“Il rientro”: back to work

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Fri 08 Sep 2006 12:00 AM

It’s Tuesday—the day we put the newspaper to bed. And yes, since the entire staff has spent the last few weeks boldly courting summer, we are surprised that the paper is already pushing so hard to hatch. On most days, we the people of The Florentine form a relatively perfect union and work in varying levels of peace and harmony. Today, on the other hand, there is little room for love. It’s not even midday and we’ve already fought about a front-page photo you’ll never see, waged a war over headlines you’ll never read, and I’ve almost been fired for inserting last-minute commas that you probably won’t even notice.

Illustration by Leo Cardini

Illustration by Leo Cardini

Such is the beauty of journalism. Sometimes the expression I need to write about escapes me until just before deadline. This week, the word has followed me everywhere—chasing me down streets and flitting in and out of everyone’s eyes. Il rientro. All morning it has been looming over our desks, ominous, carnivorous and invisible. The pressroom door is closed, but it has somehow seeped under the doorway, merciless as the damp. The first signs of ‘re-entry’ started a few days ago as the familiar snake of traffic began inching wickedly towards the city. That trail of cars brings Italy’s actors and actresses back to their everyday stages. September is here; the show is about to begin again. For a month, all of the city’s respectable citizens drew the curtain and stayed out of the limelight. That’s the privilege of August in Florence. Shops close, shutters shut, everyone turns their key three times and makes a break for mountain peaks or sand dunes. Daily drama flies north for the summer. No one has the strength to argue about things that can’t get done anyway.

With September’s rientro, the spectacle inherent in Italian living once again finds its way to the surface. The lovers, the haters, the smart and the quick, the belligerent, the wily and the wise—all those characters who normally populate the Florentine stage-play—take up their roles once more. For Italians, il rientro is another way to say ‘Lights, camera, action!’ It’s time to try and get your way again. In August, you could afford to be slow and low and silent. With il rientro you’ve got to be tricky and witty and loud again. Il rientro is always hard, they say. I, for one, will miss the sea, shushing ladies in floppy hats and sandcastles by the water’s edge. I will miss lukewarm pasta from a thermos and breaded veal cutlets at the beach. But most of all, I will miss the two hours of ‘digestion time’ Italians call le ore del silenzio. From two o’clock to four, protesting children up and down the beach get banished from the seaside and are bade to keep quiet and in the shade. In Italy, bathing in salt water after lunch blocks the intestines and paralyzes all major muscle groups. It’s simply common knowledge. During le ore del silenzio kids take turns getting buried alive. Dying during digestion is not as risky as swimming, and nobody ever scolds them for it. Adults have it much better. We get dibs on all the lounge chairs. We find time to shamelessly snore undisturbed or read a year’s worth of ‘pink’ journalism in a week and a half. We are even allowed to break the silenzio to complete crosswords that require group effort.

But speaking of group effort, my colleagues behind me are making absolutely no effort to overcome their unanimous rientro grouchiness. Giacomo used to be an architect but always talks like a lawyer when he is feeling cross. ‘It is an unarguable fact that this local news article is a mortal bore,’ Giacomo tells his brother. ‘So go throw yourself off Ponte Vecchio, that’ll make a good story,’ comes Marco’s reply. ‘Yes, but if I dive, then you’ll be stuck writing it.’ ‘You’re right. Never mind, lascia fare.’

I smile in spite of myself. Unfortunately, they see it. To be happy during the days of il rientro is a serious breach in the Florentine Code of Correct Conduct. But I can’t help it. I love my job. I love the quick wit that abounds here and even the pointless bickering that sprouts on alternate ruby Tuesdays.  ‘What the hell are you so happy about?’ Giacomo wants to know. My smile is going to be his next fight. ‘I was just thinking of instating an ore del silenzio rule here at the office. Anyone who makes a peep during digestion gets buried in quicksand. What do you say? After lunch, silence and detective paperbacks only.’   

Evidently the idea is appealing enough to spark Giacomo’s begrudging interest. ‘Would we get to do crosswords too?’ ‘You know I’d never object to the search for good words.’‘So what’s your word of the week, Lovely?’ Italians forget fights as quickly as they start them. ‘Lovely’ means we are friends again. ‘I’m writing about il rientro,’ I tell him.

Un articolo triste, allora. Why such a sad article to start the new season?’‘All good drama needs some element of tragedy,’ I muse. ‘What are you saying?’ he frowns. ‘You’re writing an article not a play.’Apparently, this is going to be premise for another argument.

Oh well. It is September and time to keep up with the punches. The sweet lull of August fades so quickly. Il rientro has burst into town. The city gates stand wide open. The swing and sting of Italian life has re-turned in full force.

 

 

Salva

 

Enjoy more of Linda Falcone’s humorous
insights 
on Italian culture in her two classic
books published by 
The Florentine Press!

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