Miseria & Nobilita

Last night, Eve and Dave took me to a restaurant down the street from my home, on the way to the Flavian Amphitheater, called Miseria & Nobile (Poverty and Nobility). As with all restaurants in Pozzuoli, there are photographs on the wall of Sophia Loren, the local saint. The owner is a man named Massimo. He stops me and we talk every time I walk by. He makes fun of my bad Italian and offers to teach me. I say hello to his waiter, as well: Francesco. We kiss-kiss on the cheek and I go on my way.

I went to Massimo's restaurant with Sjors so many years ago. Sjors stole food off my fork and told me that "Conquered food is the best food!" For some reason, I've found it difficult to go to the restaurant in the years since.

But we went last night. I dressed up for Massimo - wearing a long silk dress I bought in Mauritius, and a bright red coral necklace.We ate octopus and salmon and clams and broiled sea urchin and zeppolini (fried dough balls) and bruschetta and fried anchovies and pasta, and we drank sparkling water and white wine.
Dave just found out that the Command has cancelled my employment and he was incensed - or as incensed as mild-mannered Dave could be. "After everything you've done, they owe you the professional courtesy of telling you to your face - of telling you why!"

I want to know why, as well. I want to know what information and story the Dutch Intel Boys passed along. I want to know why the Admiral didn't have the decency to ask me what the truth was. I am not surprised that the Dutch Intel boys were unethical, but I am disappointed that the Command was cowardly. Perhaps this is why I don't care to speak with any of them. Of course I want answers. But I am so disgusted by their behavior, I have written them off in my mind. The idea of having a conversation with someone I do not respect is not a good idea - I am physically incapable of masking my contempt.

Massimo was delighted to have me in his restaurant. I felt pleased and guilty about this because I have been inside so infrequently. Both he and Francesco kept touching me as they walked by - a hand out to stroke my arm or my cheek. At one point, Massimo took my chin and cheeks in his hands and squeezed. We hugged and kissed as I left. They must have felt that this visit was special - not only in its exclusivity, but they must have sensed its finality.

I drank too much wine and I stumbled home and into bed.

I'm not a heavy drinker - and I think this is a good thing, particularly in these days when I feel an interior expansiveness. Without the boundaries I imposed on myself with the work I wanted to accomplish, the borderlands are vast swaths of unknown. I feel that I have been feeding myself into this project - my blood and spirit and mind into a machine I could never adequately fuel on my own but which required this sacrifice if it was going to function at all. I could not compel myself to stop because it mattered too much to me. Now I have been released in working for this Command because of their betrayal. I will not spill another ounce for them. The machine will limp along on what I have fed it - and then it will grind to a halt. In the meantime, I will find a way to make the projects begin elsewhere and to find adequate support for the people who need it.

As I've thought about curses these days, I've thought about a curse that the Mormon missionaries believe they are able to cast. This was the apocrypha of my childhood: if a missionary testifies and finds someone beyond their reach and doing harmful things, the mormon missionary will curse them by brushing off the dust from his feet. This says, "I was here. I leave by DNA behind in the soil. When god judges you, he will find my testimony against you."

I walked around the base leaving my footprints behind, I have a sense that these must be measured somehow. I have fed my breath and life into these projects, I have left my sweat and vomit and blood; I have run the full measure of my ability. I have not kept behind one ounce that I could have given. I have left my testimony here.

I have not cursed them. They curse themselves.