A Descent Into Sentiment

I must be different. Incredulous is the only word that keeps pounding inside my head. Incredible. This place is impossible, yet, it is the most possible place that has ever existed. A place that has been here longer than almost any other. That should make it the most credible place to exist.

It isn’t.

Matera.

Genius turned to tragedy and then worse than that, triviality.

As I stand, one amongst the throngs of phone clutching, selfie stunted, creatures, spewing over the rocks once home, then prison to humans. Actual human beings. Who lived, flourished, cried, died, on the spot where people now spill their iced cappuccinos and scatter their cigarette ashes. Disgusting humans. I creep far from the throngs of oohs and aaahhs before I literally vomit.

“Annie!”

I hear my name called from behind me, but I don’t turn. My tolerance for him worn thin from the sun and exertion; worsened by experiencing all of it with a bus load of tourists. I picture the stone crumbling under his feet and falling away into the ravine as he chases me with his ridiculous phone in his hand. I tense, ready to hear him slip and fall, it doesn’t happen. Not yet.

Standing encapsulated in the tragic history of this place, absorbing the humanity lost, feeling the despair layered with older moments of invention and pride. Doesn’t anyone else feel the intense futility of existence this place exudes into the air?

“Hey.” His feet pound against fragile stone. I cringe thinking of the minuscule pieces of hopes and dreams each of his oblivious movements erase. The severity of my emotions surprises me, and once again I push them down, deep, deep down.

I smile as he nears. “Tom, where did you go?”

He holds out a plastic cup. “Here, I thought you might be thirsty. It’s a long haul up this place. People must have had strong legs back then.”

“It wasn’t that long ago. The guide says people used to live here right up to the fifties. And supposedly, there’s people living here again.”

“You wouldn’t catch me living in a cave.” He frowns when he looks at me, perhaps I haven’t shoved everything down as deep as I thought. “You okay?”

I grab the cup out of his hand. “Thanks.” I hold it up and tip it towards him, gesturing my thanks. I take a good look at him over the rim as I take a long drink. “Ya, I guess I’m just absorbing the ambiance. It’s all so sad and beautiful at the same time.”

“It’s pretty cool, I guess,” he says.

I want to kill him — I mean, no I don’t. I remind myself to fully immerse in the part. I don’t know what happened. We’ve been planning this trip for years.

I force myself to smile, and I soften my stance, relax my shoulders. “There’s something I found over here I wanted to show you. I think it’s a path up to the cave homes that haven’t been fixed up. The ones we were looking at online.”

He shrugs, and follows along.

It’s a complicated climb and my heart squeezes a few times as my feet lose purchase on the rocks. I’m surprised they allow tourists to climb all over this desecrated place.

The crowd thins, the day is nearing its end. But we need to go farther. Tom is the only person I’ve seen for at least half an hour. I’m surprised he ignored the signs to stay out and snuck under the ropes with me.

“You know, Annie,” his voice comes from directly behind me, startling me. I hadn’t realized he was there.

I gasp and slide in a scurry of pebbles and small rocks. I panic, and inhale dust, and it gets in my eyes. I choke and jerk downwards. My fingers fail to grip anything fixed. I slide again, I can feel the piercing bites of the rock on my shins. Then I stop. My blood pounding in my ears. My legs are shaky, and all I can think of is, I brought us here.

For what, Annie? Why are we here?

My skin stinging, my heart pounding, my legs shaking, how simple it all seemed back at home. A trip to Matera, Italy. A climb amongst the ancient cave homes. A romantic moment. Giggling over the little black book.

The little black book.

We’d found it while renovating our century home. A money pit, a source of contention, another bad idea — the only kind we seem to have.

The book was stuffed into the walls, it’s edges mouldy, the ink bled into the pages, a secret notebook with symbols and foreign language, it captured my soul. After hundreds of hours of research we’d narrowed down the strange numbers and names to a spot in this town. We’d phoned, we’d written emails and letters. It took forever till Tom found a lead. Someone recognized a name in our book, then an address. We prodded until we’d traced the information to Matera, Italy 1932. An entire family lived in one of these cave houses. No electricity, a scramble for food, heartbreak — sentimentality — foolishly suffering, all the while secretly holding onto a treasure. The clue to a safety deposit box with $20,000 in jewelry. And none of the beneficiaries knew. I judged this stranger, their priorities. And now, look at me, who was the fool? I close my eyes and hold on tight. The irony not escaping me. I press my cheek against the cool rock and bring my breathing under control.

“Hey,” Tom calls down to me. “You okay?”

I want to yell something sarcastic, but my instinct to survive kicks in. “I don’t know. I think I’m scared to move.” I’m pushed flat against the merciless rock. The deafening pulse of my blood filling my ears. This was it.

I feel pebbles sprinkling down. I hear him tearing up the side of the ravine as he thunders to my aid.

“Tom, cut it out.” I choke on the dust. “You’re going to start a landslide or something.” I can barely croak out the words.

“This place has been around over 9,000 years. I’m not going to knock it down.”

“Tom!” My voice cracks, I cough, and the jerking causes me to slide another foot. “Stop,” I feel tears, I fight a wave of hysteria. I panic. I don’t want... I can’t finish the thought. The world tilts, I feel dizzy.

Strong arms grip me and roughly drag me upwards. Scraped over the rocks, I relish the feeling instead of complaining. He stops pulling when I roll onto a plateau.

“Oh my god.” I sit up keeping my hands firmly on the ground, holding tightly even though it’s impossible for me to fall.

“You’re okay,” he says.

“That’s what you think. Holy crap, Tom. That scared the life out of me.”

“You panicked, you weren’t going to fall into the ravine. I know you wanted to see where the book came from, but Annie, we’re not climbers, and we’re not supposed to be here...”

“So now, because I had a little scare, that’s it? You want to go?” No. We aren’t leaving. We can’t. You won’t.

“Annie, sure, it’s cool to see the place the person who left that book lived in. I get it. But you know we’re probably not going to figure out which one of these caves were hers. It’s impossible. We’re close enough. And who knows how strict they are around here. There’s signs everywhere telling people to stay out. It’s getting dark, it getting cold...”

“Ten minutes.”

He sighs, but nods. “Just be careful. I’m gonna stay here.”

So close, you’re not wrecking everything now.

“You’re not coming?”

“Annie, it’s your thing. I’ve seen it. People lived in caves for a long time. And now, they’re spending millions to live where people lived in squalor just a generation ago.”

“But, the book...”

“The book, the book,” he says.

“Please, Tom. Ten minutes — we didn’t go inside any of them. Just one. It’s the only time we’ll be...”

He pulls himself to his feet. “You’re lucky I can’t say no to you.”

My hand brushes my back pocket, and I feel the notebook safely zippered inside. I extend my hand towards my husband. He steps back to allow me to stand. Instead I kick my foot outwards.

He grapples in the air.

The look on his face is pure confusion.

I expected a scream, a struggle.

It was so quick.

So easy.

I grab onto the rock and slowly make my way back.

I don’t know what happened. We’ve been planning this trip for years.

I practice my tears.