Catacombs

Rome 2009

It’s 8 a.m. and all I can think is another excursion into the world of the dead. We groggily climb onto the bus, curl up on the seats and fall asleep. Outside the city we find all the hidden green of Rome: intoxicating fragrance of honeysuckle wafting over the warm earth, mingling with the scent of water evaporating off tall weeds already baking in the morning sun. Entering the catacombs we surrender the light and temperate weather for the cool air that urges us down a steep staircase leading to dark, mysterious shadows below. My nostrils flare at unfamiliar scents; the stale air leaves a dank taste in my mouth. Gaps in the walls where stony bodies once lay are empty, and I avert my eyes and quicken my pace in case a hand decides to reach out and claim me. Our tour guide walks ahead, talking loudly; voices echo back in quiet whispers. The shafts once providing sunlight are closed now and the feeling of old souls lingering magnifies with such intensity that I involuntarily edge closer to the warm living bodies.

We walk down narrow cramped passageways where the only sources of light are dim yellow bulbs flickering overhead. Off to the side tunnels with reflective plastic sheets block off more tombs submerged in eternal night. Above is tarp, water droplets slide down slowly telling of gloom and wet on the other side. Moving deeper into the earth, pungent scents of damp soil and beetles overtake me. Our guide explains that pilgrims still come down to worship and pray. I wonder how one finds peace among the dead, among souls trapped with no means of escape. Long ago, Christians hiding from persecution, sitting among friends and family members, shivered and wept, faint oil lamps easily extinguished by a draft or water droplet, the smell of death overpowering and fresh. The hallways shrink, frescoes intending to be cheerful fade, as the all-consuming darkness drains the life from them. A voice cries, “I need someone to lead us to the light.” Climbing up the stairs I feel the smell depart as I exhale, the darkness slide off my skin as I shrug, and the whispering fades behind as I cross the threshold between the two worlds. Then… warmth.

*Picture taken by me at Via Appia Antica inside the catacombs.