Righto.
You’ll get a towel and a bowl of cold water, morning and night, to wash in. All muddy clothes and boots left outside on the landings. Bread and jam for breakfast. Tea mostly, sometimes coffee if we can get it. Milk sometimes— If you can get it.
She smiled. A bowl of pasta at night. There’s also a canteen in the Accademia if you’d prefer to eat there. Just let us know in the morning, though. You may have a room to yourself one night, or you may have to bunk in with others. That make you squeamish?
Autopsies make me squeamish.
Alys laughed. Left here, she said. I’m giving you the tourist walking tour.
How much? said Jem.
For the tour?
For the room, he said.
Nothing, Jem Gunnerslake. This is the city’s gift to you. In lieu of the hundreds of back-breaking hours you’ll do.
How does it work? he said – and he slipped trying to catch up with her – I mean, how do I start work? Do I just turn up?
You could. But there’s an office at the Uffizi that sends you where you’re needed.
And where’s that, usually?
Depends. Could be a hospital – Duomo straight ahead, Jem Gunnerslake! – or getting food to the elderly. Mostly it’s the Biblioteca right now, though. It’s pretty gruesome inside. Twenty-two feet of mud in the lower floors and waist-deep water. That’s where the books are. No generators, just torchlight and candles to work by. There’re hundreds of us in there, Jem. Passing buckets of mud or books to each other. Mud goes outside, books upstairs to rinse off and dry out.
And then what?
Then they’re taken to the Forte Belvedere. For the start of restoration.
Right.
Sculpture goes to Palazzo Davanzati, canvas paintings to the Accademia and panel paintings are sent to the limonaia in the Palazzo Pitti. To date, eighteen churches and fifteen museums devastated.
You know a lot.
You get to know a lot. Everyone you work with has been somewhere else. I actually spent my first day at the Uffizi.
Cleaning masterpieces?
No. Those had been moved, thank God. They trusted us only with the ones deemed insignificant.
How insignificant?
Woman next to me uncovered a Velázquez.
No way!
Gallery didn’t even know it was in the basement. That’s the trouble with this city, Jem. No one knows where anything is.
That night in the pensione, the upper landings and handrails were strewn with mud-caked clothes and boots. Inside, the hallway was a jumble of coats and jumpers and scarves, the bedrooms like dorms, double beds were now single beds and camp beds made three. The bathroom floor was streaked with mud and someone had left the radio on and it crackled with static and occasionally a tune.
On the upper floor, the coal stove cranked out heat and steam and the dining table was set.
This is Jem, everyone! That’s Alicia, Tom, Aldo, James, Carole … Jem nodding, Hello, hello, he said but he’d never remember their names. （Too nervous.） Alys said, You sit by me, Jem. Thanks, said Jem.
At seven, Ulysses and Cress carried in bowls of pasta and bread and salad. Always a cheer when they entered, and you should have seen the look on Cressy’s face! Big fuss of Cressy every time. Five minutes later a knock at the door: Not too early, am I? The elderly contessa entered and added, You’re all still here then.
Nice fur, said a young woman called Niamh.
I killed it myself, said the contessa.
By ten o’clock, the candles had burnt low amongst the debris of dinner. Students, tired and blush-cheeked sprawled on chairs and sofas and floors, wrapping scarves tighter around their necks. Cigarettes smouldered in ashtrays, raised to mouths during the telling of tales. The last of the wine was drunk.
On the terrace, a kerosene lamp flickered. A clothes line pegged with towels and cloths and rags, and Ulysses, Cress and the elderly contessa huddled against the freeze. The conversation from inside drifted out into the untroubled air. Cress said, The young have brought something intrinsic to the city. Crabs, said the elderly contessa. I was thinking energy and hope, said Cress.
（Overheard）：
What do you do, Jem? Studying. Medicine. Will you take a look at my foot? （Laughter.） What? It’s been hurting for days! I bet you get asked that all the time, Jem? Not all the time, and I’d be happy to have a look. Although I’m specialising in gynaecology. （Laughter.） Alys strummed her guitar and the conversation stopped. Familiar opening bars to what would become the anthem of that time. ‘God Only Knows’ sang over and over, voices parading across the star-packed night. And don’t tell me that didn’t bring a little catch to the throat of those listening. Soldiers patrolling the streets, the insomniacs and restless hearts tossing prayers in the air. A pure melody lifted by the haunting glare of a kerosene lamp. Pete would’ve said, life don’t get much better.