EUSAPIA
Non c’è città più di Eusapia
propensa a godere la vita e a sfuggire gli affanni. E perché il salto dalla vita
alla morte sia meno brusco, gli abitanti hanno costruito una copia identica
della loro città sottoterra. I cadaveri, seccati in modo che ne resti lo
scheletro rivestito di pelle gialla, vengono portati là sotto a continuare le
occupazioni di prima. Di queste, sono i momenti spensierati ad avere la
preferenza: i più di loro vengono seduti attorno a tavole imbandite, o
atteggiati in posizioni di danza o nel gesto di suonare trombette. Ma pure tutti
i commerci e i mestieri dell’Eusapia dei vivi sono all’opera sottoterra, o
almeno quelli cui i vivi hanno adempiuto con più soddisfazione che fastidio:
l’orologiaio, in mezzo a tutti gli orologi fermi della sua bottega, accosta
un’orecchia incartapecorita a una pendola scordata; un barbiere insapona con il
pennello secco l’osso degli zigomi d’un attore mentre questi ripassa la parte
scrutando il copione con le occhiaie vuote; una ragazza dal teschio ridente
munge una carcassa di giovenca.
Certo molti sono i vivi che
domandano per dopo morti un destino diverso da quello che già toccò loro: la
necropoli è affollata di cacciatori di leoni, mezzesoprano, banchieri,
violinisti, duchesse, mantenute, generali, più di quanti mai ne contò città
vivente.
L’incombenza di accompagnare giù
i morti e sistemarli al posto voluto è affidata a una confraternita di
incappucciati. Nessun altro ha accesso all’Eusapia dei morti e tutto quello che
si sa di laggiù si sa di loro.
Dicono che la stessa
confraternita esiste tra i morti e che non manca di dar loro una mano; gli
incappucciati dopo morti continueranno nello stesso ufficio anche nell’altra
Eusapia; lasciano credere che alcuni di loro siano già morti e continuino a
andare su e giù. Certo, l’autorità di questa congregazione sull’Eusapia dei vivi
è molto estesa.
Dicono che ogni volta che
scendono trovano qualcosa di cambiato nell’Eusapia di sotto; i morti apportano
innovazioni alla loro città; non molte, ma certo frutto di riflessione
ponderata, non di capricci passeggeri. Da un anno all’altro, dicono, l’Eusapia
dei morti non si riconosce. E i vivi, per non essere da meno, tutto quello che
gli incappucciati raccontano delle novità dei morti, vogliono farlo anche loro.
Così l’Eusapia dei vivi ha preso a copiare la sua copia
sotterranea.
Dicono
che questo non è solo adesso che accade: in realtà sarebbero stati i morti a
costruire l’Eusapia di sopra a somiglianza della loro città. Dicono che nelle
due città gemelle non ci sia più modo di sapere quali sono i vivi e quali i
morti.
Italo Calvino, Le città invisibili
No city is more inclined than Eusapia to enjoy life
and flee care. And to make the leap from life to
death less abrupt, the inhabitants have constructed
an identical copy of their city, underground. All
corpses, dried in such a way that the skeleton remains
sheathed in yellow skin, are carried down
there, to continue their former activities. And, of
these activities, it is their carefree moments that take
first place: most of the corpses are seated around
laden tables, or placed in dancing positions, or made
to play little trumpets. But all the trades and professions
of the living Eusapia are also at work below
ground, or at least those that the living performed
with more contentment than irritation: the clockmaker,
amid all the stopped clocks of his shop, places
his parchment ear against an out-of-tune grandfather's
clock; a barber, with dry brush, lathers the
cheekbones of an actor learning his role, studying the
script with hollow sockets; a girl with a laughing
skull milks the carcass of a heifer.
To be sure, many of the living want a fate after
death different from their lot in life: the necropolis is
crowded with big-game hunters, mezzosopranos,
bankers, violinists, duchesses, courtesans, generalsmore
than the living city ever contained.
The job of accompanying the dead down below
and arranging them in the desired place is assigned
to a confraternity of hooded brothers. No one else
has access to the Eusapia of the dead and everything
known about it has been learned from them.
They say that the same confraternity exists among
the dead and that it never fails to lend a hand; the
hooded brothers, after death, will perform the same
job in the other Eusapia; rumor has it that some of
them are already dead but continue going up and
down. In any case, this confraternity's authority in
the Eusapia of the living is vast.
They say that every time they go below they find
something changed in the lower Eusapia; the dead
make innovations in their city; not many, but surely
the fruit of sober reflection, not passing whims.
From one year to the next, they say, the Eusapia of
the dead becomes unrecognizable. And the living, to
keep up with them, also want to do everything that
the hooded brothers tell them about the novelties of
the dead. So the Eusapia of the living has taken to
copying its underground copy.
They say that this has not just now begun to hap- no
pen: actually it was the dead who built the upper
Eusapia, in the image of their city. They say that in
the twin cities there is no longer any way of knowing
who is alive and who is dead.
and flee care. And to make the leap from life to
death less abrupt, the inhabitants have constructed
an identical copy of their city, underground. All
corpses, dried in such a way that the skeleton remains
sheathed in yellow skin, are carried down
there, to continue their former activities. And, of
these activities, it is their carefree moments that take
first place: most of the corpses are seated around
laden tables, or placed in dancing positions, or made
to play little trumpets. But all the trades and professions
of the living Eusapia are also at work below
ground, or at least those that the living performed
with more contentment than irritation: the clockmaker,
amid all the stopped clocks of his shop, places
his parchment ear against an out-of-tune grandfather's
clock; a barber, with dry brush, lathers the
cheekbones of an actor learning his role, studying the
script with hollow sockets; a girl with a laughing
skull milks the carcass of a heifer.
To be sure, many of the living want a fate after
death different from their lot in life: the necropolis is
crowded with big-game hunters, mezzosopranos,
bankers, violinists, duchesses, courtesans, generalsmore
than the living city ever contained.
The job of accompanying the dead down below
and arranging them in the desired place is assigned
to a confraternity of hooded brothers. No one else
has access to the Eusapia of the dead and everything
known about it has been learned from them.
They say that the same confraternity exists among
the dead and that it never fails to lend a hand; the
hooded brothers, after death, will perform the same
job in the other Eusapia; rumor has it that some of
them are already dead but continue going up and
down. In any case, this confraternity's authority in
the Eusapia of the living is vast.
They say that every time they go below they find
something changed in the lower Eusapia; the dead
make innovations in their city; not many, but surely
the fruit of sober reflection, not passing whims.
From one year to the next, they say, the Eusapia of
the dead becomes unrecognizable. And the living, to
keep up with them, also want to do everything that
the hooded brothers tell them about the novelties of
the dead. So the Eusapia of the living has taken to
copying its underground copy.
They say that this has not just now begun to hap- no
pen: actually it was the dead who built the upper
Eusapia, in the image of their city. They say that in
the twin cities there is no longer any way of knowing
who is alive and who is dead.
Italo Calvino, Invisible Cities
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