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PARTI SAN REVI EW
ti ghtrope between the un a tta ina ble principl es a nd th e benefices; the cit–
izens are pa ri shi o ners wh o awa it mi racles th at never happen, a nd th at
they do n 't se ri o usly expect
to
happen; taxes a re tith es (you a lways give
far less th an you co uld ); a nd the ba ll o t-box is th e os tensor ium, pro–
tected by th ose ove rgrown a lta r boys, the Ca rab ini eri .
Not lo ng a fte r the D 'A rri gos a nd my fa mil y had moved to d iffe rent
neighbo rhoods, I bega n to di scove r Ita li a n mu sic, art, a nd li te ra ture, a ll
of which helped to p re pa re me for the im pact of Ita ly. But it was th e cus–
toms inspecto r a t Rome Airpo rt a t the end of Jun e
1970,
when I arrived
in Ita ly fo r the first time, who made me beg in to un de rsta nd th e cou n–
try. M y wife a nd I had pi cked up our luggage a nd we re wa lking toward
the exit when I no ti ced a co unte r ma rked " Dogana/Doua ne/Cus–
toms/Z o ll. " Unb idden , we consc ienti o usly b ro ught o ur bags ove r a nd
set them on the counter, behind which sa t a man who wore glasses wit h
tinted lenses; hi s cha ir was tilted back a lmost to the wa ll , a nd he was
cushi oning hi s head with hi s hands. H e rema in ed mo ti o nl ess fo r a few
seconds, then lea ned fo rwa rd , muttered
"Ma che cazzo uolete da me?"
("Wha t the fuck do you wa nt from me?"), p icked up a p iece of cha lk,
wrote the letter C (fo r
Contro llato- Checked )
o n o ur un o pened sui t–
cases, flicked hi s wri st to indi ca te th a t we we re to move o n, a nd lea ned
back again.
My immedi a te reacti o n was to la ugh, but as I sa t, jct-Iagged , o n the
bu s tha t was ca rrying me to the center of the Etern a l C ity, I suddenl y
rea li zed the importa nce o f wha t I had just w itnessed . "We a ll know that
thi s busin ess is a fa rce," the customs inspecto r had seemed to say, "so
wh y should I pretend tha t by sifting thro ugh your nea tl y packed under–
wea r I'd be do ing something use ful fo r humanity? We mi ght just as we ll
pretend
tha t I've sifted thro ugh th e unde rwear, so th at yo u ca n catch the
first bus into town and I ca n doze off aga in. "
it
was a moment of illu–
mina tion, a fl aming cross o n the road to Damasc us, fo r a young Jewish
Anglophone-a lso a Vi etn am Wa r d ra ft-res ister, li ving in Ca nada a t the
time-who had been ra ised to believe in the ho nes ty a nd utility of a ll
legitima te fo rms o f la bo r. Th e memo ry o f it la ter helped me to un der–
sta nd Ital y'S insa nely bulky a nd la rgely use less burea uc racy, whose mul –
titudinous empl oyees a re simultaneously benefi cia ri es a nd victims of the
brilliantly programmed no n-functi o ning of a n entire nat ion.
From the young No rth American musician w ho di scove red a nd fe ll in
love with Ita ly in
1970
a nd moved there fi ve yea rs la ter
to
the midd le–
aged writer who left Ita ly in
2001 ,
a menta l qu a ntum lea p is required–
o n my part, a t a ny rate. I spent most of the la te twenti eth century in th e
country of my dreams-happil y, on the wh o le-but last yea r, when