Funeral crashers, flirting, and fireworks

Today has been a mixed bag of activities. I woke this morning to the sound of funeral bells so made a mental note to check into that. As I was leaving the apartment I ran into Ted coming up the stairs. He asked if we could check the water/heater meters today and I said sure if he wanted but I’m not leaving until Friday. This seemed to surprise him, though I’ve mentioned it now about eight times. He said he’d come back on Thursday instead. He asked after my trip and I did the same. I’ll have to warn Wim – his whole family is planning to spend Christmas 2010 in Brussels! Watch out!!!

Next I made my way to the bus stand to get the newest schedule for December. As predicted, the buses have been cut yet again. From now until February there are no more buses to Drewjra and if you want to go to Gharb, San Lawrenz, Zebbug, Ghasri, Ta Pinu, Sannat, Munxar or Kercem you’d better plan on hiking back because after noon there are no more buses. Not even one at 4:30 or 5 pm to take people back. Nada. I guess it doesn’t really matter since I’m only here a couple more days but still…what a pain.

Heading out to Independence Square I saw Grace taking down her shop. I said hello and told her I was sorry I haven’t seen her in awhile, noticing that they’d switched from displaying summer clothing to more winter apparel. She said they were taking down for the day and then she’d be heading over to her/Mario’s shop for the rest of the afternoon. She looked cozy wearing a snug bright green sweater and a denim cap, holding onto a cup of coffee to warm her hands. It wasn’t that cold out since the sun was peaking in and out of the clouds but we talked about how cold you can get when you’re just sitting in one spot all day. I told her I’d heard funeral bells that morning and asked if she’d heard anything and she said that yes, she’d heard someone died. She asked her husband George about it in Maltese and he confirmed that the funeral would be today at St. George’s. She said probably between 3 and 4. I told her I’d been to the one on Saturday for the little baby and I asked after the fact that so many people seemed to be wearing brown instead of black. I asked if it was intentional or if I was just noticing something that wasn’t there. She said no – it’s because of the babies. She said that when a baby dies, “they have nothing to pay for and we shouldn’t be sad.” She said we should be happy because they are going to heaven and so we don’t wear black because there shouldn’t be any mourning. I asked, “even if the baby wasn’t baptized?” And she said “well I am sure they would baptize the baby if they knew that it was not going to make it.” I then asked about the white flowers and pink ribbons instead of the usual colors. And she said “yes, also for the babies. White – the color of heaven.” This too falls into the logic of babies not needing to pay for anything in the afterlife. Flowers are typically used in commemoration as a payment or offering of something that is alive. If babies don’t need such an offering but the commemorative gesture remains, then white flowers would be a way to make the offering without making a “payment” per se. I also asked about how come they came up Triq R. instead of via St. Francis (the back way) and she said there would be two reasons for that. The first would be if the procession included the band and the second would be if they procession came all the way from the hospital in Malta rather than the hospital in Gozo – which was the case with the little girl. I asked when someone would have the band in the procession and she said either because they themselves were in the band or because one of their family members was in the band. The one thing I forgot to ask about was the bells that rang. They too were different – sounding more like the regular mass bells that ring at noon rather than mourning bells. Perhaps this is because there is no call for sorrow. I will check into it. I thanked her for her insight and let her return to packing up the store as George seemed a little put out that my conversation was hindering her work getting done. He wasn’t being rude or anything but he kept working on around us in a way that made me feel like I was getting in the way.

On my way to the bus terminal I ran into Francis. I was planning to find him tomorrow so this saved me the trip. I told him I was leaving Friday and we made arrangements for him to pick me up in Independence Square at 4:15 am so we could catch the 5:00 am ferry. It’s only a 10 minute drive from here to the harbor but because he takes the car onto the ferry he likes to get there about 30 minutes early to join the queue just in case there are any issues. Especially since the 5 and 6 o’clock ferries are the two busiest in the morning.

Next I stopped off to see Sonja at Coffee Break. I almost didn’t bother her because she looked so busy, and she admitted as much to me as well, saying that she’s been working nonstop. I asked her if she’s working all week and she said yes. The fellow she works with, Roberto, had said hello to me because he recognizes me now from stopping to see Sonja and so I said “you work her too hard, you should give her a break!” He laughed and said “What are you saying about me?” (as in, he’s the one who needs a break). We all laughed and Sonja said to me over the counter “You should tell him to take a break and that you can take a break together.” She had pointed her finger at me when she said it and then moved her two pointer fingers together. She gave me a devilish grin and I returned it saying, “Noooo, Sonja. No. I have to go – see you.” And so instead she called back to him and said, “You should take a break together!” By then I was halfway to the front of the café and was saying “bye” and waving over my shoulder as I laughed. He was doing the same. I have to admit that were he not already talking to a friend of his I may have been game for it. He’s not unattractive and he does know how to make good pastries. Isn’t that what every girl looks for in her man?

I wandered back towards Arcadia hoping to run into some other folks I knew and ended up seeing Alfred having drinks with a lady at the Tamarisk, a pub across the street from the primary school that’s just down the block from Arcadia. He was wearing the same thing as he was the last times I’ve seen him – black jeans, white shirt, black tie, gray jacket heavily dusted with dandruff. He was smoking one of the local cigars and drinking whisky. The woman he was with was English and said she moved here in 2005. They were actually in the midst of a legal discussion and though she was nice enough you could tell she didn’t really appreciate the interruption. Alfred introduced me to her as someone who is here studying the weirdos of Gozo. He asked how my research has been going and I told him it was going well and that I was leaving soon. I asked if it would still be alright for me to send him some questions via email and he said of course. After seeing him it occurred to me that he might be able to ask some of his students to fill out a survey for me as well. I’ll have to check into that.

I did walk all the way to Arcadia before turning around and heading back to my apartment. I wasn’t sure where I wanted to be located for the funeral. I could go to St. Francis Square where everyone would gather for the procession, or I could stay in St. George’s and perhaps take some photos as they entered the square. I decided to stay in St. George’s and managed to take a video clip of the procession of 11 priests, 3 acolytes and about 20 mourners as it rounded the corner of the church and up the stairs. I recognized George among the PB’s. I then exited the apartment, having already changed into black and headed in myself.

This funeral was not as well attended as the last few, with only about 35 people total. I couldn’t get over how many tourists kept wandering in as the mass was about to start and found myself nodding in agreement when one of the older locals got up and went to the back of the church and asked some of them to leave. I couldn’t believe how many continued to stream in, taking photos despite the fact that there was obviously a coffin sitting in the middle of the row and that a mass was going on. But they did it nonetheless, walking the perimeter of the church and taking the photos – some with flash. The whole time I thought, “I get it, you’ve never been here before…it’s cool to take the pictures of the inside of the church…but can’t you wait another 20 minutes until the service is over?” My own disdainful reaction made me all the more aware of my own intentions and presence. It also made me grateful that I know the drill of Catholicism and can follow along respectfully despite not knowing the language of Maltese. I did see that the man who handed out prayer cards left out the tourists at the back but included me. I guess that’s something. It helps that I threw money into the collection plate as well, I am sure.

Oh and this reminds me – the other day during the funeral for the little girl, the woman who was standing next to me was joined by her daughter. The daughter kept slowly backing into her mother whenever she wanted to say something to her and then the mother kept slowly backing into me. Soon enough I had t move completely because the daughter had backed us into some marble stairs. It was almost comical and the daughter had no idea she was doing it. I was thinking about how daughters can be like that, almost smothering at times. The woman turned to me at the same moment and we sort of gave each other exasperated looks and she said something to me in Maltese! Ha. Of course, I have no idea what it was but I’m telling you…give me another 9 months here and would be doing my damnedest to learn.

It turns out the funeral was for a 65 year old man named George. I couldn’t tell at first if he was survived by a wife, as the front row in the church had 4 people in it and they could’ve all just been his children. When the priest finished the mass and came down to shake hands with the family there was only one woman he gave condolences too and I saw that she had gray hair and the rest did not. Perhaps she is the wife and the others are their children. The other thing that caught my eye during the service was that one of the acolytes was either new and still learning or just needed reminding because he was so young. He seemed to be following the direction of one of the priests more than the others who were more experienced, anticipating needs and cues. One of them even went around and took the back of the vestments of all of the priests and placed them behind the chair so that when they next sat down they wouldn’t sit on them. I thought of my own experiences as an acolyte and how the most trusted of jobs (like with the incense) were always given to the older, more seasoned, and less fidgety individuals. I thought of how hard it was to be young and stand still. How despite the fact that it was a funeral there is often still fun to be had in youth as the two younger boys kept trading grins over some inside joke that they alone would think was funny at a time like that.

There are fireworks going off outside today. Tomorrow is a public holiday. I’m not exactly sure why, but there have been fireworks intermittently throughout the day and at noon, the bells of St. George’s rang for an hour and 15 minutes straight. The fireworks remind me that if tomorrow is a public holiday some of the stores will be closed and I was planning to buy some things tonight. Better get to it.