Pain and Philosophy - A Florentine episode.

Can pain be quantified and expressed before the world in the Metric system? The gestures, convulsions, facial spasms, wet eyes, and those squeals convey the quantum of suffering. But the world has its own replies:

“One must bear the Cross all by oneself. Dear, it is only bad times. No escapade. The Lord will always lead”.

Philosophers pop up all at once around the sufferer more in degree and perfection than Bernardo dei Machiavelli and Giovani Battista Vico! 

Certainly, an observation of silence in those painful moments serves the best tonic to the sufferer than such an external rigmarole of words, without any substance behind them. The sufferer is asked to live upon words! When pain is pounding every cell, can mere words be enough? That ultimate voice should come from within and not from without.

Listen! The sinking man is now making his final call. He is waving at you to be by his bedside. He is whispering but his lips droll inaudibly. Words are taciturn. He is outpouring his heart. Yes. He has finally quantified pain and made his exit.

Sergio Mantello’s quantification certainly stirred my heart. It gave me a prick. The surrounding world before me shrank to a pointless point. I saw the womb of Pain!

As I look out of the window from my apartment, I am seeing a veil of mist covering the Piazza Santa Croce in the smalt of night. Florentine meadows are in meditation. The Basilica of Santa Croce which overlooks the Square is now embracing my vision reiterating with faith and hope. This Basilica which is the largest Franciscan church in the world brings to the pastures of memories the exquisite carvings on the main door Lunetta by Giovanni Dupra - “The Triumph of the Cross”.

Sergio often drew a deep breath looking at it. He would soliloquize - “The triumph of the Cross”. I ask him once:

“What do you actually mean by it”?

“Don’t you get it Placido? Christ was nailed but was triumphant in overcoming his bodily pain. He was well beyond his body and mind. Actually, he did not suffer anything bodily at the Cross as one might otherwise think. He shreds all his mortal perils in one breath. That philosophy was deep in him throughout. Can we also raise ourselves like him in moments of inflicting pain? Aren’t we after all mortals despite our philosophy and visions?”

What answer could be sufficient? I had no idea. I had no such inflicting experience so far to verify the validity of the philosophy. But Sergio finally answered such doubts with his own life.

When was our first meeting? After completing my Civil Engineering, I got my first posting at Florence in the City Planning and Development Department. As I boarded the train from Spello to Florence, I was in a rejuvenating spirit. I always loved Florence for its authentic Florentine atmosphere. If during your Florentine afternoon, you are walking near Santa Croce, you’ll soon realize that there is much more to do in this area than visiting the Basilica. The Square and the surrounding streets always preserved the rich heritage of Florence and strolling about the narrow lanes swept anyone into the past and held him in that singular time of Florence. Peeking into the windows of palaces, one won’t miss the Frescoes painted on the ceilings of the luxury apartments of the Santa Croce District. 

On the South side of the Square - it is called Palazzo dell’ Antella - a long building with a facade decorated with amazing Frescos and with windows of odd sizes will captivate our eyes. More than an Architect and Designer of buildings, my aesthetic heart always admired these antique designs dating back eons. In a true sense, Florence lives her ages across the sprawling grounds of the Basilica of Santa Croce. 

The ground floor of the Palazzo houses shops and an array of restaurants. Souvenir shops, Lether gadgets housing Florentine handicrafts, and Antique dealers also form part of this busy area. 

Typical meals are served in these restaurants and to sit outside and enjoy a lunch with the view of the Basilica in the background has no other parallel experience.

It was during one such delicious afternoon that I first met Sergio Mantello about 40 years ago. He was sitting behind the counter busily attending to his customers. His figure and appearance impressed me. When I handed over my bill, he looked at me enquiringly and asked in his husky voice:

“I haven’t seen you here before. Are you new to this place”?

I told him about my short episode. His blue eyes conjured. He had a natural boon for making immediate acquaintances. 

In no time I became a regular customer at Sergio’s. In the passage of time, we became thick friends. Whenever time permitted him, we used to stroll around Piazza Santa Croce and sit under the Baroque Fountain at the Palazzo Cocchi. Those summer nights will never return.

His life revealed a multifarious personality. In one word, he represented a living Encyclopedia. He was at once a scientist, poet, connoisseur of music and arts, philosopher, photographer, financial expert, philanthropist, and a good businessman. He believed in the philosophy of the Church and was part of the Choir since his childhood. He always loved Baroque music. He belonged to the very winds of Florence. He was a typical Florentine man.

He would ask me about the Plans and Development of the future Florence. He shared stunning views:

“This is the land of holy shrines embedded with designs of Frescoes, beautiful Squares, and of enchanting avenues. Modern architecture should not steal away the olden flavors of the city. Heritage is something one cannot buy with money and modernity. Generations must breathe in eternity through such preservations of heritage and grand designs. Life is an unbroken chain from the past to the present extending to the future”.

Sergio’s views were remarkable.

After my marriage, I moved on to an apartment at Borgo la Croce, still within the vicinity of Palazzo. With my children, I used to frequent his restaurant and they always bet that Sergio’s ice cream was as tasty as Vivoli’s’ in Via delle Stinche.

Time often made no smooth passage for human life. About thirty years ago, Sergio suffered from a certain heart ailment. The doctors suggested him a bypass. Life or death - he believed that god won’t play dice. He wished to avoid the operation but his relatives were dead against it. I tried to console him:

“If god won’t play dice, why can’t you get it done?”

He reluctantly acceded to the request of his well-wishers and consented to the operation but something unfortunate happened. He fled from the operation table in the last minute and created a stunning scene! It was a nightmare for us. 

Deep within, he really had the urge to live. The senses can deceive our supreme philosophy. It is a gentle reminder that after all, we are mortals more than philosophers. Pain and the fear of death- who has really conquered these elements? His odd behavior was justifiable only from his individual perception.

River Arno flowed quietly for thirty more seasons after that incident! 

Sitting on the steps of the Basilica, Sergio once said:

“I don’t know what prompted me to flee from the operation table. My philosophy had really beaten me”.

The second spell of debility began a few years ago. One day he showed his hand to me.

“Placido, see there is swelling around my fingers and Phalanges are getting stiffened. Also watch the reddening of the skin around the areas affected”.

“Go and see your doctor at the earliest” I suggested.

Soon it was discovered that he was suffering from an Auto Immune disease - Rheumatoid Arthritis. It is a progressive inflammatory that affects joints. Painful episodes around the joints follow. Stiffness and deformity could be expected.

As months followed Sergio’s world became very telescopic. He bade farewell to his familiar corners and alleys of Florence. Life forced him to be within four walls.

I visited him now and then. I saw him struggle with pain. Biting his teeth he told me once:

“The Triumph of the Cross - My senses appallingly fail to grasp the idea now”.

I was silent. 

A few weeks passed. He was sinking. He seemed to recognize my presence. I sat by his bed. He clasped my hand. I heard him inaudibly.

“I need Mercy Killing! I must have it!” Tears followed his cheeks.

I was thunderstruck. Bishop Hato was summoned. He read verses from Bible and placed the Cross on his hand. Suddenly he clenched it and in moments fell to eternal sleep.

Perhaps, when senses sank to oblivion, the inner recesses experienced The Triumph of the Cross in those parting moments. 

But one thing. Moments before death threw the veil upon him, he had definitely quantified pain.