GLASS BOX

The Empty City – for Luca Galofaro
BY Aristide Antonas

I realize now that no house is complete. What I see is a bark, a built skin; it seems to form a city, but none of the buildings is a real house; none is a complete structure. None can accommodate a dweller or a guest. The street is alive, as a true city street; but it reveals only this thin skin of a cortex. It is only the exterior part of the houses; therefore, it is just a city mask that contains nothing. “Nothing” is not the right word, but downtown is an intersection made of walls that enclose empty stages. Behind the closed windows one finds only huge empty plots. A window high up is left open; I see the sky. I discern an entrance; I cautiously enter the empty area through this broken door. Inside the block I find only birds, hawks that fly slowly, and four trees that seem to have sprouted long ago. A forgotten stream flows; it forms a small waterfall. How can it be that in a city with such animated sidewalks—full of people rushing—no one lives in homes, how can a city be completely deprived of homes? With my big shovel, I break the ground. As I was walking, I thought I heard a voice urging me to dig. Maybe there is a treasure to be found. But no, beneath the earth I only come across a horizontal vitrine; I make room with my hands to clean a part of it and see through it; it is obvious now: I can glimpse under it the lively city I had missed. The enormous, thick glass plate reveals an entire population working below; already they turn to look at this annoying sunlight coming from above.