Galileo
       

Did you know that Galileo was a Mason? Okay, he wasn't,
                        but that didn't stop the Masons from digging up his body
a century after his death, performing a secret ritual known
                        only to members of that fraternity, and reburying it

in the church of Santa Croce near the tombs of such
                        humanists as Machiavelli, Michelangelo, and Rossini
and in that way doing their Masonic best to put
                        a sharp stick up the nose of the Vatican that hadn't

exactly jiggled Galileo on its purple-clad knee and told him
                        what a good boy he was when he started talking
about heliocentrism. Italy's a meshuggah country anyway.
                        I mean, they all are, but Italy is, like, meshuggah-meshuggah,

and I mean that in the best way. Case in point: when I was
                        in Rome a number of years ago (and I'm not inventing this,
you can look it up), I went to a jazz club to hear a quintet
                        headed by Romano Mussolini, son of, that's right,

that Mussolini. See? I mean, if you were in Munich,
                        you wouldn't expect to go to a concert by Buddy Hitler
and His Sieg Heil Singers, would you? Only in Italy.
                        Experts says that's because Italy was an ally of Germany

during the war and then its foe, and individual allegiances
                        led to clashes between Fascist and partisan forces that
continue to resonate to this day.The Red Brigades
                        of the anni di piombo or "years of lead" romanticized

the partisans and continued their struggle with shootings
                        and bombings from the late sixties forward; their targets
were mainly elected and appointed officials, many
                        of whom had been Fascist leaders who made no attempt

to hide their past. Countries such as South Africa
                        and Northern Ireland had similar divisions, but they faced
their problems, whereas working out what happened
                        in Italy is like trying to write on water. When I saw him,

Romano Mussolini was playing the piano and not badly, either.
                        And the other musicians were rocking out, slapping the hell
out of that bass and pounding those drums. They weren't
                        exactly cutting edge, though: they were banging out

"Satin Doll," "Misty," and "Mood Indigo" instead of
                        the newer stuff. It worked, though. Those old fascists
in the audience were shouting and pounding their tables,
                        spilling their drinks and scattering ashes everywhere.

I'm presuming they were fascists. They looked fascist,
                        if you know what I mean. Of course, I was there,
and I'm not fascist. Besides, there are worse things
                        than fascists. Like Nazis: in 1943, the German authorities

in Rome demanded that the Jewish community hand over
                        50 kilograms of gold or face immediate deportation
of 200 of their members. I wouldn't exactly call that
                        neighborly, would you? You know who else was a Mason,

but for real this time? Mozart, that's who. Now there's
                        someone who lived a full life. As he lay dying, Mozart
was visited by a man in gray who asked him to write
                        a requiem with the condition that he seek not to discover

who had commissioned it, so even though he was rehearsing
                        The Magic Flute and was 40 pages or so into La Clemenza
di Tito, Mozart took the commission, being typically hard up
                        for cash and also dying. The man in gray was one Leitgeb,

the emissary of Count Walsegg-Stuppach, whose wife
                        had died that same year and who wanted to honor her memory
with a piece of music of which he would pretend to be
                        the composer, thereby proving that Italians aren't the only ones

interested in cover-ups, fakery, deception, illusion,
                        and sleights of hand. Now imagine Count Walsegg-Stuppach
saying to the man in gray, "Leitgeb, or whatever your name is,
                        I hear this Zugzwang or Flugzeug (or whatever his name is)

is pretty good, so tell him to knock out a piece for me,
                        and nothing too complicated, if you know what I mean."
Only Mozart couldn't not be complicated, could he?
                        You can imagine how upset Count Walsegg-Stuppach was

when the Requiem showed up just brimming with all sorts
                        of technical achievement. When word got out in Rome
that the Nazis were threatening the Jews with deportation
                        unless they coughed up that ransom, Jew and gentile alike

streamed into the city's synagogues to turn over jewelry,
                        watches, and cigarette cases. Only the goyim didn't know
what to do once they got inside: take off their hats?
                        Keep their heads covered the way the Jews did? No one

took their names, either, so there's no way to thank them.
                        Look out, baby, the saints are coming through!
"That things are not so ill with you and me as they might
                        have been," said George Eliot, "is half owing to the number

who lived faithfully a hidden life and rest in unvisited tombs."
                        The important thing is to be kind, and also, if you play
a musical instrument, to play it to the very best of your ability
                        every time. When I was in grad school, I lived in

an apartment building that was slowly being converted
                        from a residence for old folks to one for grad students like me.
My next-door neighbor was working on his PhD
                        in violin performance, meaning he practiced constantly.

Some of the old-timers who lived on our floor
                        asked him to keep it down because they wanted to nap,
talk to their grandkids in California, watch Jeopardy.
                        Others left their doors slightly ajar so they could hear.

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Copyright © 2021 David Kirby All rights reserved
from Willow Springs
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission