EXCERPT
A cross from Italy’s mainland sat the city of Messina like an indomitable fortress. Proud of its solid
presence, Messina was the travelers’ first encounter with the island of Sicily. The earthy colors of the
buildings and landscape signaled to the visitor or returning Sicilian that Messina and its people
belonged to the island, not to any outside political force or cultural tradition. The clang of the donkey-
drawn carts and the voices calling out to customers to buy wares in the market added to the music of
the city’s sounds. Visitors marveled out loud at the cathedrals and ancient art work throughout the city,
but the locals walked and spoke softly, especially near the narrow slits between the buildings. Visitors
delighted in the snake-like movement of the streets. The streets seemed to lead directly to a famous
church or street market but then would slowly veer off in a different direction. They seemed to be
designed to intentionally confuse. The city offered no help in arriving at a specific destination. Ancient
buildings were so close together that air barely squeezed through. Residents believed that between the
buildings old mysteries sat, holding the true essence of Messina. Whenever one of the townspeople
walked close to the openings, there seemed to be a whisper, not a sound you could hear with your
physical ears but heard in your mind. The whisper seemed to convey a yearning that had been
imprisoned for hundreds of years. When this happened, people scurried past, heads down, attempting
to get away from the whispers in their heads.
