Catacombe dei Cappuccini

     A large yellow moon hung, suspended over a dark murky Mediterranean Sea. The city of Palermo lay drowsy beneath the mountains, its inhabitants having retired many hours ago. A strong gust blew dry leaves down a cobbled alleyway.  Tom cats squalled and brawled, a dog mournfully howled into the night, then all was quiet again, except for a small monastery. The Capuchin Catacombs started to wake up and come alive. Each year, on Halloween, the spell death cast over each still form is lifted, when the veil between life and death does not exist.

    Capuchin monks slowly got out of their warm beds, pulling on coarse cloaks, for midnight prayers, all was as it should be above the catacombs, below was a different story. A mummified cardinal slowly stretched, yawning, shaking off the rigors of death, and then hopped down from his perch on the wall. He snapped his jaw into place, then reached up and grabbed a torch that hung on the wall. The Cardinal made his rounds of the catacombs, as he did so, more corpses began to spring to life. One night in the land of the living, they were going to make the most of it!

   The lawyers began to vigorously argue politics, hands waving and flying in the air. It didn’t matter that they had been dead for hundreds of years, they argued the politics of their day. A skeletal maiden passed below, and each of the lawyers in turn stopped what they were talking about, took of their hats and bowed, murmuring “Bella,” as she passed. When she had gone, they went back to their heated discussion.

   Moonlight shone through the bars covering the monastery windows. Mummies climbed off the wall joining the procession, which had begun behind the Cardinal. Long dead musicians joined the crowd, a trumpet sounded, the deceased swayed and danced to the music. The procession passed a group of corpses sitting around a table, playing cards and smoking cigars.

    In a small alcove an atrophied priest performed a long awaited wedding ceremony. The bride stood before the priest, in a moth eaten lace dress, a groom by her side dressed in a black frayed suit and bow tie, his faded hair slicked and parted down the middle of his skull. Death could not still the love that thrummed through their veins, and beat through their hearts. The groom tried to place a ring on the bride’s finger, since that finger was missing, he placed it on her pinky instead. Then they leaned in for a passionate kiss, which would last for an eternity on their lips.

    Skeletal children ran back and forth, hooting with laughter and joy, it was hard not to play for one whole year. A harassed looking husband cowered against the wall, as his angry wife berated him, an argument that transcended death. All this went on below in the catacombs, as the monks prayed for the everlasting souls of the deceased below, on All Saints’ Day. When the rays of sunshine replaced the moon, the corpses slowly climbed back into their places, as death held them in its cold embrace for another year.