Twenty-fourth Entry
Friday, April 10th, 2020
Awake, I lay still, taking in the quiet again. Has it ever been this quiet here, on this small island—100, 200, or even 300 years ago? I doubt it.
There is a stillness as if no humans or animals live here.
Lying in an urban isolation chamber, I recalled the sensation of being alone last night while pedaling into a cold wind on Greenwich Avenue. Suddenly, I had the feeling of being lost. A fear permeated my body. My surroundings felt unfamiliar— which was particularly unsettling because I was riding along a common route home. A fear permeated my body.
The sensation was strong; its flavor reemerged shortly after waking in the morning. The hiss of the steam radiator provided a reassuring steady note of warmth, bringing me back to the comfort of my bed. The discordant knocking and clanking had worked its way out of the heating system by late January. That was back when only the Chinese were suffering from Covid—not our problem.
This quiet is both delightful and confusing. “Where am I?” is always my first question when I wake into this silence. It continues to be hard to believe that I am in Manhattan. After a while, a car goes down the block. I notice its speed, its attitude. Every sound is so distinct—even more so with no anticipation. Both the silence and the sounds have become a surprise.
A squall blew north yesterday, providing an unexpected and enjoyable symphony. The sound of falling rain was clear as in a concert hall or on a country porch, each note distinct. The oversized drops woke my neighbor, who immediately made a phone call. The sound of his overly-loud voice carried through the wall as though it were merely a scrim.
Farther from this city, the virus continues to spread. The first Covid-19 case was reported in famine-ravaged Yemen. Thirty-one of its forty-one food and medicine aide programs have already been reduced or are no longer functioning.
A Good Friday service was held in Notre Dame, the first since the great fire last April. A minister with a few music-making associates gathered in a clear area of the 12th-century cathedral—some in hazmat suits and hard hats. Luckily, it was not raining, or they would have needed to add umbrellas to their protective gear. Instead of breathing and coughing worshipers, there were hundreds of tons of silent charred timbers and melted scaffolding. On the banks of the Seine, the bookseller stalls were closed.
3-minute Audio
Goldberg variations, prelude 1. Interlude in a quiet city.