Lights. Partly Mazzano is light up like a football field. Sometimes blue, sometimes yellow light dazzles your eyes. Instead of tender soft night you feel like standing at the gas station at the truck headlights. Romantic church ruin has been changed to Coliseum, historic cripple that is constantly under surveillance. We tried to enjoy the night sitting peacefully at the ruins and drink wine in balmy night. It would have been cosier at the roadside or at the display window. But probably that’s what ruins are, just a display window of history.
Corners. Luckily there are corners, where darkness can freely laze. Like spider webs, darkness softens shapes. Corners invite you to sit down to drink some wine in peace. No-one comes, no-one disturbs you, because there isn’t anyone. Just walls, warmed up by sunlight; soothing touch of hundreds years old stone surface. Stone, cooling at daytime, warming at night. Stone is the cream of Mazzano. Also darker narrow alleys are counted as corners.
Scent. In the night, scents become stronger. But how does Mazzano smell? Light breeze brings coolness of forest into the village. But is coolness a scent? Own skin smells sun, salt and sun cream, Mazzano rocks dust. Mazzano has it’s special scent, but it’s hard to define. It’s like an apartment of a very old person, something stifling, something pleasant and safe. And night opens the windows.
TV. Television reveals, which apartments are inhabited and which ones are not. Football, news, celebrity shows. I’d like to stay watching today’s game through the window, just to be part of a family in Mazzano. Probably peeping through window would be a bit more than reading over somebody’s shoulder, too intimate. Probably nobody would offer me a drink or snacks, or had a nice chat at the half time. Naturally, television is only part of the truth. Romantics sit inside in the candle light, whispering and sipping wine. And readers read in silence, and only shimmer of their reading lamps revels their presence. And drinkers drink their wine, staring the stars through the small windows of Mazzano, or wandering outside, sitting on stonewalls. Probably romantics drink some wine too when browsing the stars.
Cats. On the night-streets, there are more cats than people. City of cats, night of cats. More cowardly ones just sneak away at the wall side, more arrogant ones just stare you indifferently. Friendly ones come and have a look if you have something for them, food or tenderness. Night belongs also to birds and dogs. Dogs are responsible of the nightly soundscape of Mazzano. Canon begins and ends, again and again, forever. Even though it sounds that there is only five dogs, and two biggest ones always end the story. In my way to Lavatorium-building, two dogs loose their temper and sound wall almost makes me to stop. Angry man asks, what I’m doing there, in Italian. Then he realises that I don’t really understand, or at least can’t answer, and he immediately forgets my presence. I awake in my bed at the small hours, pigeon hanging out on the windowsill staring at me. Pigeon’s eyes are stunning orange.
Violence. Mazzano night is peaceful. Nothing bad can happen, no-one fights, only tourists and lovers squabble a bit. Old couple fought at the daytime, while I was sitting and drawing in the front of their house. At night they are silent, staring peacefully the stars. Or maybe they have already seen their stars, and just lay silently on their separate beds, staring at the ceiling, in a small room in a small rocky house in Mazzano, surrounded by darkness, which at the daytime is a forest. Thinking about their role in a movie, time when they were young and stunning.
Bees. Do bees sleep at nights? No, at least in Mazzano. Sonorous hum never stops. One day I saw a bee going in to the wall, through a hole in the door side, in to the humming wall. Maybe the wall is just a big beehive. Maybe all walls in Mazzano are beehives – Mazzano is not human city, but a bee city, world’s biggest beehive. People think they rule the city, but in reality they are just guests of bees, who let them sleep inside they hives, which they warn up or cool down, when it’s necessary.
Bar Falco. Is the last place, where people hang out at night. When it closes, Mazzano becomes silent, is left for voices of dogs, night birds, river, cicadas and for few most loud-croaking frogs, somewhere down to the river, in the darkness.
Stars and moon. Mazzano has been designed to watching stars and moon. Observatory-city. Not structurally, but atmospherically. You just have to find right dark spot. But I’m not writing more about stars and moon, I promised to let Frida Maria to do it.