Katya Kladova (16)
Urbs Aeterna
A Latin phrase that means “the eternal city,” usually referring to Rome.
“SPQR,” my granddaughter read off of our dwelling’s wall. “What does that mean?”
“The Roman Senate and People,” I replied, stirring the pot of thin soup we had hung above the fire pit. It contained the last harvest from our garden for the year.
“Are we the Roman People?”
“We used to be,” I sighed. “Back when this building was home to the Senate.”
Those times were gone now, buried in the memories of ancients like me. The Roman Empire fell years ago, and we lingered in its ashes.
“Can you read the back wall?” I prompted my unkempt girl. Dust had long merged with the freckles on her face. Her hair hung in clumps from lack of brushing. Not that I am much better. No one could remember the last time we had a proper bath.
“Hmm…” She stared at the chiseled block which used to make up a part of the renowned Roman forum. It now protected our group of survivors from the north winds, but retained its inscriptions. “Fuit… igna… rus? It’s too long, Grandma.”
“Take it one word at a time.” I had done my best to teach the girl the art of reading, which faded in the rest of the survivors.
A voice broke her focus. “Petilia, go help out the hunting crew,” her brother directed.
“Coming!” my granddaughter replied. “I’ll be right back, Grandma.” She bolted off, rushing past the young man that now stepped into the clearing. A makeshift bow hung from his shoulder, the dry wood snapping from its frequent use. Otherwise, like all of us, he was dressed in as many layers of rags as he could manage without sacrificing mobility.
“Are you teaching her to read, again?” he asked.
“Of course. There is no going back to our old glory once we forget how to read,” I defended myself. I had never been the best reader, my skill was limited to what I had picked up in my employer’s house, but nowadays it did not matter what one’s family’s status used to be. The great people of Rome all picked at the remains of their Empire like ravens at a stag’s carcass.
“Books are for the fire, Grandma. No one has time to read them anymore.”
“Don’t break my heart, Gnaeus.”
The young man focused on his fidgeting hands. “The chief was talking about getting rid of you before winter comes, to lessen the amount of mouths we have to feed.”
“I see… I guess I really did live past my time.” I put my wrinkled hand on my grandson’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, I won’t let Kaeso get the best of me.”
“I know, Grandma,” he smiled.
I looked past him, to the Tiber river that ran through our city. Even as everything around it crumbled, its waters kept their deep blue color.
Urbs Aeterna
A Latin phrase that means “the eternal city,” usually referring to Rome.
“SPQR,” my granddaughter read off of our dwelling’s wall. “What does that mean?”
“The Roman Senate and People,” I replied, stirring the pot of thin soup we had hung above the fire pit. It contained the last harvest from our garden for the year.
“Are we the Roman People?”
“We used to be,” I sighed. “Back when this building was home to the Senate.”
Those times were gone now, buried in the memories of ancients like me. The Roman Empire fell years ago, and we lingered in its ashes.
“Can you read the back wall?” I prompted my unkempt girl. Dust had long merged with the freckles on her face. Her hair hung in clumps from lack of brushing. Not that I am much better. No one could remember the last time we had a proper bath.
“Hmm…” She stared at the chiseled block which used to make up a part of the renowned Roman forum. It now protected our group of survivors from the north winds, but retained its inscriptions. “Fuit… igna… rus? It’s too long, Grandma.”
“Take it one word at a time.” I had done my best to teach the girl the art of reading, which faded in the rest of the survivors.
A voice broke her focus. “Petilia, go help out the hunting crew,” her brother directed.
“Coming!” my granddaughter replied. “I’ll be right back, Grandma.” She bolted off, rushing past the young man that now stepped into the clearing. A makeshift bow hung from his shoulder, the dry wood snapping from its frequent use. Otherwise, like all of us, he was dressed in as many layers of rags as he could manage without sacrificing mobility.
“Are you teaching her to read, again?” he asked.
“Of course. There is no going back to our old glory once we forget how to read,” I defended myself. I had never been the best reader, my skill was limited to what I had picked up in my employer’s house, but nowadays it did not matter what one’s family’s status used to be. The great people of Rome all picked at the remains of their Empire like ravens at a stag’s carcass.
“Books are for the fire, Grandma. No one has time to read them anymore.”
“Don’t break my heart, Gnaeus.”
The young man focused on his fidgeting hands. “The chief was talking about getting rid of you before winter comes, to lessen the amount of mouths we have to feed.”
“I see… I guess I really did live past my time.” I put my wrinkled hand on my grandson’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, I won’t let Kaeso get the best of me.”
“I know, Grandma,” he smiled.
I looked past him, to the Tiber river that ran through our city. Even as everything around it crumbled, its waters kept their deep blue color.
My footsteps echoed through the public bathhouse. The temperature in the closed rooms rivaled that of the outside, and the moist air sat heavy in my lungs. The pools now resembled ponds, complete with weeds and moss around their perimeter, as well as water lilies and algae in the center.
I made sure to keep my scarf out of the water as I crouched down and reached for a watercress. Just as I snapped the plant’s stem, I heard the echo of another pair of footsteps in the empty bathhouse halls. With some protest from my bones, I stood up to my full height, which was still below average compared to the rest of the survivors.
“Old lady Sestia,” the visitor started, “I hope you realize why I’m here?”
“Of course, Kaeso.” For once, I did not see his trademark cleaver on his person. He is underestimating me. “There is less and less food to go around. We have exhausted this city of all it could offer without giving a thing back. Winter approaches, and relics like me ought to crumble with the stone.”
“I’m glad you understand,” the leader, who would have been scorned by the Senate of old, nodded.
“Don’t get me wrong, chief, just because you intimidated my grandchildren and the other youth into following you does not mean I will abandon my duty of passing on the Roman culture.”
“Elder, there is no more Roman culture. It fell with the Empire four years ago. The most we can do is survive. Do you truly believe we alone can restore the city’s old glory? After all, we are alone. The East Empire will not come to our aid. Are the ruins around us the culture you hope to pass on?” The tip of his weathered boot revealed the crumbling marble underneath the moss around the pool. A few broken fragments of stone followed the moss into the dark waters.
I ran my fingers over the leaves of the watercress that I still held and thought back to the Tiber, the river that survived the destruction of the Empire without even a scratch. To my granddaughter, whose attention was too focused on survival to bother with memorizing the alphabet. To the weeds, quick to reclaim the roads of the city as their own.
“Don’t worry, I will make sure Petilia thinks it was an accident,” the leader said.
I did not return to our dwelling that day. Instead, I turned towards the colosseum. It now served as a garbage dump for those who remained in the city.
This was not my first time taking the stairs to the highest level of seating, from where the peasants could observe the events. Even though I had only seen a few shows here during the time of the Empire, I had memorized the layout of the colosseum’s stones over the past four years.
It was here that I and the children hid from the terror of the destroyed city, when chaos ruled the hearts of the populace. I had debated trying to find my son, who had stayed home from our evening walk when the walls of the city fell, but seeing the blank and crazed stares of the people once was enough. We waited for the barbaric raid to end.
As I was about to reach the top floor, I glanced outside at the landscape that unfolded beneath the statue of the goddess Minerva, which stood in the middle of an arch. Abandoning the stairs, I climbed next to the goddess and took in the view of my city. It seemed like every building was falling into disrepair. The gardens took over the streets, until I could not tell the difference between forest and civilization. The Tiber waters alone lasted and marked the places where I used to live.
I leaned on Minerva and waited for my enduring body to turn into stone.
Katya Kladova currently attends Newton South High School. She enjoys studying Latin and playing Ultimate Frisbee and video games. She loves her cat, Honey, and hopes to someday be a published novelist.