Journal of the Plague Year 10

 It was first said that the occurrence of Plague in London in 1665 derived from Asia or Africa. At the beginning of September, 1664, news and rumors swirled that the Plague had returned to Holland where its appearance in 1663 the onset was blamed on visitors from Italy, and the Levant, now the area defined as Israel, Lebanon, and Syria. “Some said it was brought from Candia (Crete), others from Cyprus.” Such disasters always derive from somewhere else. But as HF (the Journal’s narrator) says, without newspapers to spread the rumors, the reports of the plague could only be transmitted by word of mouth, hence the dissemination of news by rumor. However, after a while the London mill slowed and people forgot the threat. Daily life remained normal. Nothing had occurred there: there was no plague. Or so it seemed. But then at the beginning of December, 1664, “two Men, said to be French-men” died of the Plague in London. In the last week of December another man died and then no sicknesses were reported and again it was believed that the ‘Distemper” was gone. But then on the 11^th of February another person died in a wholly other house and it was then that the citizens people began to worry and its spread could not be attributed to foreign agents. The plague was there.

            It begins slowly. An occurrence here and then there, a death here and then a death there. In early January 2020, word came from China regarding “a mysterious respiratory illness” then spreading in Western China, and on January 8 the CDC first issued its first public alert about the coronavirus. For us, China has become the source of plague; That the coronavirus was said to derive from China was convenient: China was already an economic and political enemy. The disease was named on January 9 as the novel coronavirus. On February 6, 2020, Patricia Down of San Jose, California became the first death in the United States said to be caused by the novel coronavirus. She had not traveled anywhere. This showed that the coronavirus could be transmitted in community and was already moving undetected in the United States. The plague was here.

HF regularly refers to the occurrence of plague as a “visitation.” This suggests that the plague did not belong there; rather that it arrived to London City from somewhere else. In Egypt God had “visited” plague on the Egyptians. Unnatural occurrences happened. The Egyptians suffered. Then, in the desert God had visited plague on the petulant and disobedient Hebrews. They suffered. But even unwelcome guests eventually depart from a visit and quiet and peace would be returned. A visitation suggests that as suddenly as the visit begins so quickly might it end. In the wilderness as soon as God so decreed, those most guilty had been removed, usually by death, and the plague vanished. Nevertheless, the occurrence of the plague is a ‘visit,’ and is not inherent to human existence. The visitation in London had made the city unsafe—when the plague departs—and the City’s health would return to an original state of spotlessness and be again without blame. And as at the beginning, so was it at the end: with the decline of infections the threat was forgotten. In London, as the incidence of Plague seemed to have decreased, the people gave up “their former Cautions, and Care, and all the Shyness which they used to practices; depending that the Sickness would not reach them, or that if it did, they should not die.” 

Today’s “visitation” has been met with masks, stay-at-home orders, social distancing, and now the availability of a vaccine. And the measures have seemed to be effective and incidence of plague have declined significantly. But people begin to feel invincible and have begun to abandon safe practices. Some even refuse vaccination. For too many the visit has ended. In fact, the plague has remained within the community. The visitation is really an occupation. The plague will not return: it is already here.  Doctor Rieux, narrator of The Plague says, “So all a man could win in the conflict between plague and life was knowledge and memories.” Former President avoided knowledge and this denial led to many deaths. More than 500,000 have died of coronavirus. And we might have memories, those who would remember. And yet, so much about this plague is already forgotten.  

Journal of the Plague Year 9

 It is mid-May in the year 2021 and outside there is a great deal of noise. I hear the volumes of sound that come from the lawn mowers and blowers and weed-wackers that blast through the windows and doors. I am reminded of Thoreau’s notice of the Fitchburg Railroad. In the Walden chapter “Sounds,” Thoreau writes, “The whistle of the locomotive penetrates my woods summer and winter, sounding like the scream of a hawk sailing over some farmer’s yard, informing me that many restless city merchants are arriving within the circle of the town, or adventurous country traders from the other side.” Perhaps he is referring to the shrill of the train whistle, or perhaps to the screeching noise of the train braking on a stretch of the track. The sound invaded his quiet. Today the snarls of the contemporary gardening engines that manicure lawns might be employed on Nature but they actually have no other connection to it and do tend to drown out at least the songs of the birds. Actually, the mowers, etc. consume fossil fuels and pollute the air which then smells from gasoline vapors. 

     But ironically, I think I miss the quiet that I experienced when the lock down occurred in March 2020.  On March 13 Minnesota Governor Walz had declared a State of Emergency and urged that all events with 250 or more attendees be cancelled or postponed. My last social engagement took place on Friday, March 14. On March 15 schools were ordered closed for two weeks, and a day later Walz ordered the closing of public places: restaurants, bars, coffee shops, gyms theaters, breweries, ski resorts and other public places. Finally, the order to stay-at-home was issued for March 29. Still permitted to remain open were the supermarkets, the drug and (thankfully) liquor stores. At the latter only curbside pick-up was available. As long as we maintained social distancing and wore masks, exercising in the outdoors continued to be allowed.
     But the streets for the most part went silent and eerily empty. Ford Parkway, a walking quarter-mile from my residence, a thoroughfare that was usually traffic-heavy was suddenly almost empty of cars, trucks, most public transportation vehicles and pedestrians, except, for the latter, of course, those out for solitary or socially distanced and masked walks or runs. The air traffic had been for the most part grounded: air travel had been reduced 87% domestically and 95% internationally. There was on the ground and in the air almost no noise and almost no activity. I had been cautioned not to touch the walk button at the crosswalks without gloves of which I owned a large box, or at least the prophylactic of a disinfectant wipe which I tried to carry with me where e’er I went, but really there was no cause to wait for the light to change because no vehicle except a few empty public buses traversed the road in either direction. Pedestrians were scarce, save for a few children and adolescents on their bicycles or congregating in small groups stood at what appeared to me to be in too close proximity. The retailers were closed, except for the pharmacy, the supermarkets, and the liquor stores (thank goodness!), and even the latter offered curbside pick-up, but I chose to travel to the markets only at the hour designated for the elderly.
     One characteristic of the pandemic that I experienced was the aura of silence—and I enjoyed it. In the silence I could hear again. In Journal of the Plague Year DeFoe described the sound of those dying in London, 1665: he wished that he could “repeat the very Sound of those Groans, and of those exclamations that I heard from some poor dying Creatures, when in the Hight of their Agonies and Distress; and that I could make him that read this hear, as I imagine I now hear them, for the Sound seems still to Ring in my Ears.” Today our dying has been done in isolation and has added to the silence. Though I savored the quiet of the pandemic, the sounds of the silence of our dying during the pandemic was not comforting.
     As I write the sound of the planes split the air and the cars speed by on the road before my home. The mowers and blowers growl menacingly. The pandemic is receding and the noise returning. 

 

 

Journal of the Plague Year 8

The current experience of the COVID-19 pandemic shows that the plague might be nearing an end, at least in the United States. Mask mandates are disappearing, social distancing requirements are being eliminated, and all businesses, gyms and offices are preparing to open at almost full capacities. The word ‘normal’ appears more and more in news stories, though  I don’t know what they mean!
     I needed some essentials today at the local supermarket. Usually when I go into the market for a single item (like a lettuce and tomato, for example, for my veggie BLTs) I rarely make it out of the store for less than $50.00, and so I had expected to exit with at least one double-bagged assortment of supplies and goodies, and hoped that I had remembered the lettuce and tomato. Even when I make a list there is always some attractive display of a food I know I’d like to consume, maybe. I still had sufficient quantities of toilet paper and yeast, but today organic strawberries were on sale as was pineapple and watermelon. Or maybe I just needed to leave the house, an experience rare in the past months. I turned off the house lights, changed from my slippers into outdoor shoes, checked the weather to make certain I wouldn’t catch cold or suffer heat prostration walking from my car into the food emporium, pulled the appropriate outer garment from the closet and then put on my mask.

     Though the CDC and the governor have said that outdoor masks are not required for most of the population and certainly not for the fully vaccinated, at many establishments, and certainly supermarkets, indoors masks are still de rigeur. I have not stepped outside of my apartment door without wearing a mask for almost fifteen months; I keep a sufficient supply in my front coat closet and another in the glove compartment of my car. And it suddenly struck me that I’d forgotten what my face would feel like unmasked out of doors. For more than a year of seasons only the upper half of my face has touched the air, and my nose has inhaled only its own exhalations. I wondered what the world, what I, would look like unmasked. For over a year I had seen very few people without masks, even on my early morning or afternoon walks. And even out there, as a seemingly unmasked person approached from the opposite direction, s/he would reach down and raise a mask to cover the face as s/he passed by me. 

          I brought two pints of the strawberries to the counter but I hadn’t read the advert carefully enough: only the first one was on sale and the second pint cost more than double the on-sale price. Through her mask and from behind her plexiglass cover she offered to show me the daily flyer, and through my mask and in front of her screen I responded that would not be necessary. Hell, I was already at the cash registers and I like strawberries! I am fortunate and can afford this luxury. I made my purchase and walked to the market doors; everybody going in and coming out were masked. It is normal.  

DeFoe writes in Journal of the Plague Year that “where the Plague was in its full force, there indeed the People were very miserable . . . but after it was gone, they were quite another sort of people, and I cannot but acknowledge that there was too much of the common Temper of Mankind to be found among us all at that time: namely to forget the Deliverance, when the Danger is past . . .” Defoe suggests that soon our experience of Plague will be forgotten and people will attempt to return to their usual ways, before the onset of the pandemic. I know that we will soon walk outside unmasked, though it is now being suggested that the masks may be appropriately worn during certain seasons. I know that I would like to feel again the world on my face, but I am aware that it will be a different world that I will experience.

 

Journal of the Plague Year 7

For almost fifteen months now I have donned a mask whenever I stepped out of my door: when I carried the garbage bags to the building dumpster or brought the recyclables to the designated  containers; when I answered the apartment entrance door when buzzed by masked Federal Express, United Parcel Service or Amazon workers delivering some thing I had ordered because I would not venture out to a store for any necessary item when it could be had by delivery without having to leave home; when at the supermarkets, the doctor’s office, along the streets where I lived and along the paths that I walked twice daily; when anyone knocked on my door I answered only if they were masked, and if a serious repair became necessary then the worker could not enter unless wearing a mask. Companies advertised their safety cautions as selling points. Though outside of our homes we wore masks, we nevertheless were also required to maintain social distancing measured in six feet increments. In every store the floor had been marked out in six feet increments to ensure proper degree of separation. Even the sidewalks outside establishments were suitably measured out in requisite six-feet increments because admittance to any store was by law controlled to a delineated population. Suspicion remained paramount: despite the masks of those we passed we wondered, do they “have it?” When we spoke to each other it was from behind and through masks. Nothing remained clear. I remember growing up watching the television shows The Lone Ranger and Zorro and wondered aloud, “Who was that masked man?” I’m still wondering. Once in the early days of the pandemic when I shopped during the hour reserved for older folks a masked woman passed me in an aisle and said even with some cheer, “Hello, Alan,” but I did not recognize the top of her face nor her voice and I was loathe to approach any closer to engage in a conversation that might allow me to better identify her but which proximity might lead to infection. I answered her ‘hello’ and moved on.
     I watch school children at school bus stops and on the playgrounds all wearing masks. They play the normal games, but all is not at all normal. A group of five-year-old sit in the sandboxes; all are masked. They sit and play calmly as if nothing is amiss, but something is unquestionably amiss. I consider that some of these children who had recently begun school have not ever seen the whole face of their classmates. What must they be thinking?
     Once people hung foam dice and crosses and other memorable paraphernalia from the rearview mirrors of their car. Now masks hang there ready for a quick turn into a Starbucks coffee house or to pick up shirts at the cleaners. I keep a supply of masks handy in my glove department but actually I don’t leave my house without a mask and so have never had need of the surplus supply. At the beginning of the pandemic when masks were in short supply individuals organized to make masks for the communities, but now masks have become big business and cloth covers come in a variety of fabrics and patterns. Companies even put their logos on masks! I wonder if certain masks will become collector items the way certain t-shirts have become more collectable and valuable as investments over time.
     Masks now litter the sidewalks and roadways. I suppose people just rip the mask off and toss it down when it gets in the way of an unplanned intimacy or if the mast just becomes too uncomfortable to wear in the first place. In colder weathers condensation rendered the masks soggy and snotty, and during the warmer months they become heavy with sweat. Masks acquire odor. I do not know which masks, if any, are biodegradable, but I imagine that when our civilization is dug up by archaeologists, they will uncover our face coverings as one resource for understanding thisr plague year.
     What will it be like when we will begin to go about without masks again. When again our faces will be all exposed I wonder what it is that we will see: will there be relief or fear in the visage? Will there be a heightened recognition of the times through which we lived or a forgetfulness of it all. We will never be normal again, but then, what will be normal life?