The Next Tremor

Italy was strapped for money before the global financial meltdown and before Monday's deadly earthquake that swallowed whole villages in the Abruzzo region. Now as tents cities take over the medieval city of L'Aquila to make way for thousands of suddenly-homeless townspeople, financial demands are causing deep tremors of anxiety.

It will take millions, if not billions, of dollars to salvage the tiny hilltowns that once studded this mountainous countryside. L'Aquila, a 13th-century regional capital of stone streets and graceful domed churches, had just finished an initial stage of a multi-million renovation of its expansive Piazza del Duomo. All that hard work was buried under broken glass and dusty brick and mortar in a matter of seconds.

What nature did not crush Monday may well have to be demolished. Structural damage from the quake is so extensive---some buildings noticeably sway from daily aftershocks---that residents guess, in weepy conversations and interviews, that they won't be going home for years.

Some property owners, like Antonio Ponticello, wondered aloud if full recovery--of the local economy and its important tourist trade--was even a possibility. His own home was a bleak example. "Look at this. This is all I have," the 70-year-old said as we stood in front a two-story villa house that had literally been split open, its walls shorn from its foundation.

"Who could live here now?" Ponticello said quietly. "But even so, we are the fortunate ones. We were lucky to walk out."

Italy is blessed and cursed with centuries of man-made beauty. The world's greatest builders and sculptors graced so many regions of Il Bel Paese. That heritage is increasingly costly for those living in the modern age.

The state, rather than private donors, is bound by law to preserve and pay for the upkeep of cultural treasures. This past summer, Prime Minister Silvio Berlusconi warned that life-as-we-knew-it was over for the Italian cultural elite. Funds for restoration and archeological renovations were sharply cut back. Even sure-fire tourist draws, such as the vast grounds of Pompeii, were not safe. That venerable open-air museum lost $60 million in its yearly budget--a drop from $75 million to $15 million--for repairs.

In these dizzying emotional times, no one is even mentioning how much money will be needed to rescue the Abruzzo region. The death toll now hovers around 270 people. Close to 20,000 people are sleeping, for yet another cold and jittery night, in tents or their cars. Berlusconi, in an interview with German media Tuesday, tried to suggest that people should think of their time in the tent cities as a camping holiday.

Berlusconi said Wednesday he meant only to raise spirits with that questionable remark. He later, in an interview with CNN, dodged all questions about when L'Aquila and all the once-lovely villages of Abruzzo could possibly rise from the dust.