*
Antonello, who until the accident had been an unquestioning believer, would never again willingly walk into a church. When the Bridge fell so did God and the possibility of God and for as long as Antonello lived, and he lived a long time, he would never again turned to God. Other survivors recounted praying to God as they swam through the muddy waters to the bank, as they crouched behind some structure to avoid the flying debris, as they watched the Bridge fall. They wanted to tell Antonello, who they knew was a believer, that they were eternally grateful to God for saving them. But for Antonello, the mention of God released a surge of rage, violent and unstoppable, and it was impossible for him to remain in the same room with them. Like many Sicilians he had invested a great deal of time and energy in God. Not just going to mass and Sunday school, not just the hours spent lined up in Easter parades and helping out at the local holy festivals for one of the three patron saints of his village, but the hours of prayer and the whispered confessions, and the pouring out of secret hopes and dreams. All this to a God who was cruel.
One reporter viewing the collapse from the air said, ‘It looked as if a child had a tantrum with his construction set and bashed it to the ground.’
‘A God that was like a child throwing a tantrum. What kind of God was …show more content…
The bungalow that everyone else called small, and tiny, and cramped was an oasis, bright and warm and magical.
Now the walls closed in on Antonello. He complained that the bungalow was airless and stuffy. Like a coffin, he thought, like a coffin. He avoided looking at the sketch. He avoided looking Paolina. He paced the small room until unable to bare it any longer he pulled the sketch off the wall. Paolina flinched.
‘Get this fucking thing out of here,’ he said, dropping it hard on the table. The glass shook in the frame. ‘I never want to see it
Antonello, who until the accident had been an unquestioning believer, would never again willingly walk into a church. When the Bridge fell so did God and the possibility of God and for as long as Antonello lived, and he lived a long time, he would never again turned to God. Other survivors recounted praying to God as they swam through the muddy waters to the bank, as they crouched behind some structure to avoid the flying debris, as they watched the Bridge fall. They wanted to tell Antonello, who they knew was a believer, that they were eternally grateful to God for saving them. But for Antonello, the mention of God released a surge of rage, violent and unstoppable, and it was impossible for him to remain in the same room with them. Like many Sicilians he had invested a great deal of time and energy in God. Not just going to mass and Sunday school, not just the hours spent lined up in Easter parades and helping out at the local holy festivals for one of the three patron saints of his village, but the hours of prayer and the whispered confessions, and the pouring out of secret hopes and dreams. All this to a God who was cruel.
One reporter viewing the collapse from the air said, ‘It looked as if a child had a tantrum with his construction set and bashed it to the ground.’
‘A God that was like a child throwing a tantrum. What kind of God was …show more content…
The bungalow that everyone else called small, and tiny, and cramped was an oasis, bright and warm and magical.
Now the walls closed in on Antonello. He complained that the bungalow was airless and stuffy. Like a coffin, he thought, like a coffin. He avoided looking at the sketch. He avoided looking Paolina. He paced the small room until unable to bare it any longer he pulled the sketch off the wall. Paolina flinched.
‘Get this fucking thing out of here,’ he said, dropping it hard on the table. The glass shook in the frame. ‘I never want to see it