There are actually two different versions of FOUR THINGS (etc.)  presently in the world--a hardcover that is available in libraries and bookstores, and a paperback that was sold at Scholastic Book Fairs.  FUN FACT:  The chapter on Pompeii in each of these books is DIFFERENT.  FUNNER FACT:  Both of those books are WRONG. 

Yes, it's TRUE!  Or, rather, what FOLLOWS is true.  (If you're so inclined, you can insert this in your book, beginning at the last paragraph of page 40.)

 

When we were standing at Pompeii's forum--which is a Roman-type gathering place, sort of like the grass fields on the Mall at the Washington Monument--we had a perfect view of the mountain, and Sergio told us what it was like for the people of Pompeii the day they got buried by the volcano.  He said that people stood right where we were standing, probably talking about ordinary things and enjoying the view, when the ground started to shake.  Then, before they could get home to their families, or find their best freinds, the top of Vesuvius blew off in an enormous explosion of lava, and even though the mountain was a few miles away, darkness fell over Pompeii within MINUTES, and 20 feet of ash covered the city within hours.  And then it was all quiet.  Very quiet.  Very, VERY quiet.  And it stayed like that, forgotten in time, until the 1700's , when someone was out digging a hole and found the place. 

I saw some of the original Pompeii people while I was there.  And I don't mean ghosts, either.  I saw THE PEOPLE.  Well, OKAY, they were models. You see, the archaeologists who dug out Pompeii found lots of bodies, but there wasn't much left of them, except these perfect outlines of their shapes in hardened ash.  So they filled the outlines up with plaster, and made casts of the people.  There are a couple of buildings that have these people-casts in them, frozen in time, running, hugging other people.  Molto eery.

We didn't see all of Pompeii, because it's pretty big, and I guess tour groups just get to see the guide's favorite places.  Sergio, as it turns out, has a special interest in frescoes, so we got to see lots of those.  Frescoes, Delia, are murals that Italians have been painting forever and ever.  They have some way of getting the paint to bleed into the wall, which sounds weird but seems to work pretty well, seeing how the frescoes of Pompeii were put there before 79AD, then had a volcano erupt all over them, then were buried in ash for about 1,700 years, then were dug out and looked at by tourists for another 200 years or so, and the pictures are STILL there.

My mother had lots of questions about these frescoes, because she'd been reading all about Michaelangelo and his frescoes of the Renaissance (which was MUCH later than the days of Pompeii, in case you hadn't figured that out, which I'm guessing you hadn't).  Sergio liked answering my mother's questions.  I could tell this by all the hand-waving, and other very obvious flirting he was doing, which I found REALLY disturbing.

Near the end of the tour it became apparent that Sergio was not only a Martian and a flirt, he was also a pervert.  He took us to see some of the "most interesting frescoes of Pompeii," as he called them, the first of which were in a little building called a brothel.  (In case you don't know what that is, it's a place where prostitutes work.)  The brothel was off on this little side street, kind of hidden away.  We knew what turn to take, though, because--Sergio showed us this--there was a carving in one of the big pieces of stone that the street is made of.  The carving is about a foot long, and it is of a you-know-what, pointed in the direction of the brothel.  Someone in our group asked why there wasn't just a street sign telling people where the brothel was, and Sergio said that lots of sailors came to Pompeii from all over the world, and they spoke lots of different languages, and most couldn't read, so the picture of the you-know-what was clear to everyone.  Sign language of sorts.  (You HAVE figured out what I'm talking about, right?  If not, think about the male anatomy chapter in our Human Growth textbook.)

Once inside the brothel, we got to see the many interesting frescoes.  There were lots of them, all over the walls above these little rooms.  They were paintings of people, um, DOING things.  Lots of DIFFERENT things.  Apparently, the customers who visited the brothel pointed to pictures of the "services" they wanted.  Sort of like a spa.  And that's all I'm saying about that.  You can use your imagination, but I recommend you don't.  I'm just glad there were none of those plaster-cast people in THAT building.

The next stop on Sergio's twisted tour was the House of Vettii, where some merchant lived a couple thousand years ago.  The first thing we saw when we walked in the door (actually, there was no door, but you know what I mean) was a fresco of the God of Fertility.  This painting, Delia, is right up there on my Top Ten List of Hideous Things I Have Encountered in Life.  This was not an attractive god.  And one thing that was particularly grotesque about him was that he had the HUGEST you-know-what--think eggplant on Miracle Gro--and he was (I'm not making this up) weighing it on a scale.

My first thought upon seeing this:  Did the merchant who lived there have KIDS?  If so, I feel REALLY sorry for them.  Not only did they have a volcano erupt all over them, but--and this may be worse, actually--they had to bring their freinds home to a house with THAT next to the door.

My second thought:  MUST ERASE ALL MEMORY OF THIS EXPERIENCE.

My third thought:  Where am I?

(I do amuse myself, don't I?)

Worried that the panini I had eaten for lunch might become the next thing spewing all over Pompeii, I turned to leave the room.  That's when I noticed that my mother was standing very close to me.  Which was good, because I had something to ask her.  I pointed to the fresco and said:

"Don't you think that's inappropriate, Madre?"

She was non-responsive.  (Catatonic, perhaps.)

I slipped the phrase book out of her hand, began flipping through it, and said, "I, uh, wonder what the Italians call a, uh--" which seemed to rouse her from her state.  She grabbed the book away from me--rather rudely, in my opinion.  (And I thought education was the POINT of the trip.)

Sergio wandered over and stood next to us right about then.  I could see that made Mom REALLY uncomfortable, the three of us standing there in front of that enormous you-know-what, so I decided it was time to get rid of this guy and his red umbrella once and for all.  I said, loud enough for Sergio to hear:  "Hey, Mom, don't you think that God of Fertility looks like Dad?"

She looked at me with a really shocked expression on her face, and I began to think that maybe it would have been a good idea to think that through a little more before saying it, but then she glanced back at the (ridiculous) fresco, and then at (ridiculous) Sergio--who was, now, slinking away from us--and she started cracking up.  And when Sergio opened his umbrella and led us all to the bus, Mom stayed with me in the back of the crowd, occasionally snorting with laughter.  I was very proud of myself, having had such a positive effect on her behavior.  (It was probably heat-related hysteria, but whatever.)

When we got to the bus the only seats left were at the very end of the aisle, across the back.  We hopped up together and sat there, our feet not quite touching the floor.  Spontaneously, throughout the ride to the ship, my mother would start giggling, I guess remembering our moment in front of the fresco.  This made people turn and look at us--me with a green #11 on my cheek, my mother laughing like a lunatic, both of us perched there, oour legs swinging.  It wasn't embarrassing--no, not at all. 

Finally at the port, Sergio tipped his umbrella  and said, "Buon Viaggio."  (Which I now know means "Have a nice trip," since I managed to get the phrase book back, and which--by the way--doesn't include the Italian word for you-know-what.)  My mother said "Grazie" to him, and then she started laughing all over again, so I pulled her onto the boat. 

(GOOD GRIEF!!!)

 

 

 

 

(The rest of the chapter in the book is accurate.)