JessicaRulestheUniverse.com

This is the novel coronavirus, the microorganism that is fucking everything up right now.

And this is an illustration of the earth’s internal fires from Mundus Subterraneus by Athanasius Kircher, the 17th century polymath who is a character in Daniel Kehlmann’s Tyll.

We knew it was coming. We sensed it in the air that might be carrying droplets of infection, we heard it in the pauses in our conversations, we saw it in the supermarket shelves emptied of toilet paper because everyone knew shit was going down. The empty official assurances, the blithe indifference and vehement denials only stoked our certainty. Humans did not survive this long by not expecting the worst.

Are viruses sentient? They are intelligent. I remember reading about an ancient virus that combined its genetic code with the genome of animals. It may be the root of human consciousness.

I think of the novel coronavirus as nature’s defense against humans, a species with viral characteristics.

I don’t cook, I eat in restaurants or have food delivered. The typical contents of my very old refrigerator are bread, cheese, milk, and leftovers from dining out (which are always pressed on me, the single person who does not cook). In the kitchen, coffee. Sometimes I resolve to stock up on food, eat at home and save money, but when I get to the supermarket I am flummoxed by the selection and end up buying more cat food.

We can always use more cat food. In the event of zombie apocalypse, our organic kibble is human-grade. The guy who used to deliver the sacks would demonstrate this by eating a piece. He no longer delivers kibble, possibly dispirited at having to eat cat food.

Two weeks ago when the pandemic ceased to become an abstract news item (Venice is empty!!!) and became a looming threat, my friend Otsu said we should prepare as if for a siege. If we got sick we would have to be quarantined and would need food and basic necessities. I bought cheese, milk, granola, toilet paper and more cat food. I bought vitamins, antihistamines, meds.

News of contagion grew worse. The other day Otsu said we should prepare for a lockdown (She is Cassandra, whose prophecies people dismiss at their own peril). We met today, but first we had lunch. We went to Ristorante delle Mitre in Intramuros, which has a vast menu consisting of the favorite dishes of bishops and other ecclesiastical personages, priced for the neighborhood office crowd. I had ukoy, laing with shrimp tempura, and minatamis na saging. I record this because lockdown has been announced tonight and it might be my last restaurant meal for a while.

If travel to and from Manila is banned, where will our food come from?

After lunch Otsu had chores so I waited for her at Solidaridad Bookshop. I was tempted to buy more books, but in a lockdown I can’t do events and workshops and have to live on my savings. At least I won’t be going out, so hopefully my funds last. (At least I have funds this month, which is not always the case.) Anyway I have plenty of books and now I have time to read them. In quarantine, ennui is the killer. And that, judgmental non-reader, is what a reading backlog is for.

I am always cheerful when the waiting is over. It’s uncertainty that shreds the nerves.

* * *

The other night, bummed out by the postponement of the Irwin Workshop I was slated to conduct, I finished reading Tyll by Daniel Kehlmann (translated by Ross Benjamin). Set in the Thirty Years War, it brings to vivid life, in rollicking prose (I was reminded of The Once and Future King) such horror and violence as to make the current pandemic look like a picnic. The exiled King of Bohemia meeting the King of Sweden in a camp reeking of the excrement of 100,000 soldiers—the shitshow of history.

* * *

Our first supply stop was Assad’s Mini-Mart where Otsu suggested canned palak paneer (spinach and cheese), dates and dried apricots. As luck would have it I could not find my S&R card so we went to Marketplace at Central Square instead. It is usually uncrowded, but today it was the site of a polite mob scene. I suspect all the people separated by shopping carts in the queue had seen the leaked memo about a briefing for the impending lockdown. I don’t know about you, but a memo on such a dire subject that remembered to “Provide snack for 25 persons” warms my vestigial heart.

Along with still more cat food I bought eggs, bread, and canned tuna (and toothpaste). This is more food than I usually have at home, but I’m fairly sure it’s not enough. I’ll have to make a list of what I have a make a menu. As Ricky pointed out, if food supplies are insufficient, we practice intermittent fasting.

The supermarket employees patiently ringing up our purchases and bagging our groceries—didn’t they feel like doing their own stockpiling?And the day laborers who can’t afford to buy in bulk and will be out of work? And the people who depend on charity for their daily meals? What is the plan for feeding the hungry in lockdown?

* * *

So there is a polite term for my horror of crowds, requiring an invisible force field with a 2-meter radius: social distancing. I knew all that selfie-taking would bite us.

Ah the lockdown starts on the Ides of March. Shakespeare knew a thing or three about pandemics. In Romeo and Juliet the message was not delivered to Romeo because the messenger was in quarantine.

I’m going to keep a journal of the lockdown. This is a small notebook, I’m being optimistic.