The Village Idiot by Steve Stern

Author:Steve Stern [Stern, Steve]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Melville House
Published: 2022-09-13T00:00:00+00:00

6

IN SEPTEMBER OF 1914 Amedeo Modigliani, good Italian that he is, is caught up in the wave of French patriotic fervor. His admiring friend Chaim Soutine is caught up in the fervor of Amedeo’s ad hoc patriotism.

“Make no mistake, Chaim,” Modi assures him, “it’s a war brought about by the colonial, imperial, and protectionist aspirations of the European industrial class. But, buon amico, we’re cowards if we try to hide from history.” Besides, the inseparable Derain and Vlaminck, Moïse Kisling, and the saber-rattling Apollinaire are already in uniform, and Modi will not be thought a slacker.

Chaim doesn’t mind being thought of as a slacker. Or even a coward, for that matter. He doesn’t really follow Modigliani’s reasoning and figures it’s his fourth or fifth fine à l’eau at the Rotonde speaking; he’ll think better of his resolution when he’s sober. Though when is the Tuscan ever sober? But despite his better judgment, Chaim is susceptible as always to his friend’s impetuosity; he is swayed as well by Modi’s argument (however misguided) that citizenship will follow automatically upon their enlistment. So, with a world of misgivings, Chaim accompanies his comrade in penury to one of the induction centers that have cropped up all around the city. The nearest is in a Catholic hospital on the rue d’Assas. There they join the long queue of butchers, bakers, haberdashers, civil servants, pimps. There are besmirched sewer-men up from the tunnels, pudding-faced pigeon fatteners from les Halles, bookmakers, wrestlers, underage boys, and toothless old men. In short, every species of Parisian male is waiting to volunteer. The line winds around the building but moves swiftly, as the men are processed and dispatched into an infinitude of terrors.

In the vestibule, plastered with the propaganda posters featuring le coq gaulois that have appeared everywhere overnight, they are told to undress. They’re given bicycle baskets in which to place their clothes. Some of the men are sinewy and hard from their labors; others waddle forward amid floes of adipose flesh. They are swag-bellied, stoop-shouldered, jaundiced, buttocks and backs dense with hair like animal fur. Among them, Modigliani’s slim, alabaster physique practically glows, and no one is more conscious of his beauty than he. To further distinguish himself from the lumpen herd, he declaims aloud a phrase from his cherished Dante.

“ ‘Hope not to see heaven, for I have come to lead you to the other shore.’“

In this way he provokes the animosity of all within his hearing.

Chaim feels guilt by association, a feeling that only intensifies the debasement his nakedness always inspires in him. He hides his circumcised schwantz as best he can behind the basket of clothes, which leaves the rest of him still exposed and vulnerable. He’s ashamed of his shapeless body and the marks of his childhood punishments still visible over his shoulders and the backs of his thighs. The building is cold and the goose bumps make his skin resemble the rind of some albino fruit.

Having tucked his basket under an arm, Modi strides forward preceded by his conspicuously Yid genitalia.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.