A Lecture
There is a castle in Ferrara in Italy which once from one of its towers flew the red flag of communism
It was a proud moment
On the 20th of December 1920 a number of our comrades were holding a meeting in the castle when a fascist parade passed by in the street below
Bombs were thrown
Whether planned or not three fascists died in the attack
The attack was a triumph a strike for freedom
The castle still bears the scars of the attack
On its walls three garlands celebrate the names of the dead fascists
Ai martiri Fascisti del 20 Decembre 1920
Beppe rose from his chair
Sit down Beppe let the man speak
Sir do these garlands still exist?
I was in Ferrara only a month ago and these names are still celebrated on the red castle walls
Is it not strange then that many loyal communists died but no lasting memorials to them are to be found in the area?
That is the price of freedom Sir
That is a cliché
That is the truth
Sit down Beppe
Beppe sat down and looked at Christina
She was wearing faded blue jeans and a white shirt belted at the waist
Christina’s sandals lay loosely on the stone floor in front of her
Where is you rifle comrade?
I have no rifle
Never be without your rifle Christina
Beppe how many times do I have to repeat this to you?
The war is over
The war is finished
La guerre est finie
As they left the church both Beppe and Christina left a few coins on the plate by the door
The lecture had been free but a retiring collection had been suggested
Christina’s Shirt
You are really only in love with the image Christina
Explain yourself
Look at you
You are dressed like a man
You are wearing old boots scruffy trousers held up by an ancient leather belt
I dress like you comrade
You dress for yourself
Look at your shirt Christina
You shirt is your image
Your buttons are provocative left open to suggest your breasts
A closed invitation
When you raise your rifle your comrades look at the movement of your breasts and not the enemy
You will kill them all Christina
And you too will die in time in a cornfield on a very hot day
An aged fascist will glimpse your white shirt reflective in the strong sun
He will see a hint of your breasts as you move quietly in the heat of the afternoon
His prick will harden as he watches you
He desires you
He wants to fuck you
But he cannot have you
You are untouchable
This angers him
He raises his rifle and shoots you in the throat
A tear will run down his rugged face for he has destroyed a thing of beauty
Beautiful but vain
You will die in agony choking on your own blood
Your shirt will be stained red as will the corn that surrounds you
The day will remain beautiful and there will not be any noticeable change in the temperature of the afternoon
But you will feel cold
Very cold
Your last conscious image will be of your weeping comrades and the golden cornfields
You will take this with you into eternity
What about the old fascist will he remain sad?
For a while
You will occur in his dreams from time to time
In his dreams he is your comrade
You are in the cornfield with him
His head is resting on your breasts
In the distance he sees himself raising a rifle
Without waking you he raises his rifle and kills the aged fascist on the hill
You open your eyes and enquire whether the war is finished
He replies that the war never started
It was all a dream
A Street of Light
Can you see anything?
No but I am sure that they are there
The street is so well lit
There are no shadows
Mark my word they are watching us
Will you be taken alive?
And be tortured?
Then we will die in a hail of bullets
Possibly
I will fall on my favourite chair with a dozen bullets inside me
Why a dozen?
Why waste the extra bullet
The fascists will abuse my corpse
I will be fucked after death by each of them
My body will still be warm and supple
You too will be abused
A rifle will be stuck up your arse and the last shot will be fired
Fucking homosexual
They are all homosexuals
All communists are homosexuals
And we will be left there for a day in the heat until two cowards come to collect our bodies
Our room will stink of death
The cowards will wear masks and images of the Virgin Mary on their shirts
We will be carried to a lime pit and dumped there without burial
The cowards will clean our little flat
They will live there with their whores
They will fuck each other on our bed
Without changing our love sheets
Shit stains will soil our chairs
All fascists are homosexuals
They do not wash after fucking
The Devil invented anal sex
All fascists are children of the Devil
Be quiet Christina
Can you see them?
I think I can see them in the shadows
There are no shadows
The street is so well lit
They hide in the shadows
The wooden door of our building has opened
The fascists are pouring in
Why are they creeping up the stairs?
Even fascists have hearts they want our last moments to be without fear
But I am terrified
So am I
Raise your rifle comrade
Are you reading to fire?
In the distance the strong summer sun was rising above the roof tops
Christina felt the warmth of the sun on her face
Sunlight was flooding the room
She glanced down into the street
It was empty
The street lights had extinguished themselves and the cool morning air as yet unheated rippled the red flags that hung from the colonial balconies
I do not think that they are coming
No the fascists only operate at night
They operate in the shadows
That is why they never visit this street
They fear the light
Then why are we holding our rifles?
Return your rifle
Beppe and Christina sat on the light iron chairs on their balcony
They were drinking coffee
Both were wearing sun glasses
As the sun was bright
Christina had unbuttoned her white shirt
The breeze felt good on her skin
In the apartment opposite an old man who had once been a member of a death squad watched as the breeze rippled her shirt occasionally exposing her nipples
He was dying
He knew that he was dying
His heart was fading
He should have killed her in the cornfield
He wants you to remove your shirt
So that he can see your breasts as he dies
Christina spills her coffee and splashes her shirt
She swears and smiles at Beppe
The old man watches as Christina removes her white shirt
She has spotted him
But does nothing
For the first time in his tormented life the old man believes in God
He thinks of all the people he has killed
A pregnant angel hovers over him
It is time to leave
God Forgives