{ ... }

 

۞

  The first thing that can be smelt is shit. The first thing that can be felt is shit. Some of the soldiers were going on leave. 

  “Had had he not had any?” said curiosity.  

  {deleriously cold}  

  Discouragement was moving through the ranks due to the cold. A sharp wind hit the temples of the heads of 'cians. The rationèd supplies of food were running low and so was their morale.  

  A small group of soldiers huddlèd together around a makeshift fire that was kept alight throughout the night. Palliatives, the appeasement. The amelioration. Who shall ameliorate the immiserate? Who shall ameliorate the State? A small bottle of whisky circulated shivering 'cians.  

  “He hadn't had any 'cause he hadn't had any had he?” said poverty.  

  Soldiers were delirious. 'Cians were spurious.  

  °Propaganda is circulating among us°  

  South of the border was Sigla, north of the border, the runner.  

  {behind-the-lines}  

  Behind the lines the secret war was read. Countless numbers, the unrecordèd dead. The death of one is a tragedy, the death of a million is just a statistic. 

  “Blood, sweat and tears,” said a veteran.  

  {through his years}  

  “For years years years we've been dividèd,” he went on.  

  Every boulevard in the city-at-war narrowèd its focus to its vanishing point, punctuatèd at intervals by stalls of brik-a-brak, found objects, chairs and tables, pilèd high to keep the opposition at bay.  

  Fears come in threes.

  Three men crouchèd, pitchèd, behind the barricades in front of the enemy lines. Waiting for another shelling.  

  “Three times in one night,” said the shellshockèd.  

  “Violent night,” said fright.  

  “Solely night,” said one out-of-sight.  

  “All is harm,” said one.  

  {adjusting the sight}  

  “All is fright” said the violent night.  

  {passing water}  

  {offering wine}  

  “Better save some for later,” said scarcity, “we don't know when the next shipment is going to come.”  

  Passing-the-river, a lousy wine consumer. Above him a sniper. Paris has always been a dangerous city, where people don't play safely.  

  “Are you going to tell me about that dream you had recently?” wonderèd one of the sister 'cians …  

  The sister 'cian was smelly and greasy.  

  “It's that General, Maximillian, sister,” said the dreamer. “He walks among us in the city-at-war. He draws his soldiers and mounts his opposition against us, but when we line up to fire, he steps forward and takes our shots but doesn't die. It was formiddable.”  

  Facing in the same direction, in agreement and direct competition. The South behind them, the general, not Maximillian, a lesser one, above them. No equality in an hierarchy.  

  “I'm moving it over, officer,” said a dead-carrier.  

  “Up with death, down with love, put both to one side,” said the gravedigger.  

  {stubbing it out}  

  {another cigarette}  

  “There's a million graves in that ash tray.”  

  So says the soldier to the gravedigger filling up the ditches with dead bodies.  

  “I modelled it on Goya. Free range blood,” said the war artist.

۝