To the Artist's Page To our home page
To Michael Wendling's previous piece To Michael Wendling's next piece
France 3, Brazil 0 Hitler sits in a bar in Rio, watching the World Cup final. He is a sunken man drinking all the time, he pisses out arsenic and beats Eva. He cringes when he sees passion on the faces of the French players, shouting the Marseillaise. The colored faces mock him as the announcer rattles off Portuguese that he can hardly understand. After Zindane knocks in his second goal, the Fuehrer turns away. The French leave their houses, apartments, ghettos, and dance to no music; Paris is a sea of black, white and tan, blue and red. In the 16th arrondissement someone drapes the tricolor over a plaque for the dead in the Second World War. Even the Arc de Triumph seems to smile, letting go of its heavy sadness. Only one woman hates the new idea of France, of being French, hates football and football players, drives her new car into a group of black boys. But she is the leader of absolutely nothing. In Rio, Hitler sheds a tear, which rolls down a sallow cheek into his glass of Dutch beer. Nobody notices; they are dancing down the Avenue de Clichy, and do not care at all.
To the top of this page