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Accetto Chudi

February 11th 2024

by Matteo F.M. Sommaruga


I decided to leave Berlin quite suddenly, but I was reached out by a suspicious art gallerist who wanted to meet me. He was enthusiastic at the idea of getting acquainted with the living mummy of me. It is curious that I have been able to live in Zurich four years in a row without receiving any peculiar attention. On the contrary, it has not been an issue to show myself on a regular basis to thousands of visitors in the museum. I even got invited to the masked ball at the Kunsthaus and nobody wondered whether, behind my appearance, was the authentic leader of the Red Revolution. People working with the art market are sometimes able to see beyond the most trivial layer of the real world. Perhaps it is the reason why this totally anonymous art dealer caught my very true being. It is however wiser to move further, towards the borders with Poland. My choice is to overnight in Usedom. It is always a good time to make a stop on the shores of the OstSee. I will be surrounded by tourists whose average age is far above fifty and  I will be able to enjoy the best raw and smoked fish of Germany. Much better than the one served in the most fashionable sushi restaurants in Zurich, Munich or Berlin. I would also not disdain a bath in the local Spa. I have already experienced the touch of hot water in a sauna on the shores of the lake. It is a pleasant feeling. Unfortunately I do not have a handsome budget, but given the season, I managed to find a good offer in a hotel that boasts “travel” and “charme” in its name. From Usedom I could get a boat to Stettin, thus crossing the borders with Poland in incognito, hidden in the flock of all those retirees. I should not forget that I have never been loved in Poland.



The art dealer


I reach Berlin when it is too late and Lenin, or at least the man whom I believe to be the actual Lenin, has already left the town. However, by having so many acquaintances in the art market and spending so much time in middle range hotels while attending international fairs, I have developed a good range of contacts in the hospitality business. Enough to be able to track anybody in most European towns. Last time I was in Berlin, there was an exhibition dedicated to David Hockney. The colours of his landscape were so strong and powerful, to confound my brain while admiring these works. They also reflected the inventive character of the British mind of which I am so proud. There is a totally different exhibition during these days, at the Alte Nationalgalerie. This time the undiscussed protagonist is Caspar David Friedrich, whose name I began to correctly remember only after figuring out that his initials represent an increasing order of three consonants, C, D and F. The E is missing, he could have been called Emil as well. His landscapes are apparently different from those of Hockney, but it is clear that both of the artists want to represent their own internal feeling reflected in the observation of nature. An individual process that I attempted several times as well, but without being able to properly govern it. So many details come to my mind. The work of Outi Pieski is also connected to nature. I hardly forget the Finnish artist during these weeks. Perhaps because her creativity can relax my mind, in a sort of shamanic effect of the tundra traditions. I interpret that as a sign of my fate, since I need to follow my prey, Lenin, to meet him before he reaches Helsinki.



The consultant

Alfted von Pazze was starting in front of me. His smile was gentle, as much as my grandfather described to me the character of his grandfather. Who, beside a skilled trader and a successful agent of the I.G. Farben all around the world, should have been also a wise philosopher, able to enjoy every detail of our existence. The lines of bauhaus furniture as well as fresh strawberries. Alfred invited me out for a walk. Although it was winter, the weather was mild and the sun managed to let some of his rays go through the clouds and the fog. “I knew that something strange was hiding behind Heidi's book. Your grandad and mine left me their correspondence. They really believed in its power”, commented the young gentleman. “I am also sure they were not crazy, nor too imaginative. My cousins in Rho, who are still convinced of the success of the Red Revolution, relied on me to grab the book and resurrect Lenin's body”, replied the former consultant. “I admit I could have even stolen it, if necessary, but at the same time I have no clue what to do with that”, added the young woman. “That book is also giving to our character a new life, but please do not get beguiled by the red propaganda nor be influenced by the strange ideas of your relatives. Lenin is alive, once again, and spent a few years in Zurich without visiting any suspect”, said Alfred, who looked to know much more about the story than the consultant could do. She understood that, through his connection in the art market and an attempted scouting of the social network, Alfred had been able to locate Lenin in Berlin. It was just a couple of days ago. Even when he was on the verge of a political defeat, Lenin never ceased to be powerful, manipulative and dangerous. Nobody had the slightest ideas of his next moves, but if he was the original Lenin, he should have been stopped.

social social social print

In Frankfurt like Heidi, in Zuerich like Lenin

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