March 10th 2024
Lenin
“Please feel comfortable”, said the Father of the Revolution to the new guest. The Art Dealer found this encounter unexpected and the unknown lady quite impolite. He had tracked down the authentic Lenin all around Europe and spent what, given his limited means, was an enormous fortune. Now, that woman was stealing the attention of the former red activist and the young man had the feeling of being a loser. A sensation reviving those evenings at Cindies when everybody had found their mates except for a few ones. His only consolation were the frites bought at the angle of Market Place, eaten while sitting on the King’s Parade while hoping for a last fortunate encounter. The art market was totally alien to him ro, better to say, he was far away from any art gallery or auction house. For sure there was no illusion to get into Christie’s or Sotheby's. He already knew, when he neutered the University of East Anglia, that the big names were looking for those who had attended the actual Cambridge, preferably the Old Colleges. He wondered whether the mummy that was sitting in front of him was aware about the snobbism, arrogance and discrimination, mainly at the expense of the lower social classes, systematically practiced by the commies during the previous one hundred years. Given the attention that the mummy of Lenin was now dedicating to a former manager of a top consultancy, that Russian petit-bourgeois and successful autocrat was also behaving in the most disdainful way. The Art Dealer also scarcely tolerated the presence of women, when it involved business. His misogyny had been smoothed along the years, mainly by the need to sell female artists when required. After all Louise Bourgeois, Beatriz Milhazes and Katherine Bernhardt were excellent investments, selling wonderfully and guaranteeing the highest quality. He also managed to get into a couple of long term relationships, both of them for more than three years, but he never accepted to consider a woman on the same level of a man. The former Consultant was now sitting in the group, showing off an expensive suite and an even more exclusive purse. “Do you want to seduce Lenin or impress him with fashion addict grails that did not even exist one hundred years ago?”, mumbled the Art Dealer recognizing that he was risking to express his thoughts loudly. Lenin and the Lady were now formally introducing each other. The woman was smiling, making even her eyes bigger, gesticulating with her hands. Perhaps she was nervous, or embarrassed. Lenin did not betray any emotion, his face was literally mummified, but even his eyes did not shine. The Art Dealer was now relieved, because the Russian master of intrigue had made all his best efforts to charm him. Perhaps the Lady was less interesting. “Unless he believes I am a proletarian to be brainwashed, while that preposterous Lady is one of his social class”. The young Briton was not aware that Lenin came from a middle-class milieu, even if he was already born a privileged in a world not totally extraneous to medieval serfdom. “They told me the chai tea in this Hotel is of the best quality. You should be an expert on the matter”, asked the Art Dealer trying to interrupt the first contact between Lenin and the Lady. “This young Dame has something really important to share with us”, Lenin reproached the Art Dealer, carefully looking into his eyes. The Briton’s face bleached, the man was impressed how coercive could sound the voice of the Father of the Revolution. He grew up with the Red Hand, helping the comrades of his father to fight against the commies and the Republicans. He was too young to fight, but he had the perfect age to deliver letters and other sensible materials without being noticed. Not by the regular army of Her Majesty, nor by the Catholics and their spies. Perhaps his political passion, his hatred had transmuted into a morbid interest and even admiration for the left. The proud and poor son of Ulster decided to obey and follow his new leader’s directions. “After all I obeyed my previous boss as well, who was also a snobbish leftist and not even as much famous as Lenin”, he thought. The Art Dealer thus decided to calm down and accept the presence of the newcomer. He however insisted on asking about the tea. “I really like to know your opinion. I did a lot of research before choosing the place”. He moved his sight all around, reminding the presence of so many leather covered American bike riders, all around, and understood that he had made a faux pas. “Where does this obsession with chai tea come from?”, asked the boy to himself. The Briton was happy that Lenin ignored him and continued the conversation with the former Business Consultant. “The tea is good, but let this young Lady speak. I am pretty sure to know her story. That will be of interest for you as well.”, replied Lenin, showing himself exceptionally calm.
