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Michael Weller
"An
Island for Whites", Book X. Chapter 74.

 

Danny the Red1

 

Damn, I couldn't figure out how old he was, twenty-three or seventy-three. There are such brisk little boys through whom the old farts suddenly shine through – like a pulsating picture.

Outside the window of his apartment, the sharp tiled roofs reddened in the rain.

"Are we in Paris or in Frankfurt?.. – I inquired.

"Brussels," he replied.

"Well, of course, after all, you are a member of the European Parliament," I recalled. – "And by the way, how did you become one: by converting into Islam? But wait, what the hell of a parliament may be in the Caliphate?!

"Don't you want to score a joint?" he asked, swaying in an expensive and worn leather chair and beginning to roll a cigarette." 'Cause you are completely confused in times, you totalitarian bourgeois pig. Here, take a puff, clear your mind."

I did take a drag of the weak and sweetish smoke, and my brain straightened up with one puff. So I stood in my place. It was such a low, as it were, tribune, or podium, in a large sports hall. In the middle of the hall there was the university pool in blue tiles smelled of chlorine, and students were screaming all around: weary-hairy. The young blood, as well as urine and semen, boiled in young heads. Sorbonne, you know, Nanterre, young humanitarians, the elite of Belle France. They had demands – as if I didn't know what they want. They want to fuck, to rule the country, blow everything to pieces and show their fathers that they are mossy cretins. This is how they imagine happiness and justice. Freedom, Equality, Brotherhood of the current baby boomer spill.

You guys ought to be in the fortieth year, when columns of boches clanged their weapons under the Arc de Triomphe and stretched endlessly along the Champs Elysees. In forty-four, when Leclerc's tanks entered here, when traitors were shot and whores were shaved bald. And then the winners and the liberated drank wine, danced to the accordions and rushed into cots or under the bushes conceiving you: you happy children of peace and prosperity. Yet you grew up freaks. Se la vie.

And I keep giving them this kind of conciliatory speeches hating myself. I merely succumbed to those parasites. Kids, you know.

And then one approaches me with a cigarette in his mouth: red-haired, arrogant, mocking. He was not seventeen, not at all, being closer to twenty-five. An eternal student. And, coming close, looking into my eyes, he holds his unlit cigarette with two fingers and says loudly and clearly:

"Can you give me a light?"

"What?!" I ask interrupting myself. Yet I am going to continue speaking.

And he, enjoying the scandal, with remarkable impudence, repeats:

"Mr. Minister, please give me a light for a cigarette!"

And thousand people gathered around the pool gasp, squeal, applaud and freeze: they are waiting.

And I, the minister of this fucking education, which these fucking morons don't need, take out a lighter from my pocket with a wooden hand, hand it to the red-headed idiot and click, releasing the flame of fire. And he reaches out to light his cigarette.

Then I unclench my fingers, the lighter starts to fall, the idiot, by inertia, still reaches for a short while with a cigarette down, as if the lighter were there, not having time to react – and then looks up at me. And when he raised his red-haired look at me, I punched him in the ear with my right hand in a full swing to all my pleasure!

He made a somersault: flew away and … Splash! A fountain of spray to the sides scattered!

The hall hooted with a single owl hoot: uh-h! .. Ah-ah-ah! Laughter, screams, swearing! ..

Damn, I think, it looks like I am not going to remain the minister any longer. I'm going to court for battering a student!.. Whom I have to take care of. But if I could, I would have rather killed him and it would be for a good cause.

"What?!" –  The minister thundered, baring his crooked fangs, – "The boys want to fuck and demand free access to the girls at night because they have nowhere to stick the dick?! Tired of jerking off?! No money for whores? Hey! To whom will I tear off the cojones to ease your misery – come out first!!! Does your sperm press up on the ears?! Then go to the vet for castration, I'll sign the referral! Scoundrels adhering to the philosophy of cunt and bottle –  look at these heirs of Descartes! You are nobody. Lice, bums, sissies, able neither to work, nor to fight, nor to fuck – you're scum, miscarriages, faggots!

The crowd fell silent. Red Cohn Bendit was fished out of the pool. Wet clothes clung to the frail body, water flowed, and the puddle underfoot blurred. The miserable form completely deprived him of the opportunity to present his heroic content.

"Whose snout should I clean, you heroes? I am 49 years old. What?! I am a fascist?! I fought the fascists when you weren't even spermatozoa, you underfence bums! The nation needs heroes, but keeps giving birth to idiots!

The crowd is always like a female readily surrendering to the winner. The redhead's heroic halo vanished into the pool. The guy who said "There is only one step from the sublime to the ridiculous" was a great emperor[2] and idol of France for a good reason. A wet hen cannot be a hero leading the masses – and the masses pay the debunked leader with malicious laughter. The crowd takes revenge on the one who betrayed its worship and hopes. He was placed above them, he delegated their courage and honor toward himself – yet he dishonored everyone with his ridiculous floundering.

"It's right time for you to go after the girls," I said, and the boys cackled at the fall of the rival male.

Then the rival male swayed in the creaking collector's chair, ran his hand through his gray hair, exhaled a puff of cigarette smoke and looked through it at the lacy section of the Gothic cathedral towers – in the window, in the blue windy sky. The bastard lived a nice life.

Do you know what the old age is? – he asked. – This is when call girls arrive in a car with a red cross. But I'm not giving up yet: neither from girls, nor from freedom. We fought for a holy cause: "It is forbidden to forbid!". Progress is an expansion of the space of freedom!

I would smash him into the ear again – for the sake of a vital symmetry, but his head would now fall off.

"You are a dummy," I said. "Our culture began with the Ten Commandments. Don't murder. Don't steal. Don't commit adultery. Do not desire the good of your neighbor. As soon as you overturn the laws of the state, the laws of bandits will instantly come instead. Learn history, idiot."

"You stole my biography, you stupid bourgeois bastard," he said with gentle sadistic hatred. "You and other well-meaning bourgeois freaks stole our revolution. They stole our Red May 1968. You did not let us build a just society, where there would be no unfortunate and oppressed!"

Then he yelled that I knocked him into the water, but did not knock him out of his way. And although he did not become a leader, the struggle continued. However, if he did become the leader, they would win.

We knocked idiots on the heads then, but we failed to knock their ideas out of their heads.

"You knocked the idiots on the heads then," he hissed, "but you failed to knock the ideas out of our heads!"

"That's for sure! Look around. Your ideas have won. The left has got its way. Well – and how do you old Europe? How do you look in a hijab, hmm? Oh, where is France? Oh, where is Germany? By the way, where have all the Jews fled to? What, not all – they managed to kill a few? What about free sex in your Caliphate?

Islam does not approve of alcohol, but he found a bottle of underground cognac. We drank to the ancient and fateful 68th, and each one regretted that he had not killed the other.

De Gaulle turned out to be a weakling, and we underestimated the power of the USSR. We had to ban the Communist Party, burn out all leftists with a red-hot iron, send Marxists of all stripes to penal servitude. In the Soviet Camp, they established the dictatorship of the communists – this did not suit our neo-communists, they did not find a proletariat for themselves. And they replaced the bourgeois hard workers with revolutionary ersatz: outcasts, migrants, homosexuals with feminists, and blacks with Arabs. And as a result, they staged a dictatorship of radical Islam. Which instantly strangled all those just mentioned who did not fit into Sharia.

That is because it is necessary to suppress not the people, but the idea in the bud. Along with its carriers.

"Why are you grumbling?" – asked Cohn-Bendit. "We did warn you that we would take you down. Together with your fucking state. So we did: if not by that way, then by this. By the way, in Islam there is much more equality and justice than there was in your hypocritical, pharisaic, consumerist society of the rule of money."

... I often think that we could establish an agreement with the USSR for their young leftist friends to be accepted into the Soviet Siberian concentration camps, to join communism personally. In exchange for the favor, we would provide the Russians with trade benefits and technology supplies. And at home we would establish the dictatorship of capital. In other words, a free enterprise society, so that any attempt to undermine it would be punished by hard labor. Though better by the guillotine.

Oh, how the progressive public would howl! France may get isolated – both politically and economically. However, we would survive! While everyone else were in a complete asshole, we would live normally, and they would all flee from them to us: to a normal country with normal rights. And now there is nowhere to flee.

     And then from the tower of the Cathedral of Saint-Michel-et-Gudul came the lingering cry of the muezzin, calling to prayer. At this distance, I would have get him with the first shot, but this was an audio recording launched through a stadium speaker.



[1] Daniel Marc Cohn-Bendit, or Dany le Rouge (French for "Danny the Red")

[2]  Napoleon Bonaparte