Free The Skin by Curzio Malaparte Page B

mud.
    The order signed by the King's Gracious Majesty and by Marshal Badoglio actually contained the following words: "Officers and men of the Italian Army, throw your arms and your flags like heroes at the feet of the first comer." There was no possibility of error. The actual phrase used was "like heroes." Even the words "first comer" were written with great distinctness, so that there might be no room for doubt. To be sure, it would have been far better for all, victors and vanquished, and far better for us too, if we had received the order to throw down our arms not, indeed, in 1943, but in 1940 or 1941, when it was the fashion in Europe to throw one's arms at the feet of the conqueror. Everybody would have said "Well done!" It is quite true that everybody had said "Well done!" on September 8th, 1943. But they had said it because, in all honesty, they could not say anything else.
    It had been in truth a most beautiful spectacle—a diverting spectacle. All of us, officers and men vied with one another to see which of us could throw our arms and flags in the mud most "heroically." We threw them at the feet of everyone, victors and vanquished, friend and foe, even at the feet of the passers-by, even at the feet of those who, not knowing what it was all about, stopped and looked at us in amazement. Laughingly we threw our arms and our flags in the mud, and immediately ran to pick them up so that we could start all over again. "Long five Italy!" cried the enthusiastic crowd, the good-natured, laughing, noisy, gay Italian crowd. All— men, women and children—seemed drunk with joy, all clapped their hands, crying: "Encore! Well done! Encore!" And we, weary, perspiring, breathless, our eyes sparkling with manly pride, our faces alight with patriotic fervour, heroically threw our arms and flags at the feet of victors and vanquished, and immediately ran to pick them up so that we could throw them in the mud once more. Even the Allied soldiers, the British, the Americans, the Russians, the French, the Poles, clapped their hands and threw large handfuls of caramels in our faces, crying: "Well done! Encore! Long live Italy!" And we, with sickly smiles, threw our arms and flags in the mud, and immediately ran to pick them up so that we could start all over again.
    It had been truly a glorious spree, an unforgettable spree. In three years of war we had never had such a feast of entertainment. By evening we were dead tired, our faces ached from our Homeric laughter, but we were proud because we had done our duty. The celebration over, we formed a column, and just as we were, without arms, without flags, set off for new battle-fields, seeking to win at the side of the Allies that same war which we had already lost at the side of the Germans. We marched with heads high, singing, proud at having taught the peoples of Europe that in these days the only way to win wars is to throw one's arms and one's flags heroically in the mud, "at the feet of the first comer."
     
     

CHAPTER III - THE WIGS
    T HE first time I felt afraid that I had caught the contagion, that I too had been stricken by the plague, was when I went with Jimmy to the "wig" shop. I felt humiliated by the loathsome disease in the very part of my anatomy which in an Italian is most sensitive—the sexual organs. The genitals have always played a very important part in the lives of the Latin peoples, especially in the lives of the Italian people and in the history of Italy. The true emblem of Italy is not the tricolour but the sexual organs, the male sexual organs. The patriotism of the Italian people is all there. Honour, morals, the Catholic religion, the cult of the family—all are there, in our sexual organs, which are worthy of our ancient and glorious traditions of civilization. No sooner had I crossed the threshold of the "wig" shop than I felt that the plague was humiliating me in what, to every Italian, is the only, the true Italy.
    The vendor of "wigs" had his shack