Conversation · Steban, the Student Communist

"I know who Kras Mazov is, but who is this 'Ignus Nilsen' guy?"

Let your mind wander.

Your attention detaches. The voices of the young men fade away. It's a cool evening, you notice.

Listen for night sounds.

Out beyond the dull chatter, you catch the sound of a distant seabird, and of course the sound of the large stretches of canvas that cover the missing sections of wall...

The way they billow in the night breeze reminds you of something...

A wild beast tangled in a sheet...

Yes, an image to get the blood pumping. An unpredictable power, fighting to free itself...

The beast is you, a mass of teeth and claws and violent urges.

You let the invigorating sensation course through you, then turn your attention to the two young men, who appear just about finished.

"And before that, there was Abelard's 'Un Pays Infernal'..."

A patch of ocean turned on its side...

That must be it. You imagine yourself in a small dinghy buoyed along gentle swells...

In another life, you might've made a fine seafaring man. Who knows, you may become one yet.

Gradually, the pleasant sensation recedes. You turn your attention to the two young men, who appear just about finished.

A woman's skirt swelling in the breeze...

The thought is almost too much to bear. What you wouldn't give to glimpse the bare legs behind it...

The more it hurts, the more you have to have it.

Slowly, too slowly, the pain fades from your side. You turn your attention to the two young men, who appear just about finished.

It reminds you of something, but you can't think of what. Oh well, let's see if the students are still going...

Look around the room.

Your eye drifts over the detritus and mismatched furniture. It naturally gravitates toward the pieces of canvas that cover a missing stretch of wall...

This is fine. You can handle a list. In fact, you find the tedium strangely soothing.

"I think I get the idea. Let me ask about something else."

"Go ahead." The young man gives you a half-smile. His companion sniffs.

"Sounds like a place for intense intellectual engagement. Exactly my kind of jam."

"That's our whole thing. The world is so shallow, all noise and repetition. We're interested in genuinely radical critique."

"Precisely. We're not interested in senseless parroting. We like to read critically."

"Within the contours of Mazovian historical materialism, of course."

"Is this where I can square off in theory combat?"

"We have been known to get into some spirited debates. But it's always in service of our larger intellectual and ideological project."

"Sounds like a yank-fest for binos."

"It's nothing like that. A yank-fest is a decadent bourgeois phenomenon, a pastime for over-educated office workers who lack proper revolutionary outlets for their social dissatisfactions and repressed sexuality."

"Repressed sexualities are something of an idée fixe of his."

"One of capitalism's more banal pathologies. But let's move on."

"But now we're getting hung up on the pathologies of capitalism. Let's move on."

"Is the reading group accepting new members?"

"We typically only accept new members once per semester. There's this whole process, with essays and presentations on assigned topics..." The young man turns to his companion.

"But given that we have some extra seating at the moment, I guess we could be convinced to expedite an application or two."

"Steban, you can't be serious... for a gendarme?"

"I am serious. As materialists we've got to adapt to conditions as they are. Besides, he'll still need to pass the interview portion of the entrance process..." He turns back to you.

"... assuming he's even still interested, that is."

"Listen, there's got to be some other way I could prove myself to the group."

"'Some other way'?" He squints at you. "If you're not much of a reader, why are you so dead-set on joining this reading group?"

"Like Ignus Nilsen himself, I've come to foretell a Great Reckoning."

"Hmmm. I thought I perceived some eschatological air about you..."

"But to be perfectly frank, I just don't see it happening."

"Steban, a moment..." The young man's companion beckons him into a private conference.

"What... really? You're saying... but there's no way... uh huh... yes, okay, I'm listening..."

A note of real uncertainty in his voice.

"Alright, gendarme." He turns back to you. "Comrade Ulixes and I have conferred about it, and we've come up with an alternative way for you to convince us of your commitment to the group."

"What's that?"

The young man gives his companion an uncertain glance. The companion nods his head vigorously.

"I want you... to hit me."

"Hit you?"

"It doesn't have to be a hard hit." He indicates his cheek. "Just enough to leave a mark."

"The idea," his companion jumps in, "is to show Maurice and those other traitors that we're the only reading group hard core enough to tangle with the RCM..."

Now's your chance to redeem yourself for that dive you took before the gremlin child.

"Ah, we're replaying this little episode. Please, do try to stay on your feet this time."

Of course, this isn't some punch-out competition. You just want to leave a harmless bruise.