Flaw by Magdalena Tulli Page B

respect. In a natural manner it guaranteed lightness and unlimited freedom for the airmen’s bodies, which consequently were, as always, prepared to rise effortlessly into space, let alone walk up an ordinary staircase to some floor of a local government building. The destiny of the accursed padded overcoats, on the other hand, was to descend from the steps of the streetcar ever lower, and to settle amid the smell of mothballs, which also drifted close to the ground, being heavier than clean air, while the closed circle ofthe tracks marked their implacable boundary. The overcoats had rapidly turned into a bedraggled, shapeless, padded sign of foreignness, a ballast that weighed on the shoulders only so that the crowd of new arrivals should once and for all sink to the cobbled floor of the square, as if they had drowned.
    Enjoying rare privileges, the airmen seemed nevertheless not to notice them or to appreciate them – for them and for many others, these privileges were unquestionable and only too well deserved. But it was precisely for the uniforms that room was found in the soft armchairs – not for the bodies, which were able to relish comfort only when the opportunity presented itself, though they were filled with their own characteristic pride and an illusory belief that the world lay at their feet. In reality it lay at the legs of their uniform pants, and at their polished regulation boots. What would the general’s protruding belly, or the adjutant’s skinny ribs, have been without the insignia of rank? No sign, no indication that could have guided fate, was written on their delicate pink skin. Any integument seems an equally suitable costume in the face of sudden death or lucky survival, in scenes of adulation or abasement. The body has no influence and thus is of scant significance. And since this is the case, despite the neatly trimmed mustache, despite the cool glint of confidence in the eye, despite the bold gestures and the courteous loftiness coloring every utterance in a natural manner before it leaves the lips, bodies alone are at home in any situation. They belong just as well in comfortable armchairs or at alarge desk with phone at hand as they do on the bare pavement down there below, where there is no access to a telephone even in matters of the utmost urgency. What, therefore, could give a body importance and define its capabilities, if not that most important circumstance: the quality of the fabric and the cut of the garment?
    The image of the refugees emerging from the streetcar in their dark overcoats, victims of an unknown disaster who from a sudden twist of narrative lost not just the roof over their heads but also the freedom to regulate their own affairs and due respect – this image, then, from the very beginning called for an appropriate counterbalance. And so the presence of a few fine-looking officers seemed to all those witnessing the events, especially the defenders of local law and order, to be no accident – rather, it was a historical necessity that in its own way was obvious and well-grounded in realities familiar to everyone, against the background of the yellowing plaster. And since the officers were seen entering the government building in their immaculate uniforms, no one doubted that they knew best what needed to be done next.
    Thus, by virtue of his rank and the braiding he wore, the air force general was obliged to receive a report from the commander of the order guard. He even clapped him on the shoulder, offered him a cigarette with a classy mouthpiece, and attempted discreetly to find out what on earth was going on here, since from the very beginning he’d been unable to makehead or tail of it: in his story, from which he had come and to which he intended to return, the best military order prevailed, and he was unaccustomed to anything else. He was willingly given exhaustive explanations, from which he understood even less. The guards, who were