Konrad and Alexandra (pdf) - Rolf Gross

her reclining body, her back and legs, her arms, and a rough layout of her head.
Her face was empty.
"This will be enough for today," said Amedeo. "I rework what I have and rough-in the
background. Maybe I can begin to put on the paint tomorrow. Can you come back tomorrow
afternoon for another hour or two? Finally, I will have to fill in your face, that will be the most
difficult task and may take another two sessions."
Akhmatova asked whether he did not want to sketch Alexandra in another position.
"No, this will be a classical painting." he told her," I see it before my eyes, I could almost
finish it in my sleep."
Alexandra spent the afternoons at Amedeo’s studio. In the mornings she wandered
through the museums and the streets of town. Sometimes Akhmatova was present, often
Alexandra was alone with Amedeo. Apparently no jealousy existed between Amedeo and
Akhmatova, and despite the shivers that overcame Alexandra at times, Amedeo made no
unwarranted advances. They floated in suspended time.
When Amedeo began to put on the paint he had a few critical hours, the plasticity of her
body on the canvas did not satisfy his vision. He had to paint over her forms twice. In the end
only her empty face was left.
He stared unhappily at his first layout of her face.
"I can’t find the facial expression which matches your classical forms."
She tried to think of this and that but nothing satisfied him.
He should make love to me, she thought, maybe he is looking for this spent repose. She
had seen such a sleeping beauty at the Louvre. They were alone, and she gingerly voiced her
thought.
"No," he said blushing, "I am not looking for that pose, it would not fit this painting, I want
your skeptical, arrogant side—and you think of lovemaking!"
Someone knocked at the door, and before Amedeo could open it, or she could cover
herself, an agitated, breathless Manovsky stormed into the room.
Speechless, Manovsky stood in the door. Alexandra drew the bedcover over her body.
Manovsky collapsed into the chair, watery-blue eyes bulging.
When he had caught his breath, he started to shout in his horrid French. "So this is
where you are hiding! Naked in Modigliani’s bed!"
He changed to a suppressed, threatening Russian. "I waited for you all last week and
you did not come. I searched the town for you and could not find you. Your Armenian friends
denied any knowledge of your whereabouts. Is that what one gets for one’s generosity? You
promised to visit me!"
Manovsky gasped for air, his eyes tearing. Amedeo, who had only caught the
threatening undertone of Manovsky’s lament, got up to defend Alexandra, but hesitated to
attack his powerful patron.
Alexandra rose. Clutching the bedspread with one hand she pointed at Manovsky. With
an icy, cutting voice she shouted. "You miserable, disgusting voyeur. Leave this room at once.
You have neither been invited nor has anybody given you permission to enter. Disappear!"
She pointed at the door. But Manovsky had spied the unfinished canvas. He got up,
and, saliva dripping from his mouth, shouted at Amedeo. "I must have this painting. If you will
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