Konrad and Alexandra (pdf) - Rolf Gross

not sell me this painting, I will destroy you on the Paris market. You will never be able to sell
another canvas in this town."
Amedeo took a step back and stuttered that the painting was Alexandra’s, not his. He
had no authorization to sell it to anybody.
Alexandra, with fiery eyes, advanced against Manovsky who cowed and took a few
steps backwards.
"You miserable scum, get out!" she shouted in her worst Russian argot.
Manovsky staggered backwards towards the door. "Alexandra, let me at least have this
painting," he slobbered half in Russian and half in Yiddish. He bent down spreading his fleshy
arms in front of her. "I offer you a large sum of money. I cannot live without this painting. You
have no right to destroy my life. Alexandra, take pity on me."
She pushed him in the direction of the door. He crumpled but did not move from the
spot. Suddenly she let her drapery fall to the floor and pummeling him with her right fist,
shoving the whimpering shape towards the door.
Amedeo, finally recovered from his paralysis, came to her help, opened the door, and
together they pushed the tottering man into the hallway.
Amedeo slammed the door.
Alexandra collapsed into the chair. Amedeo knelt down in front of her. As if recreating
her, he very gently moved his finger across her eyebrows, her flushed cheeks, her mouth…
"I have seen your face," he said and kissed her shoulder.
Konrad picked up Alexandra at the train station. She took his arm and glanced at him.
"Will you forgive my having overruled you so high-handedly in my restlessness? Helena’s
suggestion was excellent. We reached Paris without a hitch. The city is full of expatriates from
every corner of Europe. I met Sasha Manovsky, the competitor of Becky’s father. A deeply
depressed man. He financed the Moscow uprising and is hiding from the Okhrana. I also ran
into my patient and scientific subject Akhmatova who was having an affair with an Italian
painter by the name of Modigliani."
Konrad raised his eyebrows. Her words were spilling out at an unusual speed. What
was coming? She had never before asked him to forgive her one of her impulsive actions.
He looked at her guessing. "Did Manovsky show you his collection?"
She explained eagerly. "He tried but in such a plump and suggestive manner that I got
rid of him."
He smiled imagining her dismissing the old man with a imperious gesture of her left
hand. "And Akhmatova? Isn’t she married to Gumilev?"
She described the ambiguous circumstances of Akhmatova’s presence in Paris. "She
was not at all embarrassed. They invited me to Modigliani’s little mansard apartment for tea."
She laughed briefly. "There, in the presence of Akhmatova, Modigliani asked me to sit for him
as a model. A strange feeling, to be exposed in the nude to the searching eyes of a painter."
She described how Modigliani had, with incredible speed, produced a drawing of her,
which he, during a number of later sessions had painted in. "Only the face was missing, when
Manovsky burst upon the scene."
As she sketched a picture of the old voyeur sputtering and finally being pushed out of
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