The Farewell Song of Marcel Labrume

Page 1


ATTILIO MICHELUZZI

Edited by GARY GROTH and CONRAD GROTH

Designed by C HWANG

Production: BEN HORAK and C HWANG

Proofreading: KENLEY BRINTON

Associate Publisher: ERIC REYNOLDS

Publisher: GARY GROTH

This edition of The Farewell Song of Marcel Labrume is copyright © 2024 Fantagraphics Books, Inc.

All comics and text by Attilio Micheluzzi is copyright © 2024 Eredi Micheluzzi / Micheluzzi heirs.

All rights reserved. Permission to reproduce content must be obtained from the publisher.

Fantagraphics Books, Inc.

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ISBN: 978-1-68396-958-7

Library of Congress Control Number: 2024930639

First Fantagraphics Books edition: July 2024 Printed in China

How hot it was that summer in 1940; and how scorching the sand on the Gulf of Jounieh... I can still see it all right in front of me... The white houses of Ghazir, five miles to the North...

Mitzi’s brunette curls, sprinkled with white sand...

and that green and brown morane-saulnier popping out of the blue, pulling behind, and escorting it to beirut, right over our heads...

What is it? Marcel...

A fighter plane from Beirut showing up to rescue a civilian biplane... Don’t worry, Birdie, France is screwed and the war is finished.

The immense Lebanese sky bleached by the heat. And the glittering Mediterranean under the sun...
The sudden whirring of that yellow biplane 500 meters up, still not knowing it was "hers"...

Did you see that car? And that woman?

September 7. The London Blitz was under way... But that night, who knew?

That American Plymouth belongs to Labrume. He’s a son of a bitch. Got so many guardian angels you can’t even stop him for speeding.

“...Les filles de Camaret se disent toutes vierges...”

Eh, who cares... Now it’s their turn, and in a month mustachio man will be strolling through Piccadilly Circus.

...or Ours, because, old man, “Je m’en fous de tout le monde, ra ta ta, tra tra, tratra...”

Since dawn today, September 7, the London Docks have been under attack by hundreds of German bombers.

The statement from Berlin says: “Reich Chancellor Adolf Hitler has declared...”

A la santé, Adolf, vieux salaud! By now, the world is yours!

September 7. Somewhere around there Spirakowski and Rabbi Cohen had arrived. But that night, who knew?

And so, that hot day was coming to an end. Everything had taken place unbeknownst to me... Göring’s Luftwaffe, Spirakowski, and Carole Gibson, with her huge fortune and golden hair...

At 4:30, an ice-cold shower...

And by 5, I was sleeping like an angel. That fateful September 7 was already over, and I went on without knowing a thing.

She had arrived too, in her shiny yellow Beechcraft. But who had known, damn it, who?

Spirakowski slept too, trembling a little...
I like playing poker. By 4 a.m. at the Bohemonds, I’d emptied my pockets to a wealthy Turkish merchant and a pair of South American diplomats.
And she was sleeping too, Room 205, Hotel St. Georges, the smartest in Beirut, naturally...

The 8th wasn’t just the day after the 7th, as I later found out. At the seat of the German Armistice Commission, something had gone wrong.

The General is furious after your actions last time. if the Gestapo is willing to tarnish Germany’s good name with their methods, then they must appeal directly to the Führer in Berlin!

This isn’t Warsaw, Steiner! We want their support in the fight against Britain!

For what? Those degenerate brits are already a lost cause.

We lost track of him in Antakya, before the border.

The General is a military man, he should do his job and show these French tin soldiers who’s boss.

if that man gets in through the other side, do you know what’ll happen to you, Steiner?

I don’t care. But he won’t come through the other side. it’s become a personal mission. Consider him as good as dead.

The nerves at the headquarters of the French High Commissioner reached their peak around 11.

I just got a phone call from Steiner. He’s flipped his lid over some fellow coming from Turkey.

Steiner! Steiner! What is he on about?! isn’t winning the war enough for him?

down, Guillaumet. He needs us, no?

Enough. What’s the story with Spirakowski?
Calm

Spirakowski. Montefiore Abraham Spirakowski. Polish. Philosophy professor. Here are his details.

A Jew?

Ah, in that case I’m in. Let me see... Well? What about Steiner? You over it?

is she loose?

My goodness, who is that?

My word, you’re worse than an italian.

take back what you said or i might be offended.

Listen, Bouget. I would have sent that swine Dreyfus to the squad. Are we clear now?

ok, ok. but there's no chance with that one, i promise you.

That you don’t like Jews? Clear, very clear. Here’s the file. Do what you want with it.

No chance? Boy was that the truth. A devastating beauty. But spoiled, finicky, disagreeable, if anyone ever was.

Hotel St. Georges, 10:30 a.m.
Almost Hollywood, my man. She flew in yesterday on a nice little yellow plane.

...First scene last night over an orange juice that wasn’t sufficiently chilled.

Old Beirut and the bazaar are an impenetrable tangle of streets, alleys, and courtyards.

Our friends are resting from the long trip.

it’s a miracle that Spirakowski was able to escape the Germans and cross all of Europe. The Zionist Executive is very nervous in Jerusalem.

...Another shortly thereafter, over the automobile that the hotel did not have ready for her.

...And me, who was just waking up...

With good reason. The Gestapo is in Beirut following the German Armistice Commission.

What’s the French administration doing?

They’re collaboarting, Pinkas, what else can they do?

Those people hate the Jews no less than the Nazis.

Not all of them, Pinkas... Ah, good morning, Spirakowski. Nice to have you with us.

So you’re Montefiore Abraham Spirakowski... There was a Yiddish theater troupe by that name in Ukraine in 1908... Why is the Gestapo on your tail?

Sh’mana. Bakur. Good morning, my friend.

...Such sad eyes, my friend. ...Have you seen hell itself?

The Kit-Kat had nothing to envy from The Café Francais, ask anyone who was in the Levant in those years.
Something happened on the night of the 8th, right at the end of the Brazilian dance number...

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