Conversation · Gaston Martin

"Let me think..." He looks at the clouds, wistfully. "I heard someone was hanged and left on a tree for a week, but that's all I know really."

"Shame. Maybe you can help me with something else then."

"Of course, officer, I mean I hope I can." He nods enthusiastically. "What's on your mind?"

"C'mon, you must have heard something..."

"No, officers, I'm sorry. And I really would like to assist," he adds, smiling apologetically. "You are both good guys. I can see that."

"Then help him, you wimp." Reproach fills his eyes. "You rub plenty of shoulder with the gauche caviar in the Union. Someone must know something."

He means caviar-socialists.

"I wish I could, but I just don't know anything." His cheeks turn red. "I always keep my nose clean and don't gossip. Everyone knows and respects that."

Odd... He doesn't seem to be lying, but there's something off here.

"All right then. Change of topic."

"Of course, officer, I hope I can help you." He nods enthusiastically. "What's on your mind?"

"Sounds a bit like you're holding back."

"I'm not," he assures you. "I'm not even anyo---"

"Of course he's holding back." The carabineer crosses his arms. "His mouth is so full of Union prick he can't even speak properly."

"Can I at least finish my fucking sentence before you piss on it? Is that okay, René?" His eyes are furious. "I'm not anyone important in the Union. I just know Evrart."

"Are you a caviar socialist?"

"I don't even consider myself a regular socialist. Politics is not really something I involve myself in, officer."

"Wait, how can you write those newspaper pieces if you're not political?"

"Officer, I have a vivid imagination." He laughs again. "And like I said, I have a way with words. That's enough. No need to sink into politics."

He just fluffs it up.

"Of course -- don't sink into anything. Don't sink into any fight. Only sink into your couch."

"That's smart. I keep my nose clean too."

"Just easier that way," he nods in approval. "Besides, life isn't as black and white as René's of the World try to make it seem. It's all shades of grey really."

"Mon dieu..." the carabineer closes his eyes, like he's never going to open them again.

"But you need to believe in something. Freedom, the people, Revachol or even money..."

"I believe everyone has the right to think and do whatever they want. Even if it's nothing at all. I'm very adaptable."

"So you are a 'weathervane'?"

"I prefer highly-adaptable myself," he chuckles merrily. "Has a better ring to it, don't you think?"

"What are the 'little things' you do for Evrart?"

"Writing work mostly," he smiles. "Occasionally he needs something written and I happen to have a way with words, people say."

"What kind of things do you write for him?"

"Oh, nothing official, I assure you. Just essays for the newspapers. About Martinaise and how things are and how they could be. Evrart and I have these long talks where..."

"Where he tells his little penman exactly what to say! It's commie propaganda, plain and simple. You should be ashamed of yourself."

That's why Gaston isn't a Union member. Evrart needs a 'neutral' party to speak his ideas.

"I do 'little things' for Evrart too. I feel terrible about it."

"That's just the way things work around here," he declares merrily. "No reason to feel bad about it."

"I do 'little things' for Evrart myself. Nothing wrong with that."

"Let's stay on the track here, guys."

"On the Union-track?"

"How do you know Evrart?"

"Everyone in Martinaise knows the Claire brothers," he says solemnly. "I taught these boys human studies and history in the gymnasium."

Gymnasium. I love that word.

Hmm... so Gaston taught both Easy Leo and the Claire Brothers.

"What do you know about history?" The carabineer snaps at Gaston. "You never witnessed history. Only heard about it -- years later -- when it had already moved on. You don't know history."

The old soldier mumbles something under his breath and turns to face the sea.

There he stands. Proud, rigid, and alone, like a cracking marble statue.

"Let's try not to get caught in the..." The lieutenant lowers his voice: "Crossfire."

Lest we leave riddled with bullet holes. This animosity is ancient.

"What a prick," the jolly man declares, with a sigh. "The officer was addressing me, not you, capitaine. Where were we?"

'Where were we' -- what a joyous way of putting it.

"The blind leading the blind doesn't even begin to describe it," is what he said.

"Can you help me get inside the harbour?"

"No, I'm sorry, officer." he shakes his head. "I don't even have a keycard. Evrart usually sends someone to get me, when he wants to talk."

"Thanks, that's all for now." (Conclude.)

"Thank you officer," he nods, smiling wide. "For being a consummate professional. You'll have this case wrapped up in no time."

"Are you a Union member?"

"Oh..." His cheeks turn red again. "In many ways, yes. Like an honorary member. I attend meetings and parties. Help with little things. Evrart, Edgar, and the older Débardeurs all know me."

"So you're not an actual member?"

"Not in the technical sense..." His eyes fix on the boules in the crater. "I don't have a vote or a membership card. But Evrart keeps me on the payroll. Just for the little things."

So that's what it was, before! Him hiding something. He tries to make it look like he's a big deal in the Union and now the illusion is disintegrating before your -- and René's -- eyes.