Conversation · The Deserter

"You're sad for your fascha brother aren't you? One twig got broken, now the others are sad..." He waves his hand. There's a twitch -- then one more one in his right eye...

"One thing -- where's the scope? How did you make the shot without a scope? We have everything else..."

"Forget about your stupid fucking scope, I don't know where it is! Find it yourself -- it's your problem now."

He lost it, he just doesn't know where it is, forget it, push on...

"The view was perfect. With a pair of binoculars I could've seen in the room."

He's practically admitting to it. Just one thing -- the rifle does not have a scope.

"You've been here a long time, Mr. Dros -- too long. You need medical aid..."

He's practically admitting to it.

"You're a communist. I talked to the dead man, he told me communism killed him."

"Stupid droite." He scoffs.

The lieutenant looks at you with worry in his eyes.

Not this, he seems to say. Anything but this.

"Yes. I held a seance with his soul. It has shown me the way -- and the way leads to you."

"Matter does not behave in such a way. Those are aberrant bourgeois musings: magic erl-creatures, esoteric theosophy. It's all cryptofascism."

"Your brain is rotting from the radio waves." He looks at the air, then turns to the lieutenant.

He does not answer the provocation. It does not look like he thinks this approach worked.

Yeah... this just did nothing.

But still, somehow you knew it was a communist.

Is this... the miracle?

No. The miracle is still waiting. This is the darkness.

How?

Perhaps you suspected it before you took the case.

The vision was you remembering that.

But aren't I... way out in the West?

You are. Soon it will happen.

But this did nothing.

Was it supposed to?

Yes, I see. It's intuitive. (Nod.) Like fascism.

Yes. You have a vast royalist soul and it's reaching out for something -- in the future.

I will look deeper then.

The inland sea is dark, vast, and on the surface meaningless...

Actually, I'm beginning to think he's right and this is just cryptofascism.

No. There is more here. A sliver of something. Some kind of future.

Turn back to him.

"Standing there, slack-jawed," the old man shakes his head. "Brain festering..."

"Your brain is rotting from the radio waves." He looks at the air, then turns to the kid. "You too. They're twisting you."

"Whatever, man..." Cuno looks at you. It doesn't look like he thinks this worked.

"Your brain is rotting from radio waves..." He looks at the air, then squints with suspicion.

"You fucked with the wrong police officer. I have para-natural abilities."

"Nature does not behave in a para-natural manner," he scoffs. "Aberrant bourgeois musings -- magic erl-creatures and esoteric sensations. It's all cryptofascism."

"It was intuition. Had he spoken, he would have said communism killed him."

"Intuition is an aberrant psychologism." He chortles. "It reeks of cryptofascism. The parasite class use intuition to justify their rank in life. It's all just palmistry and magic erl-creatures."

"There were May bells behind the victim's window." (Show him the dried flower.)

"Damn May bells..." He looks at the blossoming field behind you. "The whole island is turning white with them..."

He seems tender suddenly, nostalgic even. A strange mood swing.

"So many this year too. The spring is coming, no... it's already here. Wash the filth away..."

"You've been in Martinaise your whole life -- know any... secret paths?"

"I may..." A strange tremor passes his face.

"I haven't seen these flowers anywhere else in Martinaise. Only here."

"They blossom on the islets before. We fertilized them with our blood." He looks to the water. "Rèsurrection was snow white in May, before they ruined it."

South, the Bay of Martinaise is dotted with little freckles of islets, turning green, with white flowers in white snow...

"The coast too -- before they piled their containers on top of it. Filled with broken, useless trash for fat fingered bourgeois children to play with..."

"You must get around a lot -- to stay undetected all these years..." The lieutenant's voice is soft, friendly. "Do you know any secret paths? Pinball workshops?"

"I may..." A curious tremor passes his face.

"Bet you've been sneaking around a lot... hidden." The kid sounds agitated. "Know any secret paths? Cuno knows paths..."

He must get around a lot -- to stay undetected all these years.

"A young woman called Klaasje -- ring any bells? Flowers like these were behind her window." (Continue.)

"Klaasje..."

He repeats the name with care. As if it were at risk of breaking.

He knows her -- but hadn't heard the name.