Conversation · The Deserter

It's as if something put the thought there. To leave the flowers.

"Something put the thought in you. A compulsion."

"What do you mean put?" He raises his eyes. They're round and wide.

A brief flash of terror.

"Nothing."

"I don't understand..." He shakes his head.

In the silence, the lieutenant draws a line in his notes. Then nods at you once more.

One more down.

In the silence, the lieutenant draws a line in his notes.

"I just got this feeling. From what you said. Do you agree?"

"Maybe..." He lowers his head and just stares at the logs. "I told you, I have holes in my brain now. I wouldn't just sit here waiting for you..."

A sudden pang of rage.

"If you came ten years ago, I would have killed you." He wipes his eye.

"Maybe..." He lowers his head and just stares at the logs. "I have these... holes in my brain now. I wouldn't just sit here waiting for you..."

Say nothing.

Neither does he. He lowers his head, like a sunflower on a withered stalk.

"You wanted to console her."

"You wanted to manipulate her."

"Did you have feelings for that woman?"

"There's..." he sighs, "there's nothing to hold on to, only this... It's not enough."

The coals of his eyes glisten suddenly, like stones dripping with water. Is he crying?

"Man needs to feel something else. In this fight, it helps if you have your eye on something there," he looks to the city. "It's weakness, I know."

"There have been others?"

"Yes. Over the years. It's not un-proletarian to feel something."

"One more thing about this woman..."

"Woman..." he smiles suddenly.

And inexplicably. It doesn't go with his pained voice.

"Was that why you left the dried flowers behind her window?"

"No..." He starts to shake his head again, a sunflower on a withered stalk.

"Why then?"

"I don't really know. I was there one night and she was crying, like a child -- in the corner of her room, on the floor. Like she does sometimes...."

"You wanted to punish her, so you killed him."

"She practically breastfed that man. You wouldn't believe the things she let him do to her..." He shakes his head and stares at the ashes.

You stare at them too. In your mind, Her Innocence Dei still turns to leave, airport bag in hand, silks flowing in her wake...

This has got nothing to do with that. (Try to forget it.)

It's no good, Harry. Her voice rings in the evening air. It smells of burning buildings...

"I'm not like that. I don't think like that."

"No one gives a shit what you think," the old man spits in the ash. "You and your cronies kill ten working class men a day. I've heard the statistics on Channel 8."

"I hate women too, you know."

"True, there is something bourgeois about women..." He nods. "The weak are more vulnerable to exploitation by capital, unless they rise up in arms, which the likes of her..." He shakes his head.

"Twisted by psychopharmaceuticals, alcohol, and the class interests of the bourgeoisie. They all are -- women nowadays..." He raises his eyes from the ashes.

"Men are insane." (Shake your head.)

"The world is insane..." He raises his gaze. Something glimmers in there. Then it's gone.

"She did deserve a good punishing."

He nods. "Made a little love-nest up there. Sweaty linen and bottles they would use for god knows what... I saw other men there too, but I can't be sure. Even a woman once."

"A red haired woman? Ruby..."

"That kind of thing is fine by the Party so it's fine by me, but it goes to show you..." He just shakes his head.

Seems like the answer was yes.

"A red haired woman? Ruby..."

"That kind of thing is fine by the Party so it's fine by me. But it goes to show you..." He just shakes his head.

Let it be.

The old man raises his gaze. Something glimmers in the corner of his black eye...

A bitter taste on his tongue.

"You saw through her? So did I."

"You're delusional. There's nothing to see in the soul of the bourgeois woman. It's the same as the surface -- sick hedonism and desperation."

Say nothing.

The dream...

See you tomorrow, Harry. Her voice rings in the evening air, burning...

While he stands here and rots.

"How long had you been watching her?"