Conversation · The Deserter

"I could come back for you. Once I've taken him to the Precinct."

"Uhm -- how about the Cuno comes back for you?"

"Maybe you're right..."

"I can't let a kid go and take a murder suspect to the station."

He's not afraid of jail. He's afraid of something else...

Like parting from a loved one.

The sum of all the erratic movements, fidgeting and mood swings he's been exhibiting...

"Huh?" He leans closer with a strange expression on his face.

Now that you say them, the words feel like tin, heavy, they're coming from the bottom of you. You've said them half a thousand times...

(Say:) "You will be taken to the nearest precinct holding area for preliminary investigation."

"But..." His eyes fill with sudden terror: "You said I would be taken to the, uhm, the..."

This terror, the sum of all the uncontrollable movements and mood swings he's been exhibiting...

The wind picks up. The silence on the water is broken, little shivers of waves appear...

(Say:) "Your Wayfarer rights have been suspended. Information provided to the officer on the scene will be used against you by the prosecution."

"..."

"You will be provided legal counsel within one week, and must face court in 44 days -- do you understand?"

"I..." He looks around, confused.

"Do you understand?"

"..."

"You're afraid..."

"What if I don't want to? What if I want to stay here?" He looks at you, eyes submerged in terror.

How is this brave man unravelling?

Look, he's sweating. Beads are forming on his forehead.

Pupils are dilated too, eyes getting blacker and blacker...

"First, you need to come with me to the boat."

"I can't, my rubber dinghy..." He points to the broken tyre. "My tyre is broken, it won't inflate."

He's regressing, fast.

He's been stuck on the island after the tyre broke...

Stop. Something is happening.

"Can you stay here while I go inland and find you transport?"

"What a farce. What are you talking about -- inland? Is this..." The old man's voice drowns in a sudden gush of wind.

Cold. From the East.

Your skin crawls.

"Let's go. I don't have handcuffs, so you walk in front of me."

"What a farce. What are you talking about -- handcuffs? Is this..." The old man's voice drowns in a sudden gush of wind.

Wait...

There it is again, to your north, as it has been since you came to the coast -- the reeds whisper, stalks rubbing against each other. But then, in the middle of it...

What?

Something completely different. It sounds like a bow, very slowly being drawn against the strings of a violin. A very small violin made of reeds and rushes.

"Mr. Dros, time to go."

"A farce -- this world. Is this... is this us..." His voice drowns out in a sudden gust of wind.

Your skin crawls.

"Mr. Dros, do you hear that?"

You thought you heard something, but it's just the reeds. Now -- how do we do this?

He's not afraid of jail. He's afraid of something else...

Like parting from a loved one.

"Do you understand, sir?"

The sum of all the erratic, involuntary movements and mood swings he's been exhibiting...

The words feel heavy, like they're coming from the bottom of you. You've said them half a thousand times...

It feels like a spell.

... is what you plan to say. Before you can get past 'you're under', the lieutenant interrupts you:

"Officer -- are we sure?" His voice is lowered. "We could maybe get more."

(Nod.) "We've been thorough enough."

He nods back and turns to the man sitting on the log. "Iosef Lilianovich Dros, you are under arrest for the murder of the Krenel colonel. You will be taken to the nearest precinct holding area for preliminary investigation."

(Turn to the suspect.) "One more thing, Mr. Dros..."

The old man looks at his rifle in your hands -- a little startled for some reason...

You've startled him... maybe it was the silence? He quickly gathers himself. Still -- what could he be afraid of?

The old man looks at his rifle in the sand, then up at you -- a little startled for some reason...

"Officer..." The lieutenant interrupts you at under. His voice is hushed. "Are we sure? We could maybe get more..."

... is what you plan to say. Before you can get past 'you're under', the kid interrupts you: