Conversation · Paledriver

The woman looks at nothing, her eyes closed and her lips moving.

"Never mind, sorry to bother you." [Leave.]

Snap your fingers in front of her face.

"Huh?" That flicked a switch somewhere. "What is it? What do you want?"

"Before I came, you seemed... away."

"She's just a distracted old woman. We should maybe let her get back to her things..."

So he doesn't think she's the lady driver?

"You hear that, lawman? I don't think your partner likes you spending too much time with me..."

"Should you drive a lorry if you get like that?"

"Oh, don't worry about me. I'm one of the best camionneurs around. I drive routes no one else will."

"What routes?"

"Lomonossov's Land. Udachnaya Zemlya. The Western Plain..." She nods and closes her eyes again, letting her mind submerge...

A terrible cold comes over her. Rattling her teeth, as she stares inward.

"The Trans-Katla Magistral. U41-A. As Estradas do Mirador. All the good ones. The deep trenches. Where the bluebirds fly." She opens her eyes again and shudders.

"This should be reported to the proper authorities."

"You go right ahead, lawman. Let me know when you find them. I can't wait to read their report..."

"Is that all you woke me up to say?"

"I'm something of an expert in blacking out. You should take better care of yourself."

She looks you over and scoffs. "You're right, lawman. I'm the one who should take my health more seriously. Thank you for looking out for me..."

A correct appraisal, you're quite shabby.

"Cool. Ride until you're dust, sister."

"Irmão..." she breathes out. "I already am dust."

"Okay -- let's change the subject."

"A pale dream, is what it is." She nods her head according to a rhythm known only to her -- staring at the photo in her hands.

"Wait -- why is that, lieutenant?"

"Nothing. I just don't think she's connected to anything."

It's because of the pale. He doesn't want your frail mind caught up in it -- and this woman has spent time in the pale. A lot of time.

Whatever it is about this woman, it's connected to time -- she knows the way back.

He doesn't want your frail mind caught up in something here. Something unconnected to the case. But connected to this woman tuning out like that.

He's worried. But not for her -- for you. Hmm. What is it about this woman, if she's not connected to anything?

"The routes you drive are unusual, aren't they."

"Some of them. Some of them are like home to me now." She nods. "I would say the routes I drive are usual to me."

C'mon, he thinks -- she's not the lady driver.

So he doesn't think she's the smuggler?

"What do you mean?"

"You were in a dream. Inactive. Tuned off."

"Yes. What about it?"

"Blacked out. Should you be driving a lorry if you get like that?"

"Because I'm one of the best camionneurs around, that's why. I drive routes no one else will."

"I still don't really understand this whole boiadeiro thing."

"Of course not. To truly understand the boiadeiro, you need to listen to 'On the Western Plain'."

A boiadeiro (boia for short) is a cow herder from upstream Magritte, the great steppes of Northern Mesque. People like Mañana, at the gates, have turned it into an ideology of sorts.

"I've already got too many records to listen to as it is. Change of topic."

The woman sways her wrinkled shell back and forth, a strange grin across her face.

"Okay. What's that?"

"It's an old ballad about a young girl who falls in love with a daring boiadeiro. He promises to marry her as soon as he returns from the Western Plain."

"And they live happily ever after?"

"Don't be stupid. The boiadeiro returns from the Western Plain a changed man. One night, as he and his beloved are out walking along the River Magritte, she pleads with him to give up his riding and settle down..."

In the background you can hear the orchestra swell as the screen fills with the maiden's imploring eyes...

"So he gives up his riding and settles down, right?"

"No, the boiadeiro strangles his beloved and throws her body in the Magritte. Then he rides off, because the Western Plain is calling to him."

"That's a terrible song."

"You have to understand -- a true boiadeiro needs a whole horizon to himself. He can't be tied down by man or woman. His beloved was selfish. She didn't know what it meant to love a boiadeiro."

What if... to truly love a boiadeiro is to float lifeless downstream?

(Nod solemnly.) "A beautiful song."

"The most beautiful -- a true boiadeiro needs a whole horizon to himself. He can't be tied down by man or woman. His beloved was selfish. She didn't know what it meant to love a boiadeiro."

"That's... not where I thought that was going."

"I think I see where this is going."

"So the boiadeiro strangles his beloved and throws her body in the Magritte. Then he rides off, because the Western Plain is calling to him."

"I'm guessing that doesn't happen."