Conversation · Steban, the Student Communist

"Nobody said fulfilling the proletariat's historic role would be easy." A tight smile. "It demands great faith with no promise of tangible reward. But that doesn't mean we can simply give up."

"Even when they ignore us?"

"Even then."

"Mazov says it's the arrogance of capital that will be its ultimate undoing. It does not believe it can fail, which is why it must fail."

So young. So unbearably young...

Why do you see the two of them with their backs against a bullet-pocked wall, all of a sudden?

Their faces, blurred yet frozen as though in ambrotype. You were never that young, were you?

"I guess you could say we believe it because it's impossible." He looks at the scattered matchboxes on the ground. "It's our way of saying we refuse to accept that the world has to remain... like this..."

"You're thinking about someone, aren't you?"

"Yes, in fact... my mums." The young man smiles sheepishly. "She works in La Delta... in one of those skyscrapers, but it's not like you think... she's a cleaning lady."

"But how did you... oh, never mind. I guess I'm easier to read than I thought..."

"She's given up a lot for you."

"We all have to make sacrifices for the future. Maybe that's what I was trying to get at earlier..."

You made him self-conscious now. He's practically paralysed.

"Steban, it's getting pretty late."

"You're right... We should clean this up and get going." He gestures to the matchboxes.

Of course, the matchboxes! You'd very nearly forgotten to ask about them. Now may be your last chance...

"You want her to live in a better world."

"I want us all to live in a better world. But yes... she's a part of it... I guess we're all a part of it..."

"Why do you call her 'mums'"?

"Because I always have. Though I try not to do it too often now... it's kind of embarrassing, isn't it?"

"Broken."

"Yes, that's a good way to think of it, broken, but not irreparable."

"It's a nice thought."

"A thought can be a very powerful thing. That's the whole idea of infra-materialism..."

His words aren't really directed at you. He's wrestling with himself now...

"I don't know if I believe it, though."

"You've got to believe in something. Otherwise, what are you doing?"

"Who's in those skyscrapers over there?"

"My mums." The young man looks surprised. "She works in one of those skyscrapers, but it's not like you think... she's a cleaning lady..."

"Unfinished."

"Yes, that's a good way to think of it... a work-in-progress."

Say nothing.

The young man appears lost inside his own thoughts...

A cold wind whips at the canvas. From far below, the sounds of waves smashing themselves against the rocks. You are exposed.

Pull your jacket tighter.

Rub your arms with your hands.

Somehow you only now realise that the temperature has been dropping steadily for the last half hour.

"Even when they laugh at us?"

"Even then."

"Mazov tells us to laugh at the monster that hides behind false hopes and pieties."

"Even when they shoot at us?"

"Especially then."

"And of course, we'll be shooting right back."

"But what if you don't believe there is a future?"

"Then you don't believe in the historic role of the proletariat, which also means you reject the basis of historical materialism."

"It means you're not a communist, in other words."

"Okay, but what if you know there isn't going to be a future?"

"I'm not sure I get what you're driving at. Of course there will be a future, even if the form it takes might appear unrecognisable. That's the spiral of progress."

"What are you then?"

"Something else..." The young man shakes his head.

Wait, who is he thinking about?

Hard to say. Someone dear to him.

Track his gaze. He's looking out past the broken wall, toward the opposite side of the Bay...

What's there?

Many tall buildings, belonging to a district whose name escapes you.

Let the thought go.

Toward the skyscrapers of La Delta.

They rise like electric obelisks in the night.

There's something going on in there, but his innermost sanctum is still beyond your reach...