Conversation · René Arnoux

"May bells don't blossom yet, do they?" the lieutenant quickly asks.

"Maybe on some remote parts of the city they do." The old carabineer shrugs. "But I think you have to wait for at least a month."

"Is there anything you can tell me about this rifle?" (Hold out the antique firearm.)

"It's a Belle-Magrave," he says, taking the rifle. "4.46 calibre, breech-loading, Revachol-made. Good weapon, accurate and reliable."

His moves are quick and precise as he first checks the weapon, then aims it at the sea. This man knows firearms intimately.

"This one's inoperable. The bolt-spring is missing and the mechanism is jammed shut. Still a beauty," he adds, handing the rifle back. "Where did you find her?"

"Sorry, I can't divulge that information."

He nods. "I understand. Unfortunately, I don't know what else to tell you. These BM's are an antique. No one uses them anymore. The ammunition is impossible to find."

"What do you mean find? This is my rifle, I always have it with me."

"In the basement there." (Point at the book shop.)

"I'm not surprised." He looks at the building. "There are probably lots of forgotten war-time weapons lying around here. Back in the day, everyone had something stashed away."

"As for the rifle -- I don't know what else to tell you." He shrugs. "These BM446s are an antique. No one uses them anymore. The ammunition is impossible to find."

"Did you ever use artillery fire against the communards?"

"You seem to be playing in a crater."

"I saw a horseback monument near the roundabout."

"Ah, yes, King Filippe III on his steed -- a reminder of what Revachol once was..."

"Oh absolutely..." He smiles as if reliving a pleasant memory. "At the mercy of a cocaine-snorting tyrant who emptied the treasury so he could sleep on a bed of gold?"

"...a superpower, feared and respected. A testament to what this country can be under the leadership of a True King, someone who knows how to rule."

"How should a true king rule?"

"Decisively. Without fear of offending the sensibilities of the frail and weak-minded among his subjects! This is something the insurgents never understood..."

"Seems to me a leader should take care of his people before himself."

"A nation is only as strong as its leader. That's why it was such madness to try to..."

"Don't get started on that again. What happened, happened." There is some weariness in his voice now -- he's heard this rant many times before.

The carabineer doesn't reply, but his entire being communicates unbreakable resolve.

No one and nothing can change this man's mind -- he is as rigid as they come, still in that antique uniform -- it's a symbol for him.

"I'm not sure how I feel about that."

"You haven't lived as long as I have, son. With age, a man learns certain things about real power -- or else ends up a spineless socialist rat, like Gaston here."

"And the worst part of that, officer," he says, face terrified, "is having to spend your days playing pétanque with an angry snake."

"Powerful leaders -- not afraid to do what must be done -- that's what this country needs."

"Revachol would be a different place if more people realized that." He gently rubs his chest. "We could still be the..."

"What was that about cocaine?"

"Oh, old Filippe was a big fan of the purple nose candy the nobility loved so much. A cocaine-connoisseur of sorts." He chuckles. "His egocentricity is borderline legendary."

"You can't even take responsibility for yourself -- how could you fathom the responsibility weighing on the shoulders of a ruler?" he asks, obviously annoyed.

"That's why the Filippian kings used cocaine -- for clarity of vision, to aid in their work... Regnum Cocainum -- Revachol's finest years." He seems to grow taller, brimming with pride about the past.

I'm satisfied with this explanation.

"Of course," the lieutenant marks dryly. "Clarity of vision. Awareness."

"Filippe III was even brought into this world with the help of cocaine -- the court medic administered a dose to his mother when she was in labour. And it is well known that with the help of cocaine -- only the purest, of course -- he was able to connect with higher realms..."

'Higher realms'? Of course -- it all makes sense...

He's just making excuses for the king's habits, isn't he?

No, he really believes what he's saying -- he has completely accepted the narrative of transcendence through cocaine use.

"Pyrholidon helps me connect to higher realms..."

"Please, officer! Don't encourage him!" He quickly turns to René. "Do spare us the cocaine fairy tales. The RCM isn't interested in them."

"Yes, indeed. We are not here to investigate the drug trade of centuries past."

But imagine -- purest cocaine... Now that would make you feel like a king. Not that you can afford it... But you could do a bit more speed. That would be okay. Would help you stay sharp.

But imagine -- purest cocaine... Now that would make you feel like a king. Not that you can afford it... But what about speed? Speed is cheap. And good.

But imagine -- purest cocaine... Now that would make you feel like a king. Not that you can afford it. But a man can dream, right? In another time and place...

"Such responsibility requires a boost every now and then. I sometimes need one too..."

"Thanks for clearing that up. I have some other questions now."

"I'm listening." He doesn't sound too pleased to have his praises to the miracle of cocaine-fuelled kingship cut short.

"I too have travelled to higher realms..."

"Seems like irresponsible behaviour for a monarch. Drug users shouldn't even operate heavy machinery, much less rule countries."

"From what I've seen of the officers of the RCM..." he begins, looking you over, then stops himself. "But I don't want to get into a debate about drug policies."

"I drink alcohol and go to heaven..."

"I myself use speed to transcend..."

"What was that about higher realms? Sounds interesting."

"It's really not." He turns to René. "Please do spare us the cocaine fairy tales."

"They used cocaine for clarity of vision?"

"Let's talk about something else."

"Right." The old man stands tall and proud, looking at you inquisitively.

Cocaine? Cocainum? Sounds like our kind of king. And -- just imagine! -- what kind of cocaine a king would have had...