Conversation · Sunday Friend

A busy bee? What an odd choice of words.

"What about it?"

"This place used to be a luxury accommodation, before the Revolution. Apartments, of course, were much bigger then -- a few walls have been added here and there, leaving some of the tenants without a private bathroom or a kitchen..."

"But the million reál view stays. You can't take that away." He knocks on the balcony door, his face mirrored in the darkened glass.

"What? I'm not hearing anything."

"Someone's baby is bawling its eyes out."

"No, listen," he says again, looking outside...

"Someone's baby is crying."

"What view? It's dark outside."

"Isn't it rude for your friend to leave you alone like this?"

"We're old friends, nothing's taboo between us. He comes and goes."

"I'm sure you'll see him around, he's very active."

"How did you two even become friends?"

"How did any of us become friends? Bad things happening on the Insulindian isola. Oil platforms ablaze in the night. Civil wars lasting for years. Finally, the international community is forced to step in."

"What are you talking about? No one becomes friends that way."

"Au contraire. It's how millions of people end up where they are, meeting the people they meet. It's how I came here, and my friend, too."

"You're describing how the Coalition occupied Revachol."

"One of the wonders of democracy is that everyone is allowed to have his own opinion." The man pats his pockets, looking for something. "And not just allowed, encouraged even. Have you ever tried debate?"

There's a joke here, and you know what it is.

C'mon. It's so juvenile. Besides, there's no way this man is going to get it.

That's why it's good.

"Yeah, I'm what they call a master 'bater." (Brush some invisible dirt off your shoulder.)

"Oh! How wonderful. I've heard it's oodles of fun. Not that I have time to take up new hobbies myself..."

See? He didn't get it. Good job, jokemeister.

The lieutenant lets out a long, nasal sigh.

"What do you mean?"

"Debating. You should consider joining a debating society for adults. I hear they're oodles of fun. I used to have a flyer for one, but..."

"But now that I start to think of it, it was for an improv class anyway. It's this funny theatre thing, you know," he moves his fingers, "very creative, helps relieve stress."

A chill runs down your spine as you envision a half-dozen people in professional attire standing around a chair awkwardly pretending to be waiting for a motor-bus. It's neither funny nor creative.

"Ah, my friend. My friend is a good young man. His family immigrated here from Kedra and life has not been easy for him. But he understands the importance of education. He has taken his future into his own hands and that's all that matters."

"What's an official like you doing in Martinaise?"

"The Coalition is only looking out for ze price stabilité." He raises an index finger. "Inflation is a killer, like a heart disease blocking the normal circulation of the economy -- It must be controlled..."

"The economy impacts the entire international community, which is why it requires international oversight."

"What is this international community?"

"La communauté internationale is what Revacholians colloquially call the Coalition. In other words, the nations that stopped the disaster of the Revolution."

"And what do I call the Coalition?"

"Your employer, technically speaking. The governing authority of Revachol. The RCM is but one part of this provisional administration."

"So you're some kind of bureaucrat?"

"Yes. As I said before, I'm a commissioner from Sur-la-Clef working for the Institute of Price Stabilité." He glances at his watch. "This is one of the main projects of the Moralintern."

Wait, there isn't actually an Institute of Price Stabilité, is there? Or maybe there is... God, it's impossible to understand whether someone from the Moralintern is joking or not.

"What's the Moralintern?"

"It's the international organization for moralists. Hence 'Moralist International.' The Institute of Price Stability is just one of its many mind babies -- as is the Coalition."

(Turn to Kim.) "So what I'm hearing is that we're Moralintern bitches?"

"Doing one's job doesn't automatically make one anyone's bitch. Besides, there are more nefarious powers to work for than the Moralintern."

(Turn back to Sunday Friend.) "Are you a moralist?"

"But of course!"

"But why?"

"Because moralists believe in a normal, stable world governed by democratic values."

"Martinaise doesn't seem very normal, or stable, to me."

"Martinaise? No, Martinaise is... something else."

"What about the rest of Revachol? Is it part of the normal world?"

"Revachol is generally... difficult. It's led by an interim government, which means it hasn't yet achieved full democracy..."

"But they are working towards it! You're all doing very well here, relatively speaking." He gives you an approving nod.

"It's like every time I'm talking to people I'm choosing Option D, 'none of the above'... Is that moralism?"

"Is this 'Option D' usually the most reasonable answer?"

"It's usually the most boring one."

"Not boring, my friend. Responsible."

"Moralism is all about compromise and achieving the achievable. It's pragmatic, realistic, and level-headed, an ideology for doers. Are you a doer, my friend? It looks to me like you are."

"Now, enough of this delightful political interlude. Was there anything else you wanted to ask?"

"Yes, everything else is super extreme. It's like I'm living with a bunch of lunatics..."