Conversation · Gaston Martin

"Oh... sorry, officer... What do you want?"

"Bye for now." [Leave.]

"Hey, I said I wouldn't do it, but I found you a new boule." (Hold out the ball.)

Gaston glumly stares at the shot put ball. Several seconds pass. Then he speaks: "It's too late now, officer... you got back too late. René is gone."

"The prick survived all the bullets, swords and explosions just to die of a heart attack..." He sighs deeply. "Ironic, isn't it -- even his own bitter little heart couldn't stand him."

"Keep it, it's not even a real boule." He waves you away. "Besides, it doesn't really matter now. I've never seen anyone else play pétanque in Martinaise."

He will never play pétanque again.

"Tell me, what do you know about the dead man?"

"Uh... everything really. I probably knew him better than..." He stops, realizing something. "You meant the teacup in the tree, didn't you? I don't know anything about him."

Teacup? Oh, because of the ceramic armour. Clever.

"Looks delicious." (Point to the sandwich.) "Can I have a bite of that?"

"I'm sorry, officer, but I really don't share food," he says and quickly adds: "Nothing personal, it's just a principle."

Suddenly you realize how hungry you are. The last time you ate must have been... god knows when.

Aeons ago. Probably when you were still a child.

The sandwich looks like a culinary wonder, well made and abundant in components. The author sure knew their craft.

In addition to the obvious slice of ham -- a fat one -- you notice a brim of a tomato peeking from below. And... is that mayonnaise?

"Please, man, can I just have a bite?"

"Believe me, officer, I wish I could help you, but I need this sandwich to keep my blood sugar stable." He's squirming, avoiding your gaze. "In my age you need to pay attention to these things."

You can barely hear him. The sweet smell of pickles in harmony with garlic butter and marinated onions emanating from the sandwich is driving your mind in a singular direction -- it must be yours.

And then it hits you -- the brilliant bastard has drenched the entire sandwich in honey mustard. That's incredibly decadent. And delicious.

"Please, friend, let's just share it."

"FUCK OFF, it's mine!" He jerks away, immediately startled by his own reaction.

A glimmer of respect flashes in René's eyes.

"Sorry, officer, I'm sorry, I didn't mean it in a bad way," he continues cautiously. "But the sandwich is mine, I'm not gonna share it."

... and it's gone.

"When the dissidents come to rape our country, he hides, but try to get a bite of his dear sandwich and he gets claws? You're a special kind of a vermin, Gaston."

"You're not hearing me, man. I need the sandwich!"

"Okay... I'm not that hungry anyway."

"Oh, that's good, that's very good." He's visibly relieved. "You must have other business then?"

"Don't be a dick, Gaston, there's plenty for everyone."

"The only one you have."

"I want to go over few more things about René, if that's okay?"

"Yes?" he looks up. "What about, René?"

"I offer my sincere condolences." (Conclude.)

"Yes." The lieutenant nods. "We are both very sorry for your loss."

"It is what it is, part of life really," he mumbles, only half-listening to you. "But to know someone for 79 years, then one day they're just gone..."

Despite their differences these men played such a significant part in each other's lives that now that one of them is gone, the other feels... just lost.

"I just don't know anymore... about anything really." He slowly shakes his head, then remembers your presence. "But you... you must need something?"

"Was he really that bad?"

"I repeat -- an absolute cunt." He turns to look at the crater. "Even his old army buddies didn't want him around. He was like an old viper."

"The only people who could stand to be around him were Jeannie and me..." He pauses. "She saw something in him when we were just kids, and..."

His voice trembles. "...a-and she never lost sight of it. And I thought if the most beautiful being in the world can love him, then there must be something worth holding on to..."

"How did he die exactly?"

"His angry little heart finally gave out." He sighs. "The dockworkers found him in the guard booth this morning. Wasn't even supposed to be working for another week, but he just had to prove how tough he is..."

Wait... did he push himself to prove he can pull his weight and doesn't need hand-outs?

"Guess he was about to head home. The dockworkers found him in his civilian clothes and not the cockatoo uniform you... ugh... confiscated."

"Sometimes I thought he was wearing it just to piss me off." Gaston smiles a sad smile. "Now the joke's on him, 'cause he's gonna be buried without it."

"Do you think our conversation about his job pushed him to go out there?"

"No," he replies quickly. "René was the most stubborn man in Revachol. Nothing you or I could say would ever push him to do anything. The man was completely immovable."

He has doubts, but right now he just wants to move on and not think about it.

'Do or die -- there is no middle ground' -- that's what you told René. Perhaps he wasn't completely immovable after all?

"The irony isn't lost on me, but I wanted to ask about something else."

"I'm glad to assist you if I can, officer," he replies, voice tired and breaking.

That means the uniform could still be in the guard booth -- something to keep in mind if you really plan to give yourself to Revachol.

"Guess he was about to head home, 'cause when the dockworkers found him he was wearing civilian clothes and not the cockatoo uniform I saw him in all the time."

Did he feel like he has to prove he can still pull his weight? Doesn't need hand-outs?

"Shame, I didn't get to ask him how to turn back time."

"Real shame..." The old man nods, eyes still on the ground. He's not really paying attention to your words.

You're not gonna get anything out of this guy. If the old carabineer knew something, it will be buried with him.

No worries, just a small setback. Movere tempore, kingsman. For the tenacious no road is impassable. Just got to stay moving.