Conversation · Gaston Martin

"Gone? Gone where?"

Gaston sighs and mumbles, more to himself than you: "Hell, most likely. He was an absolute cunt..."

"What? Was he killed during the mercenary tribunal?"

"Oh, he would have liked that." The old man slowly shakes his head. "Violent lives ending violently... That's how he wanted to go. Sadly it was not the case."

"Do you know what happened to his medals?"

"Well, you took one of them." He shakes his head. "Still can't believe he gave it to you, but that's how rigid he was. Once the offer carelessly left his lips it was irrefutable..."

"The other one I took for myself." He looks at you defiantly. "No one knew him better than I did, and I want to remember that old cunt by something."

Strange how old cunt sounds almost gentle when he says it now.

He looks at you for a moment and then speaks quietly. "I took them for myself. Took them to remember that old cunt. Nobody knew him better than I did, and I want to remember that old cunt by something."

"Did you love him?"

"We've hated each other our entire lives. So much in fact that..." He falls silent and looks at you, eyes filling up with tears.

"Yes. I... I loved that angry prick. He didn't deserve it, but I did." He wipes his eyes with a sleeve. "You know what his last words to me were?"

"Tell me."

"'In Guillaume's time you'd have been shot without a trial'. That's what he said to me." The old man gathers himself and wipes his eyes again. "He lived a cunt and he died a cunt. Let's leave it at that."

"Something mean?"

"Some right-wing royalist slogan?"

"That he's sorry?"

"Something forgettable, like 'See you tomorrow' probably?"

"Old people die, you better get ready too." (Conclude.)

"Yes..." A strange expression runs across his wrinkled face, then vanishes without trace.

He finds comfort in the thought.

"We all got to go some time, officer. Everyone I love is already there. Probably waiting for me." He smiles faintly. "I'm not afraid to die. It's been a good run and I really miss my friends..."

"We are both very sorry for your loss," the lieutenant bows his head. "Death of a friend is a terrible thing."

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

"I'm not afraid of dying -- I'm only afraid of not really living."

"I don't want to die."

"I'm not afraid of death either."

"I'm pretty much on my wait out myself too... can't wait to die!"

"Here, something to remember your friend by..." (Give him the photograph of René and the girl.)

"Let me see..." Gaston takes the photo, hands trembling. "This was 60 years ago! We all went to that parade. Young René looks so happy and Jeannie..." Eyes blurry with tears, he has to stop.

"I'm sorry, officer, I just..." He dries his eyes. "Thank you, thank you for this little memorabilia. It really means the world to me."

"That was nice," the lieutenant smiles. "A small thing for us, but invaluable to him. He probably didn't even know René had the photo."

"May René rest in peace." (Conclude.)

"Yes..." A strange expression runs across his wrinkled face, when he repeats: "in peace."

"I wanted to ask you about the Union again."

"Officer..." he looks up, all wrinkled, old and small. "I just can't do this right now. The Union... it just doesn't matter anymore."

"Sure, officer." He smiles. "They are the good guys around here. What do you need?"

"Where is René?"

"The prick is gone," he replies, trying to smile. "I... I can barely believe it, but he's really gone."

He is trying to retain his jolly façade, but the underlying sadness casts a deep shadow over his wrinkled face.

"Hey, Gaston. No comment on the duds?"

"It... isn't right." The old man doesn't even bother looking away. "René wanted to be buried in his uniform. But I guess it doesn't matter now..."

The lieutenant gives you a long, slow shake of his head.

"You mentioned Jeanne-Marie Beaulieu. Who is that?"

"Ghost of the past." The old man removes his hat and sea wind ruffles his grey hair. "Everyone in this story is already dead, officer. I don't wanna talk about them."

"But you probably had some official business too?" he asks and puts the hat back on.

"Oh, sweet Jeannie..." He gets a dreamy look in his eyes. "She was the finest woman in all of Revachol. Maybe the entire world."

"Do not defile her memory, Gaston." There's an almost imperceptibly small tremble in his voice. "Let her rest in peace."

His tone lacks its usual intensity, like he doesn't feel he has the right to speak on the matter.

"Why do you think she was indecisive?"

"She could never make up her mind about anything. What to have for breakfast, favourite colour or which one of us to marry." The look in his eyes is happy and distant.

"She was always leaving one of us for the other, but never long enough to actually get married."

"That's a bit odd."

"Heck," he says with a chuckle. "Technically we're both still engaged to her."

"You always confused her, couldn't let us be happy..." He says with heavy resentment. "Seduced her with your fancy words and pastries."

He suddenly remembers you are still there, falls silent, and turns away.

"Nothing wrong with weighing your options first."

"Women, right?"

"So you both know her?"

"We knew her, alright..." His friendly face lights up. "Lived on the same street our entire lives, just two houses apart. The three of us have been best friends since we were four."