Conversation · Joyce Messier

"Might I suggest not asking them all right now? Ma'am Messier will be here later too. And tomorrow. Isn't that true, ma'am?"

"Absolutely -- my commitment here is long term."

"You're right lieutenant. I'll continue later."

He nods. "It's better not to eat all your candy at once."

"Indeed. I am always at your service."

"But won't I be lazy if I don't do it all now?"

"Of course not," He shakes his head. "You're already diligent for getting this far -- and diligent boys remember where they left off."

"But I want to know everything now."

"That is understandable -- but perhaps it's better not to eat all your candy at once?"

Say nothing. Observe the large body of water swelling. Cold...

She observes your eyes scanning the horizon, then breaks the silence, slowly.

"Where are we?"

A sparkle of lights on the horizon, like evening stars above the curvature of the planet.

A sparkle of lights on the horizon, like morning stars above the curvature of the planet.

A collection of tall ghosts behind the water vapour, light reflecting off their glass windows.

"So, we're on the periphery? Basically nobodies?"

"Speak for yourself, officer. I'm well known in certain parts. As to the place, you're right. We are..." She points across the water, where the skyscrapers rise...

"So, we're pretty much at the centre of the world?"

"Oh, we're quite a way off. About..." She points across the water, where the skyscrapers rise...

"You were here as a teenager?"

"Yes, I was slumming it with some girlfriends of mine. We had boats and..." She smiles. "Don't hold it against me -- the boys certainly did not."

There is a spark in the air, a live wire hanging in the wind -- in your hung over neocortex. Then the sea air cools it down.

"Tell me about another, perhaps even more fundamental aspect of reality."

"I would be happy to. What is a preposterously expensive education for if not sharing."

"Tell me more about Martinaise."

"I'm not a good ambassador. I've only been here once before, as a teenager. Not a lot has changed..." She closes her eyes. "There are ruins, a terminal, fishing boats, reeds. Boys with boxy shoulders."

A brief spike of longing in her upright body. The dots under her eyelids shake.

She opens them: "This place used to be a province, a workers' resort before the city swallowed it and the artillery did its work. The reeds are the real star of the show here now. The further down the coast, the wilder it gets."

"You said pale. What is pale?"

"What are you?"

"What I am not is a basic term of reality," she smiles.

There may be a way to get her speaking about herself -- at some later juncture.

Everyone wants to talk about themselves. She will, in time.

"What was the RCM again?"

"What is this?" (Spread your hands.)

"A bird?" She tilts her head. "A sphenicid -- a flightless bird of the polar regions?"

"Am I really that awkward?"

"Of course you're not, my dear. I'm just terrible at guessing games."

"Let me ask you something else."

"Of course," she tosses her permanent-waved hair. "Ask me anything."

"I meant what is this place here?"

"This place is an unmarked microsettlement on the coast of Martinaise..." She gestures toward a collection of cinderblock dwellings covered by a highly carcinogenic roofing material.

"It's lovely, really. I'm thinking of buying it."

"Really?"

"Yes -- so I can spite Evrart and spoil his plans for this place. I'm a petty person, I admit."

"Don't worry, I'll never get around to it -- the information you pass to me will remain confidential," She waves you off: "Let's get back to reality, shall we?"

"Actually, yes. The thought did cross my mind when Mademoiselle Lilienne earlier told me about the fresh produce these women sell to restaurants on the Delta."

"This place could use a competent manager. There's so much to be done. But then, I'll never get around to it, will I?"

There is regret in her voice -- for all the countless things she never had time to do with her money.

"Doubtless I'll be off some place, keeping social classes from each other's throats..." There's a pause. "Let's go back to the basics of reality, shall we?"

"Actually, yes. The thought did cross my mind when Mademoiselle Lilienne over there told me about the fresh produce these women sell to restaurants on the Delta."

You both turn to consider the young woman. She's hunched over a net, methodically picking out ribbons of plastic...

"Ah!" She spreads her arms almost as wide. "This is the pier of Rue de Saint-Ghislaine 33A, where the tenants have been kind enough to rent me a slot..."

"...or two." She looks around.

"What is Rue de Saint-Ghislaine 33A?"

"A pre-revolutionary tenement. Old buildings are called tenements, you see, and new buildings batiments, after les batiments noveau. But 33A and 33B are not noveau, they're old." She looks up at the crumbling facade...

"This one used to be eight to ten stories tall -- a real high rise by the standards of the last century. Built to mirror the skyscrapers across the bay in the Delta. That was before the war, of course."

"Who lived in them?"

"Mostly the urban middle class, I believe. This was once primo real estate. Before the cannons lopped four or five stories off..."

"Splat-splat!" From a dilapidated balcony, Cindy the SKULL gives Joyce the evil eye, her red paintbrush held to her throat...