Conversation · The Deserter

"His job was to assure the army answers to civilian control -- and follows the ideology of the commune," the lieutenant says softly.

"Scientific communism!" The tracksuit-clad old man is suddenly reanimated. "A comissaire politique is a knight-philosopher of the Revolution, a future human."

Awakened from shutdown by the promise of ideology.

He was like a cleric, a shepherd.

Really now?

Okay then. Over-mystified that a bit..

"So you were like a priest?"

"No..." He shakes his head. "The opposite of that. A future human, not a human of the past."

"My pig asked you a question. Quit spazzin' out and tell him about the..." The kid doesn't get to finish the sentence.

He would answer, but something happened. It's like his tape cut off suddenly...

"Understood."

"Like you belong to the Moralist Party..." He squints his eyes at you.

"I have another, serious question for you."

"There is nothing serious in this world." He looks at the gun in your hand. "It's a farce."

"There is nothing serious in this world." He looks at the gun lying on the ground. "It's a farce."

"You said this is your termless surrender."

"You're with the RCM --" He waves in your general direction. "The Coalition-appointed mob that enforces bourgeois morals in Revachol. A so-called 'lieutenant double-yefreitor'..."

"That's right. I'm with the good guys."

"Murderers..." He stares at the embers, then into your eyes. "You're the RCM -- you represent the Moralist International, the enemies of humanity, who took this city. I represent their adversary, le Parti communiste d'Insulinde."

"Take me to them as a prisoner of war. I have relinquished my weapon, I can no longer serve. No superiors can relieve me of my duty, you bulldozed them all to a mass grave for trying to free humanity..." His hand shakes and he breaks into a coughing fit.

A spray of blood from his mouth, on the black charcoal in the firepit...

René, the royalist on the coast said...

"Before that, tell me..."

"What?" The old man looks up -- the whites of his eyes are pale yellow.

"You never signed the Revacholian Instrument of Surrender..."

"Liberal reactionaries signed that instrument -- traitors, who should have been burned alive..." He draws his breath. "I answer to the Communist Party."

"Is that part of why you've been here all this time? Because the Party didn't surrender?"

"If the Party had surrendered -- then it would not be the Party."

"Understood."

"I don't think you did." He stares at the firepit. "You live in a delusion. Radio shows, speed racing, and sporting goods. It's not real..."

"That's insane."

"You're insane." He stares at the firepit. "Radio shows, speed racing, sporting goods... None of it is real."

"Honourable."

"Honour is a feudal atavism." He looks at the firepit. "My motive is class."

"Is that why you've been here for 43 years? Because the Party didn't surrender?"

"The communards signed the Revacholian Instrument of Surrender."

"I'm not 'Coalition-appointed.' I just try to help people."

"You're the RCM." He stares at you coldly. "You represent the Moralist International, the enemies of humanity, who took this city. I represent their adversary, le Parti communiste d'Insulinde."

"We enforce the law. We keep these animals from killing each other."

"You're the RCM." He stares at the embers, then into your eyes. "You represent the Moralist International, the enemies of humanity, who took this city. I represent their adversary, le Parti communiste d'Insulinde."

"I know what it looks like. But I have secret plans to turn the RCM into a Mazovian revolutionary unit."

"Rock and roll posturing..." He stares at the embers, then into your eyes. "You're the RCM -- you represent the Moralist International, the enemies of humanity, who took this city. I represent their adversary, le Parti communiste d'Insulinde."

"I'm with the RCM -- let's leave it at that."

"Let's." He looks you in the eye. "You represent the Moralist International, the enemies of humanity, who took this city. I represent their adversary, le Parti communiste d'Insulinde."

"You're with the RCM --" He waves in your general direction. "The Coalition-appointed mob that oversees the occupation of Revachol. A so-called 'lieutenant'..."

"You're with the RCM --" He waves in your general direction. "The Coalition-appointed mob that enforces bourgeois morals in Revachol."

"You said you deserted your unit?"

"I was just sixteen years old, fifteen when I volunteered. I had a lapse of faith..." He clears his throat. "And of courage too."

"Lapse of faith?"

"You could say I misunderstood the historic role of the proletariat, and thought Mazovian socio-economics were fallible. For a second I doubted the irreducible laws of historic materialism."

"A second is all it took."

"For what?"

"For Reaction to take hold."

"Yes. We all have a tiny bourgeois person in us, trying to run away."

He does not seemingly react to what you said. Only his right brow moves a little.

He does not believe a police officer is genuinely revolutionary.

"And this was... when?" The lieutenant instinctively looks to his notebook, but does not take it out.

He is still not convinced of his safety -- you should not be either.

"May the 13th, '08, 44 years ago," he looks north. "The horizon was black with Coalition airships. Their petroleum rose to the sky and it looked like... like it formed the clouds. Storm clouds. When they started shelling it was... dark magic."

"That's enough. Another thing..."