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224 pages, Paperback
First published February 5, 2020
The North Easterner in the greengrocer's insists that Gaston properly identify himself if he wants to talk business; he needs to know where he comes from and what he does, in order to activate the territorial and trade-related codes of trust, or of distrust. It is not easy to determine where Gaston comes from; his skin, darker than that of the Peninsulars, his cheeks, which are broad, his almost grey eyes, and the abundance of hair on his ears, which, more than a physical attribute, is a lycanthropic sign of premature ageing, all produce a peculiar visual effect, resistant to classification. The way he speaks doesn't help, either; the strange accent with which he intones the colonizing language after so many years of living here (more than thirty), and the vocabulary, which is a blend of his own quaint lexicon with that of the Peninsula, with that of Max, and with sayings and expressions taken from the indigenous language.
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Before saying anything he also remembers that it's futile trying to reason with people who use shared origin as a way of striking up a conversation or as an argument, and so he opts to keep quiet instead. Cordillera Guy comes up very close, brushing up against him, invading his space.
"You can't be on two sides," he says.
"I'm not on any side," Gaston replies.
"You can't not be on any side," Cordillera Guy insists.
Gaston says that he didn't know they were at war. Pacific Coast Guy grows exasperated. It's clear that he finds civilized intimidation restrictive, like a T-shirt several sizes too small.
"What planet do you live on, mate?" he asks.
What planet do you live on, Gaston repeats to himself, and there is so much violence, so much desire for exclusion in this question, that it seems like a threat of eviction; there's no room for you here--go and live on another planet. Gaston pulls on Kitten's lead, steps around Cordillera Guy, and walks off.
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"You can't do this," Gaston says; "it could be dangerous."
"The really dangerous thing," interrupts the old teacher, "is the idea that everything that comes from outside, anything alien, is a threat that must be eradicated. You know what that's called?"
Gaston says nothing, because he is waiting for an answer from Pol, not a speech from his old teacher.
"Universal fascism," the old teacher says, answering his own question. "This fantasy that we have to protect some supposed purity, and original, primitive order, to safeguard some sort of essence, traditions, a better past--which side are you on?"