Oh! Yes! He really knows English. Now you have impressed me Corinne.
I didn't know that the Ex-Former Canadian Mounted Police followed a religion, struck Peter in amazement, especially when years ago it was mathematically proven that God doesn't exist.
But The Force is no God, citizen Peter. The Force unites us all.
Like string theory? Peter asked.
Like Paterson nail polish? Corinne continued.
The Ex-Former policeman looked at them very seriously.
Much more. Infinitely more. The Force unites everything. Even the Force itself is united by itself of how strong it is.
Unbelievable, more than string theory, exclaimed Peter.
Unbelievable, more than Paterson nail polish, added Corinne.
Peter and Corinne looked at each other with a certain skepticism, although this initial reaction soon disappeared before the voice of John Alexander, who possessed a surprisingly captivating voice. Both Peter and Corinne had fleeting daydreams about the entity appointed by the Ex-Former Canadian Mounted Police, although their personal ramblings differed greatly from each other.
Peter mentally ratified the words of his former teacher Paquita Johns. He could never have been an ex-cop.
Look at him. How he arches his legs as he walks.
Corinne, for her part, thought that the members of that police force were very boring characters, not one of them had deigned to look, albeit out of the shadows, at the deep neckline she carried for that occasion: Are they blind or dumb? thought the disillusioned Corinne.
And again, being moved only by the most atrocious boredom, Corinne in the middle of that room again asked a question.
Why were the Ex-Former Canadian Mounted Police the only police force that survived the Great Smoke?
John Alexander took a penetrating look into Corinne's eyes.
By a simple rule not possessed by the rest of the police forces of that time, John Alexander knew how to use silences well. It was the only defense corps that banned smoking.
A prolonging wow arose from the throats of Peter and Corinne.
All the old police forces allowed John made another deliberate pause, smoking among their ranks. Poor puppets of disease. All these entities were struck down by the Great Plague. All but us.
John Alexander stared at them.
Please follow me. I have one last surprise for your documentary.
Peter and Corinne went down to the basement. A place carved in stone with strange marble columns that joined the floor to the ceiling. Many galleries with different tunnels made their way from the center of the room to which they had descended by elevator.
Do you have a 3D documentary screening room down here? Peter's astonishment was genuine.
Meanwhile, Corinne showed her particular face of disenchantment at the prospect of being a passive spectator. She was still enormously bored with those former policemen and her nail polish was running out.
No, citizens, still better, continued John Alexander with a laugh. They're in the information room. The Stone Room. Paper is an extremely volatile material, as our ancestors discovered for their misfortune, as well as a powerful food for compulsive smokers. Computers are also really fragile machines, no matter how much we improve, in the face of a new catastrophe, their circuits and lack of energy would turn them into useless material. Humanity cannot rely on paper or silicon to preserve its legacy, our valuable historical heritage. So, what is the only thing that lasts? The only thing that survives the passage of time?
Peter and Corinne didn't know what to answer.
The stone. A robust material, highly resistant, which also has the attraction of being in large quantities on our planet. Since we won the war, the Ex-Former Canadian Mounted Police has been carving the history of mankind into stone. These stones contain in newspeak and pictorial drawings the history of humanity since the Great Smoke. This will survive a catastrophe. The disease of smokers, the Great Smoke, the rise of clowns to power, the contribution of the Ex-Former Canadian Mounted Police. All that and more is carved here.
Peter looked around, trying to write down what he had just heard.
And this is the end of our journey. If you are so kind, I will accompany you to the exit, not without first commenting to you, citizen Peter and citizen Corinne, the sale of gift products made in Fort Dufferin at the exit. If you want, you can take with you a lightweight stone book weighing only four hundred twenty-three ounces, or a beautiful necklace pendant made of seven stones, the latest in fashion. Think about it, Peter and Corinne, because with the second purchase we make a significant discount.
Pepa Frank's diary
Corinne, everyone thought he was a legend, but Pepa Frank existed.
Corinne, sitting peacefully on the co-pilot's side, looked at Peter without any trace of effusiveness. The van continued at good speed along the road on its way home.
It's incredible, we have the only copy of Pepa Frank's diary.
How interesting, said Corinne in her usual tone of boredom. I can't wait to read it.
The van was advancing at constant speed along that secondary road in the Left Zone, a very torrid place.
Let's stop for lunch. I can't wait to read Pepa Frank's diary. I'll read it to you aloud.
For my sake, don't bother.
This dude is silly. One of the most important journalistic discoveries and look at her. As if we had found a pot of jam in bad shape.
Peter stopped the van in a service area in that desert area which had not been passed by a single vehicle for a long time.
It starts like this... Peter began to read the newspaper aloud, ignoring Corinne's words.
~~~~~~~
Dear Daily,
May 3rd. My family and I have climbed into the attic of the neighbors' house. It's horrible, the bad guys who smoke passed in front of the house the other day... My dad said to be very quiet and quiet. Everything was a game. We had to be quiet and quiet, otherwise the bad guys who smoke would find us and we would lose. Dad thinks he can fool me. Maybe if I get it with my little brother Pepito, but I'm older, I know it's not a game.
May 20th. The neighbors have finally welcomed us in their attic. Mrs. Juarez didn't want to at first, she said 'there are a lot of mouths to feed', but Dad brought all the food from home and gave it to her. The safest place in the world is a good attic. Bad gentlemen who smoke don't like to climb stairs, or do sports because they drown from the effort, or at least that's what Dad says. We'll be safe here.
June 15th. Tonight, is especially bad. Dad made us shut up. Today the game became very dangerous. I looked out the window and saw horrible things. Lots of bad gentlemen who smoke, sad eyes, extinguished by the rain, cigars in wet mouths. And those brown and gray dresses because of the strontium. Strontium was to blame for everything, Dad always repeats. The bad gentlemen who smoke howl like a herd of hungry dogs. I think one has seen me. I hide. I'm very scared. Dad tells me to hide, otherwise the smoker will come and smoke me. Bad gentlemen who smoke are very scary, Dad laughs, says they are some chacuacos comechingones. I laugh so I don't know how scared I am.
June 28th. The meal is over. Mrs. Juarez is nervous and angry. Andresito, her son, is a very good friend of mine. But there is little food. There are no tortillas left and Mrs. Juarez gets very angry when there is little food.
July 3rd. Dad promised to come back with food. I didn't know that in Mexico there was so much bad guy who smokes. Mrs. Juarez says that God has punished all those drug addicts. But I think that if God is good, he couldn't have punished them. Every night I pray for Dad, so that he will come back. With him here everything will be better. The bad gentlemen who smoke howl at night. It's horrible. Glazed eyes. Grey and brown clothes. That lost look. One night I looked out the window again. I stared at them. I recognized one, he was an old neighbor of my parents. Mr. Velázquez was good when he didn't smoke. Why did good people start smoking and become bad?