longer worthy of belonging to the world. If a lost soul asks you for help and you close the door in his face, you are not one of us.
'I know you with your nice, cosy consciences. You think of nothing but your own comfort, you want only individual glory. Happiness, yes, but only your own and that of your nearest and dearest.
'I know you, I tell you. You, you, you and you. You needn't sit there smiling in front of your screens, I'm talking to you about serious matters. I'm talking to you about the future of the human race. Things can't go on like this. Our present way of life is senseless. We are wasting and destroying everything. Forests are being flattened to make disposable handkerchiefs. Everything has become disposable: tableware, pens, clothes, cameras and cars and, without noticing it, you too are becoming disposable. Give up this superficial way of life. Give it up today, before you're forced to tomorrow.
'Come and join the army of the faithful. We're all the soldiers of God, brothers.'
A presenter's face appeared on the screen. 'The programme you have just seen was brought to you by Father MacDonald of the New Forty-fifth Day Adventist Church and Sweetmilk Frozen Foods. It was broadcast by satellite in globovision. After the break, you can see our science-fiction series, Extraterrestrial and proud of it!
Unlike Nicolas, Lucie could not switch off her thoughts by watching television. Jonathan had been down there for eight hours now and there was still no sign of him.
She reached for the telephone. He had told her not to do anything but what if he had been killed or trapped by falling rocks?
She still could not summon up the courage to go down. She picked up the telephone and dialled 999.
'Hello, police?'
'I told you not to call them,' said a weak, expressionless voice from the kitchen. 'Dad, Dad!'
She slammed down the receiver, cutting off the voice repeating 'Hello, are you there? Tell us your address.'
'Yes, it really is me. There was no need to worry. I told you to wait patiently'
No need to worry? He must be joking!
Not only was Jonathan clasping Ouarzazate's bloody remains in his arms but he himself was transfigured. He did not seem scared or overcome and even had a kind of smile on his face. No, it wasn't exactly a smile. She couldn't put her finger on it. It was as though he had aged or was ill. His eyes were feverish and his skin livid, he was trembling and he seemed out of breath.
When he saw his dog's tortured body, Nicolas burst into tears. It looked as though the poor poodle had been lacerated by hundreds of little razor cuts.
They laid him on some newspaper.
Nicolas cried his eyes out over his lost companion. It was all over. Never again would he see Ouarzi jump against the wall when someone said the word 'cat'. Never again would he see him open door handles with a joyful bound. Never again would he save him from big Alsatians.
Ouarzazate was no more.
'Tomorrow we'll take him to the pets' cemetery,' conceded Jonathan. 'We'll buy him a F4,500 grave. You know, one we can put his photo on.'
'Oh, yes! Oh, yes!' said Nicolas between sobs. 'That's the least he deserves.'
'And then we'll go to the RSPCA and you can choose another dog. Why not have a Maltese this time? They're nice little things, too.'
Lucie still could not get over it. She did not know which question to ask first. Why had he taken so long? What had happened to the dog? What had happened to him? Did he want something to eat? Had he thought how worried they must be?
'What's down there?' she finally asked in a flat voice.
'There isn't anything.'
'But look at the state you're in. And the dog. He looks as if he's fallen into an electric mincer. What happened to him?'
Jonathan passed a dirty hand over his forehead.
'The solicitor was right. The place is full of rats. Ouarzazate got torn to pieces by angry rats.'
'What about you?'
He gave a nervous laugh.
'I'm a bigger animal. I frightened them.'
'It's incredible. What were
'I know you with your nice, cosy consciences. You think of nothing but your own comfort, you want only individual glory. Happiness, yes, but only your own and that of your nearest and dearest.
'I know you, I tell you. You, you, you and you. You needn't sit there smiling in front of your screens, I'm talking to you about serious matters. I'm talking to you about the future of the human race. Things can't go on like this. Our present way of life is senseless. We are wasting and destroying everything. Forests are being flattened to make disposable handkerchiefs. Everything has become disposable: tableware, pens, clothes, cameras and cars and, without noticing it, you too are becoming disposable. Give up this superficial way of life. Give it up today, before you're forced to tomorrow.
'Come and join the army of the faithful. We're all the soldiers of God, brothers.'
A presenter's face appeared on the screen. 'The programme you have just seen was brought to you by Father MacDonald of the New Forty-fifth Day Adventist Church and Sweetmilk Frozen Foods. It was broadcast by satellite in globovision. After the break, you can see our science-fiction series, Extraterrestrial and proud of it!
Unlike Nicolas, Lucie could not switch off her thoughts by watching television. Jonathan had been down there for eight hours now and there was still no sign of him.
She reached for the telephone. He had told her not to do anything but what if he had been killed or trapped by falling rocks?
She still could not summon up the courage to go down. She picked up the telephone and dialled 999.
'Hello, police?'
'I told you not to call them,' said a weak, expressionless voice from the kitchen. 'Dad, Dad!'
She slammed down the receiver, cutting off the voice repeating 'Hello, are you there? Tell us your address.'
'Yes, it really is me. There was no need to worry. I told you to wait patiently'
No need to worry? He must be joking!
Not only was Jonathan clasping Ouarzazate's bloody remains in his arms but he himself was transfigured. He did not seem scared or overcome and even had a kind of smile on his face. No, it wasn't exactly a smile. She couldn't put her finger on it. It was as though he had aged or was ill. His eyes were feverish and his skin livid, he was trembling and he seemed out of breath.
When he saw his dog's tortured body, Nicolas burst into tears. It looked as though the poor poodle had been lacerated by hundreds of little razor cuts.
They laid him on some newspaper.
Nicolas cried his eyes out over his lost companion. It was all over. Never again would he see Ouarzi jump against the wall when someone said the word 'cat'. Never again would he see him open door handles with a joyful bound. Never again would he save him from big Alsatians.
Ouarzazate was no more.
'Tomorrow we'll take him to the pets' cemetery,' conceded Jonathan. 'We'll buy him a F4,500 grave. You know, one we can put his photo on.'
'Oh, yes! Oh, yes!' said Nicolas between sobs. 'That's the least he deserves.'
'And then we'll go to the RSPCA and you can choose another dog. Why not have a Maltese this time? They're nice little things, too.'
Lucie still could not get over it. She did not know which question to ask first. Why had he taken so long? What had happened to the dog? What had happened to him? Did he want something to eat? Had he thought how worried they must be?
'What's down there?' she finally asked in a flat voice.
'There isn't anything.'
'But look at the state you're in. And the dog. He looks as if he's fallen into an electric mincer. What happened to him?'
Jonathan passed a dirty hand over his forehead.
'The solicitor was right. The place is full of rats. Ouarzazate got torn to pieces by angry rats.'
'What about you?'
He gave a nervous laugh.
'I'm a bigger animal. I frightened them.'
'It's incredible. What were
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