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Saint-Jolivet of Pendleton

by Christian-Eric Falardeau

188 pages; quality trade paperback (softcover); catalogue #02-0060; ISBN 1-55369-247-0; US$19.00, C$23.95, EUR15.60, £10.80

Professor Jolivet is inspired with the Holy Quest of ridding the planet of all imbeciles after he invents an astoundingly practical device. Assembling a dozen disciples under the guidance of his right-hand man, Pendleton, they set out to achieve the Divine Will facing challenge after challenge. But is reality what it seems?

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about the book   about the author   from Chapter One   catalogue info

About the Book Professor Jolivet is inspired with the Holy Quest of ridding the planet of all imbeciles after he invents an astoundingly practical device. While the old man is trying out his new toy, nothing much seems to happen except Pendleton, soon to be the professor's right hand man, is led to ask himself such profound questions as: why hasn't the Catholic Church elected a new pope for the past 15 years, or, more importantly, why does he have only six dollars in his pocket while he really ought to have eight? It is the search for answers to these interrogations that will lead him to join the Professor in his quest. Together they assemble close to a dozen disciples and set out to achieve the Divine Will. They quickly run into problems, from political scandals to unnaturally fast responses from civil servants. Something fishy is afoot and Jolivet is starting to fear that they are not alone. Acting on the advice of his coffee machine, he sends one of his flock to seek more information, but the envoy meets a man on his journey that challenges some of his most fundamental assumptions. What is really going on? In the meantime, love has flourished between Pendleton and Rose-Anne, the heart of a movement. A love so pure and powerful that it permeates everything and everyone but, strangely, does not seem in total accord with their mission. After the weather gets involved, things eventually resolve themselves, although not exactly as anticipated. Most of the issues are made irrelevant, including the nuclear genocide, and all are left with only one question: why those names?

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About the Author Christian-Eric Falardeau was born in 1968, on a little farm near the village of Beaudry, now part of Rouyn-Noranda, in Abitibi-Temiscamingue (north-west of Quebec). He was raised amidst cows and some of them might have influenced several of his characters. He also has two brothers and three sisters. In 1990, he graduated from Sherbrooke University with a degree in computer science, embarked on a career as a programmer analyst and, later on, became a software development manager. He retired from the industry in March 2002. He wrote his first novel in 1993 (Saint-Jolivet of Pendleton) quickly followed by a second one (Paul III of Montreal) before slowing down to accommodate the demands of a busy profession. Writing on and off over the next few years, he came back to literature on a more serious level in 2001 with the completion of his third novel (Caroline) and various short stories. Now a full-time writer, many new novels and short stories can be expected in the coming months and years. See also: The Alas League (English) Caroline (English) Caroline (French) Le faux écrivain (French) La Ligue des Helas (French) Paul III de Montréal (French) Paul III of Montréal (English) Saint-Jolivet de Pendleton (French) La simplicité de la vie (French) The Simplicity of Life (English) The Universe and Other Stories (English)

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Chapter One

    Professor Jolivet stared at the funny looking device that had fallen less than a meter away from him. He was astonished. How could he have dropped his precious invention? And, more to the point, how did it fall? He could have sworn it was out of his hands for a good five minutes. A five-minute fall! Was Newton over-rated, the old man asked himself? Nevertheless, he grabbed the little box wondering if it was still functioning properly.

The machine was only slightly scratched and none of its vital organs seemed to have been affected. Not knowing if it had been working before, he could not determine if it would do now. He decided it was all right and quickly forgot the incident for it was not the first time something strange had happened to him since inventing the thing.

Meanwhile, Pendleton, preoccupied, was walking briskly while trying to look casual. He was mentally reviewing the events that had taken place that morning. He had left home very early, as per his habit, to take his daily walk. There was something strange there, but he would not have been able to advance a hypothesis nor could he state any facts leading to his uneasiness. But this little bout of anguish was nothing compared to the turmoil he was going through at the moment. His main source of worry was his ten dollars.

He was certain that he had left his apartment with a tendollar bill. He had purchased a coffee and a croissant, in a small restaurant near his place, which always cost him exactly two bucks. He had not stopped anywhere else, he was sure of that. Now, why was he convinced he only had six left? He should have eight, shouldn't he? Was Aristotle over-rated, questioned Pendleton? Where were the missing two dollars? Was it possible that his incredible cerebral power had erred?

He had to look in his wallet. It was absurd and humiliating, but it was the only way out. Having reached the intersection of two important streets, he saw a bus that had just stopped nearby and from which many people were debarking. He took advantage of the situation to mimic a man busy looking for his ticket. Opening his wallet, he was shocked to find only six dollars left. That did reassure him on one aspect though. If he did not recall what he had done with the misplaced money, at least he remembered not having it. A fairly good point on the right side of sanity.

Understanding that his thinking alone could not solve this mystery, Pendleton decided to wait for the memory to resurface. He resumed his promenade and his mind went back to his earlier preoccupations. He was speculating about the motives that might lead the religious authorities to bar naming a successor for John-Paul the first, who had died almost fifteen years ago. This strange behavior from the clerical element never ceased to amaze him.

Lost in thought, he came to the point where he had to cross the boulevard. The traffic lights were out of order. The cars, showing an unusual sense of civic responsibility, were patiently waiting their turns, as if the sturdy hand of the law guided their movements. Pendleton was a bit surprised, but being a disciplined man himself, he was appreciative. What he did not like was the immobilized bus and the inconsiderate absence of its driver, probably gone to get hold of some coffee for the eighth time in as many stops.

Still undecided about whether he should prolong his walk, he eventually noticed a little white-haired man picking up a strange little box and looking at it with an expression of deep concern and bewilderment. The little man was turning the thing in all directions, verifying each and every angle, and finally seemed to relax. Pendleton said "watch this man; he looks just like one of those mad scientists from the movies." Flabbergasted, he realized he was talking to himself out loud! With horror, he became conscious of having done it many times that very morning. He almost had a stroke when he recalled having always acted this way. The scariest thing being that this was the first time he had become aware of it. No, it wasn't true, he had always known. He had simply avoided thinking about it.

At the prospect of this incommensurable shame, his brain blocked certain areas of his nervous system and forced him to get interested in the doings of the old man who, having overheard everything, was looking at him surreptitiously. Pendleton could not help feeling a spontaneous sympathy for the elder whose life appeared linked to his strange little metallic device.

The scientist was resolutely walking towards the bus. He abruptly stopped four meters from it. He got frustrated and waved his cube in the air. There was a feeble but distinct click. He stayed in that position, astounded. He took two more steps and halted again as the noise from dozens of horns exploded. Pendleton turned around and noted that the reassuring drivers' wisdom had mysteriously vanished. The cars were now moving in total chaos as if suddenly taken by a collective madness.

Pendleton and Jolivet did not have time to analyze the phenomenon as they heard the discharges of compressed air announcing the inexorable closing of the bus doors. The bending doors started to unfold and professor Jolivet realized he was running out of time. He launched himself towards the vehicle but Pendleton knew he would not make it. Getting rid of his legendary idleness, he broke into a sprint to block them. He managed to do it without too much difficulty.

The entrance was now accessible, once again, and the professor arrived at last. Then, without warning, Pendleton got heated and started to curse at the empty driver's seat. The professor waved his box once more and Pendleton immediately regained his composure.

They both got aboard, Pendleton having decided on a whim to follow his new friend, and sat down to wait for the driver's return. He was railing against their annoying habit of abandoning their post for the sake of a coffee. A little lady, sitting not far from him, and whom Pendleton was bothering with his shouting, intervened.

"But, Mister, what driver are you talking about?"

"The one of this bus of course! Which one do you think I'm talking about?"

"But there is no driver, Mister," she said feebly, worried to be dealing with a madman.

"What do you mean, 'there is no driver'? This is not the end of the line as far as I know."

"That has nothing to do with it. There never has been one!"

"In that case, Madam, would you be so kind as to tell me who was operating this vehicle when it reached this location?"

"No one."

"But, come on Madam, the bus could not have moved without someone steering it, hence the existence of a profession called chauffeur or driver."

"It might be an electronic system," interceded a young man. "I saw a report on television that showed a computer learning how to drive heavy machinery. It might be a pilot project."

"What!" exclaimed Pendleton. "Are you, too, maintaining that there is no driver in this bus?"

"Of course! You surprise me. I thought the fact quite visible."

"I am not referring to his current absence, but of his former presence."

"There was no driver, we keep telling you," insisted the young man whose good humor was retreating from Pendleton's stubbornness.

"I don't believe it..." started Pendleton before being cut off by the arrival of a new bus.

It was certainly the next one from the same line and that one, to Pendleton's satisfaction, was duly supplied with someone at the wheel. The latter got out and joined our Heroes.

"What are you all doing here? Can't you see that there is no one at the wheel? You won't get very far."

"At last someone sensible," shouted Pendleton, who was starting to doubt his own sanity. "Mister driver, I know my question will sound absurd, but it is important that you answer it seriously."

"I'm at your disposal. We drivers must often deal with stupid questions. It's part of our trade and we are trained to react properly, even in the most bizarre situations."

"Okay then, here it comes. Many people claim with forcefulness that there never was any driver in this bus. Some have even suggested that it could be an experimental electronic system. I'm asking you, was there one of your colleagues onboard when this bus got here?"

"Absolutely impossible! I'm the only one on this line today and I had the 09:24 start and not the 08:54."

"You're the only one today?"

"That's what I said."

"How do you account, then, for the presence of this vehicle at this intersection? Was it perhaps stolen? And the thief, to cover his tracks, waited at each stop? What do you have to say to that?"

"I say that the piece of equipment in question left at 08:54, as usual, thus respecting the grand traditions of punctuality of our public transportation system, and that it could not have been taken since the garage is well guarded and nothing abnormal was reported. I would further add that the fact that it stopped at each of the appropriate, and judiciously selected, locations is far from irregular. It has been doing the same round everyday for the past ten years. It knows it by heart, obviously."

"This gets madder by the minute! I must be dreaming, complained Pendleton. Somebody pinch me! No, no, madam, don't do it. I know I'm not dreaming, it's just a figure of speech. From tons of tiny details, my power of deduction, with its incredible precision, which I cannot separate myself from and sometimes scares me, confirms to me that I am not dreaming. And if I were, it would never be as stupid as this bus without a driver. And what about my six dollars? That is a real mystery! What do you mean, 'what about your six dollars?' Ah! Just drop it! All of you, just drop it. It's probably a very bad joke and there are cameras hidden everywhere. I'm getting out of here. And you, yes you with the box, come with me, I have to talk to you."

"Wait a second," interrupted the driver of the second bus. "It all seemed perfectly natural to me this morning, but now I find this incident quite suspicious. I would not be surprised if the Americans were involved."

"The Americans have invented a bomb that would make the public transport work without unionized employees! The idea is interesting," said Pendleton, ironically.

"It's not that. Buses without drivers are an everyday sight. What bothers me is that they usually come back without any fuss, but this one stopped here and doesn't seem about to move again. I'm afraid the CIA has arranged to have this one brought down."

Pendleton fled without ado, taking along professor Jolivet who was keeping up as well as his age allowed. They soon arrived in front of a small cafe. They entered and sat down in a remote corner, sheltered from indiscrete eyes and ears.

They ordered and a pretty young woman brought them coffees. Pendleton recognized her as the woman of his dreams. He did not have time to go deeper into the matter but he promised himself to come back and see this woman who had haunted him since his childhood. There was also a little interior voice telling him to be patient. He complied and acted as if it were the first time he was seeing her.

Pendleton and Jolivet both took a sip, not sure where to begin. Finally, Pendleton broke the silence.

"What is that strange little box you were waving like a maniac?"

"An invention of mine," the old man answered evasively.

"And what is it supposed to do? I say that with all due respect, but I don't think it's doing anything."

"It's quite possible. I don't know for sure if it's working or not. But, first, I would like to ask you a question of my own."

"Go on."

"You seem to me like a sensible person and generously supplied in the brain department. Do you like imbeciles?"

"What a question! Of course not! It's the species plague. If there weren't so many, life would be much better."

"So, if I complete your line of thought, you have probably dreamed of doing away with them and that you might be the judge responsible for discriminating between the imbeciles and the well thinking?"

"Not without a certain unease, I have to admit it's true. As a matter of fact, I muse about it from time to time, but never very seriously."

"I've had those notions too," started Jolivet, "so much that it became an obsession. I had this idea not only as a dream, but also with the firm intention of seeing it happen. Don't put on an offended look. Hear me out. Moreover, you should question yourself a bit more on the subject. So, I've had long reflections on the matter but I was always blocked by the means of execution. I imagined a big diabolical machine, equipped with a seat, over which a helmet would descend on the person sitting in judgment with a powerful electronic brain, legacy of an extra-terrestrial civilization. Or I contemplated a gigantic relay spreading a field of antiimbecility over the Earth, annihilating them or rendering them conscious of what they were. But that was just delirium. I also thought about it in a more resolute and pragmatic way. It became clear to me that they had to be eliminated one by one. This presented me with a major problem, since crime disgusts me almost as much as violence and imbecility, though they're often tightly linked. I needed a weapon that would allow me to eliminate someone without the psychological burden of gunshots and the presence of a corpse. After ten years of research, I managed to develop a disintegrator so precise and efficient that I can make an object disappear with everything that is related to it such as clothes. And it will do it without touching adjacent things or leaving a trace! There isn't even any smoke, nothing! I have to confess that I don't have a clue as to where all that energy and matter go. Maybe to another dimension. The object is simply no longer where it was the moment before."

"Come on, professor," interrupted Pendleton. "You're mocking me. A machine disintegrating matter and you don't know what happens to the target. I don't believe you. Really, this day is getting worse and worse."

The professor took out another little box from his pocket. This one had a red button instead of the green one of the first. It looked like one of those surprise boxes containing a little ugly thing attached to a spring. Pendleton, suspicious, moved his chair a little farther from the table.

The professor pointed at the empty table next to them, covered with nothing but a tablecloth. He aimed and pressed the red button. On the first click, the covering disappeared as if it had never been there. Pendleton did not have time to blink before the table went as he heard a second click.

The professor pocketed his little instrument and looked around to make sure everything was normal. Since they were more or less secluded, nobody had paid attention. Pendleton was baffled. It was probably just an illusion, a trick of the light. Something deep inside him was convinced, but the conscious part of his mind was demanding more proof. He remained quiet, nonetheless, and was anxiously waiting for what was to follow since the professor did not seem to be finished. As a matter of fact, the latter, after convincing himself that his companion had regained his self-control, took up his speech where he had left off.

"As you have seen, I finally solved the first obstacle standing in my way. I can now make anything, or anyone, disappear without any resistance. But, there was still the small matter that those vanishings would undoubtedly be noticed, especially since lots of imbeciles tend to occupy highly visible positions. I spent a lot of time studying my invention for, even though I built it, I don't understand how it's possible to make someone dematerialize with all the things he or she is wearing. Don't ask me how it can be done. I have no idea, not even now. I like to think that it is God himself that inspired me. I might be the second Noah, responsible for eliminating all the idiots that have brought his wrath upon themselves. I wasn't originally thinking along those lines, but my second discovery made me change my mind or, at least, pushed me to seriously contemplate that option."

After drinking a little more coffee, Jolivet continued.

"One day as I was in my laboratory, cogitating about a way to exercise the divine justice while eluding the human one, I understood that each living being carries a mark that is unique and traceable in time. That is what we carry into our memory and on paper. To make a long story short, I discovered how to wipe out a person with all its accompanying memory. A mechanism that, when applied to a person, makes it vanish and be forgotten, not only in the present, but in the past altogether. Fantastic, isn't it? And not only do I still not see how it can work, but I even have a hard time believing it myself. I've tried it on many occasions, but I still don't know if it's working or not. For the past week, I have been wandering about. I even went to Rome on a strange impulse that I can't explain. As hard as I try to find them, I have been unable to cross the path of a single imbecile! It's incredible! Perhaps Satan has warned them. In any case, I'm continuing my cleansing quest..."

"Jesus, Mary and Joseph," shouted Pendleton. "We should lock you up. Luckily, you haven't made a single victim yet. By what right did you take it upon yourself to judge men and women?"

"I told you, without God's blessing, I would never have been able to invent these magnificent instruments. So you should ask that question of Him, not me. Anyway, I don't believe you're as horrified as you pretend. Those are social reflexes. Deep down, I know you believe me. God himself guided you this morning. Join me; I need help in my mission."

"No, I don't think I could do that. Unfortunately, you're right; I'm not upset at all. I'm ashamed and I'm resisting a mad desire to take your cube and try it to convince myself that you're not crazy."

"Don't fight it. A divine quest has been set upon us. Let's not disappoint the All-Powerful."

"If your invention works... I will follow you. But, if it's a prank, I'm sending you to a lunatic asylum."

"Deal. Let's get out and try my gadget on the first cretin passing by. I can't wait to see if it works."

They headed out and Jolivet went to pay the bill. An error had slipped in. They had been charged for three coffees. He mentioned the mistake to the young waitress (he had recognized her too but, as with Pendleton, a discrete voice was preaching patience.) She told him that she had served three coffees because they had ordered as many.

Jolivet argued a little bit and they all went back to the table where they were compelled to accept the fact that there were three empty cups. The professor then remembered having ordered them, probably an extra one for Pendleton who had seemed to need it at the time. Ascribing his error to the morning's excitement, he thought no more of it and they finally made their exit. The waitress then realized that a table was missing and our two Heroes left the place in the midst of a small commotion.

Now outside, they looked for an imbecile for a few minutes but none came their way. They were standing in the middle of the sidewalk, not knowing what to do next. Jolivet passed the box to Pendleton who studied it with great care, being careful not to press the little green button by mistake to avoid an all too easy and cheap joke. It was a little box of approximately 180 cm3 with a single button. The most Spartan design ever brought to his attention. A divine simplicity. Pendleton wondered if it was a similar gadget that had created the Universe.

Pendleton and Jolivet stared at the funny looking device that had fallen less than a meter away from them. They were astonished. How could they have dropped the precious invention? And, more to the point, how did it fall? Pendleton could have sworn it was out of his hands for a good five minutes and Jolivet could have affirmed that his friend did not give it back to him. A five-minute fall! Was Einstein overrated, Pendleton asked himself? Nevertheless, Jolivet grabbed the little box wondering if it was still functioning properly.

The machine was only slightly scratched and none of its vital organs seemed to have been affected. Not knowing if it had been working before, he could not determine if it would do so after the crash. He decided it was all right and quickly forgot the incident, for it was not the first time something strange had happened to him since he had invented the thing. But Pendleton froze. He understood. He understood that the machine was working and wonderfully well at that. It was all true, then. All those years of skepticism faded away almost instantly and a little flame came down on his head.

He had faith. An unshakeable faith, an everlasting faith. He was the first disciple. The first recruit to assist the one He had chosen to accomplish His will on Earth. Pendleton, on his knees, arms in the shape of a cross, was praising the Lord.

"Oh Lord, my Master. I will follow the path that you've traced for me and I will annihilate all the imbeciles from the surface of the planet so your kingdom can descend amongst us."

"What's wrong with you," asked Jolivet, worried by the speech of his friend and suspecting an unfair parody from his future right hand man.

"But haven't you understood what has just happened? It's all clear to me now. Your invention works, there is no need for further tests. Actually, it's better not to make any more attempts."

"What are you talking about? Why are you saying that my invention is effective?"

"It's very simple. The policeman, the bus driver and my six dollars!"

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