PISTOSI Well, that was quick, wasn’t it?
VELTIOSI What was quick?
PISTOSI Your life.
VELTIOSI Maybe to you.
PISTOSI Your life felt long to you?
VELTIOSI Well, not really.
PISTOSI Quick wasn’t it?
VELTIOSI Too quick, I suppose.
PISTOSI Who or what did this to you?
VELTIOSI Not really sure. It was all dark.
PISTOSI I wish I knew.
VELTIOSI Why? You, Pistosi, would avenge me?
PISTOSI I would.
VELTIOSI I don’t believe it.
PISTOSI I believe I would.
VELTIOSI What is about to happen to me, Pistosi?
PISTOSI You’re going to die.
VELTIOSI I know that. What is going to happen after that?
PISTOSI Well, if I consult the thoughts of the age, mind you this is being filtered by an immortal who has grown a bit disappointed with time … I believe that you are going to decay into impenetrable, indivisible things called atoms … a bit like unimaginably tiny and enduring pebbles … which will probably corrupt the soil and prevent anything else from growing in your spot ever again.
VELTIOSI That’s not very comforting.
PISTOSI If you wanted comforting, you should’ve befriended a mortal.
VELTIOSI Indeed … Pistosi … will you bury me in a place where nothing would ever want to grow? I don’t want my death to cause trouble for some poppy plant.
PISTOSI Absolutely. I will.
PISTOSI Promise? Do you know that I’ve never done that before?
VELTIOSI Just promise me. Mortals need poppies and promises.
PISTOSI I promise. And, if it comforts you a little more, know that: I need poppies, too.
VELTIOSI It does.