Académique Documents
Professionnel Documents
Culture Documents
Prologue
At that moment, the door of the office creaked open, accompanied by a voice, and Celsos attention snapped immediately
toward the tall hooded figure standing at the entrance.
Sorry for the wait, Mr. Flores, the man said, in a tone that
emanated a kind of dark calm. An apology, thought Celso, well,
at least thats something.
Im ready to take you now, the man said.
Take me? Take me where? Celso asked, struggling to keep
his voice even. The man passed by the back of Celsos chair and
round to the window.
Now, now. Theres no need to be nervous, the man said, in a
light-hearted tone that did little in the way of reassurance.
N-nervous? N-no... Celso stuttered, somewhat stupidly.
I-i-its just your appearance... Its, well, a little intimidating...
The man looked with his big, black pair of eye sockets
straight into Celsos.
Intimidating? Me? But Im your friend! My names Manny Calavera. Im your new travel agent! The afterlife seemed
to get less mystical with every new revelation, it seemed. Even
less reason to hang around.
But I dont want a new travel agent. I want to go home, said
Celso.
Manny chuckled. You cant go home, Celso. Youre dead. But
youre not alone. Everybody here is just as dead as you... This
didnt comfort Celso in the slightest. He wanted out. Still his
new travel agent continued.
...Thats why we call it the Land of the Dead, he said with
emphatic wonderment. A true salesman. Are you ready for
your big journey?
NO! Celso burst out, his frustration and stress coming to a
head. He surprised himself with his reaction, and feeling embarrassed consciously calmed himself. What journey? he decided to ask.
The Four-Year Journey of the Soul... Calavera calmly continued, in his mystical sales-pitch tone, as though nothing had
happened. It is quite a big trip. And I cant lie to you, Celso.
[1]
[2]
Grim Fandango
His expression became brooding It could be very, very dangerous. Celsos tension worsened.
Unless, Manny swiftly continued, you were to take that
money you were buried with and buy a better travel package
from us! The salesperson spiel continued in full force, except
this time Celso found himself listening quite intently.
I mean, wouldnt you rather cross the Land of the Dead in
your own sports car? Calavera spread a stack of pamphlets out
on the desk, like a small deck of cards, dealing out Celsos potential options. Maybe try a luxury ocean cruise? Or, if you
led a very good life, you may even be eligible for a ticket on the
Number Nine itself! Manny teased, as he stroked his fingers
slowly across the picture of a train that adorned the front of
one of the glossy pamphlets. It would seem this was the ace in
the pack.
The Number Nine? Celso asked curiously.
Thats our top-of-the-line express train. It shoots straight to
the Ninth Underworld, the Land of Eternal Rest, in four minutes instead of four years. But very few people qualify.
Celso would like to think hed lived a very good life. But
doesnt everybody, he thought. He wouldnt get his hopes up.
He was no Mother Teresa. But there was surely a chance he
could score something that would make his life as a dead man
easier.
Now, lets take a look at your records. Manny said, as he
turned to his computer and began tapping away. Celso decided to kill time by looking through the Number Nine pamphlet,
yknow, just in case he should be so lucky. And oh yes, this did
look nice.
Celso then heard low-pitched buzzing noises coming from the
computer, and Calavera made a slightly concerned noise. This
doesnt sound good, thought Celso, grimly. He looked up.
Well, the bad news is the train appears to be just out of your
reach, said Calavera, doing his best to disguise his clients woeful outcome. But I still got a coupla tricks up my sleeve here...
Celso peered over to get a look at the screen, his confidence
fading rapidly despite Mannys best efforts. But suddenly...
Mmm-hmm... Manny hummed hopefully, Ya-ha! Yes, thats
[3]
Prologue
the ticket... the EXCELSIOR LINE!
In shiny gold letters, the word EXCELSIOR emblazened the
side of Celsos brand new walking stick. Fantastic. Hed be
crossing the Land of the Dead on foot. Those gold letter might
as well have spelled out JOKES ON YOU, PAL.
Yes, shes a beauty, Calavera said optimistically. That
compass in the handle will sure come in handy, too... Celso
couldnt argue with that, at least.
Oh, youre going to have a great trip. Wish I was going! Celso was sure he could detect a mild sarcasm in Mannys voice at
this stage.
Why dont you? Celso countered. You could give me a lift,
he said, half joking, half pleading.
Oh, I cant leave here until Ive worked off a little debt to the
powers that be... Calavera said, looking at his scythe his tool
of the trade. At least that was something Celso had to appreciate he thankfully had his freedom. The trip would be slow going, but hey, he wouldnt be stuck in one place.
Community service, eh? Well, I guess some folks are worse
off than me, Celso said as a cheeky parting comment. He
turned to make his way down the stairs: the first steps of the
longest, most uncertain journey hed ever have.
Oh, Ill be leaving here soon enough! shouted Manny cheerfully. No thanks to dead-end, no-commission, low-life cases
like yours, menso, he concluded quietly as he made his way
back inside.
Ding, rang the elevator as it arrived on the floor of Mannys office. Eva, the bosss secretary was sitting dead ahead, filing the
tips of her fingers. This was presumably out of habit from her
days as a living woman, Manny guessed, since he knew for a
fact she didnt have fingernails. Hey, Manny, she called out
to get his attention her way of greeting. The boss told me
to tell you not to leave early tonight. He wants to talk to you
about something when he gets back from his trip. Typical Don,
thought Manny.
Tell Don not to worry, Manny responded hopelessly as he
[4]
Grim Fandango
dragged his scythe down the corridor, Im not going anywhere...
...Especially not with clients like that, Manny finished when
he was inside his office and our of earshot. He made his way
over to his file cabinets, removed his cloak and pneumatic
stilts, tossing them into the empty column of cabinets labeled
Premium Clients now repurposed as a closet.
Where do they get these guys? he said to himself, frustrated.
They dont qualify for anything good, so I cant sell anything
good, cant work off my time, and Im stuck. Stuck selling walking sticks to a bunch of burros for eternity.
He was tired of this cycle. What happened to those days when
he was flying high at the D.O.D.? He was on top of his game,
making commission after commission, watching his service
time tick away so quick it was exciting! What changed? Was it
him; was it his form; his attitude? Hell NO, he thought. It was
the clients. Seriously, when was the last time he actually had
someone good to work with?
I need better clients, he said out loud. I need a real saint. I
need a lead on a rich, dead saint.
At that very moment, seemingly in response, the notification
flag on his message tube flicked up...
[5]