The Third Part of Chapter 24: Bleak Month

Seth spent Friday night, the second one in February, as he sometimes did, at a bar downtown; he seldom did this, but sometimes he found he needed a drink to relieve the monotony of work. On this particular night, he went alone, which meant he would not be drinking anything; he had a principle of not drinking unless he was with friends. He relaxed that rule, however, and purchased a corona beer with lime, which was prominently advertised on the opposite wall. He then noticed an oddity for a bar: an apparently pregnant woman, whom he assumed and hoped, was not there for the drinks. She was holding what looked like a gin and tonic, but he hoped it would be something less harmful, like soda water with a lime. She sat down at a table, and read the drinks menu, not really planning to get anything other than water and maybe a sprite. Seth, thinking she was lonely––she looked unhappy, sat down beside her.

“Well, hello. You look out of place. Is a bar really a good place for a pregnant woman? And I hope that’s not alcohol,”

“Oh, it’s Perrier and lime. Why do people automatically assume I’m pregnant? I might just be fat, you know.”

“A lot of men can tell the difference, and anyways, fat’s a peripheral issue. It’s overblown in society. It’s all in the eyes, really.” Clarissa made no comment about the assumed pregnancy, but bit her lip and instead focussed on the last part of his comment.

“Really? How are my eyes?”

“I think you look rather pretty.”

“Thank you. My husband would say that, before he died,”

Clarissa’s eyes were glistening with tears being held back. The man noticed.

“Oh dear,”

“It’s all right; I’m just another woman, anyways. I’ve received rather much pity, lately, due to, well, things.”

“I would think so, if you spend your Fridays in bars. What’s your name?”

“Clarissa,”

“Seth,”

“So, why are you in a bar?”

“I’m no longer pregnant. I had a miscarriage,”

“Oh dear, I’m so sorry,”

“Don’t worry about feeling sorry for me; I received plenty of that from my parents and in-laws,” Clarissa asked, changing the subject, “What do you think of the president?”

This is an obvious attempt to draw attention away from your dead husband, thought Seth. It’s probably a good idea.

“He puts me to mind of the saying about Julius Caesar––he came, he saw, he conquered. In all aspects of life, I mean. He’s an enormous character. I heard rumours about how he slept with scads of women before finding his wife, who he’s currently cheating on,”

“I couldn’t believe that story when it broke out! I mean, some men, they don’t give one whit to his wife. The worst part is, he has a four-year-old, and I’ve heard rumours of another pregnancy with his secretary.”

“That harlot?”

“Not so much harlot as airhead.”

“It’s a funny show, American politics; at least we get to watch it as a spectator sport. It puts me to mind of what was said by that person on CNN, you know, Rich something-or-other: ‘Politics these days are flashy, splashy, and trashy.’”

“His campaign was quite funny. Who would’ve thought that he could promise to strengthen the ties that bind America to the world, and promise to protect jobs in manufacturing at home? He endorses globalisation and protectionism in the same breath! I’m surprised he got away with it.”

“The debates weren’t that impressive; ‘are tax cuts your only answer to everything?’ said one. ‘Are subsidies your panacea?’ said the other,”

“I hope he ‘wends his way on the incredible American journey of progress’, whatever that means,”

“That’s not to say we’re all that different from them. We bicker constantly, and there’s a real mismatch between rhetoric and action.” This rang especially true; Meach, while making noises about respecting the democratic process, had been reticent about relinquishing power, and only handed the reins of office over to Cameron Duff at the end of the month.

“Indeed; ‘building Canada’ turned out to mean building an airport for Winnipeg that’s not really in Winnipeg, and widening a few roads. What the hell is that?”

“To me, building Canada would mean building on human capital. I was expecting to see university expansion and more funding when I heard that phrase, but I have never seen someone so eager to curtail research budgets,”

Seth thought that she was very interesting.

“What do you think of Cameron Duff? He seems a rather interesting character; just think of his life story: once an economist with the Conference Board of Canada, independent and essentially a dark horse and a contrarian voice throughout his period in Parliament until ten years ago, and then he stood as the primary antagonist of Meach and the other party leaders, who are trying to portray him as the universal nemesis, and representative of all that is devious, with alleged cloak-and-dagger strategies on Duff’s part; I don’t buy that, however, and neither did many other people.”

“Oh yeah, if there were any cloak-and-dagger conspiracy, we would have known about it already. That was a very leaky election campaign, thanks to journalists being very good at bugging conference rooms; I now know all sorts of things where I think I was better off in the dark, so to speak.”

“I find Duff as sort of a man of principles; he said that he didn’t want to make any particularly flashy promises that he couldn’t pay for, yet he had no problem making all the flashy promises that he could pay for. By the way, how would they bug a conference room?”

“It’s a simple matter of cleverly hiding a digital recorder in the room, pressing record, and retrieving it later. He had no problem mocking the system, occasionally light-heartedly, at other times passionately, but there’s no question that he’s a first-rate political actor; he has never been one to tip his cards. It’s another thing about him that he likes to play all roles that can be ascribed to a person: villain, hero, anti-hero, jackass, ladies’ man, and neutral observer after the fashion of Oberon.

“At least he can’t be accused of being a ruthless womaniser or a mollycoddler; that describes Meach. I was none too pleased with him redecorating his cottage with public funds, like quite a lot of my friends. They have to work very hard for that money.”

“The Prime Minister works very hard for the money he gets as well, and as neither of us have ever been Prime Minister, I don’t think we should talk about the stresses he may or may not be experiencing on the job.”

Seth was taken aback by this perhaps nobly disinterested opinion, and tried to change the subject. “So, why are you here? You’re obviously still in mourning,”

“I kind of want to forget about my husband. I’ve had enough of crying for so long. I’m really just here to play the field.”

“And a bar was the best place to do it,”

“Well, sure; one only goes to nightclubs in groups, at parks you’d be taking
a pot shot, book clubs are usually only for women, and all of my neighbours are married. Hence, the bar was my best bet; I find people are a lot looser here, and I don’t mind being the so-called designated driver,”

Seth thought, my, this is at once disturbing and a turn-on.

As happened often to people, that had been more than a thought. “Pardon?”

Clarissa asked, “Uh, so, were you planning on taking me home?”

“Um…sure. I’m single too, after all.”

As it turned out, they did not go to Seth’s house, which was on the east side of the river, and then a further two kilometres; they went to Clarissa’s house instead, which was a highly manageable fifteen minute walk, and thus very friendly to a moderately drunk Seth and a sober Clarissa, who was clinging tightly to his arm, out of fear of the dark and criminals, but also in an effort to keep warm, and in a desire for companionship. When Seth entered her house, he had the impression of a nice, though slightly neglected interior; he noted the wilted potted plants and the carpet that needed vacuuming. The two headed upstairs, Seth inebriated, Clarissa simply tired, but both of them excited, and they went to the bedroom, which Seth noted had several photos on the wall of a slightly pudgy man who was shorter in stature than Clarissa, as was evidenced by the photo of the two of them standing on a beach together. This man, he assumed, must have been her deceased husband.

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The Second Part of Chapter 24: Bleak Month

Margaret could hear her daughter in tears as she answered the phone. The last time she had been this tearful was at her husband’s funeral, and although she did not like him due to some characteristic of his that she could not quite pin down, she still felt sorry for her daughter for having lost her husband. It was true that there were other fish in the sea, but she simply wanted to see her daughter happy; it had always been first on her mind. This was why Clarissa’s next words struck her like a blow.

“I’m no longer pregnant.”

“What? Oh, Clarissa! You had a miscarriage!”

“Yes. I woke up mysteriously feeling better, and the doctor told me that I had lost her.”

Then I’m no longer going to have a grandchild by her, thought Margaret, even though there would be other chances. What misfortunes have befallen her! She has had far too much death. It was also true that although Margaret wanted her daughter to feel happy, she did not find the deaths tragic for herself. She wasn’t the one who had loved James, and that stillborn child belonged to Clarissa, not herself. Thus, she reacted to this latest tragic news as if it were somebody she did not know, and she felt uncomfortable with herself for thinking this. Didn’t she also take a disliking to James for his detachment and indifferent attitude to everyone who wasn’t Clarissa? That was how she saw it; he seemed to have very few tender relations, even with his parents, she thought, her mind going very quickly, and leaping rashly from one thing to the next. Wasn’t this detachment the same sort that she was currently feeling?

“I’m so sorry,”

“I told Ryan and Patricia. They were in hysterics. I’m surprised that you’re not.”

Margaret wiped a tear from her eye, as she sometimes did when she read a particularly sad story in the news.

“What did you think when James died of that heart attack? It seems to me like he stopped loving you, divorced you, and died, all within four seconds. And you know: a heart attack seems a dodgy way to go for a thirty-three year old.”

“Must you read something that’s not there into James’s death? It was a heart attack, pure and simple, and the shock of unemployment combined with the news of my pregnancy pushed him over the edge. And honestly mom, every time you mention it, you conjure uncomfortable thoughts in my mind. Suggesting that his death was dodgy suggests some responsibility on either my part, or Maurice’s. So please, don’t mention his death.”

“I’m sorry honey,”

“This isn’t exactly the first time you bought this up. It somehow surfaced in a conversation at Christmas, and several other times, which is not a terribly impressive record. It seems like you have an obsession with it.”

“Perhaps I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

“You haven’t been discussing this with Hyram or your friends, have you?

“No, honey.” Margaret was sorry she had brought it up, and she was feeling at least a little guilty for making Clarissa reminisce over James’s death, and contemplate her role in it. This gave rise to another thought: would things have turned out differently had I reached out to James? Maybe he would have survived if I had given him my warm support rather than the cold shoulder.

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The First Part of Chapter 24: Bleak Month

Winter had dragged on to a phase which was universally found to be grating on the soul, and which everyone wanted to see over: it was the phase in which the last day when the temperature had been above freezing was three weeks previously, on the 11th of January, and the snow, where it wasn’t packed down hard, was chest deep, and one could not see over the snow banks. At least that was the way it seemed to Patricia, as she walked home from her grocery shopping at Hartman’s. She reviewed her purchases, to check whether she had remembered everything. As it turned out, she did: the jam, the milk, cheese, olives, bread, meat, and everything else was in her bag, and she continued down the street, shielding her face against the cold. She wondered how Clarissa was faring; winter was known to be a time in which people were affected with depression, and with quite good reason: after nearly three months without seeing the bare ground and having to dress up in sometimes cumbersome clothing, and having to deal with short daylight hours, it was easy to see why one would become downtrodden. After shopping, she decided, she would go visit; she had last visited Clarissa’s house just after Christmas, and she wanted to see what had become of the house that her son had purchased.

She put her groceries away, and then walked the five blocks over to Clarissa’s house. Clarissa, like James, had very little use for the car, and thus had not bothered to shovel the driveway around it, but rather only shovelled the front walk and steps. The car itself was just discernable, with one window uncovered, while the rest of the vehicle was buried under the deep snow. She knocked on the front door, and Clarissa came to answer. This being the weekend, Clarissa had taken the opportunity to sleep in, she was still in her dressing gown, and her shoulder-length hair was uncombed.

“Hello, Clarie. I just came by to see how you’re doing,”

“Good morning, Pat. It is still morning,” she checked the clock in the living room to make sure. “I’m doing as fine as I can expect; the pregnancy is still making me sick all the time, so I can’t be too well until the baby comes.”

“I expect you’re looking forward to that happy day.”

“Yes.” Patricia could hear that the bounce and perk of her voice was absent. She looked around: it seemed like the carpet had last been vacuumed two weeks ago, and some of the plants in the living room were starting to wilt; the spider plant that she had given James was looking small and sad, just as she was imagining Clarissa was feeling about her dead husband. She noticed a collection of photographs on a small shelf in one corner; the shelf had once belonged to her grandmother, and had lingered in her mother’s basement, then her own basement, before James had found a use for it when he purchased his own house. The shelf’s age was evident, as it was an antique, and one of the legs showed several scratch marks. The photos on top of the shelf were mostly of James: when he and Clarissa were on a date, when he was swimming, and several honeymoon pictures, arranged around a white vase. The room, which was decorated in shades of blue, looked quite cold and uninviting, as opposed to the lived-in and welcoming appearance that it had before James died. It even felt cold; this was an effect of the weak sun, and the fact that it was still around ten degrees below zero outside as much as the feeling that it had not been cleaned for a few weeks; it seemed to her that Clarissa was slowly losing her grip, and would need to find it soon.

“Well, I just want you to be happy, dear.” Patricia had formed a sort of attachment to her daughter in law; it was as if Clarissa were a surrogate for Jim, and now she regarded her almost like a daughter. It was for this reason that she cared for Clarissa almost as much as she cared for Katherine. Ryan had formed a similar attachment, although this bond was not nearly as strong: he was still just as interested in her welfare as Patricia was, but he did not go out of his way to make phone calls or visit; he was a man, after all. He, like her, also regarded Clarissa like a member of the family, even though there was no blood relation. The care both of them shared for Clarissa was an obvious manifestation of the hope and joy they felt that they would be having a granddaughter to love and dote upon in May, if all went well. She considered that, given Clarissa’s misfortunes, her luck would have to turn and Alexandra Apollonia’s birth would be a joyous occasion come May. Patricia, who knew some statistics and probability, fully realised that its underpinnings were random rather than moral, even though she felt it should work in a more moral fashion, with virtue being rewarded; she did not doubt that Clarissa was virtuous, as was her son; this wasn’t virtue in the classical sense of the word, but rather it was virtue in the sense that her son had always cared for his girlfriends.

As she walked back home, it started to snow. The gray skies had been threatening snow for a day, and it started to fall, first in one or two flakes, and then more heavily as she turned on to MacLaren Street. She fried mushrooms and a chicken breast for dinner, and put rotini on the stove to boil, and by the time dinner was ready, the snow was falling thick and fast; the pavement, once gray, was presently obscured entirely. The sidewalks, like the road, were also quickly buried afresh, which meant that the plough team, consisting of a snowplough for the road, and two snowblowers for the sidewalks, would be coming within three days.


On the fourth of February, the first thaw came; the snow melted and formed large, slushy puddles, and several backyards were flooded by water dammed by ice; the ground was still frozen, the air still cold, and thus the water had nowhere to go. The elder Millers’ backyard sloped away from the house, and they were not bothered by water, though their neighbours to their back, Jeannine, and to her west, Rick, both had flooded backyards. That evening, Patricia was mincing garlic for the spaghetti sauce she was making when the phone rang. It was Clarissa, and she crying.

“Oh dear, Clarissa, what’s wrong, darling?”

“I just had a miscarriage. You won’t be grandparents.”

The news hit Patricia like a blow; losing James was bad enough; indeed it was quite shocking, but this really put her over the edge. She was howling, and this attracted Ryan’s attention as he was removing his tie.

“What?”

“We’re… no longer going to be grandparents,” Patricia bawled. Ryan, who was still emotionally distraught from his son’s death only four months before, also dissolved into tears.

“Dear Clarissa, how did this happen?”

“I don’t know; I just have terrible luck.”

“I’m so sorry,”

“You don’t have to be, but thank you. I woke up and I wasn’t sick like I usually was, so I called the doctor. He told me I was no longer pregnant,”

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The Second Part of Chapter 23: A New Leaf

It was a Tuesday, and after Margaret arrived home early after finally hiring a better graphic designer, and with nothing better to do at home, she started cleaning the house. She began by wiping down all of the tabletops and counters, and she was thorough. She removed the pictures that she put on the buffet, and there were a lot of them; she had three married children and a grandson, after all. She then wiped the buffet top down until it was dully lustrous, not quite the same as when it was new, but close enough. She then went into the kitchen to dispose of the paper towel she had been using. Distracted by the time, she then filled the watering can and watered the plants, but had still managed to forget the small, neglected ivy plant that was perched on top of a tall bookshelf in the living room. She then went back to the kitchen via the dining room, but in a moment of clumsiness, knocked her hipbone against the buffet, where she had neglected to put the framed photographs back in one place, but instead left them stacked rather precariously. As her hipbone connected with the buffet, she grimaced in annoyance. At the same time, the top photo fell from its perch onto the floor, and the glass broke. It depicted James and Clarissa on their honeymoon. They were posing opposite Signal Hill in Saint John’s. When she saw this, she thought, oh great! Another mess for me to clean up! She put the empty watering can on the dinner table, and bent over to pick the frame up. The tips of her fingers were still wet, and without her noticing, she brushed the surface of the photograph with them, and then went and replaced the watering can beneath the kitchen sink.

The damage the water did to the photo escaped Margaret's notice until the evening, and Hyram rather than his wife pointed it out: “Say, Marge, what happened to the photo of Clarie and James?”

“Oh, that. I dropped it on the floor; we shall have to get a new frame.”

“Well, glass is cheap to repair, but it looks damaged in another way; it looks like part of it’s been erased,” said Hyram.

“What? Dammit!” She looked at the photo, which by now had been thoroughly damaged by the water, which had trickled down the left side of the photo and erased James’s face, replacing it with a dirty yellow and white area. She regretted doing this; it was bad enough that Clarie had lost a husband, but there was no need for their memory of James to erode as well; we might as well get on with it, and take the losses in stride, she thought. While the photo was a trivial loss, the real loss was not physical, it couldn’t be represented as a number or a figure on a piece of paper; the real loss came from inside the head when she forgot, and she was slowly forgetting: she could no longer recall what James’s favourite food had been.


That same day, Ryan was contemplating the headline after dinner, which proclaimed in banner letters the conservative victory. His reaction, unlike Margaret’s upon reading the same story, was of mild disappointment that the Liberals would not be carrying on their happy tradition of good governance at the helm of the country, as had been the case for a large part of the last century. Not that he had actually voted for the local candidate, Singha, but rather for Wakefield’s local representative; while he really liked the New Democrats, it was also the case that he did not mind the Liberals, and wasn’t sufficiently scared of Cameron Duff to help in some self-defeating effort to keep him out of office in the admittedly futile gesture of strategic voting. In this, he had principle, he said to himself. He still looked to the future with optimism, and thought after some reflection that the Liberals probably needed some time in opposition to get away from the temptations of patronage.

Katherine had just arrived home from school, to confront a pile of marking: she had three tests to give back, one for each class, and there was the assignment that her class had handed in the previous Friday. With luck and a lot of time, she thought, she would be able to finish marking one test, and would leave the rest for the next day. It was not so simple, though; her mother had left a message on her answering machine, in so many words wondering how long she would remain single, and urging her to find a man; she grimaced at her last words, “because I only want to be a grandmother, darling.” It was more than enough pressure to deal with; she would eventually find a boyfriend, she thought, but by no means with certainty. The divorce had left a bad taste in her mouth; must all men be so possessive? On the other hand, Jim had been nice enough before he died; maybe if there were someone similar to him that she could find, then her sister-in-law would be happy. If all else failed, there was still the school: there were enough decent men teaching there, she would eventually find a husband before they all went.

Her thoughts turned to dinner: what to make? Pasta would be too boring, as she had just had spaghetti last night, lasagne the previous Saturday, and fettuccine with Alfredo sauce two days ago. Perhaps she would roast a chicken. As she got the chicken out of the freezer and fetched the seasonings, her mind turned to the election: although she was disappointed by the results (she had voted for the New Democrats, who had failed to win in her riding by only 1,000 votes), she did acknowledge the fact that Meach and his cadre had grown too many of the warts of power, which included cronyism, a dissociation from their electoral base, and an increasingly out-of-touch attitude toward the populace; how else would one explain the bungling early on of the stimulus package that had been meant to create jobs? It was nearly three months overdue, and Duff had threatened to topple the government over that issue, before he actually did so in November.

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The First Part of Chapter 23: A New Leaf

On the morning after the election, Margaret rose early in anticipation of another productive day at work. While eating her bran, Margaret looked at the banner headline of the Globe and Mail, which proclaimed, in all-capital type: TORIES WIN ELECTION, DUFF TOASTS VICTORY. Below were two pictures: Duff standing before a cheering crowd of supporters, and Meach looking contrite. She read the article below, as written by Evan Robert Durmer, whom she doubted slept at all the previous night:

Last night, Canadians voted for a change in government, but by a narrow margin. Vote counts are incomplete at the time of printing, but the largest share of the vote went to Cameron Duff, leader of the Conservative Party of Canada. The lead of victory was razor thin, 33% to 31%, but still enough for now Prime Minister-Elect Duff to unerringly claim victory.

Duff, in his victory speech last night, thanked “Bruce Meach, Patrick Wakefield, Georges Valence, and Abethey Mazli for a vigorous, professional, and hard-fought campaign”, and extended the thanks to the Canadian people. Meach claimed something of a victory in his concession speech, made at one o’clock this morning, just before this issue went to print: “I stand before you, chastened, but I promise to present a vigorous opposition to the incoming government, led by the Cameron Duff. I would like to thank all of our supporters in this hard-fought campaign,” The full contents of the speech are in our special Election section.

“No doubt, the defeat of Meach by Duff would be most devastating to him,” said Mark Gainly, of the polling and research agency Treiserd-Wiss. “He viewed the
election as a given, and up until nearly Christmas, he had believed himself invincible.”

Catherine Ness, a former cabinet Minister close to the Prime Minister, corroborated this: “Oh, I imagine he must be very disappointed,” she said. “He was very ambitious and possessive. He wanted to continue shaping Canada’s destiny for quite some time.”

Xavier Nolen, another former cabinet Minister, said, “Quite frankly, this election has been a repudiation of Meach and his way of running government. I will admit that we have grown rather complacent, and we I think we need to spend some time in the woods,”

Meach said he wouldn’t be resigning in his concession speech vowing to “fight the good fight,” but there are already calls for his resignation. Angus Ross, former Minister of Human Resources and Social Development, as well as of Natural Resources, said in a late-night interview, “the overriding theme of this election was of Bruce [Meach’s] lack of leadership skills and poor direction,”

Meach, upon receiving knowledge of this statement by a former Minister, said emotionally, “I vow to continue as the leader of the Liberal Party, and these desires expressed by certain unsavoury individuals are full of sound and fury, signifying nothing,”

The election did not produce murmurs about the leadership skills of either Patrick Wakefield, of Winnipeg South, or of Georges Valence, of Shawinigan.

That would all be about expectations, thought Margaret. Nobody seriously expected either the Bloquistes or the socialists to form the government, thus there are no cloak-and-dagger moves within those parties. Meach got what he deserved; he and all those around him became complacent and corrupt, and now they need to spend some years in the political wilderness. It’s not complete exile, she thought; opposition parties are very powerful in minority governments, after all. All of this was the major reason for her, and Hyram, having cast their ballots for Fiona O’Brien. She and Hyram had both known her from her days working as the owner of the small restaurant chain O’Brien’s; Hyram had once been a major wholesale supplier, and the two got along quite well. A person like O’Brien should expect to do well, given luck, and it seemed like she had all the luck. It was also true that hardworking people like Fiona make their own luck, and this was certainly the case in the last election campaign, where she left nothing to chance. It was quite unfortunate, however that she had lost by a mere twelve votes to the Liberal incumbent, Peter Ronald Poores, the current President of the Treasury Board, whom Margaret viewed as a sycophant, particularly when seeking votes; she thought Poores’s kingly, regal stature and attitude had something to do with his re-election. There was still a ray of hope, however: the margin of victory for Poors was so narrow as to automatically trigger a recount.

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The Fourth Part of Chapter 22: I Choose...

Patricia turned back to the television; it was 9:26, four minutes before the polls would close in British Columbia, and those results become public. The election team was discussing how the election had played out in Saskatchewan and Alberta; the Conservatives had captured most seats in both provinces, with two seats in Saskatchewan going to the New Democrats, one to the Liberals, and the balance to the Conservatives. Helena Perari was talking about the agricultural policies of the Conservatives: “Duff and his team took a comparatively free-market approach, saying that subsidies would be paid to the farmers would be reduced, but they still recognised that farming was a difficult occupation to make money in, but they should still receive fewer subsidies, such that they may become more competitive. Their tendency to keep the promises they make, at least at the provincial level, has likely played a role in their success thus far: the people like honesty, on the whole, and it pays to be consistent an honest, as Duff is surely realising as he reaps the fruit of his reward.”

“Their use of ‘competitive’ in this sense is a euphemistic buzzword meaning any number of things.”

“Daniel is right, and in this case, more competitive would mean more up to date, leaner, or any number of other semi-meaningless words. It helped them in the prairies despite the old adage of the two things that matter in politics: money, and something else that I can’t recall. They would be denying the farmers money in this promise, but given that all three Prairie Provinces are presently urban in nature, this did not cost them. By ‘urban in nature’, I mean of course that the vast majority of the populations of the prairies live in its five largest cities, with much of the remainder living in smaller cities, and only a small portion of prairie residents being farmers.”

“I think Jim told us that ‘competitive’ was an economic term used to describe the type of market upon which economists base their models.”

“Oh,”

James had said that this type of market did not exist in reality, but rather simply held up as some perfect condition under which the laws of supply and demand function flawlessly; to Ryan, it seemed a kind of economic utopia.

“We finally have results from British Columbia, and they are looking very mixed so far: of the province’s thirty-two ridings, the Tories are leading in fifteen, the Liberals in ten, the New Democrats in five, the Greens in one, and an independent is leading in one riding. In Yukon, the New Democrats are leading, and with that the national tally is: 109 seats for the Liberals, 120 seats for the Conservatives, forty seats for the Bloc Quebecois, thirty-five seats for the New Democrats, three seats for the Green Party, and one independent. We expect that over the course of the night, the numbers will change less, and the results that will come in later tonight and into the next couple of days will, unless the margin is razor thin, solidify the numbers we have already. Given this information, we can predict, barring a coalition between the Liberals and another party that the Conservatives will form the next government, and the prime minister will be Cameron Duff. Andrew?”

“Thank you, Derma. While there is a possibility of a coalition government, it does not seem very likely. The Bloc Québecois says it does not want to form part of a government, while Patrick Wakefield says the patronage scandal has left the Liberals’ reputation tarnished, and they needed to spend some time in the opposition. Unless Mr. Wakefield changes his mind, the next government will be conservative.

“Meach will probably live to regret his decisions to be loose with public money; it is a sin of which the public is especially unforgiving.”

“When you say razor-thin, you really do mean razor thin, right?” asked Geoff.

“Yes, by razor-thin, we mean margins of less than ten thousand votes across the country, which means, for example, Duff receiving two thousand more votes than Meach. That is not the case right now: Duff is presently fifteen thousand votes ahead of Meach in the popular vote, and that’s without all the votes counted; with all votes, the margin will grow substantially, and projecting the margin of victory to include the whole voting public implies a margin of about forty thousand votes. That’s not substantial, indeed it’s quite narrow given that we have been used to margins of victory in the millions of votes in terms of the popular vote, but Duff would still be the evident victor.”

Heron added, “Let’s keep in mind that the vote count isn’t everything; Trudeau won the popular vote in 1979, but Joe Clark’s Tories won more seats.”

“Yes, due to the vagaries of the first-past-the-post system,”

“Let’s now go to the Conservative campaign headquarters in Edmonton, where the conservatives are celebrating their victory.” The screen then changed to show the conservative campaign headquarters, and the silver-haired figure of Cameron Duff at a lectern in front of a large audience of cheering supporters.

“Tonight, dear friends, we have won a great victory. I would like to take this moment to thank all of you gathered here in a hall that supported the Conservative campaign during this election period. I would also like to dearly thank party supporters from all across the country. I would also like to thank Bruce Meach, Patrick Wakefield, Georges Valence, and Abethey Mazli for a vigorous, professional, and hard-fought campaign. Finally, and most importantly, I would like to thank the Canadian people for participating in this great exercise, no matter how cold it was; I know, for instance, that it was minus twenty-six in Montréal and Ottawa today, and it is minus forty-three outside right now, but neither temperature nor adversity, poor health or bad weather kept Canadians from the polling stations; indeed, the latest estimates show a voter turnout of eighty percent, the highest that Canada has seen in quite some time. This is a reflection of the quiet yet passionate way the Canadian people does politics, and I assure you, my party and I share your passions. As Canadians, we will move forward together in the great journey of Canada, and we will see new horizons with a strong Canada, a Canada at the forefront of the world, indeed, a great Canada. Thank you, my dear supporters, and good night.”

“What do you think of that?” asked Ryan.

“It’s a nice ending to a dramatic election campaign; one that they will be writing about in the history books, for sure. That was an inspiring speech that he gave.”

Meach will put up a fight, said Patricia to herself. One doesn’t relinquish power easily, especially when he can form a coalition with the New Democrats, the Greens and the independent. With the election campaign lost and won, there was not much else to see on television, and she had no ear for the prognostications of a number of talking heads.

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The Third Part of Chapter 22: I Choose...

“Now we will have a word from Geoff on the strategies of the campaign trail. Geoff, what part did policies play on strategy?”

“Policies played a major part in appealing to regional voters, as well as liberal and conservative voting blocs. The primary plank of the Tory platform was the elimination of payroll taxes, which is to say, the premiums that everybody sees deducted from their pay. This was particularly prominent considering anyone who has a job is reminded of these taxes when they receive their paycheques. It was thus politically flashy, and rather painted the Liberals into a corner, who were left to make noises about where they would find the money to cover what revenue stream was being lost from premiums. That this was a comment typically made by an opposition party, as Cam Duff pointed out, did not help the Liberals’ cause, and may foreshadow the Grits’ future role in the House of Commons. The Liberals’ policy of turning Canada’s Atlantic waters into a conservation zone was primarily aimed at environmentalists, a group which is growing in numbers very quickly, particularly after the collapse of the Atlantic fisheries last year. It is no secret that fisheries the world over are in poor shape, and the Liberals may have been trying to boost their international credibility in the eyes of fish lovers, environmentalists and conservationists the world over. Despite some traditionally obvious objections that reserving such a large area of our waters for the exclusive purpose of the conservation of sea life by banning all fishing would put a drag on the economy of the Atlantic region, there has been surprisingly little opposition there due to the collapse of their fisheries, which may explain the Liberal sweep of those four provinces, with the Conservatives leading in only two seats in the region right now. It may have also helped that the Liberals claimed that this new reserve would create tourism jobs, with people wanting to experience the wildlife up close. To use their words, they ‘want people to experience the seas as they are supposed to be: unimaginably teeming with wildlife, so thick with fish that they can impede ships in the way that Cabot was impeded’. As you can see, the Liberals are leading in 26 seats; the greens are leading in Cape Breton and the New Democrats have the balance.

“Speaking of the New Democrats, their campaign strategy was focussed on the manufacturing sector: they promised subsidies to industry, and they promised to protect domestic jobs. While this was popular in the more working-class parts of Ontario, it was not so among other regions of the country, such as Alberta; they are presently shut out of that province, most of those seats showing Conservative leads, and the other three showing Liberal leads, with five Tories now elected from that province. That strategy, while winning over substantial numbers of their traditional working class and socialist base, turned off many, indeed, almost all economists; during three weeks of discussions among several hundred economists, I was only able to find one voice supporting that policy, that voice belonging to the Canadian Auto Workers’ economist. For this reason, numerous economists, the Fraser Institute, the banks, the Conference Board of Canada, among others, all came out in opposition to aid to the manufacturing sector. All of these economists said it was protectionism and may violate the terms of numerous trade agreements that the Government had signed over the past several years.

“They also promised to invest in public transit infrastructure, as did the Liberals, but the promises made by New Democrats were much more substantial in this direction: they promised rail-based rapid transit investments in nearly every province, high-speed rail between Calgary and Edmonton, and along the Quebec-Windsor corridor, and the extension of Via Rail to Prince Edward Island, as well as new subway systems and substantial extensions to existing ones in the five most populous provinces. This promise was aimed primarily at the urban base of the New Democratic Party, and also aimed to appeal to populations along the rail corridors.”

“To give an update, the conservatives are leading or elected in 110 seats, the Liberals in 104, the Bloc in 35 seats, the New Democrats in 25 seats, and the Green party in one seat. We cannot predict who will form a government, as we are still waiting on results from B.C., which should be coming in fifteen minutes or so.”

“I don’t think there will be too much happening. I’ll go call Clarissa to see how she’s doing,” said Patricia as she left the living room. In the kitchen, she picked up the phone and dialled Clarissa.

“Hi Clarie, how are you?”

“Hi Pat, I’m fine. I’m watching the election right now.”

“I was, but nothing much is going on right now except for talking heads. Strategy is very interesting, but I would prefer to read it in the morning paper, you know?”

“I agree; reading Dan-Matt Night-Haig wax verbose with all of his sophisticated syllogisms is much more pleasurable than listening to him do the same. Isn’t it titillating?”

“Waiting to see who will form the next government, you mean?

“Of course. I really like the horse race aspect of it. You know, ‘Grits elected in twenty seats, leading in eighty-three more’, and all that.”

“So, the real reason I wanted to talk to you was simply because I wanted to hear from you. How are you? Are you still feeling down?”

“As long as you don’t remind me of my loss, I think I’ll make it through the evening just fine.”

“I trust you’ve been drinking water,”

“Yes,”

“Well, how’s it going?”

“Not so well at the moment; plenty of men look at my pregnant belly and think, no thank you. They don’t even ask about my income. I’ve been able to get past greetings with the more sensitive types, though.

“Oh, you know that thing with the leaked cabinet minutes? I’m a friend of Sandra Ward’s, who leaked those minutes, and she says the Prime Minister is quite the asshole. He constantly yells at staff, tries to control his cabinet with an iron fist, and demonises anyone who questions his integrity. I know that job has an unusual amount of strain, but this seems unacceptable; it’s like he has two sides to him: there’s the face he puts on for the public to see, and in private he’s this whole other person.”

“I guess that’s what you would call his public mask stripped away; I think the version of him revealed by the cabinet minutes is the real version of him.”

“Sandy also said he was losing his grip on reality. You know all those policies and that carefully crafted election platform he has? He doesn’t have a clue. He is simply an excellent actor who goes through all the lines and the proper gestures.”

“Clarie! Don’t you disapprove of gossip?”

“Well, yes, but you know, we’re all human. This may be damaging, as it has absolutely nothing to do with his policies, which I by and large agree with; it’s like an addiction, you know, and I confess I’m not entirely innocent. Nobody is. On the other hand, he works for us: it’s a simple employer-employee relationship,”

“Do you have any predictions for the outcome?”

“I predict a tumultuous Forty-First Parliament, but I’m sure you could have seen that already. As for who becomes prime minister, I think the numbers are trending to the conservatives, but I really don’t know; I voted for the Liberals, though only after much hemming, hawing and waffling. Is there anything interesting going on with you guys?”

“You know, it’s the same old, same old. Katherine is going into final exams with the high school science classes that she is teaching, which is always a bit of a stressful time for her, perhaps you can imagine.”

“Well, goodnight. I’ll be watching the political drama, and I’m sure you will be too. The television is showing Liberal headquarters right now. It sounds so quiet; I bet they’re all waiting on tenterhooks for the results to come in, just as we are.”

“Goodnight, Clarie. Take care.”

“Goodnight, Pat,”

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The Second Part of Chapter 22: I Choose...

After work that evening, Ryan and Patricia were seated on the sofa in their living room in front of the television. It was 8:59 PM, and the election results were just about to come on.

“Who do you think will win?”

“Oh, I think it’s anyone’s guess; the race really tightened up in the last week or so. I don’t think the mutiny of Meach’s ministers was particularly helpful to his campaign.”

The television cameras focussed on the host of the Election Night Coverage, Derma Head.

“Good evening, and welcome to CBC’s election night coverage. I am Derma Head, your host for tonight. Also on CBC’s Election Team are Helena Perari, Andrew Chadwick Heron, Daniel-Matthew Night-Haig, Evan Robert Durmer, Ford Dasker, and Geoff Toro. It has been a dramatic election campaign filled with all the usual promises, grandstanding and political soap operas. Today, you made your decision. With that, I will turn to Daniel-Matthew Night-Haig. Danny?”

“Good evening, Derma. This election has been punctuated with all the usual grandstanding, as you said, showboating, and a fair share of drama queens, but overlaying it was an additional palace drama, so to speak. It was about a week ago when Prime Minister Meach lost control of a large part of his cabinet over lingering feelings about the succession in the leadership of the Liberal Party. Andrea Colm, as you know, was forced out by what had turned out to be an over-ambitious Meach. This part of the drama had occurred five years ago, and it is all the more remarkable––and draws attention to what has been seen as the significant reticence of this government when it comes to releasing information––that the minutes of cabinet meetings were only made public ten days ago, which is admittedly a most inopportune time. It was said that the civil servant who posted the minutes on her blog, Sandra Irene Ward, was rather discontented with her job and the Prime Minister routinely victimised and bullied her. One might say that he planted the seeds of this mutiny four years ago and into the present by his attitude toward those around him, and he reaped what he has sown last week.

“The abandonment of Meach by his cabinet points to a dearth of management skills, and this had some play in the election. Meach had been gaining in the polls, which by last Sunday had him with a six-point lead over Duff, but now the race is neck-and-neck. The last poll, going into the election, had the Liberals and Conservatives tied with a 32% approval rating to each of them. The New Democrats went into the election with a 20% approval rating, the Bloc Québecois with a 8% approval rating, and the greens with a 6% approval rating, leaving only 2% undecided, which is the smallest such undecided subsection in the history of the poll conducted by Treiserd-Wiss. In short, who becomes prime minister is anybody’s guess: it could be either Meach or Duff. The approval rating of 20% eliminates Wakefield from contention for the top job, which I imagine must be disappointing for him; he and all other New Democrats were hoping for a breakthrough this year.”

“We have an update: the first polling station in Newfoundland has reported their results. These results come from Bay Bulls, a former fishing community south of St. John’s; polling stations in Newfoundland closed at 10:30 local time in order to be synchronised with the other provinces, and results from British Columbia and Yukon will be available in half an hour. The results from this particular polling station, with thirty-two voters, were fourteen for the Liberals, twelve for the Conservatives, four for the New Democrats, and two for the Greens. We will be receiving updates continuously throughout the night; the results from the Maritimes, Quebec, Ontario and Manitoba will be available in a few minutes, and the results will change dramatically. Now, we have preliminary results for the entire province of Newfoundland and Labrador, with the Liberals leading in four seats, the conservative leading in two seats, and the New Democrats leading in one seat. The results will also be displayed at the marquee along the bottom of your screen. Evan?”

“Thank You, Derma. The Prime Minister’s Atlantic strategy was focussed on conservation and the long-term preservation of the fisheries there. As you know, the cod fishery of Newfoundland was shut down in 1992, and the closure of most Saint Lawrence fisheries followed suit last year. Given this, Meach promised a comprehensive conservation and breeding effort to, as he put it ‘make fishing cod, haddock, and salmon economically viable for the foreseeable future’ by strictly banning all fishing within our exclusive economic zone, which was to be enforced by the navy presently stationed in Halifax.”

“What did you think of that promise? I was wondering how the government was planning to patrol three million square kilometres of water with only three ships and a submarine,” said Ryan.

“Maybe he was planning to use the coast guard patrol ships,” said Patricia.

“There was some opposition to that, which was very interesting; they were saying that it unnecessarily curtailed the fishermen’s’ right to make a living by fishing as much as they wanted. The problem with that is, there is no living to make, because the Gulf of Saint Lawrence and the Grand Banks are empty; that’s why the unemployment rate in the Maritimes is 27%; at least that’s what Clarissa said,”

“I think turning the Atlantic into a marine park would be a very good idea.”

“Hey look, there are more results; it looks like, all the way west to Alberta! The Liberals are now leading in 105 seats, and the Conservatives are also leading in 105 seats!” exclaimed Patricia.

“…And the Bloc Québecois has 30 seats, the New Democrats have 31 seats, and the Greens have two.”

Ford Dasker was speaking: “With preliminary poll results coming in from all provinces and territories save Yukon and British Columbia, the Liberals and Conservatives are still tied, at 105 seats to each of them. Given these results, the CBC cannot predict anything as of yet. We do not know who will form the government, or who will become prime minister. The only thing we can say with confidence is that the 41st Canadian Parliament will be a minority parliament, which means that whoever wishes to govern will need to form alliances with other parties. It is also noteworthy that the Green Party is leading in two seats, but we shall wait for that to change. That the results should still be so close with this many polling stations reporting is an indicator of how changeable the electorate has been. While individuals’ minds may not have changed significantly, the numbers for the Liberals and Tories were sufficiently close for the lead to vacillate a number of times throughout the campaign. As you remember, back at the end of November when this election was called the Liberals were leading by seven points, which is not that impressive, but would still guarantee their grip on power were the election held then. The lead has since narrowed, placing the Tories, Grits and New Democrats within five points of each other, between 26% and 31%, which changed by Christmas with the Tories in the lead. The Liberals leading at New Year’s followed that, with another swing towards the Tories ahead of Election Day; a tumultuous election season it was, indeed.”

“Horse races aside, Ford, what do you see in the next parliament?”

“I see more drama and more exciting question periods.”

“As you can see, the numbers are changing as we speak, and the Tories are now in the lead, with 112 seats. The liberals have now fallen to 100 seats. Now, at this point, we only have sufficient data to call 24 seats, so we would wish to emphasise that these are very preliminary numbers. As the night wears on, it should be noted that the numbers will become more ‘sticky’, so to speak, meaning that they are less likely to change dramatically.”

“We are still waiting for results from British Columbia, which are due in at 9:30 PM eastern time. As you can imagine, both Grit and Tory headquarters are on tenterhooks waiting for the results; this is shaping up to be a very long night, and with the battle lost and won, the dust will settle early tomorrow, possibly at 3:00 AM. Needless to say, I do not envy Bruce Thomas Meach or Cameron Duff right now.”

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The First Part of Chapter 22: I Choose...

Election Day, which was on Monday, January 16, arrived at last. It was a clear and cold day in most of the country, and would be remembered as the coldest day that year. Eunice, who was wearing thickly insulated boots, long johns, jeans, a thick undershirt, a wool sweater, two pairs of mittens, a light jacket and a heavy overcoat, walked to the polling station. She had made up her mind: she wanted Cameron Duff as Prime Minister, and thus would be voting that way. It was his general likeability, but more specifically it was his idea of eliminating payroll taxes; that was what really turned her on. Imagine, no more EI contributions or Canada Pension Plan premiums! This would be a boost to her convenience store, and would allow her to save on payroll; if those promises were fulfilled, she might consider giving Jared a raise. There were other plusses to be said of Duff, of course: among them was his policy of changing the inflation-targeting policy of the Bank of Canada to aim for price stability rather than an inflation rate of 2 per cent.

Mario was with Eunice at the polling station, and he watched his wife vote. When she was done, he walked into the polling booth; he was voting for Patrick Wakefield, as he liked the idea of expanded public transportation systems; it would be nice to get a subway in this city, he thought. The New Democrats’ environmental policy was also very similar to that of the Liberals; the New Democrats were essentially a cleaner version of the Liberals, and while he essentially agreed with Meach on most major points, there was still the patronage scandal to consider. The scandal was a very poor business, in his opinion, and he knew from conversations with his friends, his wife’s friends, and polls that this opinion was widely shared.

Hyram stood at the polling booth in a church basement on Finch Avenue, and drew an x in the box next to the conservative candidate, Fiona O’Brien, who he happened to know personally. He preferred their economic policies at this time; Duff’s campaign promise to get rid of most of the payroll tax was a good idea in his mind. He knew the payroll tax was highly visible; after all, it appears on almost all pay-stubs, and he knew this was a deciding factor for him and plenty of other people. That Duff was highly articulate certainly helped, and Meach had looked increasingly distracted from early in the campaign onwards. He dismissed the New Democrat, Patrick Wakefield, out of hand due to his trade policy, which called for protection of domestic workers against foreign competition that he said was needed in a “changing world”, whatever that meant. He, being a wealthy person, was more concerned about the government’s monetary and financial policies. It was for this reason that the elimination of payroll taxes appealed to him, and it was for this reason that targeting price stability rather than an inflation rate of 2% also appealed to him.

Patricia cast her vote in a desire to see her Member of Parliament, a liberal, re-elected, because she liked what Bruce Meach had been doing as Prime Minister; he had handled the recession well, he was conventionally Canadian abroad, which meant he was low-key, and he had managed to keep the deficit under control, which from what Clarissa had said, was a most remarkable achievement. He had not pleased all of his critics, of course: some people accused him of not doing enough; others accused him of doing too much; still others accused him of doing both of the preceding at the same time, which is a most remarkable accomplishment. Given these people were mostly opposition politicians from the New Democrats, the Bloc Québecois and the Conservatives, it was not a very credible accusation, and had a tone of political shrillness.

Belinda stood at the polling booth, and put an x next to the liberal candidate, Supreet Singha. She was something of a conservationist herself, and in addition to gossip, she enjoyed hiking and fishing, so the idea of setting aside the Atlantic waters for a wildlife sanctuary gave her a warm and fuzzy feeling inside when she thought about it. The New Democrats also had good policies, but Belinda saw little practical difference between them and the Liberals as far as her interests went; both of them promised funding for the expansion of rapid transit systems across the country, and although the New Democrats had promised that for more cities, both they and the Liberals had promised that this city would get a subway system like Montréal or Toronto, which would be nice on a freezing cold day like today. Why was the election being held on what was sure to be the coldest day of the year? It was minus twenty outside; I might die were it not for my coat, heavy sweaters, thick mittens, toque and long johns, she thought.

Mary stood at the polling booth at a school near her home in Kitchener and put an x next to the New Democratic candidate, Nigel Trawdeed. She, like many others across the country and in her riding, did not like the way that their previously elected Member of Parliament, Christopher Relk, had behaved. That he had retired after having served out only a year of his term, which should have lasted two years given the minority Parliament, was one thing. That he had done so after enthusiastically promising to serve as the people of Kitchener-Waterloo, as he had eloquently put it in a memorable speech during the last campaign, was quite another. It was still something else when he referred to his constituents as “the rubes back home”, as heard in a bugged room by an Ottawa Citizen reporter. Were it a mere isolated incident, she might have ignored it and voted for the Liberals again (who were represented here by Davis Breilach in the election campaign), to send a foot soldier for the larger Liberal cause, which admittedly seemed to change, but whatever; now, however, she was going to vote for someone else. The Liberals had grown too corrupt, too complacent, and had taken their support for granted too often, and she had heard of several other stories about the Liberals making disparaging comments about their constituents when they thought nobody was listening. It wasn’t just that; the New Democrats had promised money to build a light rail network in Waterloo Region, where there was presently a line under construction; they had promised a fundamental change in direction to the way we get around, and in Kitchener-Waterloo, this was going to happen with light rail service from Cambridge to Elmira, as was promised by Patrick Wakefield. The Liberals, in their conventional idea borrowing, had promised something similar, but the New Democrats had promised double the money in a partnership with the provincial government. That would mean bigger stations, better stations, more busses, and more and larger trains, she thought, and it would also mean less driving around, which she hated; getting behind the wheel always agitated her. The possibility of being responsible for the death of some helpless animal, or, heaven forbid, a person at nearly a moment’s notice unnerved her. She had never developed the good reflexes needed to react to sudden changes either, so she had had several close misses in the past, each of which made her tremble to think about them.

The Conservatives had promised to cut red tape, and this kind of thing appealed to people like David; they had promised, for instance, to streamline the bureaucracy by making job responsibilities clearer, while not making any major departmental changes, which he thought were done for the sake of it, or else to please the powers that be. “Streamlining bureaucracy” evidently meant that some of the civil service would be laid off or sent to work in other departments that were understaffed, which was a good thing, he thought. Without knowing the specifics, there was always bound to be some department overstaffed, while another was understaffed. There was also the issue of the scandal; the Liberals had become corrupt, Meach had become too distracted from running the country and the very real diplomatic impasse with the Germans––he had called the European Union “as dead as the dodo” in an emotional outburst to the German Foreign Minister––in August, which had done nothing to enhance the Canadian image abroad. It did harm to international credibility to have an increasingly unstable person running the country. It was true that his government had balanced the budget after the recessionary splurge, but that was more the work of the Minister of Finance. For these reasons, behind the voting screen, David voted for the Conservatives.

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The Third Part of Chapter 21: The Public Forum

Ronald Boe thankfully stopped the answers to the question, which had devolved into bickering. “Thank you, ladies and gentlemen,” he said. “The next question is from Lilianne, in Bathurst, New Brunswick.

“Bonjour,” said Lilianne on the video feed. “My question is about taxes, and is directed at all leaders. The latest efforts to balance the budget after the recession entailed tax hikes by Meach. What are you going to do to reduce the tax burden on the middle class?”

“Since the question was directed at all leaders, we shall give each leader thirty seconds in turn to answer, starting on the left––my left, that is––with Cameron Duff.”

“Thank you, Ronald. Citizens, as you know, the tax burden has fallen increasingly on the middle class. With our promised cuts to payroll taxes, we hope to relieve some of that burden; we anticipate that the additional jobs created, and additional economic growth will pay for these tax cuts, leaving a positive impact on government budgets, leaving more money spent on government programs that all Canadians like,”

“Next, we have Bruce Meach.”

“Thank you for your question. As you know, the recession had a hard impact on government finances, and last year’s tax hikes were a part of a necessary effort to get the government’s finances balanced; now that the budget is balanced, all Canadians can look forward to tax cuts at some point in the future under a Meach government. Such cuts will be responsible, prudent, and sensible, rather than splashy and grandiose.” Meach looked at Duff meaningfully as he said this.

“Mrs. Mazli,”

“Thank you, Nia. The Green Party has long been an advocate of shifting the tax burden onto carbon emissions, and this was promised but not delivered by successive Canadian governments. The Green Party, with members elected to parliament, will advocate on behalf of this policy,”

Margaret was again distracted from the television, and looked outside, which she was able to do, as the ground sloped away from the street, giving them and their neighbours walkout basements; the snow was lit orange by the street lights outside; this part of the winter was the hardest for her to endure; the weather was dry, the air was cold, and the temperature had not risen above freezing for over a week; there was also the sun, which had set shortly before five that evening. Such weather could not be good for the mood of the electorate, she thought; it was probable, and she hoped––for she had little love for Meach––that the public would be disaffected enough by a midwinter election campaign to vote him and his cabal out of office.

The debate continued, with the requisite bickering, policy pronouncements, and rhetoric, which while occasionally high-minded, was mostly occupied with partisan sniping, which impressed Margaret little and Hyram not at all. Meach said, in response to an insinuation by Duff and Wakefield that he didn’t care for Europe, that it was a tale told by an idiot, and anyways, wasn’t true. Actually, it was more accurate that he yelled it, being highly agitated at the time. By the time the debate was finished, Meach was looking much the worse for wear, the other leaders having finished relentlessly dissecting, criticising, and pointing out the weak points in his policy, his personality, and almost everything else about him. Margaret thought that Duff came out looking the best; Hyram thought Valence performed the best, but as the Bloc only fielded candidates in Québec, Hyram would be voting for Duff, although he had made up his mind on this before the election was called.

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The Second Part of Chapter 21: The Public Forum

The debate had turned to job creation; although the recession was over and the economy in what economists called the recovery phase, unemployment was still stubbornly high, due to employers being reticent about rehiring people and due to structural changes in the economy that usually accompany recessions.

Cameron Duff said, “What we need to do is make it easier and cheaper for employers to hire; right now, when an employer hires someone, there is a seven percent gap between the cost incurred by the employer and the wages earned by an employee, and I believe we ought to give the seven percent back,”

“Then where will the revenue for Employment Insurance and the Canada Pension Plan come from?”

“Mr. Wakefield, there are plenty of better things to tax than people’s wages,”

“That would still deprive us of twenty billion dollars every year,” said Meach.

“Well then, there are other government programs to cut, and I can promise that unlike the Prime Minister, any government that I run will be squeaky clean,”

“Any implication that my administration is rife with corruption is entirely untrue; the incidents that you do hear about are entirely isolated, and––”

“Then why don’t you tell us why only one of those people that you appointed to consulting positions retired, and it was Angus Ross for health reasons? You have so far failed to answer, and it’s only by sheer luck that this issue isn’t ruining your personal reputation,”

“Actually, Georges, I think his reputation is a write-off by now,” said Abethey Mazli.

“Lady and gentlemen, that is enough, and with that we will move on to the next question, which is from Myron who lives in Sudbury,”

The question was a poorly phrased one about government accountability, and it was directed at all of the leaders. Duff answered first.

“Thank you Myron, for your very pertinent question. I promise that if I become Prime Minister, I will strengthen the role and the powers of the auditor-general, whose already ample powers played an integral role in throwing this government’s shady practices into the light of day. I also promise to resign if any of my cabinet becomes as corrupt as Meach’s is now. In fact, if any minister or other appointee is anything other than squeaky clean, with the best of puritan work ethics, I will ask him to resign.”

“You will ask him to resign?”

“In my opinion, a lot of women in politics are more trustworthy and open than men, in addition to being more competent, so it’s unlikely that I should ask any female cabinet member to resign, Abethey,”

Margaret turned to her husband. “What do you think of that promise?”

“It’s government; there’s bound to be waste somewhere in the system.”

“All the while other parts of government remain under-funded,”

“Hey, I read in the paper this morning that the President of France called the Prime Minister a pig,”

“The President of France? He reminds me of that drawing of Rumpelstilzkin in that kids’ book,” The President of France, in Hyram’s opinion, resembled the Lorax.

At this point Meach became whiny and apologetic, and in Hyram’s view, inexcusably so.

“It can only be said that trying to balance the demands of every sort of private interest group left right and centre, demanding this that and the other thing against the interest of the body public is a trying job, and I’d like to see you try it,”

“That’s why the Prime Minister has to be a particularly competent individual, and not be distracted by patronage appointments for his friends,”

“It can hardly be a winning rhetorical strategy to admit incompetence, Mr. Prime Minister,” said Wakefield.

“I would like to thank you, Mr. Duff, for implying that a woman would not make appointments on the basis of cronyism; as a woman, it is most edifying to hear that,”

Meach tried to come back to the fore: “As your Prime Minister––” Margaret plainly heard the capitals “––I promise to set up a bureau within the PMO for the purpose of accountability,”

“For the purpose of obfuscation,”

“I shall thank you not to interrupt me, M. Valence. As Prime Minister, I view it as essential that every dollar spent be spent justly and fairly. To this end, the Accountability Bureau shall be tasked with the duty, with the Auditor General, of performing surprise audits––”

“Do you plan to audit yourself?”

“Why are you going to set up a new office? Surely the Auditor-General’s Office would be able to handle this?”

Meach raised his voice above the volume of the snide comments by Duff and Wakefield. “––To ensure accountability in spending by government agencies, departments and Crown Corporations. Stop interrupting me!”

“You don’t look too prime ministerial right now; you look more like a whiny schoolchild,” Observed Mazli.

“I can see the Prime Minister’s getting testy,” said Margaret. “He’s sweating, look,” The high-quality digital video unmercifully picked up every detail of the leaders’ faces during the debate, and the Prime Minister was plainly uncomfortable. Hyram thought the Prime Minister was becoming puerile; Valence had a malicious grin on his face, Patrick Wakefield was drumming his fingers on the side of the lectern, while Duff and Abethey Mazli were calm and composed, even though Duff was sneering at Meach.

“Thank you, ladies and gentlemen. The next question comes from Fred, in Victoria, about the environment, and it is directed first at Ms. Mazli,”

The video feed showed a middle-aged man. “I would like to be environmentally responsible, but I find that I am over-dependent on my car. What do you plan to do to make the use of a car a choice rather than a necessity?”

“Thank you for your question, Fred. It is a truth that for many Canadians, the car is inextricably woven into modern life, and has become far more than a mode of transportation; it has become a place, a room, and a part of life. It is also true that the car is expensive, automobile transport is unsafe, very dirty in terms of emissions, oil leaks and such, and is inefficient in terms of land use. The Green Party promises to pass legislation to make communities more pedestrian-friendly and more cyclist-friendly, by placing work closer to home, by increasing funding for public transportation, particularly through our Crown Corporation, Via Rail, and through public transportation spending across the country.”

“It would all come down to people’s choices, though; if some people choose to drive a car, so be it.”

“That’s not the point, Mr. Duff; this man plainly wants to cut down on the use of his car, but finds he cannot, due, most likely, to his neighbourhood being built the wrong way: being built to serve the interests of the car, rather than the person,”

“How would you implement your policies, though? As you know, Ms. Mazli, land use planning is under provincial and municipal jurisdiction.”

“I am aware of that, M. Valence,”

“Another part of the issue is that the playing field has been tilted so far in favour of cars,” said Patrick Wakefield. “Every year, provincial governments devote enormous sums of money to highway infrastructure––I don’t have the figures on hand––and all the spending on highways in effect constitute a subsidy; we are providing a service for which we do not require upfront payment,”

“Yes, Patrick and I have discussed that issue many times, and we agree on the matter,”

“I think that the idea of not funding the highways is, frankly, scary. How would you get around?”

“We’re not talking about all highways, by any means, but simply the four-lane highways; they’re either clogged, empty, and in all cases, rail transport, both for freight and people is far better, economically, socially, and environmentally.”

“The highways, as was mentioned, are provincial jurisdiction, but what would you on the loony left propose to hypothetically do to them? Turn them into parks?”

At Duff’s snide remark, Margaret turned to Hyram and said, “What do you think of that? You’re in the Ministry,”

“Well, to some extent, Mazli’s right; there are certain highways that should not have been built, and I have said that tolls on highways would be a good money-generator,”

“But then there is another question: How would we visit Mary and Clarissa?”

“There’s the train,” said Hyram.

“The train’s stuffy and crowded; remember the last trip we took?” Margaret and Hyram had taken a second honeymoon one summer in a cross-country rail trip, and Margaret thought the crowds on the coaches were unbearable, and had spent the trip complaining about not enough elbowroom.

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The First Part of Chapter 21: The Public Forum

On the last Monday before the election, the networks hosted the English-language debate, which Margaret and Hyram, among many others across the nation, were watching. The French-language debate, which was much ballyhooed in the run-up to the actual event, occurred the night before, but resulted, as was the consensus among pundits, in a tie. Margaret walked out of the kitchen, into the dining room, and paused briefly to look at the pictures arranged on the buffet; on the left were photos of Jacob and Alice with Sean as a baby and then slowly growing larger, in the middle were pictures of Mary, with and without her husband Andrew, and on the right were pictures of James and Clarissa. Margaret thought that James was handsome, in a way, and she regretted that she had thought of James differently when he was alive. She had spent a larger portion of her spare time studying closely the details of the photographs of James, which were now the only reminders in the elder Varettes’ house of their youngest daughter’s marriage. She noted almost everything about him in the photos: his black hair, which in the photos was unkempt in the same moppish style, his slightly tubby stomach, and his charming smile; through study she could see the side of James that had attracted her daughter, and these pictures remained her only connection to an alternate reality where James was alive, Clarissa happy, and Margaret on reasonably good terms with both of them.

Hyram had turned the television on, and had cleared the coffee table of technical drawings of highway bridges, upon which now stood a bowl of apple crisps. Their attention shifted to the television, which focussed on the faces of Nia Aitt and Ronald Boe, whom Margaret called Ron Boe; she thought the television personality was quite handsome. Hyram thought he was aloof and detached, as if he were observing the world from a different plane.

“Good evening, and welcome to the Election Debate in English on CTV. I am your co-host, Nia Aitt,”

“And I am Ronald Boe, your other co-host.”

“Tonight, CTV, CBC, and Global have collaborated to bring you the Election Debate. With us tonight are the leaders of the federal parties: Prime Minister Bruce Thomas Meach, the leader of the opposition, Cameron Duff, Patrick Wakefield, Georges Valence and Abethey Mazli. The debate will last two hours, with questions fielded by Canadian citizens. We will start with an introductory statement by each of the leaders, who drew lots to see who would go first. The question will be posed, and each leader will have a one-minute long opportunity to answer, followed up by a discussion of the issue among the leaders. With that, I will ask Ms. Mazli to make her introductory statement.”

“Thank you, Ronald and Nia. Citizens, I stand before you today as a representative of the Global Green Movement. The environment has gained prominence in the minds of the public, and for good reason; we have come to recognise that the environment is a key determinant of our livelihoods, and it is nearly universally recognised that without a robust and healthy environment, one cannot have a functional economy, and thus, the stakeholders include every person on the planet. That environmental degradation is an increasing problem is no idle statement without base; it is a fact, and we can see the most prominent example of the environmental impact that our species has had on the planet in global warming. We are changing the climate in an unsustainable fashion, and it is up to us to stop it. As a politician, I remain a fundamental optimist, and this problem, while serious, may be ameliorated and is eventually reversible. I am running in this election for more than personal ambition; I am running to make a statement, and to support the environmentalist cause. Thank you,”

“Next, we have Mr. Meach.”

“Thank you, Ron. Citizens, I stand before you today not as Prime Minister, but as a citizen advocate for the causes I believe in. These causes are: Canada, and its advancement and a drive for its increased prominence in world affairs, justice on an equal basis for all, and I, like all members of my party, strive to ensure that all Canadians ensure equal opportunity for everyone so that they can succeed when they want to, and I strive to foster the most competitive business environment in the world. It must also be said that you may judge me by my record, and in this, I recognise that I am not perfect, merely human, and would wish to own my errors and say unequivocally, that these mistakes in making appointments and various gaffes will never happen again. Like Mrs. Mazli, I also believe that respect for the environment is an important cause, which is essential for Canada to support, for if we do not respect our environment, we do not respect ourselves. That is why I have proposed to protect the Atlantic waters from fishing to preserve fish stocks for future generations. Thank you,”

“Next, Mr. Duff will make his statement.”

“Thank you, Nia. Fellow Canadians, I stand tonight as a real Canadian, a true struggler for better government, more efficient management, preserving and enhancing Canadian culture, and augmenting our image abroad as a world leader. I come to you as a representative and firm believer of the cause of better government, which has been decidedly lacking these past four years that Bruce Meach has been Prime Minister. As the alternative candidate, my role as prime minister shall be to renew: I shall renew the belief of the Canadian people in the efficacy of our government, I shall institute practices of best management to ensure clean government, and I will ensure that the government is run efficiently and without graft, patronage, or any of the other diseases that pollute the body politic of the nation and undermine our democratic values. Citizens, I stand before you to serve you, not my friends––although I consider all of you my friends––and not my family, just you. Thank you,”

Hyram turned away from the television and toward Margaret; either Patrick Wakefield or Georges Valence would be making his statement next, and he was not interested in what the left-wing leaders had to say; he was not impressed by Valence’s vacillation on a number of issues, and had not considered voting for the New Democrats since his days at Omega Faucets.

“So far, so good. No major gaffes on the Prime Minister’s part. Do you remember the one about him and the dodo?”

“That was funny,” replied Margaret. “I really liked the parody of that by Rea Li.” She was sitting on the armchair in the downstairs rec room, but her attention drifted from the television at that moment. She was thinking of the state of her pension plan; it had lost about a third of its value over two years ago, and it was thanks to an astute decision on Hyram’s part to sell her stocks and buy bonds that stopped them losing even more money. Now that the recession was over, the focus was more on layoffs. She knew relatively little about economics, but she was able to recognise a pattern through her life that after the economy was bad, employers tended to lay people off in an effort to “become more competitive”. Thinking about that oft-abused euphemism made her shudder, and it also brought up James’s death. He was laid off just an hour before the heart attack, and the more she dwelled on this, the more her opinion of Maurice deteriorated. It was a curious that although the chain of events leading up to his death was entirely accidental and by chance, she could not help feeling that Maurice deserved almost all of the blame, and her opinion of James had changed after his death. It was very interesting to recall that she did not take a particular liking to James when she met him, but now her attitude toward him had changed. Had he only lived! Now she thought of him highly; from what Clarissa said, he seemed very emotionally stable, hardly ever raising his voice in argument, unlike Hyram, who constantly bickers about me putting too much pepper on the roast beef. Perhaps I should admit I was wrong to Clarissa; on the other hand, perhaps I should hold my tongue; admitting one's mistakes would seem clumsy in a parent, no matter what the age.

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Chapter 20: Less Than Noble

It was four o’clock, well before dawn, and outside it was very cold, as a frigid mist hung over everything and froze to the trees, the lampposts, and coated all else with a sparkly rime layer. Given his job, Ryan was always awake at this time, and would eat a quick breakfast and purchase a newspaper from the convenience store just north of Somerset. He returned, and opened the copy of The National Post that he had just purchased, and was confronted with a large headline:

PRIME MINISTER USES PUBLIC MONEY FOR PERSONAL
DECORATION


Yesterday, an investigation revealed that the Prime Minister has been using government housing funds for furnishing the rooms of high-ranking politicians to furnish a lavish home on Lake Muskoka.

The Prime Minister has defended the use of public money for this purpose by saying that some of the poorer Members of Parliament need the money to become settled in Ottawa. Investigations revealed that the Prime Minister circumvented these rules by saying the purchases were for the official residences at 24 Sussex Drive and Meech Lake, and then doing an end run around the rules, according to a source within the National Capital Commission (NCC) who prefers not to be named, the NCC being in charge of the furnishing and upkeep of official residences. Confronted with these revelations, the Prime Minister said last night in Prince George, British Columbia, “Look, I haven’t the time for these baseless allegations, and the people of Canada know that I have been a very good, and very effective Prime Minister these past five years.”

Upon hearing the information late last night, Cameron Duff said from the campaign trail in Victoriaville, Quebec, “This is emblematic of the corruption that is increasingly endemic within the government. It has been observed countless times that corruption erodes the strength of democracies and diminishes public confidence, and this applies just as strongly now. This is yet another reason that a change in government is needed, and I am ready to be that change.”

Patrick Wakefield, speaking from Windsor, also chipped in:”You know, when the people of Canada, the backbone of the country, the hard-working, working-class people hear of this, they wonder if this is the government that truly represents them. I’m not at all surprised by the growing lack of faith within Meach’s ranks, and even his cabinet is feeling mutinous, and those are very loyal people surrounding him.”

Former natural resources Minister Xavier Nolen came to the defence of the Prime Minister from his Ottawa home last night: “Well, this is small potatoes, really, so what if he’s had his hand in the candy jar,”

Ryan trailed off reading, and snorted a signal of moral disgust. “Unbelievable,” he said.

“What?”

“It seems that Meach has been, er, availing himself of public money. Look at what he’s doing,” he handed her the newspaper, the headline clearly visible.

After reading it, Patricia said, “I will admit that he is a rather flawed vehicle for his policies, but I still agree with him.” She thought that the scandal seemed a scarlet letter; it would be sure to hurt Meach and his entire party; she believed that they deserved it completely.

“By the way, how’s Kate?”

“I got an email from her today, and she says she’s doing okay, though I don’t know why she doesn’t want to remarry. I mean, not all men are like Mike,”

The phone rang; it was Clarissa.

“Hello?”

“Hi Pat. I just called to say that I thought of a name for my baby-to-be: Alexandra Apollonia, and she will take Ryan’s name,”

“Alexandra Apollonia Miller. It sounds nice,” said Patricia. Alexandra seemed like a name one would give to a woman with a very strong personality, after the fashion of Alexander the Great, and Apollonia was obvious: named after Aphrodite's son, she would be intended to love people, including all of those around her, especially Clarissa, who especially needed it, now that she was a widow.

“Hey Ryan! Guess what? Clarissa’s baby has a name! She will be called Alexandra Apollonia Miller!”

“Wonderful. I hope she’s healthy and all. I think the people at work will not be pleased about this.” The last part of his statement referred to the fresh scandal, not Alexandra Apollonia Miller.

Ryan proved right; by the time he got to work at the CBC, news had already spread around the office, and nobody was pleased by the liberties the Prime Minister had taken. It had turned out that the story broke shortly before midnight, and there was no time for the cartoonists to draw any insulting pictures of the Prime Minister; Ryan knew that simply meant they would be laying it on all the more mercilessly the next day.

“It’s quite tough to do that sort of thing,” said Roland to Melissa, who were co-hosts on Ryan’s program.

“No, it’s simply too tempting. I mean, the guy has all that power, and there’s a lot of opportunity for self-aggrandisement.”

“I was talking about breaking the story. It was, let’s see, Geoff Toro who wrote that? He must have quite a sophisticated network of informers; getting information from the government, and especially the Prime Minister, is becoming like pulling teeth, especially now the election’s on.” Thus, Ryan thought, it was all the more remarkable that Geoff Toro, known as a journalistic sleuth, and a scourge to politicians everywhere who desired to keep secrets, had managed to write it and get it published before the election. It would require prodigious skill on one side, or otherwise gross incompetence and loose lips on the other side. In some time in the future, this would become an amusing and instructive tale; now, however, it was a blooming scandal, bound to cause Meach no end of trouble and scorn from the public; he was sure his opponents would bring it up in the campaign; there had already been attack ads, including one that was carried on his station condemning Meach for being too loose with the public’s money. “Isn’t it time for a change?” was the conclusion of said advertisement, and the answer to that rhetorical question was implied to be yes.

Ryan, through his job, heard all sorts of things to do with the election; what scandals were coming to light, who was saying what, who was keeping tight-lipped for what reason, which marches and rallies were planned, and sundry other things. He also heard of a rally by the Canadian Auto Workers in Toronto, about which he was unimpressed, as he viewed them not as agents of the average labourer, but as common and unsavoury rent-seekers.

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The Second Part of Chapter 19: New Year's

Eunice spent the first night of the new year at Clarissa’s house, where they were both sitting on the couch in the few minutes leading up to a show by Rea Li, a stand-up comedian they both liked.

“What do you think of the way James died?”

“I think it was terrible for you; he was only thirty-three, after all, and he seemed in good health to all of us.”

“I don’t know; I can’t help feeling somehow responsible for what happened to him. If only I had known; if only I had stopped using as much salt as I did in my cooking. You knew James. You knew how much he liked to salt his mashed potatoes, his French onion soup, and his eggs.”

“I can recall that he quite liked potato chips, but please, Clarie, don’t tie yourself in knots. What do mashed potatoes have to do with anything?”

Clarissa ignored the question about the mashed potatoes. “But we would talk about the superfluous things: politics, economics, the performance of the TSX index, subsidies, history, econometrics, but never the seemingly small things that were so important: what is healthy for dinner, whether we should be taking up jogging, that sort of thing. We were communicating for sure, but we were talking about the wrong things.”

“Clarie, you know that nobody can really be blamed for his death. It was the shock of him being unemployed and you being pregnant, with him not having any idea how to provide for a future child, and you know how difficult it is to get a job.

“Maybe we need to change the subject. How was Christmas?”

“It was pretty good; I had a visit with my mom, and you know she’s getting on.”

Eunice nodded in reply.

Rea Li’s show came on. “Well, good evening, folks,” said she. “I would like to welcome you all here tonight and I would wish to start by dwelling on my dreamboy, which is to say, of course, the Prime Minister. My love for him is no dodo, and Brucie Boy, I assure you I am not going the way of Europe: I’m still here, waiting to fall into your arms. Oh, and I have an idea for saving money, if you’re out there, Brucie: instead of hiring a prostitute, why not do me for free? Please, I’m begging you! I can’t remain single forever!

“Sorry, but anyways, I just wanted to speculate idly on the election; I predict that it will go to Patrick Wakefield! Why do I believe this? The reason is, of course, that one must believe in the underdog, and Wakefield simply embodies the zeitgeist of underdogginess.”

“Meach has actually becoming quite strange lately,” said Eunice. “Would you really want that for a Prime Minister? What does ‘out, out brief candle’ mean?”

“I think what he said today speaks to me on several levels. Remember his response to the query by Andrew Heron about how he was doing? ‘Life's but a walking shadow; a poor player, that struts and frets his hour upon the stage, and then is heard no more’. That’s sort of how I feel about my life without James,”

“How are your brother and sister doing?” asked Eunice, turning away from the television and desiring to change the subject; she thought Clarissa was much stronger than Meach, considering that she had to contend with the loss of a husband, while Meach was simply ignoring his wife, who returned the favour.

“Quite well; Jacob and Alice’s son Sean is quite the adorable little two year old, but of course only I think he’s adorable; they refer to him as ‘our little monster’, or variants thereof. Mary and Andrew are planning on having a baby, which means that mom and dad will have three grandchildren to dote upon next Christmas.”

Eunice said, “Don’t you think there’s an element of risk?”

“To What?”

“To falling in love. I mean, it’s so unpredictable; I can remember my high school sweetheart Shane; he was romantic, he wooed me, but then I found he was a drug dealer, only after virtually everyone else in the school already knew.”

“Pity,”

“I know, and then there’s always the risk that things might turn out differently from what you hope,”

“I know what you mean,” said Clarissa. “All too well.”

“Oh yeah, and then there’s pregnancy; there’s simply so much to be left to chance: will it be a boy or a girl? Will the baby turn out healthy? Will the pregnancy go as it should? By the way, I haven’t told you that I’m pregnant too,”

“Congratulations! What does Mario think?”

“He’s as pleased as can be,”

“Well, my pregnancy is coming along as it should; I’ve been eating a lot of food lately,” she said.

“I saw the large pile of dishes. What did you have?”

“I roasted a chicken, and had a salad,” said Clarissa.

“I was just wondering: how do you keep your lettuce? I mean, Mario and I simply try to eat it as fast as we can so it doesn’t go brown and stays crunchy; there are few things worse than limp lettuce,”

“Too true; I wrap them in damp paper towels; it keeps for about a week.”

The two turned back to Rea Li’s show, just as she had finished a sight gag. She went on to make comments about the American President, and dwelt significantly on his affair.

“Oops, did I say that? I meant affairs: it’s simply unbelievable; his wife is so beautiful, so gorgeous, it almost makes me a lesbian, she’s that attractive. If I had a wife like that, I would be pegging her every night, regardless of my gender,”

Eunice smiled at the more off-colour aspects of Li’s humour. “She tells it like it is, doesn’t she?”

She was telling another story. “Anyways, there’s this internet meme that’s going around, saying that Brucie’s a drug dealer; I don’t know where that story came from, and I didn’t make it up; probably a clever viral campaign by Duff. But the thing with these is that they can be just about anything, and completely ridiculous. ‘Bob feeds his kittens crack cocaine’ and stuff like that. That’s when I got the idea to start my own viral campaign; tomorrow night, and every night after that, I will do the show nude. Tell your friends! I need ratings!”

Eunice laughed at that joke; the outlandishness of it was ridiculous. After half an hour of her, Eunice bade Clarissa good night, and went back to her house again, where her attention was focussed on the monthly accounting and inventory of her convenience store, a gargantuan task which promised to take the rest of the night and the rest of the following night; she hoped Jared, the teenager she had hired just before Christmas to do the night shift, was handling things well.

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The First Part of Chapter 19: New Year's

On New Year’s Eve, as promised, Eunice and Mario took Clarissa to see a comedy show. The show was in a theatre unimaginatively named The Performing Arts Centre, and it featured Peter Charles Ku, billed on the board outside as P.C. Ku. There had just been a snowstorm on the Wednesday, which meant the sidewalks were buried, invisible beneath tramped-down snow, and the war memorial on the square opposite the theatre was partially obscured by high snow banks; little of the snow had melted since November, and thus this was additional accumulation over the previous snowstorms, whose snow had compressed and hardened to ice on the sidewalks. The three were thus very careful on their way to the theatre not to slip, but Clarissa almost did so when they passed the Natural History Museum on McLeod Street. Eunice found the show funny enough, but she noted that Clarissa’s manner was subdued; where Eunice was gasping for breath, Clarissa was barely giggling. The nature of the jokes were conventionally thought of as funny: mother-in-laws, various sexual practices––Ku was known for his sex jokes, particularly an elaborate one involving a woman sleeping with her best friend’s boyfriend, and her best friend doing the same, while both of them thought they were with their own boyfriends. The walk home after the show was sombre, due to two circumstances: the weather was cold and cloudy, threatening but not delivering snow, and Clarissa’s mood, which was melancholic and contagious.

“What’s wrong, Clarie?” asked Eunice as they stepped over a snow bank and crossed MacLaren Street.

“Oh, I don’t know; do I seem unhappy?”

“Yes; you didn’t find Ku’s jokes funny?”

“Some of them were,”

“If you want, you can welcome the New Year at our place.”

“We have sprite, if you want,” said Mario. Eunice, being pregnant, would not be drinking, and he joined her pregnancy-enforced abstention from alcohol; thus, it would be a dry New Year’s.

“Thank you. It will be very nice to spend the night in the company of friends,” said Clarissa.

“How are you holding up with the pregnancy?” inquired Eunice.

“Well enough,” said Clarissa. “You’re supposed to always feel sort of sick, but I’m not
getting that so much. Perhaps it’s luck.”

“I’m starting to get woozy,” said Eunice. “I also get tired quicker,”

“She’s also starting to get an upset stomach,” said Mario.

The remainder of the walk home passed in silence, and instead of going home, Clarissa simply went straight to Mario and Eunice’s house for merrymaking and partying. Laura, Christine and Zachary had also been invited over, and they came, making New Year’s Eve a cheerful occasion.


At the start of the party, when there were just the three of them, Eunice turned to Clarissa and asked, “Mario and I have been discussing––since Christmas, really––about our ski trips and we were wondering if you would like to come along,”

“To Mont Tremblant?”

“Well, in March, when the weather’s more agreeable; today, I wouldn’t fancy skiing, considering it was minus fifteen today and God knows how cold in the Laurentians.”

“I don’t really know how to ski, though,”

“That’s fine; we can teach you,” said Mario.

“All right then; it shall be some time in March?”

“Yes, and we also usually go there around this time of year, but this particular year, we decided not to; we wanted to spend time with you, honey,”

“That’s very sweet of both of you,” said Clarissa. “Oh look, Christine and Zack are here,”

“So, let’s get the party started,” said Eunice emphatically; the five people spent a pleasant night together; there was an upside to having a dry party: nobody would have any hangovers afterward.

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