Chapter 9
I was impressed by the many banners and flags hung up along the road approaching the town. The Borough of Rupert Welcomes the Great Leader. We Salute You, Chairman President. All Hail President Chairman Rupert. I had the distinct impression that the people of the town were very enthusiastic about President Chairman Rupert: a notion reinforced by portraits of the koala in many striking and heroic poses hanging from lamp-posts, embellishing walls and filling enormous posters. These were intermingled with election posters all for the Illicit Party. There were none at all representing other Parties. Everywhere there was Rupert’s face wearing his broad-brimmed hat, accompanied by a single word next to a cross in a square. The single word was sometimes self-explanatory like Rupert, Illicit and Unity. Sometimes the word suggested something less obvious like 100%, Republicity and Truth. This last word particularly caught my attention, especially as it was one used more frequently than almost all others. Even some of the slogans used the word. Only the Illicit Party knows the Truth. Truth is Illicit and Rupert. The Truth belongs to the Illicit Cause.
The enthusiasm expressed for the Illicit Party and its leader built up steadily as I wandered past a brand new sign that read in enormous letters: Welcome to the Illicit Borough of Rupert, under which were details relating to the town being twinned to the cities of Rupertgrad and Rupertsville in the Illicit Republic of Rupert. This enthusiasm wasn’t constrained to banners and posters, as I found myself in a town almost full to overflowing with people all moving in one direction. Most townspeople were sheep of one kind or another, and I was nearly deafened by their excited bleating punctuated with the chanting of political slogans. I couldn’t easily differentiate the slogans but many included the words Illicit and Rupert. One sounded like: “Her Maphrodite Good. Rupert Better.” Another referred unfavourably to Cats, but over the competing noises I could catch only the gist of a litany of crimes attributed to them and the tortures that Cats deserved as a result.
I followed the crowd’s flow, curious to discover what was attracting so many people. It was very orderly and this was ensured by the presence of small dragons standing on street corners emanating a steady stream of smoke from their nostrils, nursing semi-automatic firearms between their wings and their forearms, while their serpentine tails wagged from side to side. The density of images relating to Rupert steadily increased, as not only did his marsupial features gaze benignly down from enormous hoardings on the top of buildings and from the walls of every available building, but, as if more were needed, many sheep carried banners adorned by the koala. These banners also had slogans relating to issues hinted elsewhere, such as: 100% Turnout. 100% Rupert. Avenge the Sufferings of Feline Expansion and Truth and Justice and an Illicit Government. The images of Rupert included even a statue, at least nine feet high, standing on a tall pedestal well above the crowd. The statue gazed towards the distant horizon, one paw hidden in the depths of a monstrous great coat and the other held out horizontally in front as if showing the way.
The purpose of this large gathering, I discovered from reading some posters, was that there was a political rally to inspire electoral support for the Illicit Party. This had already started, and as I approached more closely to the town square loudspeakers blared the voice of a small dragon in a very dapper suit who was addressing the crowd of ruminant supporters and raising the occasional approving cheer. However, this speaker, popular though he clearly was, did not fully explain the large turnout. The reason was that President Chairman Rupert himself was due to address the gathering. He was actually meant to be speaking now, but even from the hundred yards or so that I stood from the platform that had been erected for the speakers, I could see that he was not even amongst those seated in chairs behind the dragon.
Driven by curiosity, I moved into the midst of a crowd fortunately mostly somewhat shorter than me, so I could get a very good view and was soon able to position myself where I could properly hear what was being said. An enormous bank of speakers curved round in a semicircle to address the heaving mass of woolly fleeced supporters who crowded out the entire square, and spread beyond and behind the surrounding buildings. The odd dragon strode through the crowd carrying an automatic weapon and puffing menacingly to calm the more over-enthusiastic lambs. The speaker was clearly getting very excited by his own rhetoric in which he interspersed the words Truth, Cat Menace, Illicit Party and, most frequently of all, the name of Rupert, for whom no praise seemed adequate.
The dragon brought his address to a close by repeating over and over again the word Rupert, which was echoed increasingly by the audience. This became a loud monotonous chant of “Rupert! Rupert! Rupert!” Then, when I was sure the chant couldn’t get louder, the crowd let loose a thunderous incoherent cry as a small figure appeared from the corner of the stage, sporting a great coat which reached almost down to his ankles and a flamboyant hat, and sauntered towards the centre of the stage. On cue, enormous screens above and on either side of the stage suddenly flickered into life to display identical pictures of the same koala waving his arms at the audience in appreciation of the greeting he earned.
This went on for nearly ten minutes in which I felt trapped in the mass of people and threatened by a cheering that sent vibrations up from the cobbled ancient ground through my legs, causing my jaw to tremble and my ears to ache. And then, suddenly, with a single lowering of the President Chairman’s upraised arms, the crowd was hushed. There was not even a single bleat. An enormous image of his face filled the screen. A colossal flag of green, red and black descended to the back of the stage in the centre of which was a single vertical black line that I presumed was the letter I representing the Illicit Party.
“We have worked hard. We have laboured long. We have struggled against all adversity. We have defeated our enemies. The enemies of Illiberal Socialism and the Truth. Through astute and farseeing manoeuvres, we have seen off traitors and secured power for the great cause of Illiberal Socialism in our land. And now we shall secure the same cause here.” The crowd roared its approval. “Here in the Illiberal Socialist Borough. Here with all of you gathered here. Here. And Now. Illiberal Socialism begins its relentless, unstoppable struggle which in the Election or after will bring us to Power in this land. Here and Now is where the Battle commences!”
The koala paused and the crowd took its cue for a wild abandon of applause, much the same as before but focused now on the rallying cry: “Lead us forward, Rupert! Take the nation! Exterminate Her Maphrodite and the Coition ministers!”
“The continuing success of the Illiberal Socialist cause is the accomplishment of a political movement which addresses the needs of all the people, which powers the engine of great economic growth and brings prosperity to all. The Illicit Party is the Party of Freedom.”
“Freedom!” roared the crowd.
“True Freedom is freedom from want, from poverty, from despair, from indecision, from uncertainty and from the corruptions of the capitalist, imperialist reactionary. Freedom to serve the greatest causes. Freedom to follow and obey. Freedom to build the strength of the Illicit State. With a strength, untainted by bourgeois liberal caveats, to crown the achievements of the Illiberal Socialist Republics with victory here, led by you, the people of the Illiberal Socialist Borough. Pooling together your untutored strength and your determination to wage war for Peace and Prosperity. For it is only by unceasing struggle using sticks, stones, firearms and missiles that true Peace will be attained. And then we will be Free. Free from the corrupt Coition government and its communist, capitalist and imperialist ministers. Freedom!”
“Freedom! Freedom!” came the chant.
“And what does this Freedom the Illiberal Socialist movement desire so much? Is it the freedom from oppression and dictatorship so desired by the petty bourgeoisie? The liberty that promises so much, but furnishes us instead with vile pornography, immoral literature, repugnant art and so much opinion that no one knows when they are right or when they are wrong. The freedom that bo
rders on chaos and anarchy in which crime is rife and the mob wanders where it pleases. What freedom is that? No freedom at all! And is it the freedom advocated by the Red Party? The freedom to organise, rebel, destroy and usurp. No! The freedom advocated by Illiberal Socialism is the freedom to serve, the freedom to struggle in a great cause. The freedom which serves the greater good. And that is what we mean when we advocate Freedom. We want freedom now! Freedom from the Reds, the Blues and the Greens!”
“Freedom! Freedom!” The crowd chanted, stomped and enthused in a regular rhythm partly coordinated by the dragon stewards mingling with the crowd and raising smoke from their mouths as they yelled out a refrain that gradually returned to a refrain of “Rupert! Rupert!”
The koala raised a paw to silence the crowd, which did so with remarkable promptness. “There are those who criticise the Illiberal Socialist Party for contesting the General Election. They say that as we do not practice democracy in the Illiberal Socialist Republics then we are hypocrites to participate in the process here. But democracy is nothing more than the means by which the people of a country choose how they wish to be governed. And in the Illiberal Socialist Republics that decision has been made. Unequivocally. Unanimously. And Eternally. As it will be made here tomorrow!”
The crowd roared its approval and perhaps prematurely a section of the audience recommenced a chant of “Rupert! Rupert!” He let it carry on for nearly a minute before silencing it with a gesture and continuing.
“When the people of this nation so wish, and by the flawed process of Representational Democracy if necessary, the Illicit Party will take power in this land. Then this country will enjoy the more genuine democracy as it is practised in the Illiberal Socialist Republics. Not a paper democracy where once every four years or so, the people are allowed the rare privilege to register their disapproval of the governing parties. Not a democracy where the people’s sole method of making themselves heard is by entering a cross against the appropriate candidate. The democracy the Illicit Party believes in is not one where each candidate is presented to the people only for the campaign for election and then squanders the rest of his tenure in the City far away from those he supposedly represents.
“No! The democracy practised in the Illiberal Socialist Republics is an active one. One where a Party official is at hand in even the smallest community ready to listen to the representations of the people and report his findings to a pyramid of party officials able to respond swiftly to each specific issue. Within weeks or even days of the representation there is prompt and decisive action. The faulty shearing machines are repaired, the broken cobbles are mended and the new by-pass built. The corrupt landlord, bureaucrat or intellectual is appropriately punished. The statues and posters reminding each of us of our duties to the Illiberal Socialist cause are erected in response to popular demand. The shopkeeper, café-owner and hairdresser insufficiently reflecting the Illiberal Socialist zeal of his customers is chastised. And in addition, the local Party official also guides the community in the ways of Illiberal Socialist doctrine, weeds out the shirkers and malcontents, and ensures that everyone is happy with their lot. In the Illiberal Socialist Republics discontent is gravely frowned upon and the future for a Party official in a discontented community is unlikely to be prosperous.
“So, to all the doubters and cynics: We are not afraid to hear the voice of the people. Go! I beseech you! Go ahead tomorrow and register your vote for the Illicit Party and your excellent local candidate!”
The crowd immediately erupted into more cheering and chanting. I felt increasingly crushed by the pressure from behind as more and more people moved forward to be nearer the President Chairman. I was grateful indeed that the crowd were fleeced so well. However, no matter how crowded it was, there seemed to be no obstacle to the flow of stewards through the throng.
“It has been said that the Illicit Party has no policy on wealth and power. It is proclaimed by these sceptics that political debate should only address the two issues of wealth distribution and the concentration of power. All other issues are mere distractions from a great class struggle that has been taking place since the earliest of times. What nonsense I say! What poppycock! Have you heard anything so ridiculous?”
The crowd was invited to laugh which it duly did, but I still wasn’t sure what the joke was.
“It is this spurious debate which divides the two wings of political opinion: the Reds and Greens on the one side and the Blues and Blacks on the other. The Red Party and other communists throughout the world claim to represent the interests of the poor which they would achieve by a dictatorship of the proletariat, in which all wealth and power is distributed amongst the poor. What utter nonsense! Is society to be turned upside down? Is the servant to tell his master what to do? Is the student to teach his lecturer? Is the shop floor worker to dictate to his manager what should be produced? What arrant and dangerous nonsense!”
The crowd laughed appreciatively. These were more like jokes.
“The Blue and Black Parties represent opinions of the right, by which they assert that the preservation of law and order is dependant on the current distribution of wealth and power. They claim that by acting in the interests of the rich and powerful they act as guardians of law, order and common decency. But if the law be corrupt? If the order be fractured? If the rich and powerful act against the interests of the people? Where then is the argument for preserving the wealth and power of the established order? We say that the interests of the people are best served by seizing it from the present corrupt, immoral and uncaring establishment. Then to transfer it to safe custody in the interests of all the people and in the furtherance of the Illicit cause.
“We say to you corrupt businessmen, condescending aristocracy and overpaid intellectuals: Enjoy your wealth and privilege now for as long as you can. For soon it will belong to us!”
The crowd erupted again in great cheers. “Rupert! Rupert! Rupert!” A few dragon stewards raised their small-arms above their heads and waved them in exultation. Firecrackers exploded noisily in the distance.
While the crowd continued to show its approval by cheering, chanting, banging drums, whistling and waving banners, I scanned over their heads. Amongst the sheep and dragons were humans, mermen, lions, crabs, scorpions and there in the distance a solitary Cat whom I felt sure was the traveller I’d recently met on the way to the town. He was rapt in attention and showed no evidence of having seen me.
“Government is always fraught by uncertainty and indecision,” continued the koala, his face beaming out from the screens to the whole crowd. “Even an Illiberal Socialist government is run by imperfect beings, of which I must count myself. Bad decisions are made which seem so right at the time, but later appear so wrong. The Illicit Party has made such mistakes, it must be acknowledged. Once we were too tolerant of criticism from intellectuals and academics: a mistake now rectified. Once we allowed too much power and wealth to remain in the hands of the aristocrats, capitalists and counter-revolutionaries. Although corrected now, the Illiberal Socialist Republics still suffer from the legacy of this indulgence and lack of unswerving zeal. There is only one way that a government can be sure that what it does is right, proper and for the best. There is only one way to ensure that government is truly for the best, without regard for the petty bourgeois tendencies of its administrators. And that way can only be achieved by possession of the Truth!”
“Rupert! Rupert!” chanted the crowd in agreement, while I reeled at the import of the President Chairman’s remarks. Was the Illicit Party, like myself, on a quest for the Truth? What did the koala mean by the Truth? Was it the same thing that I was looking for?
“This is why I have authorised a search for the Truth!” Rupert announced as if echoing my thoughts. “With the Truth, there will no longer be doubt or indecision. With the Truth, it will be known for sure where mistakes may be made and how they can be avoided. Armed with the Truth, an Illicit government can ensure that government i
s fair, just and accords with the aims of Illiberal Socialism. It is the right, indeed the prerogative, of the Illicit Party to be armed with this, the most potent of all weapons, against which we need have no fear of contradiction, no fear of wavering from the best path towards the proper exercise of power. So I tell you now. Go out! In your thousands! In your greatest numbers! And seek the Truth! Seek it here! Seek it there! With the massed effort of all Illicitists, the Truth will be found and will forever serve the interests of our great movement! The Truth! The Truth!”
The crowd echoed this cry and all around me I was surrounded by the chant: “The Truth! The Truth!” intermingled with “Rupert! Rupert!” and even the combination “Rupert is the Truth! Rupert is the Truth!” The koala allowed this last chant to dominate, orchestrated by some dragons whose cries came out in bursts of sulphurous fumes.
He raised his paws.
“No! No! I am not the Truth! The Truth is not I! No person however good and wise can embody the Truth. It is a thing beyond mere corporeal being. Beyond even the knowledge and wisdom represented by the Illiberal Socialist movement. The Truth is the embodiment, the expression and the undeniability of all that can be. It contains the essence of morality, government, wisdom, knowledge and power. It is all that has ever been desired. All that could ever be desired. The Truth is all that there is. Omnipresent, immanent and elusive. It is there. It must be there. Under all the superficialities of life, seen through the distorted lens of all the senses, there it lies waiting to be demonstrated, experienced and learnt from. And the Truth is what we shall all seek!
“The Illicit Party is the only cause to admit that its objective is to attain the Truth. The other parties heretically claim to already be in possession of it. A Truth mysteriously found in the works of Mohammed, Marx, St. Paul, Hitler, Adam Smith, Confucius or the Buddha. The Red Party says that it lies in the redistribution of wealth and power. The Black Party in the certainties of dogma and prejudice. The Blue Party in the continuation of tradition and the practice of capitalism. The Green Party in the maintenance of the ecosystem. The White Party in who knows what.
“Only the Illicit Party is humble enough to admit that it does not have sole possession of the Truth. Only the Illicit Party is willing to strive for the Truth, not trammelled by an ideology which claims prior knowledge. And on this greatest quest of all, all of us, of whatever species, race, epoch or mythology, are together called upon to seek it out. To look for the Truth. Wherever it may be. In the Country. In the City. In the Suburbs. Wherever! So when you leave today, let your thoughts be only on the Truth. After you have voted for the rightful succession of power by the Illicit Party’s candidates, your minds should be focused on only one thing. And that thing is the Truth! The Truth!”
“The Truth! The Truth!” obediently chanted the crowd.
I stood in a degree of confusion. Had my quest been superseded? With so many people searching for the Truth, what chance was there in my quest being successful? And where would the search take all these thousands of Illicit Party supporters?
“It has been said that possession of the Truth would make no difference to the conduct of government. Politics, Power and the State are entities wholly divorced from the theoretical constructs embodied by the Truth. Even with the Truth, it is said, there would be no change to the conduct of government. There is already sufficient wealth in the world it is said for everyone to be moderately well off and yet there is starvation. It is universally agreed that murder and crime are wrong and yet they are still prevalent. How should possession of the Truth make any difference? But there is a difference in kind. The Truth is absolute. It is eternal. It is incapable of being refuted.
“In the custody of the Illicit Party, which, under my chairmanship, is committed to following the edicts of the Truth however unpalatable they may be, possession of the Truth will make all the difference. All the difference there can be! You have my word! So! All of you! From the smallest lamb to the largest wyvern, it is now that you must take the initiative. Follow the Illicit Party banner. And all in your vast numbers to seek out the Truth. To find it. Secure it. And then bring it back to me. And to the Illicit Party! Find the Truth!”
“The Truth! The Truth! The Truth!” echoed the crowd.
I gazed at the small distant figure of the koala as he gestured wildly at the crowd whose cheers crashed like waves in crescendos of volume and whose face on the screen expressed satisfaction through beady eyes shadowed slightly by his large hat. For several minutes the cheering continued, waxing and waning, now thundering, now almost a murmur. And then just as I was thinking that the speech was drawing to an end, he drew his arm out in a horizontal sweeping gesture which quite suddenly cut off the cheering and chanting like someone turning off the volume switch of a radio.
“There have been many slanders expressed about the Illicit Party by our enemies and recidivists. From what I hear it would seem that it is the author of great injustices and crimes. And that I, as Chairman of the Party, am myself a vile criminal. Such slanders cannot remain unchallenged. It is not true that government in the Socialist Republics is maintained by terror and fear. It is not true that anyone other than the convicted criminal is ever arrested without trial. And it is not true, as some have said, that the Illicit Party is a racist or speciesist party. It is wholly contradictory to the policies and practises of Illiberal Socialism that any individual should be discriminated against on account of the number of legs they may have, the furriness or scaliness of their skin or their height. Such discrimination is wholly against the fundamental precepts of Illicitism. Ungulate or pachyderm. Saurischian or ornithischian. Cretaceous or Pliocene. Chimæra or dragon. All are the same in the regard of the Illicit Party.
“However, the sternest critics of the Illicit Party are those who themselves discriminate against all species other than their own, and have done so since their inception in the shadow of the earliest pyramids. These are, of course, the Cats, who, under the leadership of their King so cruelly discriminate against Mice, Dogs and Sheep.”
The crowd gasped. “Death to the Cats!” chanted one section of it. “Death to the Cat Kingdom!” chanted another section. I glanced over at the Cat traveller who appeared untroubled by these remarks.
“One reason why the Feline critics have libelled the Illicit cause is because we alone of all the parties have a constructive policy towards natural selection. The Illicit Party recognises that with time, the people of a nation become genetically inferior unless an effort is made to encourage the breeding of superior stock, and, at the same time, to discourage the breeding of the genetically inferior. In this way, the people of Illicit nations will be only the most intelligent, most physically fit and most loyal.
“Already the people of the Illiberal Socialist Republics are obliged to petition for the right to bear children and are awarded quotas of production according to their fitness to do so. For those who are especially well-qualified, these quotas are generous and it is made plain that it is viewed as the individual’s duty to achieve these reproduction quotas. For the least fit, the Illicit Party offers (free of charge!) methods to ensure these individuals are relieved of the ability to reproduce should they be so tempted. The demand for these services has been quite high, and consequently the treatment has been rather brusque and irreversible. It is also believed that for those who are not obviously fit or unfit, which includes many Illicit Party officials, it is necessary to demonstrate fitness to reproduce measured by devotion and loyalty to the Illicit cause. In this way, Illicitism will be maintained forever on the deoxyribonucleic acid of the people.”
The crowd seemed less inspired by this discourse, and the President Chairman may have noticed that the resulting cheers and chants were less than overwhelming. He didn’t dwell on this subject, and instead raised his voice to bring the crowd to attention.
“It is the view of the Illicit Party that there is such a thing as inferior stock, which results from millennia of inbreeding and unselecti
ve breeding. A prime example of this is the Cat. The Cat is a degenerate species that has lost many of the proud attributes of its ancestors. This is reflected by the primitive nature of government that the Cat has adopted. Whereas all other species have aspired to modern government led by presidents or democratically elected individuals, only the Cat has opted for a form of government in which power is invested in a single individual whose qualifications to govern are merely to do with the ‘nobility’ of his birth. The Illicit Party is utterly opposed to such hereditary dictatorships and is therefore opposed to the very essence of the Cat Kingdom.
“The Cat is also an inherently war-like species. Whilst others have forsworn their carnivorous tendencies, the Cat has reversed the process in its fierce wars against the Dogs bordering the Cat Kingdom’s frontiers and the Mice who live within. The Cat will never be satisfied until he has all other mammals under his merciless yoke, no doubt feeling free to feast on them. How can the civilised world permit the Cat to fix his teeth and claws in the flesh of his enemies?
“Not only is the Cat exemplary of all that is wrong, as the result of centuries of inbreeding, but in all lands the Cat has cunningly and deceitfully amassed wealth which by rights belongs to other species. The Cat has become the archetypal capitalist and speculator, by his manipulation of the hard-saved earnings of those foolish enough to invest in their concerns or to buy at their shops or to wear the clothes they have made. How much of the wealth that should by rights belong to us all is held by the foul feline! The cunning cat! The manipulative moggie!”
The crowd was more excited by Rupert’s condemnation of Cats. I regarded the Cat traveller who seemed visibly nervous even from this distance: his tail wagging involuntarily and his whiskers twitching. He was presumably hoping that by keeping a low profile he’d be able to sneak away from the large crowd who were looking at him with hostile interest.
“Not only does the Cat take your money! He takes the jobs that should go to sheep and others. How often have you applied for a job only to find that a contentedly purring Cat has taken it from you? How often have you applied for a bank loan only for a Cat in an office miles away to turn you down? How often has your life been ruined by the devious, inscrutable Feline malefactor? How long can decent people stand by while Cats take, take and take from others? How long can we continue to suffer the Feline yoke? How much more can we take?”
“Death to Cats! Down with Cats!” chanted the crowd in unison.
Then quite suddenly, the Cat traveller, who’d somehow remained standing in amongst the hostile crowd was knocked over onto the back of a ewe. He picked himself up only to be knocked over again. The area around him erupted into a whirlwind of aggression as people of all species descended on the Cat who could be glimpsed in the scrum. His clothes were torn off and the rags remaining were thrown up into the air. The President Chairman paused in his address and impassively viewed the proceedings, but notably made no attempt to calm things down.
The last I saw of the Cat was of a battered naked figure with a torn ear, blood running from where his eye might have been and a crooked waving tail, fur pulled out in chunks revealing his bare flesh and mewing piteously. Then before I could really make out more details, the battered figure was once again submerged under a mass of hooves and claws with flaying limbs and blood. In the scramble for the unfortunate Cat I could hear the bleating of lambs pressed by the mass of their neighbours and saw a dragon steward rescue a pelican who’d been trampled by the mob and whose white feathers were a mess of blood and whose wings were painfully broken. While this was happening, the orchestrated chants and cheers continued unabated, accompanied by a frightening more primæval roar of aggression.
“Death to Cats! Kill all Cats! Down with the Cat Kingdom!” shouted the crowd. Gradually, the chant became more positively: “Rupert! Rupert! Rupert!” and the references to Cats appeared to be forgotten as easily as the passion of hatred had begun.
President Chairman Rupert commenced his speech after calming the passions of the crowd with another gesture, but I had lost my appetite for the rally. I couldn’t help wondering whether the wrath of the crowd might soon be directed away from Cats and towards people from the Suburbs. So, while he continued his speech, I struggled out through the crush of the crowd to the quieter streets beyond the public square. It was not easy threading through the tightly pressed bodies and it was with considerable relief that I found myself at last in the relatively deserted streets beyond. It seemed as if everybody in the town was at the rally.
There was a small café open several streets away, so feeling hungry as it was now past midday I entered and ordered myself a hamburger and chips from the counter where I sat. In very little time my order arrived in a small plastic container and I paid the shilling and sixpence that the meal cost. The café was not unlike similar fast food places in the suburbs, but the walls were pasted with Illicit Party posters, and a massive portrait of President Chairman Rupert dominated above the plastic laminated pictures of muttonburgers, beefburgers and french fries. The person serving was a small young dragon wearing the green costume of his job with a paper hat carrying the symbol of Mutton King, the title of the store. His name was written on a plastic badge on his lapel amongst a plethora of badges bearing Rupert’s face.
“Have you been to the rally?” he asked me.
I nodded as I bit into the hamburger and removed a strand of onion from my teeth.
“I wish I could have gone, but Mutton King just wouldn’t understand. I’d love to see the Great Leader myself. He’s been speaking, hasn’t he? What did he have to say?”
I reflected on what I could remember while chewing on the meat. “He had a lot to say about the Truth.”
“The Truth!” mused the dragon thoughtfully. “So the great quest is on! I heard it would be! And so close to the General Election as well! The Great Leader is so wise! I hope to join the search for the Truth myself.” He scratched his chin with a claw while a small cloud of smoke billowed from his nostrils. “Are you going to be searching for the Truth, too?”
“Yes, I am,” I admitted positively. “I’ve been searching for the Truth now for several days.”
“You’re certainly ahead of me! You’re sure to find it before anyone else! You must be a very true supporter of the Illicit Party.”
“Not really,” I admitted. “I decided on my quest for the Truth before I knew that the Illicit Party was also doing so.”
“Really!” said the dragon, clearly quite impressed. “How wonderful! But of course it will be the Illicit Party who will find the Truth. As is only right. It is the prerogative of the Illicit Party to find it before anyone else can. Only the Illicit Party is able to fully utilise the Truth for the greater good of everyone. How did you decide on this quest before the Great Leader showed us all the way?”
“I’m not sure. It just seemed like a good idea.”
“And of course it’s a good idea. It must be! Otherwise, the Great Leader would never instruct us all to follow it. Do you have any idea where the Truth might be?”
“I don’t know. I left the Suburbs with just that question.”
“The Suburbs! I’ve heard rumoured that the Truth may be there. But you obviously don’t believe it is?”
“In the Suburbs? That would be the very last place I’d expect to find it. I’m sure it’s elsewhere. Perhaps in the City. Perhaps in a distant country. I really don’t know.”
“And have you any idea what the Truth might be?”
“None at all. People have told me all sorts of things about what they think it might be, but I’ve yet to come across anyone who can convince me. Whatever it is, I’m sure I’ll know it when I find it.”
“That’s what I hope, too! I’m sure that if I’m the one that’s lucky enough to find it, I’ll recognise it. And when I do, I’ll so gladly come galumphing back to the Great Leader carrying it like booty and presenting it to him so humbly. ‘Here it is!’ I’ll say. ‘It’s yours to do with whatever you li
ke!’ Wouldn’t that be wonderful! Perhaps he’d make me a Party Official. Maybe a member of the Inner Party. And then I would be able to stand in his presence all day long. What do you think?”
I finished my beefburger and left a few of the more soggy french fries lying in a puddle of brown sauce. I re-entered the street outside where I could distinctly hear the thunderous sound of Rupert’s address reverberating from opposing houses. The streets were eerily empty in comparison to the crush in the square, and all the other shops were shut. I peered inside them, and noted that all of them had several portraits of the President Chairman on the walls. I didn’t have to search hard to see his face, as it was also gazing down on me from the many posters and billboards surrounding me.
I decided that I was unlikely to find the Truth in the borough of Rupert, so I wandered out from the town the way I’d come in search of a bus stop to take me elsewhere. I had no real idea where I wanted to go, but I felt sure that the Truth was to be found in quite a different arena.
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