by Trevor Zaple
Onstage, the writer—Alice Laurence, whose works had bored Jason to tears in his English classes—had finally stepped forward; a minute or so into the flushed politician’s floundering, watching the crowd continue to turn against him, she glided across the stage with an elegant grace that belied her years and put a hand on the man’s shoulder. He slumped as she did so and she said something inaudible to him. He nodded dejectedly and stepped back into the line of everyone else on the stage. The writer then turned to face the assembled crowd.
“Tommy John, ladies and gentlemen,” she said with a cultured tone that seemed to carry enough level authority to get to the back of the crowd without really raising her voice. Mark snapped some mental figures and kicked himself. Of course that was his name, just like the surgery. “A round of applause, if you please”. The crowd complied, although it was a weak, sparse kind of applause. She waited until it died out and then continued.
“Councillor John has stated his vision for our future, and it is a vision that comes from his deepest beliefs about how this city should be run. Remember that it is one vision of the future, and you will hear many others in the coming weeks”. She paused here, seeming to gather her thoughts. “What are we, now?” she continued, in a pontificating tone. “We still live within the borders of what we called Canada, but are we still Canadian? People won’t be playing professional hockey this winter, of that I’m sure”. She grinned here and a chuckle ran amongst the thawing crowd. “We won’t be getting any maple syrup, either, unless someone knows how to tap the trees around the city. So where does that leave us? We all live here, but we’re from as many different cultures as there exists on earth. We speak as many languages as first fractured after the Tower of Babel fell. Looking out at you, I still feel that I can say that you are Canadians, but also that you are Tamil, Chinese, Irish, Italian, Pakistani, and more. We stand here at the end of the great experiment of multiculturalism, wherein the people of my generation believed that we could fashion a society that encompassed all of the people of the earth, where people whose cultures and nations had warred for centuries could find peace, brotherhood, and understanding”.
She paused again and the crowd was absolutely silent. Their faces were rapt, awed by the even cadence of her words. She’s got them in the palm of her hand Mark thought, with no small amount of admiration. At the back of the crowd, Jason had fallen into a sullen silence, sneering off into the sky at the word multiculturalism. It made the spit rise off of his tongue, and he looked at the crowd that surrounded him at the rear edge with new eyes. He saw dark faces, Caribbeans and Indians and Pakis, and noticed more than a few with East Asian faces, both delicate and flat-faced. He felt his heart rate pick up, and felt his palms grow clammy. Guns, he thought feverishly, that fat windbag Tommy John is right. We need guns. To protect ourselves.
“And what is the basis of societal unity and understanding?” she asked, her voice soaring out to the very edges of the crowd. “Democracy. Democracy through free and fair elections will allow us to choose our own path, to progress forward”.
Mark nodded, outwardly approving, but was that disappointment that he felt? He thought it might be. It seemed like a cop-out. They had been gathered there to discuss what needed to be done, to discuss what purpose there was to continuing, and had instead been led on to be told that the discussion would be postponed so that they could figure out who should do the discussing.
“We will hold elections exactly three weeks from today. This will give us time to put together lists of everyone who wants to take a stake in this new society, in whichever form they wish. This will give us time to put together our ideas, so that after our representatives are chosen we can then more efficiently choose the path we are to take. You will be hearing a lot of ideas over the next three weeks, ideas that may excite you, or horrify you. Let these ideas percolate through your system like strong, rich coffee and then let your voice be heard. You will see posters littered around the city after some time that will let you know when and where to vote, and let me once again reiterate in the strongest terms that you should. All of us need to be in this together, no matter our beliefs, to make a strong, unified city. A city that can grow, and become a strong, safe place for our children to grow up in”.
She paused here and Jason resisted the sudden urge to shout your time is over, bitch! Everything you’re talking about is dead and gone. Maggots in rotted meat! That’s all you are! He thought about the canned food and bottled water that he’d scavenged from his neighbors’ houses and felt a sudden pang of paranoia. Tommy John was right—there were probably lots of people who hadn’t come to this meeting, people that even now were prowling among their sanctuaries and gathering their stockpiles. Gathering them so they could hoard them and force them to do whatever they asked in exchange for pittances from those hoards. He tugged on his sister’s sundress but she ignored him. He balled a fist and very nearly struck her in the back of her head. One day, very soon he promised her silently, his inner voice a jumping, rabid monkey with a fixed, hideous grin.
Alice Laurence put her hands together and then held them out in front of her, palms facing outwards. “In a show of unity, and continuity,” she said, “I’d like you all to join me in a rendition of the national anthem”. She put her hands to her side, stood straight, and began to sing. Her voice warbled slightly but carried the tune quite well. She sang Oh Canada and then the crowd came crashing in, their voices synchronizing in perfect timing and the words coming easily, seeming to roll out of the collective brains gathered like a home address, or a lover’s phone number. Mark and Olivia sang as loudly as they could, and near the end there were tears standing out in both of their eyes. Even Jason was moved by the crowd’s display, although he quietly called himself nine thousand types of weakling as he felt the song surge inside of him. Once the song ended, a great resounding wave of applause and cheering filled the late-afternoon sky, startling birds that had roosted in the high places of Nathan Phillips Square into squawking, startled flight. The image would stay with Mark for the rest of his life. He would never again see such a display of simple, unfettered unity.
He felt a tap on his arm and realized that Olivia was trying to get his attention. Her heart-shaped face was wan, and there were dark circles starting to form underneath her eyes.
“Can we go, now?” she asked, her voice quiet.
“I think there are others that are going to talk,” he said, his eyes returning to the stage. The writer was stepping back and it looked as though the caricature of a businessman was going to address the crowd next.
“I just want to go, ok?” she said. “I don’t want to hear anyone else.”
He looked at her for a moment and then nodded. Even though the singing of the anthem had seemed to move everyone in the crowd, Olivia’s expression still wore the severe cast of disappointment that Mark knew was chasing through his own mind. He didn’t blame her for wanting to leave. As he thought this he realized that he didn’t really want to stay, either.
“Yeah, ok,” he agreed, “let’s get going”. He took her hand and she didn’t object. The crowd parted quite willingly as they pushed through, tightening in on their little groups as they passed.
Jason had made up his mind to leave, as well. He didn’t need to hear any more. They were all idiots. No one had been able to figure out a real plan, they were just dressing up their ignorance with the same old tired useless bullshit. “Democracy”, “unity”, they were all just words that meant you figure it out. We can’t be bothered, so you figure it out and we’ll take all the glory. Maybe we’ll even give you some food, if you’re good. He tugged on Sarah’s dress, harder this time, and she turned around with a sharply angry expression on her sort-of-pretty, slightly angular face.
“Let’s go,” he demanded. She shook her head.
“I want to stay and see what the other ones have to say,” she said dismissively. Jason tugged on her dress with an anger-driven spike of strength and he thought he heard something rip
. He clenched his jaw until pain twinged. Her eyes went wide as she felt the sleeve of her dress rip and she made as though to slap Jason with an open palm. There was a look in Jason’s eyes, however, that made her stop.
“If we don’t go now,” he said between clenched teeth, “I won’t be held responsible if you wake up to a pillow over your face”. He glanced around at the crowd meaningfully. “Literally won’t be held responsible, you understand?” Sarah glared at him, but Jason could see fear billowing up in her eyes and it made him glad. Good, he thought, maybe the skank will finally listen to me. She’d better, if she knows what’s good for her. She looked as though she were going to say something further and then didn’t. She brushed past him and walked out of the crowd, and Jason followed her. A wicked grin was forming on his face as they left. He had his own plans. He would need to start gathering. There was only one way forward, he knew, and it would be best to be prepared.
Third Interlude
Over the next three weeks, the city of Toronto that was retreated into itself. After the presentation by those of the city’s best, brightest, and richest, those who had attended had begun staking out more permanent living situations, making sure to find positions that were near easy sources of food. The dozen men and women that had put been behind the call for the mass meeting in the square (also those who had stood on the stage) set up a headquarters in that same Council Chamber that they had made their presentation in front of. From here, messengers (including Moe and Zeeshan’s thirty, who were also styling themselves as a volunteer firefighting organization) were sent out to bring the ideas of the Ad-Hoc Council to those who had settled throughout the core.
The ideas themselves were sharply divided between a core group of people (led by the illustrious commie-hating Tommy John) who wanted to make sure that their dream of a world where no one would have to take care of anyone else would finally be achieved. Any idea that involved helping anyone at their perceived expense was an idea they stood against. The notion that they could get along without anyone actually owning anything was completely foreign to them. They aggressively and rapidly pushed the agenda that whatever council was elected by the survivors should control the food stores and found a force that would arm themselves to protect the city. They loudly demanded a point system, an emergency currency of some sort that would keep the “goldbrickers and lazy bums” out. They rattled on about the need to “protect themselves” and about the sort of characters that they suspected could be lurking around the edges of their fragile society-in-the-making. They were a committed group, wedging their opinions in whenever possible and throwing off a lot of bluster and blunt rhetoric during meetings that grew increasingly more stormy as the days elapsed.
On the opposite side of the aisle were a patchwork group of people who had wildly varying ideas about how to go through with rebuilding society, but whom all felt an opposition to the boisterous fist-waving evident from the tommyjohns (as they’d begun to style themselves). They argued that, as it stood, there was more than enough supplies stored throughout the city to last a society of their size for a century. There was no need to hoard it, in fear of famine. There was no need to force people to labor in order to receive something as basic a need as food. People needed to eat and drink, it was true, and these things that were necessary for life should be granted to all without the need to exchange something for it. What if a person fell ill and could not earn this hypothetical currency, they argued. Would they be allowed to just starve in the streets? One particularly rancorous meeting hinged around this very problem.
The floor was with the freeloaders (as the tommyjohns had labeled them, in a transparent attempt at smearing them as everything they stood against). Terence Jones, a man who had owned a couple of nightclubs in the Entertainment District before the disappearance, had risen to his feet in anger after a particularly pointed speech from one of the more belligerent tommyjohns. He thrust his finger outward, pointing out into the square that lay outside of the council chamber’s windows.
“Are you suggesting that if they don’t have enough of your new money, then they can just waste away? That we’ll watch them starve in the street because they just ‘didn’t work hard enough’?”
There were angry mutters from the other ad-hoc councilors that sat around him. They were met with jeers and an actual boo, from a former banking executive who often began his comments with “as the most important person in this room”. Tommy John had scowled deeply and looked as though he were about to haul himself to his feet, but one of his councilors, a raw-boned, silver-haired fox named Douglas Childs, rose and motioned for John to sit. Childs had been a producer with the CBC and his manner was all polished aplomb. He smiled with false good grace.
“Mr. Jones,” he began smoothly, “that is not at all what we are implying. We simply believe that hard work should be rewarded. Do you not agree?”
Jones stared him down from across the room’s central divide. Smug chatter grew up around Childs as he waited for a response. He got one, but it was from Lisa Reynolds, the one-time President of the university’s Student Union, who rose to her feet and pointed a ragged fingernail at the infuriatingly serene Mr. Childs.
“That’s facetious nonsense,” she accused him. “There’s no need to make people comply to some sort of glorified rating system in order for them to eat! There is enough food for everyone! Why isn’t that enough for you? Why do you want to create a society where some people are better than others? Everyone can eat equally without that!”
“Well that’s just fucking COMMUNISM!” Tommy John shouted angrily, not bothering with the nicety of getting up. “Some people are better than others! Some people believe in hard work and some people have skills. Some people don’t! We don’t need lazy useless people here, so they can’t fucking expect us to feed them while they sit there and fuck off!”
Glen Campbell, who had at one time been the managing editor at the second-busiest newsdesk in the city, followed Tommy John’s lead in refusing to stand.
“Can we hold a vote to eject him, please,” he asked loudly. “I’m starting to feel threatened and he really needs to follow the rules”.
“Oh, is the baby scared now?” came a catcall from the back of the tommyjohn’s half of the chamber’s horseshoe.
“Please, order,” Nancy Kim demanded. She had spoken the introduction at the grand meeting in the square and she had drawn the task of moderating the discussions afterward. Her finely drawn, exquisitely delicate features were haggard with exhaustion. A cold sore had broken out in the corner of her mouth and her fingers tapped the desk in front of her continuously. “Please maintain order. Mr. Jones, the response is yours”.
Terence Jones nodded thoughtfully and chose his words carefully.
“Mr. Childs, council, we on this side of the aisle of course do not stand against the concept of hard work and reward being a central one to any strong and lasting society,” he said, and there were some murmurs from among the councilors on his side. Reynolds sat down slowly, her jaw clenched. Childs grinned like a Cheshire, a smile that slowly grew to encompass his entire face.
“Excellent,” he purred, “I’m glad that we can agree on that point. So you’ll also agree, then, that we need some way of recognizing or measuring hard work, so that those who work harder than others can be rewarded more than others?”
Jones said nothing. The glare that he projected across the aisle said everything. Glen Campbell slowly rose to his feet, wincing at the arthritis that he could feel setting in. The pain made him grit his teeth and he spoke with a much sharper tone than he’d originally intended.
“This is all just so much bullshit, ladies and gentlemen,” he spat, “none of us are children and none of us are suggesting that we somehow form a society divorced of the concept of hard work. My contention, and I feel a lot of our contentions, lies in this notion you have of sequestering the city’s food supply and floating a currency based on the scarcity of its supply!”.
As he rang off his
last word a surge of applause and cheering around him. The corpulent blowhard on the opposite side was shouting something but Campbell was mercifully spared from hearing whatever it was by the huzzah that continued around him. Nancy Kim let the applause continue for two minutes before she lifted the leaden gavel and brought it down loudly several times.
“Order, order,” she demanded tiredly. “Mr. Childs, do you have a response?”
Childs gestured grandly. “Madam Speaker, the honorable newshound has a lot of theories about our motives and methods. I suggest we recess until he has had time to list them for point-by-point rebuttal and redressing”. Campbell stared him down for as long as he could manage before needing to find his seat. Nancy banged the gavel once more, quickly, before anyone else could attempt to break ranks and argue the point.
“Motion recognized, all in favor?” she asked. The tommyjohn side of the aisle rose their hands and the “freeloaders” grudgingly did so. Nancy banged her gavel for the last time that day.
“Motion carried, unanimously. This council is adjourned for the day, to reopen at 9AM tomorrow morning”. As soon as her speech finished she got up and left, not bothering to hang around. She needed to sleep with an intensity of urgency although she doubted that she would be able to sleep. She very much feared what the coming weeks would bring.
Barry Nguyen stepped out onto the back patio of the aptly named Cadillac Lounge. They’d stopped at the place because it had seemed fairly intact and because Amber had been amused by the vintage Cadillac that stuck out of the front of the bar like an awning. He hadn’t been impressed by the cramped interior, which was dank and musty from being shut up tightly at the time of the disappearance. There was liquor still there in abundance, which Barry noted for looting purposes, but it wasn’t enough for him to take a real interest in the place. Now, though, his impression changed radically.