The Happiness Inquisition

by Nōnen Títi

  “Why don’t you go home then, if you’re so smart that you know everything that happened already?”

  Odette settled herself deeper into the couch. She wasn’t going to get kicked out – not in front of the boys, for one thing.

  “I would do it if somebody ratted on me like that. I’d set fire to his house if it were me,” Duncan answered Brent.

  “You can’t blame a policeman for doing his duty,” Odette said.

  “His duty is to keep the public safe from criminals, not to go after the public who pays for his salary, while ignoring real crime with the excuse that they’re too busy. Besides, he was off duty,” Brent said.

  “Despite what your father implies, you should never take the law in your own hands,” Odette told Duncan. “These are complicated issues.”

  “Tell your mother that only one of two reasons make things complicated: Either the system isn’t suitable to deal with the issues, which suggests we should get rid of it, or the people running the system are incapable and should be replaced. Most likely it’s both; the wrong people are running the democracy and the democracy keeps electing the wrong people.”

  “Are we eating here?” Kevin asked.

  “No, you’re not. Your mother is taking you to a first class restaurant so she can suck all the gossip out of you.”

  “I was trying to get to the truth of the matter.”

  “Your truth, Odette, equates ‘male’ with ‘abuse’.”

  “In a male-dominated society the only truth men know is power. You support him while he’s endangering his wife and kids. Who knows what he does behind closed doors if he’s blunt enough to hit his kid in the middle of the street? But I guess you don’t care. She’s only a woman, after all. No penis, no rights.”

  “Can you two stop it?” Kevin asked.

  “And you consider Beth incapable because all the feminist bitches in the world are forcing every woman to work or be looked down on,” Brent answered.

  “What’s for dinner?”

  “Is it so much to ask for a woman to stand up for her kids if the guy is abusive? You wouldn’t see me stand by if you raised a hand to our kids.”

  “No! And not even if I didn’t, but I’m expected to stand by while you abuse their sense of identity with one-sided messages about their gender.”

  “Stuff you, Brent. You’re using the situation to encourage the boys to break the law.”

  “Can you two shut up already?” Kevin asked.

  “That law, Odette, is a violation of human rights based on legal fictions designed to create jobs for law students; the rights to freedom of conscience, dignity, security and the family unit sold for votes.”

  “You’re making him upset,” Duncan told his parents, indicating Kevin.

  “You chauvinist bastard. I wouldn’t be surprised if you smashed that window.”

  “And I will not stand by while you verbally abuse me on my premises. So get out and take your kids with you!”

  “Shut up!” Kevin repeated.

  “My kids? Typical male response. If the result is pleasure it is theirs, but if the result is trouble, the women own them. Kevin, stop crying. Go get some chips for dinner. My wallet is in my pocket.”

  “Yes, Kevin. Behave like a servant and get the dominatrix some chips because she can’t be bothered making you a proper meal.”

  “Please stop it!”

  “Says he who smokes when you’re around.”

  “And she writes one-sided articles intended to make people feel guilty or afraid because some psychology student has written yet another thesis based on lab-rat experiments without understanding that real people don’t have tails and whiskers.”

  “Shut up!” Kevin’s screech was followed by a huge crash and the sound of breaking glass. Then it was silent.

  “I did it,” Kevin said, still standing where he had taken the statue from the mantel and hurled it at the glass of the dining room doors, which now lay in pieces on the wooden floor. “I smashed their window,” he repeated.

  “You…? What?”

  “I threw a brick.”

  “Wow,” Brent said and sat back down.

  Odette wasn’t sure what to say either. This wasn’t like Kevin at all. “Why?”

  “Because… I don’t know… he said he’d report us coming here.”

  “Martin threatened to report that you were visiting your father? Now, after two years? Why?”

  Kevin shrugged. “Because I called him a chauvinist pig when he yelled at Glenn about his father having to pay for them beating up his kid.”

  “Martin’s kid? Josh? Who was beating up Josh?” Brent asked.

  “Glenn and some other boys.”

  “I thought Glenn wasn’t at school.”

  “He was yesterday. They attacked Josh and so they called the parents and Martin came and yelled at Glenn, so I told him Mum would write in her paper about him bullying us and then he said in that case he’d report you for inviting children into your house and then they kicked Glenn and Cathy out of school and we had to listen to this big police speech and now I hope he will die or something.”

  “Don’t say that,” Brent said. “How come you didn’t help that little boy if he was being attacked by a group?”

  “Because… I told Glenn to do it.”

  “Jesus, Kevin, what is wrong with you?” Odette exclaimed. “And why did you say-?”

  “Because Brittany said it was his fault, so I told Glenn because he was really upset.”

  Odette had intended to find out why Kevin had called Martin a chauvinist pig – no doubt Brent would accuse her of having put those words into Kevin’s head – but Brent seemed to have other priorities.

  “And have you got proof that this Brittany knows what she’s talking about?”

  “Because Brittany saw what happened between Josh and Glenn on Sunday.”

  To prevent Brent from ruining the prospect of getting first-hand information from a witness, who may even turn out to be the anonymous caller to the magazine, Odette turned to Kevin. “Even if it was his fault, that doesn’t give you licence to attack him. I hope you realise that you may have hurt that child even more by just letting them beat him. Just imagine what it feels like if everybody turns against you. You ought to be ashamed of yourself.”

  “No, you shouldn’t. Don’t let this Compulsory Judgment Affliction cause more emotional damage than is already being done in this syndrome-ridden moralistic society,” Brent said. “You should get your butt kicked, but that isn’t allowed.”

  “Because violence doesn’t teach children proper values.”

  “Mob values! What your mother can’t see is that children prefer protection through discipline in a warm home over medication in a cold, uncaring environment filled with guilt and shame.”

  “Don’t listen to him making it sound as if parents can’t get their kids to obey them using civilised means,” Odette retorted. “You will be grounded for a week.”

  Kevin kicked at the glass. “Oh yeah? And how did you think you were going to enforce that? With physical means or with bribes? Besides, you can both drop dead. I’m tired of living with He and Her. If you didn’t want kids, you shouldn’t have had any. Sorry we ruined your life.” With those words Kevin strode to Odette’s jacket, took the wallet and walked out the door. Duncan shrugged his shoulders, followed, and slammed it shut.

  Odette was left standing alone. “Now what? We’ve got to go after them.”

  “Not me. I don’t give a damn,” Brent said.

  “You don’t mean that.”

  “I do. I’m practicing State Sanctioned Emotional Neglect. It’s the newest parenting method, recommended by politicians and professionals. In fact, if you ask me, most people in this street are pretty proficient in it.”

  “Just leave it be, Brent.”

  “And you can help me pick up the mess before you go or I’ll bill you for damages.”

  Odette snorted and went to the dresser where Brent kept his keys. “I�
�m borrowing the Mini to go after them.”

  He jumped forward and snatched the keys from her hands. “You can walk!”

  His hand was warm and his breath on her skin made her stop for a moment. He stepped back, trying with a look to convey his victory over the keys, but his eyes spoke another message. ‘Try and tame me,’ it said, like it used to when this kind of power struggle would have ended in a war of passion and-

  “Oh, sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

  Odette swung around to the female voice that had so rudely startled her, only to be left gaping at the sight of that same schoolgirl who, two years ago, had ruined Brent’s career.

  “You’re not interrupting anything,” Brent said. “Come here, darling.”

  A second gasp had escaped Odette before she realised that the ‘darling’ had been directed at the two-year-old Amanda had lifted away from the broken glass and who now reached out to Brent.

  He took her into his arms, his eyes showing pleasure at Odette’s response. To emphasize that he told Amanda to pour some drinks, implying she was at home here and sat down with the toddler. “Do you want a drink, Odette, or are you still going after your kids?”

  “I just came to ask if you can have Crystal on Thursday. I’m on nights,” Amanda said.

  “Not a problem – unless, of course, my gossiping ex-wife wants to inform the authorities, seeing I have a record and am not allowed contact with children. But then again, if she did that, she’d have no place to park her own offspring.”

  “Eh…” Odette started, still trying to comprehend the idea that Brent may be the father of this cute little angel. “Are you saying it was true after all? After all that…?”

  “No, it wasn’t. I wish Brent was her father, but he isn’t. I made it all up then and I apologized for it,” Amanda answered, no doubt ruining the opportunity for Brent to have another dig at Odette.

  “Why would you have made up a story like that? You were fifteen, he was… well, a lot older. Why the lie?”

  “Yes, why, Odette? You wouldn’t do something like that, now would you?” Brent asked.

  “Because…” For a moment Amanda looked like Kevin had earlier, ready to confess, but then she blushed. Odette instantly knew that whatever had motivated her then, today Amanda’s feelings were sincere.

  “Brent told me off in class for being rude, and I was just really upset about being pregnant, so I made it up. Before my brother showed me his story, I never thought about how much damage one anonymous phone call could do. It was too easy.”

  Suddenly feeling desperately alone, Odette picked up her coat and walked out the door, slamming it shut as Duncan had. “It sure was.”

  OF DUTY

  Brittany ran all the way home from Cathy’s house on Sunday afternoon. She had to catch her breath before she could answer when Mum asked what she was doing home this early. “And where is Cathy?”

  “She didn’t want to sleep over after all,” Brittany lied and had a drink before going to her room. There she dropped herself on her bed and tried to erase the muddled images that insisted on travelling across her brain. Mixed in between the sunny picture of Cathy’s garden where they’d so often played together in the neatly mowed grass, making tents of the old sheets Cathy’s mum kept just for that purpose, there was the image of the cold bluish colour of the high grass in the shadow of the empty lot where the boys had been playing and what she had seen Cathy’s father do to Glenn.

  Their dad, who had been upstairs in the room next to Cathy’s, had suddenly cursed and started running down the stairs, so Brittany had followed Cathy to the landing to look out the window. And then it had happened, that which had shocked her so much that she’d left Cathy standing and ran down the stairs herself to leave through the familiar garden and out the back gate.

  It had become custom to sleep over at the Bonner’s and to be treated like Cathy, Glenn and Meghan, as if Brittany was one of their children. Cathy’s parents weren’t very rich, they didn’t have guest beds and a dishwasher, so when Brittany stayed at Cathy’s house she was expected to help clean the dishes and to eat the mashed potatoes she was served and to go to bed at nine, just like Cathy. And then they’d talk until Cathy’s mum had to come in and tell them to finally go to sleep and they’d lie as still as possible together in Cathy’s twin bed, trying not to giggle, until Mrs Bonner left again and Brittany had felt warm and cosy under those sheets.

  Then lots of other memories started to plague her, like that time when her own little sister, Kimberley, had fallen off the climbing frame at school and the yard teacher hadn’t picked her up because he was a man and he’d get in trouble for touching a girl. But he’d gotten in trouble anyway, because Dad had sued him for neglect.

  But then just a little later there had been a traffic accident on the road and Mum had pretended not to see it because if she tried to help and the boy died she’d get blamed even if she was a doctor, because she was not on duty so the insurance wouldn’t cover her.

  Dad had explained then about “being on duty” and “having duties” and that they weren’t quite the same thing. If somebody was on duty he was obliged to help, but all people had duties; duties to rescue somebody in need and duties to report it if they knew somebody was being hurt. But those were not legal duties and Dad couldn’t sue people if they neglected them. So Brittany probably wouldn’t get in trouble for not telling anybody what she’d seen, but she still had a duty to save her friend.

  All afternoon she struggled to sort the thoughts. She couldn’t read or play computer games. Her legs wanted to walk, but she didn’t want to leave her room, so she paced up and down, trying to think of ways to make everything fit into one of the two boxes – at least she pictured them as boxes – in her head. Mum had once told her that not everything was black or white, but there was no box for ‘in the middle’.

  So even if she didn’t want to put Cathy’s father into her ‘wrong’ box, her mind kept on putting him there anyway. The more she thought about it, the more everything fitted. Cathy’s parents weren’t very rich and her father drank beer. Dad had told Brittany that abuse often happened in lower class homes because men drink before beating up their wife and kids. Maybe that was why Cathy never argued with her father – she was afraid of him. And she wouldn’t report him for the same reason, because Mum had explained that abused children were often afraid to talk about it, so people like teachers and doctors had to be on the lookout for signs and they had to rely on friends to tell it for them.

  The more she thought about it, the darker her thoughts became and the bigger her resentment towards Cathy’s parents. It wasn’t fair that kids had to live being afraid of getting hurt. Maybe Brittany could convince Mum and Dad to let Cathy stay here while Cathy’s parents – or, at least, her dad – were in jail. They’d be like sisters. Mum and Dad would set the table for five people, but they’d share Brittany’s bedroom and they’d do homework together.

  But first somebody had to tell; Brittany would have to tell. She would rescue her friend, not because she wanted to be a hero, but because it was her duty. She’d have to be sure and give a report to the police and maybe even go to court with Dad to say what she had witnessed, so the official people would believe her.

  “Brit!”

  She suddenly jumped. Mum was standing in the room. “My goodness, child, you’re miles away. Dad just came home from his conference and dinner is ready.”

  “Daddy!” Kimberley came running out of her room, skipped past Brittany in the hallway and ran straight into his room. “Did you pick up Teddy?”

  “Oh, shit,” Dad said.

  Kimberley repeated her question and started pleading and then crying and came to the table in tears. “Mum, he didn’t pick up Teddy! Can we go tonight?”

  “Sure,” Mum answered.

  Kim was only six, five years younger than Brittany, and – though Kim’s loyalty to Teddy depended on her moods; sometimes he lived in the cupboard for months – she went on and on abou
t the forgotten bear.

  Dad ignored the upset and talked to Mum about the noise across the street. “I heard that baby squealing again when I came home. Maybe we should call someone.”

  “Please don’t,” Mum answered. “Have you seen those punks her boyfriend invites? The last thing you want is trouble with that sort. Why aren’t you eating?”

  “I’m not hungry,” Brittany answered.

  “And God knows what they do to those little girls.”

  “Of course you are. You love sausage.”

  “I don’t. You know why I wasn’t at Cathy’s today?”

  “I also don’t love sausage,” Kimberley pouted. “I only love Teddy. Without Teddy I can’t eat.”

  “We had another abandonment case yesterday. Those kid mothers just leave their babies in a pushchair outside the arcade while they are playing games,” Dad told Mum.

  “I want Teddy.”

  “We’ll get him after dinner, okay? But only if you eat quickly, because I still have a report to write,” Mum said.

  “Not this.” Kim gave her plate a little push.

  “Kimmy, don’t do that.”

  Kimberley pushed again.

  “Brit, catch that plate!”

  Brittany managed to catch the plate her sister tipped over the edge, just in time, but her elbow hit Kimberley’s arm.

  “Mummy, she hurt me!”

  “Because you were trying to throw your food on me,” Brittany answered.

  “I was not. I was going to catch it.”

  “You were not!”

  “Please, girls, don’t fight. Give me that plate, Brit, and eat. I haven’t got all day. Do you want some cereal, Kimmy?”

  “No, cereal is Teddy food. I want ice cream.”

  “Ice cream isn’t food,” Mum said.

  “Fine,” Dad said. “Get ice cream and put on the TV so we can have some peace around here.”

  Brittany filled two bowls with ice cream and put a movie on to keep her sister quiet before going back to her room.

  Much later, after she had tried and failed to do her homework, Brittany heard Mum bring Kimberley to bed in the room opposite hers. Hugging Monkey, who would share her bed tonight instead of Cathy, Brittany listened to the story Mum read out loud.