Re­venge is sweet

The Compass - - CIATHE S -

The man with the hair that never moves had fi­nally won his cov­eted ma­jor­ity gov­ern­ment. He sat at his desk in the Langevin Build­ing across Welling­ton Street from Par­lia­ment Hill. He pre­ferred this of­fice to the one in the Cen­tre block of the Par­lia­ment Build­ings. From here he could see the Peace tower, the East and West blocks and ap­pre­ci­ate that they rep­re­sented all of the Cana­dian peo­ple, some 40 per cent of whom had voted for his party in the last elec­tion.

Be­cause of Canada’s an­ti­quated elec­toral sys­tem, 40 per cent was enough to grant the man whose hair never moved an ab­so­lute ma­jor­ity in the House of Com­mons. Along with a ma­jor­ity in the Se­nate, this gave him the green light to be­gin car­ry­ing out his hid­den per­sonal agenda. He had been obliged to deny this agenda through all the years of mi­nor­ity gov­ern­ment but now the op­po­si­tion num­bers were no longer enough to pre­vent him car­ry­ing out what­ever he pleased.

The man with the hair that never moves also had a smile that never il­lu­mi­nated his eyes. Well, maybe not never, but rarely. His han­dlers urged him to look happier. Smile, they said. Your nor­mal face scares the vot­ers.

So he had un­der­gone in­ten­sive smile-train­ing. The first part was fairly easy. If you turn up the corners of your mouth, the han­dlers ex­plained, you will look less men­ac­ing and frighten off fewer vot­ers. But when they played back the video footage of him smil­ing, they didn’t seem to be sat­is­fied.

You don’t look re­ally happy, they ex­plained. Your mouth looks happy but your eyes still look as though they are carved from solid gran­ite. Even those glasses you started wear­ing dur­ing the cam­paign can’t hide that. His han­dlers wracked their brains. There must be some way to make the boss ap­pear happy, to dis­play that most pos­i­tive of hu­man emo­tions that drew oth­ers to­ward those who ex­pressed it.

The break­through came when the han­dlers asked him to look di­rectly at the cam­era and re­spond nat­u­rally to a list of things they sug­gested would nor­mally make peo­ple happy. • A gourmet meal — noth­ing; • A vintage wine — noth­ing; • Sex — noth­ing; • A photo of the wife and kids — noth­ing;

• A pic­ture of the Stan­ley Cup — big smile.

• The words “Re­venge is Sweet” writ­ten in cap­i­tal let­ters — a grin from ear to ear and eyes that shone with sheer joy.

It was just such a grin that was now pasted on the face of the man whose hair never moves as he sat in the of­fice con­tem­plat­ing what he had in mind to re­solve a ma­jor is­sue that needed set­tling with the peo­ple of New­found­land and Labrador.

Too bad Danny Wil­liams had left pol­i­tics and was be­yond his reach. Be­yond his reach un­less Danny came look­ing for fed­eral money to help his new hockey pro­ject. That was un­likely though. The for­mer premier wouldn’t risk the hu­mil­i­a­tion of be­ing turned down by both the prov­ince and the feds. No, the man whose hair never moved would have to pun­ish the gov­ern­ment of Premier Kathy Dun­derdale in­stead.

The main thing though was to make the peo­ple, the vot­ers of New­found­land and Labrador, suf­fer for their bad judg­ment in re­turn­ing only one out of seven seats to his party. For this they must pay. He grinned from ear to ear at the thought. When he was through with them, New­found­lan­ders and Labrado­ri­ans would be beg­ging for an early elec­tion so they could vote 100 per cent for the man whose hair never moves and whose smile never reached his eyes.

Vot­ers in this prov­ince would have been shocked to see just how much this man’s smile was most em­phat­i­cally reach­ing his eyes as he got up and walked into the board­room and sat down at the head of the ta­ble.

On top of the gleam­ing ma­hogany sur­face sat three small mod­els. One was a replica of the brand new Marine At­lantic ferry, the­Blue Put­tees, the one the man whose hair never moves had toured in St. John’s har­bour only a few short months ago.

Along­side it was a cod­fish with the the let­ters DFO em­bla­zoned along its side, and the third was a de­tailed model of a Cor­morant search and res­cue he­li­copter.

Push­ing his chair back from the ta­ble, and step­ping up onto it, the man whose hair never moves stepped from there onto the sur­face of the ta­ble. Rais­ing his right foot over the­Blue Put­teeshe brought it down hard and the model shat­tered into smithereens. He brought his left foot down onto the DFO cod­fish and the sound of its tiny frag­ments rat­tling off the walls echoed in the empty board­room.

He had saved the best for last. This one would re­ally hurt those vot­ers who had been fool­ish enough to vote the wrong way. He jumped into the air and came down with both feet on top of the tiny he­li­copter; va­por­iz­ing it.

Clean­ing staff un­pack­ing their mops and vac­uum clean­ers to start their evening shift were star­tled to hear a voice shriek­ing at the top of his lungs. It seemed to be com­ing from the board­room be­side the prime min­is­ter’s of­fice. It sounded like the man whose hair never moves. But un­like him, the voice sounded strangely ec­static.

It was scream­ing re­peat­edly: “Re­venge is sweet! Re­venge is sweet!”

Newspapers in English

Newspapers from Canada

© PressReader. All rights reserved.