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Authors: Terry Fallis
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Seniors’ Residence to confer with Muriel. I had in my hand the official Elections Canada nomination form, completed and signed by one Duncan Angus McLintock. With a candidate locked up, Muriel greeted me with a warmth and an enthusiasm that were in stark contrast to the reception I’d received the day before.
“Daniel, congratulations! I knew you could do it!” she said as I joined her on the shiny, slippery couch that looked out over the river. The evening was beautiful, and the sun had begun its descent off to our left. A couple of boats puttered up the river, and a lone windsurfer leaned into the breeze as he cut across the water. She gave my hand a squeeze as I sank in beside her. I felt like we’d been friends for years.
“Hello, Muriel. Yes, I’m certainly feeling better today than I was yesterday. Wow, that’s some view you have,” I said, taking in the scene.
“Trust me,” she replied, “it gets old fast. So don’t make me waitany longer. Who won the great Cumberland-Prescott Liberal Candidate Sweepstakes?”
I beamed and held up the envelope. “And the winner is,” I announced with theatric flair as I slipped out the nomination form. “Dr. Angus McLintock, a stoic Scot of an engineering professor who kind of looks like Karl Marx.” That got her attention.
“That’s odd,” she said. “I thought I knew all of the Liberals in Cumberland, and I’ve never heard of him.”
“Well, to be frank, I’m not certain he is a Liberal. But I am sure that this is his signature on the bottom of this nomination form, and with three days before the writ drops, that’s what really counts,” I gushed, hoping Muriel would get on board. She looked noncommittal. I continued, saying, “Muriel, he’s a nice guy, a smart guy, and he’s prepared to have his name stand to help the party.” I hesitated but then decided to bring her into the tent where I needed her. “He won’t exactly participate actively in the campaign, but we’re still going to hit the hustings as if he’s right there with us. I can make this work, and nobody will be the wiser.”
“Did you save his life or something? What’s in it for him?” she asked.
“Why he agreed is not important. What is important is we’ve got a candidate, and we’ll have a campaign … of sorts.”
She persisted. “How are you going to manage the canvassing, the all-candidates meetings, the media interviews, and the rallies if you don’t have a candidate in the flesh?”
“I’ve got it all covered, Muriel, but it simply won’t work if you’re not with me on this. I need your local knowledge and your experience if we’re going to pull this off.” She looked out over the river. “Muriel, Angus is a real character. He’s thoughtful, intelligent, and very funny. He’s also going through a rough time personally, and I really think this campaign might be just the distraction he needs. You see, his wife of 40 years died at the beginning of May. On the surface, he seems to be handling it as well as can be expected, but beneath the veneer, I can see he’s still in a great deal of pain.” Hereyes softened though they were still on the water. I paused for effect before delivering the
coup de grâce
. “I discovered quite by accident that his wife was Marin Lee.” I gazed out over the white-capped river and waited.
I could feel her turn and look at me.
“The
Marin Lee?”
“None other,” I whispered. “Muriel, even though the terms of his candidacy are somewhat … er … irregular, he has a good heart, and he’s agreed to stand. Unless you or I are prepared to run, his name is all we’ve got, and time is nipping at our heels.” I took her hand, rearranged my face, and gave her the most pathetic visage imaginable. “Will you help us?”
Ten minutes later, she signed the nomination form as the only existing executive member of the Cumberland-Prescott Liberal Association. Then, she swept through the games room where gin rummy duked it out
“Daniel, congratulations! I knew you could do it!” she said as I joined her on the shiny, slippery couch that looked out over the river. The evening was beautiful, and the sun had begun its descent off to our left. A couple of boats puttered up the river, and a lone windsurfer leaned into the breeze as he cut across the water. She gave my hand a squeeze as I sank in beside her. I felt like we’d been friends for years.
“Hello, Muriel. Yes, I’m certainly feeling better today than I was yesterday. Wow, that’s some view you have,” I said, taking in the scene.
“Trust me,” she replied, “it gets old fast. So don’t make me waitany longer. Who won the great Cumberland-Prescott Liberal Candidate Sweepstakes?”
I beamed and held up the envelope. “And the winner is,” I announced with theatric flair as I slipped out the nomination form. “Dr. Angus McLintock, a stoic Scot of an engineering professor who kind of looks like Karl Marx.” That got her attention.
“That’s odd,” she said. “I thought I knew all of the Liberals in Cumberland, and I’ve never heard of him.”
“Well, to be frank, I’m not certain he is a Liberal. But I am sure that this is his signature on the bottom of this nomination form, and with three days before the writ drops, that’s what really counts,” I gushed, hoping Muriel would get on board. She looked noncommittal. I continued, saying, “Muriel, he’s a nice guy, a smart guy, and he’s prepared to have his name stand to help the party.” I hesitated but then decided to bring her into the tent where I needed her. “He won’t exactly participate actively in the campaign, but we’re still going to hit the hustings as if he’s right there with us. I can make this work, and nobody will be the wiser.”
“Did you save his life or something? What’s in it for him?” she asked.
“Why he agreed is not important. What is important is we’ve got a candidate, and we’ll have a campaign … of sorts.”
She persisted. “How are you going to manage the canvassing, the all-candidates meetings, the media interviews, and the rallies if you don’t have a candidate in the flesh?”
“I’ve got it all covered, Muriel, but it simply won’t work if you’re not with me on this. I need your local knowledge and your experience if we’re going to pull this off.” She looked out over the river. “Muriel, Angus is a real character. He’s thoughtful, intelligent, and very funny. He’s also going through a rough time personally, and I really think this campaign might be just the distraction he needs. You see, his wife of 40 years died at the beginning of May. On the surface, he seems to be handling it as well as can be expected, but beneath the veneer, I can see he’s still in a great deal of pain.” Hereyes softened though they were still on the water. I paused for effect before delivering the
coup de grâce
. “I discovered quite by accident that his wife was Marin Lee.” I gazed out over the white-capped river and waited.
I could feel her turn and look at me.
“The
Marin Lee?”
“None other,” I whispered. “Muriel, even though the terms of his candidacy are somewhat … er … irregular, he has a good heart, and he’s agreed to stand. Unless you or I are prepared to run, his name is all we’ve got, and time is nipping at our heels.” I took her hand, rearranged my face, and gave her the most pathetic visage imaginable. “Will you help us?”
Ten minutes later, she signed the nomination form as the only existing executive member of the Cumberland-Prescott Liberal Association. Then, she swept through the games room where gin rummy duked it out
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