By Andrew Hamilton
We decided to form the union right after Mom and Dad made us sign the Front Hall Agreement. It didn’t mean much at first, just an understanding really, but I figure with Christmas coming – why not give it a go. I mean, you remember how things get around here at Christmas.
It all started off well enough.
Jim, as the oldest, wanted to be the head of the union and said just that
loudly and with great authority, while beating Mike playfully with one of the
good wooden spoons he had stolen from the kitchen. That seemed a fine idea and
we all agreed that Jim would do just fine as a leader and would represent us
with strength and considerable honour.
But then, when she thought about it
for a little while longer, Mags remembered the Halloween incident. You know,
the one with the car and the urine, the garden hoe and the new beige settee.
Mags is always remembering things just lately, and lucky for us they usually
turn out to be things worth remembering.
Anyway, after Mags reminded us
about that incident, it was clear to everyone, and we agreed unanimously, that
Jim possessed neither the moral fortitude nor the strength of character to be
an effective leader. So we agreed that Mike – who Jim was just then using as a
makeshift pillow – would make a fine leader too.
Mike, by everyone’s reckoning, was
the stupidest and most ruthless of all the children, so we though it would be
just fine to make him the leader of our new little union. But, just for some
safekeeping, we also decided to appoint Jim his deputy, his second-in-command,
just in case Mike needed help with any of the extra important decisions. So,
like I was saying before, the union all started well enough and things proceed
pretty much as they have always done.
But that all changed when little
Jane decided to go out and get sick, real sick, with some sort of winter
vomiting bug. Do you remember little Jane? She’s five years old now and looks
every year of it. The little scamp.
Well, with little Jane sick with
that vomiting bug and no longer able to perform her given duties at wash-up
time, as set out clearly in the Front Hall Agreement, we really didn’t know
what to do. It was quite a pickle, a real big problem.
But then, Mom and Dad sent out a
circular to all children telling each of us to take it in turn - one night in
every four - to dry the cutlery and put the dishes away correctly, just as Jane
had always done. This seemed like a fine idea, and besides, we couldn’t refuse
it under the terms set out in the Front Hall Agreement.
Jim didn’t like it one bit and he
swore and he spat, and Mags just shook her head as she ran back and forth with
fresh towels and basins of cold and hot water to poor sick little Jane.
Mike was angry too. We could all
tell it but he didn’t let it show. Instead of shouting and swearing like the
rest of us, he took off with Mom and Dad to the cinema – to discuss with them
the growing discomfort that the Front Hall Agreement was imposing on the members
of the union. You’d be proud of him - he really is becoming quite a fine
leader.
So, as the second youngest child
after poor, sick, lazy Jane, I took it upon myself to put away the knives and
forks that night. That seemed like a fine idea and was working out well enough
until Jim pointed out, while he wedgied me quite roughly in front of Mags and
poor sick Jane, that I had, in fact, crossed a socially implied picket line
and, as such, had basically destroyed the union and screwed us all forever.
After Jim explained the situation,
and punched me once in each kidney, we all agreed that he was right and that I
was, in fact, a complete fool who would eventually be the ruination of the
entire union.
So, to set things back to right
again, we all decided that I would use the coffee table, the one that Dad had
received in a very favourable will from his Uncle Desmond, to smash the patio
door and strike a blow for all the working children of this family, and indeed
for the children of every family in this fair country. I know what you’re
thinking, what a smart and brave thing for Jim to suggest, we are so luck to
have him as second in command of the union. We voted on the whole idea and it
seemed to be passed fairly unanimously, or as close as makes no difference anyway.
So, after throwing-up thoroughly
and taking some time to stop the bleeding in my nose, I attempted to throw the
coffee table through the patio door. But, alas and alas again, the attempt was
destined to fail and with it all my dreams of redeeming myself and proving my
worth to the union. The table came up against the ruthless stubbornness that is
double-glazing – a capitalist product, of course, and a tool of the ruthless
parent establishment. So there I was, one sheet of glass broken, the other completely
intact, Mom, Dad and Mike expected home from the cinema any minute, Jim and
Mags ready to kill me and little Jane crying and wailing from the bedroom. I
don’t need to tell you, the whole situation was not what I had anticipated.
“Half a job is no job at all,” Jim
said to me and he spat on a piece of broken glass and stormed out of the room.
Mags was speechless, in shock maybe, she just stood there and smiled. No need
to tell you, the situation as it stood just then was nothing short of obscene.
But just when it all looked
hopeless, we struck upon a revolutionary new idea. I think it was Jim - or
maybe it was Mags - who suggested it first, be we all quickly agreed that it
would be a fine idea indeed. The plan was to use a shard of glass from the half
broken patio door to cut poor, lazy, sick Jane – somewhere on her face.
It as a simple idea – a blood
sacrifice – a statement that would show Mom and Dad just how serious we really
are and also distract them form the failed political statement at the patio
door.
We were all mostly in agreement and
once little Jane was gagged and bound, she also seemed to adopt a calm attitude
towards the whole thing and to realise that this was for the greater good of
all the workers in this fine union that we are trying so hard to create.
Mags told Jim, who told me, to
collect a medium sized piece of glass from the botched political statement and
bring it to Jane’s sick bed. When I arrived back, Mags and Jim were both sat at
the foot of the bed and Jane wasn’t even crying anymore – the little trooper.
As I approached, she began turning her head from side to side suggesting, or so
it seemed, that I should perhaps cut her somewhere on the neck or around the
ears. But I couldn’t decide.
So I turned to Mags, who had just
then – most bizarrely – taken Jim in a very rough looking headlock, and I
begged her to give me some simple directions.
“Just cut her you little
shit,” she shouted, clearly annoyed and out of breath from her struggles with
Jim. I’m so glad she was there – if she wasn’t, I’m not sure what I would have
done.
So I made one medium sized cut in
Jane, running from her left ear in an almost perfect diagonal along her neck.
When I was finished, we laid her back in bed, removed her gag and bounds and
retired to the sitting room to plan our next move.
As he sat on the couch, Jim, now
much revived from his brief spell of incapacitation, made a joke of pretending
to rest his feet on the coffee table that was no longer there. He wondered, out
loud and in my direction, if we shouldn’t just temporarily retrieve the table
from the botched political statement beside the patio door.
“We could put it back when we hear
Mom, Dad and Mike coming to the front door,” he suggested. “They wouldn’t know
any better, and besides, I’d have somewhere to rest my feet.”
Mags, who had positioned herself
right in front of the TV, said that this was an awful and truly stupid idea, so
we all agreed that to tamper with the botched political statement was an
unethical and highly immoral thing to do.
So, instead of the coffee table,
Jim decided to rest his feet on my back while we all waited for the others to
return.
Andrew Hamilton
