Happy Endings

JJ had been expecting the letter of notification for several months now, and was determined not to be taken by surprise.

He had spent almost every free afternoon preparing his arguments for the hearing, experimenting with vocal inflections, developing the most convincingly sincere facial expressions in front of the mirror. He had even bought a new suit to show that he was a co-operative consumer who was happy to create paying jobs for others even if he could not find one for himself. When the time came, he would be invincible.

As it turned out, JJ was caught off-guard after all. He opened the door to his personal apocalypse without the slightest twinge of suspicion. What possible reason did he have to doubt the benevolence of the smiling Public Service Notification Agent in his bright yellow blazer with a happy face on the breast pocket? JJ smiled back, assuming that the PSN's mission was just another routine proclamation of the government's latest efforts to bring society one step closer to perfection.

"Greetings!" the PSN chirped like a canary, handing JJ an appointment card. "Your government has a message for you."

**********************************************************************

GREETINGS FROM THE MINISTRY OF PUBLIC WELFARE!

YOUR APPOINTMENT IS AT:

This Public Service Notification is sponsored by:

Happy Endings, Inc.
Waterbury Nutrition Processors

"By your side from beginning to end."

******************************************************************

"What's this?" JJ asked. He couldn't recall anything he needed an appointment for.

"Sir, you have been found redundant."

"But why is the hearing being held in PB D7?" JJ asked, his head spinning. "It's always been PB A9." He had been so careful to keep himself informed!

"Hearings have been dispensed with to ease the burden on the taxpayer. This is your final appointment. Please have your documentation in order."

The PSN turned to go. "Have a beautiful day!" he tossed over his shoulder.

"Wait!" JJ called after him.

The agent turned, his eyes rolling impatiently to heaven . "Is something unclear?"

"I'm entitled to a hearing ! It's the law!"

"Not any more. New legislation the day before yesterday."

"No hearing?" JJ asked. "No recourse whatsoever?"

The PSN pulled a small microphone from his pocket and pointed it at JJ's face.

"You may register your protest now. Maximum of three minutes."

JJ stared at the black grill of the mic. Despite all his meticulous preparations, he could not think of a thing to say.

"Hurry up, please," the PSN said. "I have a schedule to maintain."

At last, in a hoarse voice, JJ asked for his print-out.

"Certainly." The agent pushed a button on the portacomp hanging from his shoulder and chattered cheerfully while the two-foot long printed paper scrolled out. "We only give them out on request. Helps reduce litter."

"You mean there are people who don't want to see their own print-out?"

"Most of them, in fact. You'd be surprised."

***************

"So, that's it -- you're invited to my Final Celebration of Life on September 14," JJ told Jeanne-Marie, his hands folding and unfolding the print-out. He had hesitated before calling her, but she was the only one he could think of who might care. Their divorce agreement stipulated no contact, but he couldn't imagine what difference that could make now.

"Shall we invite the kids?" she asked in her cool professional voice.

"No -- they never call me."

"Because you don't call them."

"I was afraid it could be interpreted as harassment."

"It's not too late," she said. "You have almost two weeks. The grandchildren are adorable. I could call ahead, smooth the way . . ."

"Thank you, but no." Better to spare his children the spectacle of their father crying.

"Have you made arrangements? Happy Endings has an excellent last-minute package."

He smiled sardonically. "Looks like you finally got my business."

She looked at him questioningly with her head tilted sideways, so lovely that he could not tear his eyes away.

"Well?" he demanded, suddenly furious. "Aren't you going to give me the pitch about the optional hand-engraved casket, the three-course gourmet luncheon, the mood-enhancing subliminals, the leatherbound souvenir albums, and the two-for-one commemorative jewelry special?"

Jeanne-Marie's association with Happy Endings had been the cause of their most vocal arguments. It had begun with some free-lance art work, then part-time sales, just to tide them over until the outstanding loans for the kids' post-secondary education were paid. When she was offered a full-time management position, he told her he had married a graphic artist, not an angel of death; she retorted that her Happy Ending brochures were award-winning commercial artworks, and represented the only time she had ever been recognized for her creativity and hard work. When she tried to sign up the entire family for pre-arrangement in her campaign to become Rookie of the Year, their disagreements became so voluble that their neighbours called the Family Patrol.

This time, she refused to be baited. There was no rancour in her eyes, just intense concentration, scanning his soul. It was this ability of hers to see into his core that had attracted him in the first place. It was uncomfortable to be so well understood, but her acceptance of the darkest corners of his psyche had given him the courage to keep writing his poetry and reciting it publicly even after it had been labelled "cultural pollution."

"I think it would be easier for you if I take care of things," she said. "I'll waive my commission."

He took a deep breath and gentled his tone. "The commission is neither here nor there. I'm leaving everything to you. There isn't much -- they're seizing the house."

"Seizing the house?" she asked, indignation flooding her voice. "You put your heart and soul into that house! It took you over a year just to re-finish the woodwork!"

"And the powers that be are very appreciative of my efforts." He scanned the print-out. "They've assigned it to a fully employed family of four from Niagara-on-the-Lake. Part of the peach orchard reclamation program. In exchange for my generous donation, my name will appear prominently on a plaque on the fence."

"That's outrageous! Can they do that?"

"I phoned a lawyer. He said all the loopholes in the compulsory donation law have been plugged. Unless I have family members with a demonstrable need, all real estate belongs to the government when I . . . don't need it any more."

Jeanne-Marie jumped up and began to pace. "If we re-married --? We could argue that my productivity would be increased if you kept house for me."

"Family and employment status are frozen from the moment the redundancy notice is delivered. Which reminds me -- I'm late for work."

"So -- you don't have to go," she said. "That's what volunteer work means -- it's voluntary."

"If I don't show up, they'll give my job to someone else, and . . ."

He stopped, and started to laugh.

Jeanne-Marie shook her head, grinning. As always, she had followed his thought processes, and knew exactly what he was feeling.

He stood up, waving his arms. "I'm free! I'm free!" He began to dance, chanting, "No poop to scoop, no poop to scoop -- I'm free, I'm free, I'm free!" Jeanne-Marie grabbed his hips and they formed a miniature conga line, dancing and laughing like the old days before society had become so damnably perfect. When they collapsed on the couch, they were holding hands.

JJ breathed deeply, savouring the dampness of Jeanne-Marie's palm, the curve of her breast straining against her blouse, the floral medley of her perfume darkened by the musk of her sweat. He started chattering to distract himself from the bulge in his groin.

"I couldn't believe it! There's actually a waiting list of people climbing over each other to assume my poop-scooping duties. Since the new anti-littering laws, the demand for Public Area Beautification workers has declined by over sixty per cent. Even my redundancy notice was delivered by a volunteer process server! If this goes on, there won't be any paying government jobs at all. Who knows, maybe some day political office will be held by volunteers -- URGH!"

Jeanne Marie's breast was pressed against his arm. "Screw the politicians," she whispered, her breath hot in his ear.

The next twenty minutes were the happiest JJ had known for the past eight years.

"I've missed you so much," he told Jeanne-Marie afterwards. "I guess I forgot what makes life worth living."

"We had some great times, didn't we?" she said. "JJ and JM, stars of the show wherever we went. When you gave your poetry readings and people stood on their chairs to cheer, I was so proud."

"Funny," he said, "I can't even remember what my poetry was all about." All he could recall was that it had seemed terribly important at the time.

"It was about joy and love and freedom of choice," Jeanne-Marie said, squeezing his hand.

After the first two raids by the Cultural Protection Squad, JJ had realized that he was endangering his family and friends. He had deleted all copies of his poems and carefully refrained from writing anything that didn't meet approved standards. While he was composing his sociopolitically correct verse, the fights with Jeanne-Marie and their teen-aged children escalated to the volcanic.

"I want you to know I'm sorry," JJ said. "For everything."

"I didn't really want to separate, you know," Jeanne-Marie said. "but I just couldn't stand any more of that cruddy marriage counselling, not to mention those Family Patrol commandos showing up day and night to bombard us with advice! Divorce seemed the easy way out."

"It wasn't for me." He tried to swallow the lump in his throat, but it stayed put, squeezing his windpipe.

Jeanne-Marie started pacing again. "Things are getting out of hand. Yesterday, they issued a call for hospital patients. Come on in for surgery on your hangnail, respiratory therapy for your sniffles! Get a free toaster oven with every elective appendectomy! Seems the preventive programs are working too well, and health care workers are running scared."

"I think everybody is running scared," JJ said. He had been too involved in his own fear to notice, but holding JM in his arms again had cleared his vision. Before they stuck the needle in his arm, he was going to write some poetry and get it noticed even if he had to piggy-back it onto a computer virus or spray-paint it on every house in his neighbourhood. Fragmented ideas chased each other through his brain as Jeanne-Marie continued her tirade.

"It's ridiculous! They're jailing people for parking violations and social service workers are wandering the streets, scouting for people to counsel. If you as much as raise your voice to your toddler in a store, you can find yourself in a two-year family rehabilitation program!"

"Matter antimatter matters not at all -- infinity both ways," JJ murmured to himself, tasting the flavour of the words. Wild stinging words, unbranded by stamps of approval, cocoons stirring with life. How long had it been?

"You know what bothers me the most --" Jeanne-Marie shrilled, "I actually VOTED for these improvements! Why couldn't I see where it was going?"

"Meaning irrelevant purpose is life itself --"

"We voted 'em in; we can vote 'em out. There has to be a way. I'm sick of this damn job anyway."

"Shout scream wake -- silent echoes of the primal bang that never was. "

She leaned over him, hands on his shoulders.

"Stay with me," she said.

"No!" He pushed her hands away. "Can you imagine us on Renegade Island together? We'd end up mired in hate."

"I'll keep the drapes closed. No one needs to find out."

He patted her cheek and smiled, trying to soften what he had to say. "They're giving out citizenship points to informants now. It wouldn't take long until somebody noticed. Think of the kids -- they'd lose you, and be labelled as 'high risk' forever."

He had spent the whole day fantasizing about missing his final appointment, and had come to the firm conclusion that it was not an option. The redundant were deprived of all civil rights. They could not own anything, buy anything, or set foot on public property. Anyone who helped them was immediately declared co-redundant. The co-redundant did not even enjoy the luxury of being arrested. Policemen who fired on them did not face the normal investigative processes. From time to time, when the renegades became too much of a nuisance, sanitation workers would round them up and transport them to a large island donated by a philanthropist whose children had forfeited their citizenship points through assorted anti-social acts. From time to time, someone would risk smuggling in supplies, but for the most part, they were left alone.

Jeanne-Marie started to pace again. "There has to be something we can do. The whole system stinks. They're doing multiple organ transplants so people can live to be 125 and get their pictures on the Net, and at the same time, they're killing healthy 50-year-olds just because they can't find jobs."

"I'd better go," JJ said. He tried to stand up, but his knees refused to support him.

He buried his face in his hands and wept.

When he looked up again, Jeanne-Marie was looming over him, her eyes shining, her hands raised as if in prayer. She was gripping the handle of the enormous butcher knife they had received for a wedding present and never used because they had become vegetarians to take advantage of the health tax exemption.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"Giving you another chance."

**********

"We were so lucky," the nurse warbled as she checked the bandages on JJ's chest. "Nothing vital was damaged."

The doctor beside her smiled benignly. "We'll have you out of intensive care in no time." He consulted his clipboard. "I've made referrals to Dr. Kralyk for pain control, Dr. Houle for scar reduction, Dr. Thomas for pre-release adjustment training, Dr. Winford-Pierce for post-trauma counselling. Dr. Bretfittish will be stopping by later to arrange for family therapy. As soon as your ex-spouse finishes her rehabilitation, Dr. Lagamodière will be in charge of your reconciliation counselling."

"The dietician and the physiotherapist will be in to see you shortly," the nurse added, patting JJ's hand. "In the meanwhile, if you need anything -- anything at all -- just ring."

Despite the fact that it hurt to breathe, JJ smiled his best grateful patient smile. He lay back, feeling warm and safe. He wasn't redundant any more.

x x x

At first, I thought this story was cynical—a swipe at a Liberal paradise: one more recognizable to the Nazi party than to the --fill in the blank--. Then I remembered who was writing it. I waited for the twist. Voila! A paean to the human spirit! The triumph of the clever over the hidebound—not always pretty; sometimes downright painful (as here), but as inevitable as sunrise--or as a terrific story from Christine G. Richardson.