Wait. Stop. (Evan pauses it) What does she mean, those people don't matter?
They don't have any money, so they don't have any voice.
Wait. Stop. (he pauses it again) So, what will happen when the fridge is no good anymore? Where will it go?
But that won't be for a long time, right?
They used to make things to last a lot longer than they do now. Maybe I'll get a few years out of it, but then it'll break and I'll have to get a new one.
And it'll go to the dump.
Wait. Stop. (he pauses it again) Are those trees going to grow back?
No. Not the way they were.
Mom, I don't know if it's okay for me to say this but I'm going to say it. I want to start a mob.
The dying bees, the Antarctic melt, the mountains of old tires, the incessant toxic belch of factories that make Batman bobbleheads for Happy Meals. Off-gassing couches! Cancerous tinned tomatoes! Imprisoned killer whales! Our breastmilk is poisoned. We live absurdedly, ridiculously. OUR BREASTMILK IS POISONED. Try and explain even one sliver of it to a kid, just one angle of a thousand, and you'll see the face of the world's most incredulous and urgent WTF.
We have little to recommend us, and we know it. We shrug.
Rasmus Krook is the Captain of the Griffons. He doesn't shrug.
"…There’s forty-two thousand jobs, near ten thousand of ’em got by people like us. Everyone’s gotta eat. Industry feeds ’em. They figure Little Bear here’s gonna clean it up." He squeezed his baby, a dimpled plump girl with tufts of jet-black hair.
"Paa paa ba baaa!" she said. It was time for a nap.
Lou sipped from his thermos, and Little Bear’s eyes drooped, and Missy remembered the voice of Rasmus Krook. 'The people will pay with their whole being: physically, mentally, ideologically, spiritually, with their land, their soul. And not just country people. Not just native people. Poison will flow through villages, towns, and cities and not stop. We must rise up. We must disrupt the system. Capitalism is a deception.'
"You can help pirates," she said, because that’s the only answer she knew. Lou lifted his coffee in salute, and Missy stood up to jump.
Oh, Krook. Sweet nothings.
The book launch will be the first time I've ever read Flight of the Griffons in public. I've got to yell in Swedish— Rasmus slips into it now and then. I've got to at least do a bit of justice to his voice. Yesterday I sat with Christina and Mikael—recently-landed friends who moved back to Halifax from Sweden and rented the house I grew up in—and they helped me. I don't know that I'd feel brave enough to get loud in Stockholm, but it's a start. Growls and cheers for passionate objection, properly pronounced (or close) (-ish!).
And hey! I wore out a sharpie signing books yesterday. If you live too far away to get one of the dozen or so that are currently signed at Woozles, order direct from Nimbus Publishing. They'll ship anywhere! Call 1-800-NIMBUS9—that's 1-800-646-2879—and make sure you talk to a real-live lovely helpful human who can grab one from the signed stash for you.