The Best Laid Plans (32 page)

In the morning, I drove Lindsay home. She kissed me before getting out. I stayed calm until she disappeared behind the front door of her mother’s house. Then, I rejoiced at the top of my lungs in Stanley Cup Final overtime-winning-goal fashion. As my luck would have it, a middle-aged woman, out for an early morning run, passed by my car at that precise moment. She leaped away, aghast. I remained in an advanced state of euphoria as her relaxed jog became a frenzied sprint in the opposite direction. What a beautiful day.

Even though the Commons sat Friday mornings, Angus was not on House duty nor were there any pressing votes scheduled. So we stayed in Cumberland for the day. Constituent meetings were only scheduled in the afternoon, so Angus and I hung out in his living room, enjoying the morning and the shards of sunlight scattered across the Ottawa River. The view from the front window peaked twice each clear day – once in the morning as the sun levitated over the eastern horizon, and again at dusk when it sank beyond the shoreline to the west. It was not the actual sunrise or sunset that struck me but, rather, the very incandescence of the light playing on the water. Just as no two snowflakes were identical, the sun’s river dance was never the same. Each wave, among millions, was unique.

An Oppenheimer blast of flatulence literally blew me out of my poetic reverie. Just as no two snowflakes were identical, each
McLintock fart, among millions, was unique. I know. I was there for all too many of them.

“Oops! Sorry lad. Cabbage rolls at the parliamentary dining room yesterday,” Angus confessed. “I knew I was teasin’ a tiger, but I couldnae resist them.”

Angus waited in the kitchen for the fumes to dissipate before he dropped into the enveloping chair across from me in the room where we’d first met, the chess board between us. Our inaugural encounter seemed like eons ago, not a mere two months and a bit. He looked past me to some distant point.

“Well, I’d not have believed it when this calamity first befell me, but this new life of ours is not nearly the sharp stick in the scrotum for which I’d been bracin’,” Angus offered, before tilting a tumbler of orange juice down his hatch.

“I’m relieved to hear you say that. I quite like what we’re doing despite the attendant hassles,” I replied. “You’re certainly not taking the easy path.”

“Aye, ’tis the truth. But I’m counting on it bein’ the right path,” Angus said. “By the way, I’m nearly finished my speech to the Engineerin’ Society for tonight.”

Uh-oh. “I beg your pardon?”

“I said I’ve nearly finished draftin’ my wee speech to the Engineerin’ Society for tonight. Is yer hearin’ givin’ you trouble, man?”

“My hearing is fine, thank you very much. But I would have liked to have
heard
about this speech before the day it’s to be delivered. I knew nothing about this,” I complained. “I need to be in charge of your schedule. I need to assess what we’re doing to make sure it’s in your best interests. An important part of my job is to protect you.”

“Ye gods, Daniel, it’s only my faculty mates and some engineerin’ students. It’s hardly the Ku Klux Klan.”

“Angus, it’s fine. But I’d just like to know. There could be media there. You’re not just an anonymous engineering professor any
more. Right now, you’re probably the highest profile politician outside of Cabinet, and your popularity’s on the rise.”

“Aye, that young fella from
The Crier
’ll be there. André … André …” Angus snapped his fingers and looked up as if the name he sought might be stenciled on the ceiling.

“André Fontaine,” I offered. “How did he find out about this when I didn’t even know?”

“I gather the faculty office sends out a notice of some kind to the community and that
The Crier’s
on the circulation list.”

“Tell me more about this event. Who and how many will be there?” I asked.

“There’s a quarterly dinner of the U of O Engineerin’ Society organized alternately by the faculty and then the undergrads. I’d venture that forty or so faculty show, along with perhaps 75 to 100 undergrads. Another 30 graduate students tag along as part of their faculty-ingratiation initiative. We convene in the Faculty Club dinin’ room. People dress up a tad, and we gnaw on polymer poultry and sedimentary chocolate cake. And I don’t simply mean the cake is layered but use the word
sedimentary
in its true geological sense.”

“Is that just your fancy way of saying the cake is usually stale,” I inquired.

“Aye, though
stale
is a grossly inadequate characterization. We once tested a piece in the lab, and its Brinell Hardness score was quite impressive.”

“What’s the room setup, and when do you actually speak?”

“If memory serves, we’re in round tables of eight with a podium and a microphone that makes yer voice sound like you’re talkin’ from the command module in lunar orbit,” he noted. “As to when I speak, I fear that’s beyond my ken, but I reckon it’s after dessert when everybody’s loosenin’ their belt a notch, sharin’ a belch, and noddin’ off.”

“Head table?”

“Nope.”

“Risers and a multifeed at the back for reporters?”

“Now, you’ve left me in the dust, laddie.”

“I’ll call the faculty office. I expect there might be a few journalists there tonight if your speech has had any kind of community promotion,” I suggested. “Now, what were you planning to say in your ‘wee speech’?”

“I’ll pass it by you this afternoon when I’ve got it finished, but in short, it’s a dissertation of sorts on a theory I’ve been workin’ on.”

I looked at him and elevated my eyebrows, prompting him to continue.

“Well, most people I’ve met since I naïvely stepped into yer political snare on October 14 have commented on how far afield politics is from engineerin’. Yet, in the last three weeks, I’ve found the exact opposite to be true. In fact, it’s becomin’ increasingly clear to me that the same laws and principles that govern science and engineerin’ also preside over politics.”

“Now, you’ve left
me
in the dust.”

“Well, let me give you a few examples of the many I’ve pondered while observin’ the political machinations in and outside the House these past coupla weeks,” Angus offered. “Newton’s laws of motion dictate much of what we know about our universe. Newton’s first law says that an object at rest or in motion will remain in that state unless acted upon by another force. In politics, if a party is at rest – stalled in the polls, as it were – it will remain there unless it, or some other force, does somethin’ to change its fortunes. Newton’s third law says that for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction. Well, this plays itself out daily in the Commons. The Government makes an announcement, the Opposition responds, as the name suggests, in an opposin’ fashion. When our world-class boob of a Leader asks a question, the Prime Minister immediately counters with an equal and opposite reaction – Newton’s laws of motion. When I view it in this wholly familiar and comfortin’ context, this game of politics becomes clear
and comprehensible to me.” Angus sat back, donning the grin of a child who’d just solved the Rubik’s cube, something I’d never been able to do.

“So let me get this straight. You’re applying the laws of science and engineering to understand and explain politics?”

“Precisely. And it reaches far beyond Newton’s laws. I’ve done plenty of work over the years in materials science, explorin’ and understandin’ the physical properties of different materials to determine their ideal use in our world. A materials-science staple is load testin’. We apply stress, strain, and direct loadin’ to various materials until they fail. Obviously, this has great bearin’ on the development of strong and safe construction materials. Well, think about Government for a moment. Think about the Prime Minister assemblin’ his Cabinet. As I sit through question period, I’ve already identified several Ministers the PM clearly did not load test adequately before appointin’ them. At some time in the future, under a finite level of Opposition loadin’, at least some of these Ministers will fail. It is inevitable.”

I was not particularly oriented to the sciences, but I knew enough to grasp this fascinating concept. I’d always assumed politics was much more art than science. While I refused to accept that the weird and wacky world of politics could ever fit neatly into a theoretical framework, perhaps it could be at least partially explained and, more importantly, predicted and controlled through the prism of science. Fascinating, to a point.

“Very interesting, Angus, but a little inaccessible to the average Canadian, don’t you think?” I suggested.

“Daniel, I’m not presentin’ this theory at the Cumberland Fall Fair between the kids’ sheep ridin’ and the tractor pull. I’m talkin’ to my people – engineers, scientists, and the complement of students who don’t cap their dauntin’ daily workload with a nightly six-pack of Labatt Blue.”

“Fair point,” I conceded.

“I’d never inflict this on a civilian population, but I do think my colleagues may well be intrigued. Usually, the speakers at these dinners are drier than the cake.”

“When can I see the draft?”

“I’m just finishin’ off the political applications of Boyle’s Law and Bernoulli’s Theorem. I’d say you’ll have it shortly after we’ve strapped on the midday feedbag, if that will suffice.”

“That’ll be fine. I don’t think we need to issue a news release and distribute the speech to the media unless you’d like to.”

“Agreed. The scribes can come if they wish, but I’ll not be panderin’ to their needs. I’ve had quite enough coverage to last me at least till Robbie Burns’ Day.” Angus sat up and faced me. “Have we time for a quick battle on the board?” he asked.

We played three games and didn’t finish for an hour and a half. I’d planned on playing only one game but so disgraced myself with blunder after blunder that I needed two more games to secure elusive redemption. I lost, badly, the first two encounters but pulled off an upset in the third. I employed a neat little knight sacrifice that allowed my bishop to pin and then take his queen. Nice.

We spent the afternoon at the constit office. Both Petes were on hand, under cover, dressed to infiltrate mainstream society. They had adapted quite readily to the normal conventions of greeting and assisting constituents as they arrived. They had removed all earrings, tongue studs, nostril pins, and other body piercings and had stored them in two Styrofoam cups, labeled Pete1 and Pete2, on top of the toilet tank in the bathroom. They had hung two similarly labeled dark brown plastic garment bags from the Arnie Bevan Men’s Shop innocently in the front closet. I shuddered to think what surreal sartorial wonders lurked inside. The two Petes were heavy into midterms that week, but insisted on doing their Friday afternoon constit shift.

The afternoon passed uneventfully with the typical array of constituent issues – passport applications, immigration matters, veterans’ pension problems, and two complaints about the murky
water attributed to the local aggregate operation. Angus was patient but direct in his dealings with his constituents and seemed quite at ease with his new role. I reviewed the speech he had drafted. He didn’t know much about formatting the spoken word, but I must say, his writing was impeccable despite the esoteric topic. His words brought the subject alive with humour, anecdotes, and examples. I was impressed – again.

That night, I sat with Muriel and André Fontaine. Beyond the class I was teaching, I’d never been immersed in a sea of engineers and wondered if my arts degrees were plastered on my forehead for all to see. Everyone was pleasant, though a few awkward engineers brought to life the socially inept science-nerd stereotype. Angus had badly undershot his attendance projection, obviously thinking he’d draw the same numbers as the dinner usually did. He failed to account for his newfound popularity on campus and beyond. Instead of 15 tables of 8, they were forced to set 25 tables of 10. This meant the last 40 people arriving were relegated to the reception area outside the dining room with an obstructed view of Angus through three sets of double doors. Thanks to my earlier call to the Faculty Club, two risers ran along the back wall and supported three camera crews, CBC, CPAC, and the local cable station. Not bad. I had warned Angus once in the afternoon and again as we’d arrived on campus that his audience was likely to be more heterogeneous than he might have thought. The president of the university was there. Two senior players in the Leader’s office showed up along with one from the Prime Minister’s Office. We had struck a nerve. I strongly suggested he “dumb down” his remarks somewhat so he could keep the entire audience with him, and not just the engineering types.

I read in the program that the head of the Canadian International Development Agency (CIDA) was also an honoured guest. Angus had neglected to tell me that he was being presented with an award for this “enormous humanitarian contribution to the developing world through his breakthrough work in affordable,
small-scale water purification.” It seemed I was working for a saint. André and Muriel were impressed, particularly when I admitted Angus had said nothing to me about the CIDA honour. It occurred to me that he may simply have forgotten this aspect of the evening. His innate modesty separated him further from the pack of conceited, self-absorbed prima donnas with whom he shared the House of Commons.

To his credit, he did tone down some of the more technical aspects of his talk. I was gratified to hear an extemporaneous addition on the university education of engineers. He spoke passionately of the need to broaden the curriculum to redress the graduation of engineers who are experts in narrow technical fields but know nothing more about the world around them. He also encouraged the undergraduates in the room to get involved in other aspects of campus life beyond their studies. He even quoted Mark Twain, who once said, “I never let schooling interfere with my education.” (Chuckles all around) Well, not all around. Dean Rumplun scowled in a corner, occasionally shaking his head in dismissal, if not contempt.

Innately articulate in everyday conversation, Angus clearly understood that a speech from a podium in front of a large audience required something more. Through consummate and integrated use of voice, gestures, and eye contact, he held us all in the palm of his calloused hand. In unison, the crowd laughed when we were supposed to, nodded when we learned something new, and lamented the end, which seemed to come all too soon. The cameras and sun guns were trained on him the whole time as reporters scribbled furiously. And all this for a speech on how the laws of science also govern politics.