Saviour Balzan | Sunday, 30 August 2009

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Sod ‘em, and Gomorrah

(Continued from last Sunday)

Richard Cachia Caruana is red in the face from weeping. Lawrence Gonzi stands up and approaches him, landing his small hands on his shoulders. “Richard, ejja, ejja, come on… you know how special you are to us!”
Richard takes a deep, deep breath and looks out of the window. Edgar Galea Curmi, a mirthful smile clearly visible, observes him closely.
“You know Edgar,” RCC says without looking at him – “in the good old days it was me and Fr Peter (Serracino Inglott). Together we built the party, we made it what it is today. Very few people know how much we sacrificed for this party. It wasn’t always clowning about for us, you know… Fr Peter has known me for 30 years, he knows me inside out. Apart, of course, from this personal, hysterical side I have just had you witness.”
“We know Richard,” Gonzi says. “We all know how you sacrificed your life for all of us and how selfless you were in your endeavours, and that you never think about yourself.”
Richard straightens his back, his knees shaking constantly.
Edgar Galea Curmi looks at him. “Look Richard, we have such a high regard for your opinion that we would like you to stay on for this meeting and tell us what you think.”
“I am not sure I have the time, but yes, I can spare a few minutes of my very busy schedule.”
The Prime Minister looks at him, wondering if he should be angry or thankful. “Richard, we would like to hear your views on a Cabinet reshuffle.”
“Whadda???!” a startled Richard suddenly comes to his senses, his outburst long forgotten as he quickly returns to form. “Lorrr-rrrinse! A Cabinet reshuffle. What for?”
“Aehm… we need to send a message that I mean business?” Gonzi chirps.
“LOR-RINSE, you’re reading it all wrong. Christ! You have to address the other issues first! Don’t make more enemies in the party. Look at all the blood and shit we have on our hands with JPO and the other have-beens baying for their pound of flesh.”
“What are you suggesting?” Gonzi asks.
“Well, you need to see to the police first. All these stories about the police picking up an 18-year-old girl who had a miniature dog on the beach is simply ridiculous. That is all we need now: keep the beaches free of puppies just because Kevin Decesare does not like doggies playing on his sand pit. I mean, Paceville is like Sodom and Gomorrah, and these police overreactions are doing us great harm! What about all the drugs and underage drinking? What was this little dog doing anyway? Lacing his Eukanuba with spoonfuls of heroin or getting a lap dance from some three-legged Alsation?”
Amused, Edgar puffs himself up, feeling important enough to chip in: “I agree. I am sure that these cops are all Labourites.”
Richard looks at Edgar with clear disdain. “Don’t be a fool Edgar. The Labourite police officers are the ones that behave. The nasty ones are ours! I know from experience that all the Labourites who worked for me licked my ass and did as I told them to do. The Nationalists always stirred up trouble. They think they own the bloody country.”
“So what are you proposing Rich?” Edgar asks.
A tad distracted, Richard is picking his nose, and in a swift manoeuvre prises off a smidgen of snot, and observes it over his spectacles, calmly rolling it between his thumb and finger. He pushes it under the upholstery in the settee and returns to normal, obviously thinking nobody has seen him. Gonzi however looks on in absolute bewilderment.
“Well to start with, you have to tell Carmelo Mifsud Bonnici to get off his rocker. Bloody hell, he is just like his father, paroli, paroli u fatti xejn. He can’t not do anything about the police. They are going to take us down: look at what they did to that Overend guy. And then the police at St Julian’s think they are some bunch of Rambos.”
“So what are you suggesting?”
“Well to start with, Carmelo must act like a minister, not a Cinderella, if someone gets badly hurt by the police they will blame you, Lor-rinse.”
“Edgar get me Carmelo now!” Gonzi orders.
“Now?”
“Yes now! Didn’t you say I had to be decisive? I’m being decisive now.”
Edgar takes out his mobile, finds Carm (he’s stored it under ‘Pontius Pilate’), and presses ‘CALL’.
“Carm, bongu, il-gurnata it-tajba lilek.”
- “Edgar, il-gurnata it-tajba lilek ukoll.”
“Carm, about these police allegations: what are we going to do?”
- “Look Edgar, I will not interfere with the police, I am the minister, not the Commissioner.”
“Carm, look, il-Prim qieghed hawn, you cannot simply say nothing, you have to say something.”
Richard fidgets nervously. He notices a thread on his tie and pulls it, only to discover that he’s made an even bigger mess as the thread goes on and on. Annoyed by this wardrobe mishap, he looks at Edgar and then suddenly lunges at the mobile.
Edgar hangs on to the mobile, Richard grabs his hand, and they suddenly fall to the floor.
“Stop Richard! This is my mobile!” Edgar cries out, almost in disbelief that a furious RCC is fighting for his mobile on the floor. Gonzi looks on astounded.
“Give it to me, you bloody social worker. You can’t tackle this situation!” Richard says.
They roll over, entangled, and the mobile falls on the ground The Prime Minister stands up to intervene and drops his coffee cup on his trousers: “Ix-xjafek!”
Richard crawls desperately over the floor to reach the phone. Edgar jumps on his back and holds him by the neck. Richard grasps the phone and manages to get it to his mouth.
“Caarrrrm, listen to me!” he croaks, Edgar now strangling him.
“YOU HYSTERICAL MIDDLE-AGED CONTROL FREAK, IT IS MY PHONE AND I WILL ENFORCE THE PRIME MINISTER’S ORDERS!”
Gonzi turns to Edgar, “Ieqaf Ed!”
The commotion is heard from outside. Gordon Pisani and Leonard Callus dash in and see Edgar over Richard. Richard manages to break free, the mobile in his hand. He takes a deep breath.
“Carmelo!” he shouts, breathing heavily. “You cannot let the police do what they are doing. Sure, I’ve no qualms if they pick up an 18-year-old and teach her a lesson. But not in Paceville. The place looks like a scene from A Clockwork Orange but the police take in a girl for walking her frigging dog? And now this Overend f***-up!”
- “Richard, tindahalx. I am the minister, and I will act like a minister.”
Richard, obviously taken aback by Mifsud Bonnici’s unabashed reply, is beyond anger. “YOU ARE A PASTIZZ, not a minister! If you think this is the right action, then you better ask the media. Thank the Lord we have Natalino Fenech at PBS…”
- “Don’t mention the media, x’jimpurtani mill-media, I have only God to answer to.”
“Do not be silly, Carm. What does God have to do with this? God doesn’t vote. He’s not bothered with popular democracy ever since Rome sacked Judea. If you don’t do something about it, I’m afraid someone else will…”
- “Really? Is that a threat? IS THAT A THREAT?”
Richard turns to Edgar and gives him back the mobile. “Enjoy, Lassie…”
Edgar takes the phone: “I’ll phone you later, I cannot speak to you right now.”
The PM turns to Gordon Pisani. “Gordon, tell Josephine to come in. Tell her that I stained my trousers.”
Josephine runs into the room. “Prime Minister! My God… here, let me wipe it off with the sponge.”
“That’s enough, thank you Josephine. Can you send my driver for a new pair of trousers?”
“Do not worry, I have a spare pair in here… just in case!”
“Do you?” Gonzi asks, sort of surprised.
Richard and Edgar look at each other and grimace. The phone on the Prime Minister’s desk rings out - “Prime Minister, it is Giovanna Debono, she says it is very urgent.”
“Okay put her on… Giovanna! Tell me…”
- “LOR, ha nghidlek. You know we had this party in Gozo. You see the police did not want to issue a permit for us to go on till 4am. But I gave instructions that we should ignore them and go on. Now, they are thinking of prosecuting. This is unacceptable. I spoke to Carmelo but he said that he can do nothing. I wonder if he knows what it means to be a minister?”
“I see, I see,” the Prime Minister nods, feeling very important but not knowing what to say.
Richard interjects: “What’s she on about?”
“The Gozo party police permit thingy,” he mouths silently.
“Ah!” RCC raises his voice. “See… you stop Gianpula fields at 2am, but you let the others operate after 2am. You keep doing that and we have a war with the entertainment industry on our hands now.”
Edgar looks at Richard. “Thank you very-bloody-much. I hear the music till the early hours of the day. It’s unacceptable. We have to do something about it.”
“Edgar, you live in Mellieha. Are you sure it is music you are hearing?”
“Are you calling me mad?”
“Not at all. I’m the mad one for wasting my time, trying to convince you, unless you shoot up some coffee beans directly into your vein, that we are about to be taken to the cleaners.”
- “Prim, is that Richard?” Giovanna tells Gonzi, still on the phone.
“Yes.”
- “Can I speak to him?”
The Prime Minister passes the phone to Richard. - “Richard? Hi. So pleased to see you’re back, we just really missed you inside Castille. Bloody hell, you’re going to have to knock some sense in those thick heads over there. U isma, if he brings up my name, chip in some praise – I heard they want to give me the chop for some reshuffle, just like they did with Louis Deguara and Censu Galea. Some cucumber-shaped idiot thinks they can do without me in Gozo…”
Richard keeps a straight face, nods seriously. He changes the subject deliberately. “Yes Govann, I’ll check on this EU policy on regional development funds for organic cucumbers… I’m sure that we can get a finance project going for you. I did not know you liked cucumbers. Ha-ha. Cheerio!”
Richard gets back to business. “Right, what were we talking about before Edgar blew his top?”
“The Cabinet reshuffle,” Gonzi says.
“Ok… Josephine, how about some tea and sandwiches. We can’t do politics on an empty stomach,” Richard says.
“Rich, she’s my secretary. Josephine, ahseb ftit f’xi sandwiches please,” Gonzi says.
“So Ed, what about Giovanna in this reshuffle?” Richard asks.
“We’re thinking of dropping her.”
Josephine interrupts. “Sorry, what sandwiches do you all want?”
“Cucumber,” Richard says.

GLOSSARY
Lawrence Gonzi: Prime Minister, in case you did not realise
Richard Cachia Caruana: wannabe EU Commissioner
Edgar Galea Curmi: wannabe Richard Cachia Caruana
Carmelo Mifsud Bonnici: RCC’s ‘pastizz’
Gordon Pisani: God’s gift to PR
Leonard Callus: a nice guy, speciality: the Ramla permit
Josephine Vassallo: Hmmm…
Peter Serracino Inglott: The all-knowing oracle
Giovanna Debono: Minister for pjaciri
Cucumber: Juicy vegetable used in salads
Louis Deguara: Used and forgotten
Censu Galea: Ditto
Natalino Fenech: PBS head of news, loved by the PN, loathed by Labour
Police officer: He can hit, kick, manhandle you, call you a whore, and maybe get away with murder too.
Kevin Decesare: 50, hates noise and bottle shops

Next week: No more summer fun, no satire, no parody, just boring commentary and opinion.

sbalzan@mediatoday.com.mt

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