The white mannequin served its purpose well. The wig stood untidily over its head. In the privacy of his home, he walked around as the music thundered around him. It was Wie die Wolke nach der Sonne – As the Cloud after the Sun. He walked around in his white Abanderado underpants which had a flimsy grey top tucked into them. You could tell it was an old pair of underpants from the emergent holes at the back. In his hands he held Homer’s comic mini-epic Batrachomyomachia. It was his idea of light reading. The phone kept ringing until finally, Alfred huffed and picked it up.
“Yes?” he said.
“Bongu, Alfred, how are you?” Joseph Muscat politely asked.
“I am fine. Get to the point, what do you want?” he replied brusquely.
“I don’t want anything, I’m just calling…”
“Cut the bullshit – it’s about Dissett, hux hekk?”
“Yes… how did you guess?”
“Well, you never talk to me about anything, so I guessed it had to be about something ‘negative’…”
Joseph Muscat could hardly hear Alfred Sant over the music, which was reverberating in his ears – “I can’t hear you!”
“It’s Brahms. Zomm wahda…”
He put his book down, looked around for the remote control, before he spotted it lying next to the mountain of papers on the settee. “Now – what were we saying?”
“Alfred, you were brilliant on Dissett. But that comment on Psaila literally allowed those p**** to hit out at you and the party again!”
“I stand by what I said.”
“Okay, but how can you prove it?”
“I do not have to prove anything, I have nothing to lose… and excuse me, are you suggesting that officers and soldiers who are enlisted should not know how to swim?”
“But that is not the point Alfred… can’t you see that they are clutching at straws and always trying to find something to hit us with?”
“Well, good – now they have you, you can choose to say nothing, do nothing, mention no one and, better still, you can start talking like a Nationalist. And by the way, did that b**** Marisa Micallef Leyson ask you to phone me up?”
“Alfred no, this was my idea, nobody else’s…”
Joseph looks at the phone and makes funny faces. Marisa Micallef Leyson is sitting in front of him, saying nothing. She nervously rearranges her shirt at the cleavage and slides her fingers through her hair. She rummages inside her bag and pulls out a Kempinski pen, then looks for some paper. She finds a Monsoon receipt and scribbles something.
BE FIRM J. – GIVE HIM SHIT
“Look, Joseph, if you want to be a pussy that’s good for you, but I have no intention of buckling under pressure.”
“Good for you, but can’t you see that they would have censored the programme if it was anybody else getting interviewed? Joe Pirotta, dak in-nazzjonalist ippatentjat, would have stopped the programme. But no, they allowed it to be aired and then they paraded it all over The Times and NET.”
“And the Independent?”
“U iva, but they don’t really count anymore!”
“So, what are you suggesting Joseph – that I give them my balls on a plate?”
“No, Alfred, I am asking you to be more prudent…”
“Joseph, don’t you see that they control all the media? When you control the media you are at their mercy. Just look at that pruzuntuz Nazzjonalist Joe Azzopardi… he had a Xarabank dedicated to Ix-Xitan, with that ludicrous Padre-whatever, who looks like the devil himself. With all the problems in the country they instead want to discuss devils who go ‘gggagagguarggsyjjh’ in the night, to alienate everyone else. And what do you do: lick their ass?”
“Alfred, I do not lick their ass! I am just using my head! If we are to win the next election, I cannot confront them head-on.”
Marisa nods her head. She licks her lips and smiles. She gives Joseph the thumbs up, and Muscat smiles.
“Look Joseph, I appreciate the fact that you want to win the next election, and I hope for the love of Goethe that you will. But you cannot be soft on everyone and everything and you have to start realising that if you act like a Nationalist you become a Nationalist.”
“Can we meet up? I would like to introduce you to my advisors, I’m sure it would make for a useful meeting.”
“X’naghmel?! Niltaqa ma dik il-q**** Marisa?? What do you take me for? Joseph, if you find no problem with mixing with that kind of crowd, I do. They are turning you into a jelly-brain. Take a look at your surroundings. I can’t believe that you are so unresponsive to the collusion around you. Why don’t you lash out at Joe Saliba and his links to big business? Afraid of someone, are we?”
“I am afraid of no one, Alfred. It’s just that you can’t fire six artillery guns at the same time. We all know what Joe Saliba is up to, but what do you want me do, waste all my firepower on Joe the builder or Where’s Everybody?”
“Don’t mention Where’s Everybody to me; if anyone needs to be stopped, it’s them. But the real question, Joseph, is: what do you really stand for? You have embraced all the things the Nationalists believe in. What do you stand for?”
“I stand for an alternative, I stand for fresh ideas, I stand for success!”
“How poetic! Are you aware that by the time you turn the Labour party into a Nationalist party replica, Gonzi and his ass-lickers would have bought more allegiance with their nepotism and with that, the next election. This is a war Joseph, and in a war you only worry about the end result!”
“Alfred, I believe we have the same aims, but as we all know your record is not exactly an impressive one.”
Marisa, smiles, gets up from her chair, and starts to jump up and down like a child, thrusting her thumb into the air, as if she has just won the Super 5.
Alfred is unperturbed. He moves towards the mannequin, takes the wig and hurls it onto his scalp in anger. He takes the remote and puts the volume up. He takes it to track three and presses play. It is Piano Sonata No. 3 in F minor, Op. 5.
“Joseph, I have to go,” he says abruptly.
“Alfred, I have to ask you to inform me whenever you make a public appearance.”
“What?! Inform you?! X’naghmel?! Mhux hekk… Joseph, kiss my ass. I will do as I please.”
“Alfred, I must insist…”
Marisa continues to nod.
“Insist kemm trid. I am going now, you caught me in my underpants and I am feeling cold. And by the way, sellili ghal Marisa, please send her my regards…”
Joseph stares into the phone.
“You were great Joseph, just great,” Marisa tells Joseph.
“I am not too sure about that. I need some peace of mind for this evening’s demonstration. It’s bad enough that the weather’s not nice. I can’t deal with this problem.”
“Don’t worry Joseph, he will not be a problem. He is yesterday’s man.”
Joseph stares at her but avoids looking into her eyes. He wonders how strange and cruel life can be to politicians. Here he is, talking to the man who commanded the Labour party for 14 years and who was ridiculed by the same woman who now serves as Joseph’s personal advisor. And here they are, in the same room that served as his predecessor’s command centre.
“Are you okay Joseph?”
“Yes, yes… I was just thinking about the next meeting.”
Next Wednesday: Saviour Balzan’s reveals Joe Saliba’s long conversation with Zaren
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The phone kept ringing until finally, Alfred huffed and picked it up.
