neck, observed Quentin Quist, still with the black eye he’d been sporting the previous week, in a peculiar half crouching position behind him. Quist raised an index finger to his lips in the traditional gesticular entreaty to silence as Escher Burgoyne tapped a teaspoon against an empty champagne glass to bring the gathering to order.
“I declare this emergency meeting of Publicity and Advisory Branch members of the Clerks’, Legal Officers’ and Clerical Assistants’ Association open,” said Burgoyne, “and –
“A point of order, chair,” said an intense young woman from the front row. “There is someone in attendance who isn't permitted to be here.”
She pointed in Alan’s direction and all heads followed. Alan turned to look at Quist, and Quist swivelled to look in the direction of the rear wall, as if the interloper was behind him.
“I am referring, chair, to Comrade Quist,” said the intense young woman.
Alan stepped sideways to reveal Quist to the assembled members but the intruder moved with him. Alan took a further step to the right. Quist, again, followed. Alan ducked. So did Quist. Finally, Alan took two quick steps to the left, as did Quist.
Realising at this point that he was being expertly limpeted, Alan surprised himself with a display of quick thinking and unprecedented agility by dropping on to all fours.
“Comrade Quist, is that you?” said Burgoyne, when the identity of Alan’s shadow was at last evident to all.
Quist looked to the right and left, as though he was not the person being addressed by the chair, and as if he had not been identified with any certainty. He then placed a hand over his face and peered through splayed fingers at the front of the room.
“Comrade Quist,” said Burgoyne, “I can see you.”
“Really?” said Quist.
“Really,” said Burgoyne.
Quist dropped his hand, as Alan rose and dusted himself off.
“I’ve just popped in to get a cup of camomile tea. Is this a union meeting?”
“Comrade Quist, you know that members of the department’s industrial relations section are expected to absent themselves from union meetings.”
“But I’m only a temporary member of that unit,” said Quist, “for the purpose of career development, grooming for senior executive duties, accelerated advancement etcetera.”
“He still shouldn’t be here, chair,” said the intense young woman.
“She’s right, chair,” said a bald, cross-eyed man sitting next to the intense young woman.
“I’m a member in good standing,” said Quist, bristling. “I’m financial.”
“But you’re working in the Industrial Relations Section, aren’t you?” said Burgoyne.
“He most certainly is,” said the intense young woman.
“The counter-revolutionary filth,” said Winsome Wheelwright.
The degenerate class traitor,” said a middle-aged man with a lisp.
“The rightist swine” said Clytemnestra Cooper.
Members of the Industrial Relations Section were black banned and ignored, if they weren’t members of the union but, once financial, were expected not to attend union meetings, and routinely had the worst Stalinist insults heaped upon them.
“I move that Comrade Quist be expelled from the meeting,” said a woman with dyed black hair, from the left of the room.
“Seconded,” said the cross-eyed man.
“All those in favour,” said Burgoyne.
“A point of order, Chair,” said Quist.
“All those in favour,” said Burgoyne, a second time.
Alan’s hand (restrained by Quist’s) was the only one, apart from those of chair and spy, to not shoot into the air.
“A point of order, chair,” said Quist.
“Those against,” said Burgoyne.
Quist’s left hand rose at the same time as his right attempted to force Alan’s up.
“Passed unanimously,” Burgoyne announced. “Comrade Quist is required to leave the meeting.”
“I refuse to go,” Quist said. “I absolutely refuse. Point blank. Nein, Non and Nyetski. In fact, absolute Nyetski.”
“But you can’t refuse to leave,” said the intense young woman.
“Make me…” said Quist.
“Then Comrades Cooper and Wheelwright will forcibly remove you,” said Burgoyne.
“I’m still not going,” said Quist.
The two fat women rose to their feet.
“I’m still here,” said Quist.
“Throw him out,” said Burgoyne.
“Still present.”
The big pair lumbered forward.
“Lay so much as one fat finger on me and I’ll sue.”
The approaching duo barely hesitated.
“All right, all right,” said Quist. “But you’ll be sorry.”
“Toss him out,” said Burgoyne.
Quist turned to go.
“Thanks, Alan,” he said, under his breath. “Thanks very much.”
The two fatties followed the interloper to the door and waited there once he was gone, in case he attempted to re-enter.
“Now, where was I?” said Burgoyne.
“You’d declared the meeting open,” said the cross-eyed man.
“Get on with it, Burgoyne,” said a red-headed, older male with a grating voice.
“Thank you for your encouragement, Comrade Wyner. I will, I can assure you, get on with it. I most certainly will. Indeed, what I was going to say, comrades, before that unfortunate incident, is that I don’t need to tell you why we are meeting today.”
“Then, why bother telling us?” said Comrade Wyner.
Burgoyne ignored the interruption. “Yet again, the workers are the victims of the anarchy of laissez-faire capitalism with its cut-throat competition, rapid changes in the methods of production and the complete absence of planning.”
“Nonsense,” said the man with a grating voice.
Alan
