The Speechwriter by Martin McKenzie-Murray (best biographies to read TXT) 📕

your first job is redesigning these bloody fridge magnets. Look at my face on them. One half’s in shadow. Fucking awful. I look like a Bond villain. Get rid of it, and maybe brighten my teeth while you’re at it. And remove the phone number for the local animal shelter. It’ll just remind folks of the feral cats.’

‘They’ve really got out of control,’ Robin said.

‘One for the mayor, Robin. One for the mayor.’

As I was struggling to learn Photoshop, I heard a commotion at the front desk. I looked up and saw an elderly man, slightly hunched and angrily waving his flat-cap. Robin came over to my desk and told me to ‘pacify the geezer’.

‘What?’

‘Go.’

Nervously, I approached the man.

‘What’s your name, son?’ he asked.

‘Toby.’

‘Nice to meet you, Toby. My name’s Arthur. I’m a concerned local. What is it that you do here, Toby?’

‘I’m just an intern.’

‘An intern. Ruddy hell. Son, I mean no offence, but this is the fourth time I’ve been in this office to talk about those cats. And I’ve called and I’ve written letters. And every time I get fobbed off. Now I’ve been given the intern. No offence, son.’

‘I really want to help you, sir. Can you explain the situation, please?’

‘The situation? Have you seen Saving Private Ryan? That’s the situation. There’s corpses everywhere. I saw the bodies of six wrens on top of a bus shelter this morning. On top of the shelter, you hear? How the ruddy hell did that happen? These cats have developed some extraordinary powers of athleticism, Toby. That’s what I said to Margery this morning. I said: “Love, these ruddy cats have developed some extraordinary powers of athleticism.” And you know what she said?’

‘No, sir.’

‘She said, “I know, love. I’ve never seen anything like it in all my years.” Now, I don’t know if this has something to do with modernity, right? If these cats are getting crazed by electromagnetic pollution, or what. I just don’t know. What I do know is that I’m getting ruddy impatient with this office, and I want to know right now what you’re going to do about it.’

Outside Arthur’s sight line, Robin was holding up a piece of paper on which she’d written:

‘1. TAKE EMAIL. 2. SAY BYE BYE.’

 ‘Could you maybe show me the birds?’ I asked.

‘Of course.’ He seemed shocked. ‘You’re the first that’s asked.’

Arthur had lived in the area for almost eighty years. He had found, lost, and rediscovered love here. As we walked through the suburbs, he pointed out historic sites, places of personal significance, and mounds of graphically mangled possums. In places, whole stretches of footpath were splashed with blood. Finally, we reached the bus shelter. Sure enough, there were six dead wrens on the top of it.

‘Where are their heads?’ I asked.

Arthur couldn’t bring himself to answer.

‘We need to do something about this,’ I said.

‘I know, son.’

‘I’m serious about this.’

‘I’m very glad to hear it.’

‘Perhaps we should bury them.’

‘Right you are.’

I climbed up, retrieved the headless victims, and suggested the grassed median strip as a burial site. Arthur agreed.

‘Individual pits, or one big one?’ I asked.

‘A mass grave just doesn’t seem right for these fellas.’

I nodded, and silently we dug six small trenches with our hands. I slowed my pace to match Arthur’s, who seemed to be struggling, uncomplainingly, with arthritic fingers. When we’d covered their bodies, we planted twigs as commemorative posts at the heads of their graves.

‘I’d like to say something,’ I said.

‘Very well, son.’

‘Little wrens, I’m sorry we couldn’t protect you. But I promise that your deaths won’t be in vain. I will use the power of our office to ensure that. Rest in peace.’

‘That’s lovely, son. Margery would’ve liked to have seen this.’

We shook hands and said goodbye, and I could tell that we were both touched by the moment’s grace — and transience. As I walked back to the office, I knew that I had touched the face of The People, and invoked political office on behalf of the vulnerable and eviscerated. I mused that this process, though unfinished, felt right: first listening to, and being soulfully fused with, The People. Second, dignifying that bond with a practical solution. I wasn’t sure what that was going to be just yet, but I vowed to impress upon my new boss the importance of finding one. My phone buzzed. It was a text from Robin. ‘where the fuck r u???’

‘just had a ceremony for the murdered wrens. need to do something about these cats. back soon.’

‘ffs. get back + fix these magnets.’

‘i’ll try but not really a graphic designer tbh.’

‘wtf r we paying u 4?’

‘u don’t pay me.’

‘wat?’

‘sorry, 10 mins away.’

Back in the office, I emailed Stuart a lengthy field report of the carnage, an impassioned request that he protect the local fauna, and a new fridge magnet design that incorporated a fresh headshot unblemished by shadow — fixing the original was beyond me. Suddenly, Stuart loomed above me.

‘Toby, why have you emailed me?’

‘I work for you, sir.’

‘You’re an intern. Emailing me directly is undignified.’

‘For …?’

‘For me.’

‘Oh. Okay. I’m sorry.’

‘Second, why have you not done as I asked?’

‘I don’t follow, sir.’

‘The fridge magnet. You’ve changed the photo.’

‘Yes, sir. For one without a shadow.’

‘But that’s not what I asked, is it, Toby? I asked that you remove the shadow on the old one, not the photo itself.’

‘Sir, I’m not sure that’s even possible and, if it is, I’m not capable of doing it. I’m really more of a writer.’

‘That’s the photo we use, Toby. I like it. I have a stately jawline in it. Very nicely defined.’ He turned for his office.

‘Sir?’

‘Yes?’

‘What about the cats?’

‘I don’t want to hear about the bloody cats. If there’s a problem we can’t or won’t fix, then we don’t acknowledge it. Understand? That’s what I call the Golden Rule of political communications. I’ve always found that acknowledging people’s anger just makes them angrier.’

‘But wouldn’t avoiding people’s anger just make them angrier? If their anger’s justified, wouldn’t acknowledging it make them less angry? Maybe it validates them?’

‘We’re not in the business of validating