Quorum

The Chamber of the Honorable Thieves

from “The Manual of the Perfect Pilgrim”

The honorable deputies came around the established hour, some before others. The chamber was soon packed with political VIPs and a soft clamor began to grow.

No more a democratic institution, that place had become a gentlemen’s club. There was a dayroom where the deputies could escape the tedious meetings, and talk to their buddies about cocaine-parties and wannabe showgirls. Some deputies greeted each other from one side of the chamber to the other, gesturing and yelling like hooligans. Others, instead, didn’t waste any time in occupying their seats: left, center, and right. For years, now, there was speculation over the left-wing seats, apparently more comfortable than the others. That rumor had provoked more than one enmity among the rivaling political factions.

True or false it may have been, with the passing of minutes the honorable deputies streamed among the seat rows. It was like a cinema during the interval. It didn’t take long before the reason of their presence at the chamber was forgotten, lost in small-talk. A couple deputies tried to show some interest for the matter of the day, but it was more of a courtesy to their conscience than anything else. They probably had to put to the votes an amendment to raise their salaries, or something along that line.

And it was Thursday, and on Thursdays the TV didn’t come. Screaming and gesturing was not worth the efforts if the television was not there to broadcast live. They had even thought about asking the broadcasting rights like any other soccer team: “For today’s final challenge, the goalscorer of the democrats will face the undisputed champion of the conservatives, in a match that promises to be spectacular!” A sports-like language and a bunch of half-naked showgirls were key to a successful share.

As they mused over that important dilemma, a gaunt and silent man began distributing some booklets. On the first page of the booklet was written: “LEX XVII”. As the man walked along the seats rows, the honorable deputies glared at him: how did he dare to interrupt the flow of their amiable conversations? But after a few seconds, as if nothing had happened, they kept on their business.

None of them noticed the drop of cold sweat on the silent man’s forehead. Nobody.

When a bored President of the Chamber arrived with a delay that was unusual even for his undignified standards, he called the deputies to vote. The deputies, distracted by their chitchats, did not pay any attention to which button they pressed, and the result appeared a few seconds later on the maxi-screen hanging on the wall: for an oddity, the “AYE” had won an unanimous consensus. The chamber exploded in ground swells of opposition, laughter, and whistles. But the yells, the laughter, and the whistles ended abruptly. Two words had appeared on the maxi-screen, written in giant letters:

THE END.

Ishgrad dragged himself with a bold posture. He pushed the President of the Chamber away with the shoulder, and giving a semblance of dignity to his hair, he spoke over the microphone:

«Honorable colleagues – but I wish to emphasize that I will never be honorable nor a colleague of yours – an explanation is, I believe, necessary. It just happens to be that the amendment you have so foolishly voted for discharges you from your positions with immediate effect. No more cheap coffees, ministerial cars to drive your hookers around, flunkies, cocaine in the briefcase; no more unauthorized villas, lovers, transsexual fantasies with taxpayers’ money; no more fake smiles and true lies. No more. All your possessions have been confiscated, the only thing you are allowed to keep are the clothes and shoes you are wearing. Precious, expensive shoes for important meetings. Unfortunately, they are not the best for walking, and trust me, you have a long and dusty road ahead of you. However, if it may be of any consolation to you, I had less than that when I began my pilgrimages. From now on, Italy is an anarchy founded on the right to dream.»

This said, Ishgrad got off the stage and went out of the chamber: the road was calling him, and like love it was an urge he could not resist.

The security guys walked in and began to ask the honorable deputies to please leave the chamber. Some of them had to be dragged away screaming like madmen, they kept yelling their parties’ slogans, lullabies, they all claimed to be heroes, they all threatened, they all tried to bribe anything they set their eyes upon, be it the seat they were desperately clinging to. Alas for them, in that world there was no longer any room for the vile money.

Among all that chaos, the gaunt, silent man who had distributed the booklets came out of the discretion in which he lived and – like an ant walking on top of a giant’s corpse – he timidly slithered on top of the President’s desk. As he spoke, his weak voice was amplified by the microphone, that extraordinary weapon:

«The session, honorable colleagues, is closed.»

And the last flapping tie was seen disappearing between the shutting doors. Forever.

by Jason R. Forbus