Free This Other Eden by Ben Elton Page A

spokesperson, had even been formed. ‘I am the champion for all living
things, OK? You dig it?’ he had said and, hopeless though his battle sometimes
seemed, the world could not have had a more convincing champion.
     
     
     
    Green
God.
     
    Jurgen Thor was almost too
good to be true. From his great mane of shaggy golden hair to his enormous
sixteen-hole, tan leather Timberland work boots he was more God than man. His
gimlet-sharp clear grey eyes could puncture a politician across a hundred-metre
conference room. They were more than just piercing, they were armour-piercing,
and a thousand women had felt the prick.
    Jurgen
was huge. It was as if when the Almighty was making him He (or She) had always
intended to make two, perhaps even three, environmental activists, but had
decided to save time by making one big one. Muscles coiled like serpents about
his colossal frame. His chest was a giant’s chest, the nipples were in different
time zones: this was a chest that exerted its own gravitational pull.
    Legends
of Jurgen’s strength and physical powers rang around the world. Stories
abounded of his days with the Mother Earth Direct Action Group, before he had
renounced terrorism. It was said that he had once plugged a shallow water toxic
outfall with his own body, withstanding the immense pressure for many desperate
hours whilst a team of activists had made good the sabotage with steel and
cement. People whispered in awe about how the great man had once personally
dragged a stranded pilot whale from a polluted beach and swum it out to sea.
His body was pockmarked with scars from numerous bullet wounds he had received
during attacks on Claustrosphere factories in the early years. It was said
that, on the occasional times when his vast consumption of chilled peach
schnapps got the better of him, Jurgen’s party trick was to crack walnuts with
his foreskin.
     
     
     
    Concerned
constituents.
     
    ‘Mr Thor, what can you
tell us about the activities of the terrorist group Mother Earth?’ Colin
Carper, the MEP for Essex, England and a paid Claustrosphere lobbyist inquired.
    ‘As I
have said many times, although I support their intentions, I do not support
their methods,’ Jurgen answered.
    ‘But
surely you were yourself once a terrorist, Mr Thor?’
    ‘I do
not accept the term terrorist, sir. Yes, I have committed acts against local
laws, you know? In pursuit of a wider justice, yes? However, in my capacity as
principal spokesperson for Natura, I, of course, acknowledge that it is not
acceptable to take the law into one’s own hands.’
    ‘Oh,
come now, Mr Thor. Enough of this pious bunkum,’ Carper sneered.
    ‘Bunk
up? What is this bunk up, please?’ Jurgen replied.
    ‘Bunkum,
Mr Thor! Bunkum! It is common knowledge that you are still a Mother Earth
activist and that Mother Earth itself is nothing less than the armed wing of
Natura.’
    ‘Sir!
If the European parliament is to be reduced to a forum for the perpetration of
gossip, suspicion and innuendo, OK? Then let me say that you, matey boy, are
internationally recognised as a place man and paid lackey of the Claustrophere
conglomerate . .
    The
odious Carper reddened visibly at this outrageous slur.
    ‘If I
seek to make the case for Claustrosphere, Mr Thor, that is because ninety per
cent of my constituents own them, and the others are protected by municipal
arrangements! —‘
    ‘The
majority of your constituents also have vermin and rat infestations. Do you see
it as your duty to endlessly represent those interests too?’
    People
occasionally noted, with some surprise, that Jurgen Thor’s English could be as
articulate and perfectly formed as the King’s, when he wanted. Those in the
know knew that he put the Norwegian inflections and stumbling, half
-Americanised word formations into his speech for effect. He felt that it gave
him a vulnerable air, which was useful in debate and also made women want to
sleep with him. This latter was a goal that