Free Speak to the Earth by William Bell Page B

Ellen had everything ready. Bryan used an original recipe of his uncle’s, which involved egg noodles, some hamburger meat fried with onions and garlic, a dollop of tomato paste and grated cheese. Ellen expressed her scepticism all through the preparation but, when the dish came out of the oven, she pronounced it a success.
    Iris slumped into her chair, exhausted. “I got no lunch and no breaks today,” she said, “we were so busy. This is delicious. You two should open a restaurant.”
    “We’ll call it the Clear-Cut Café,” Bryan said. Ellen gave him a harsh look.
    “Very funny, kid. Don’t you start in on me. I’ve had a hard day and your uncle’s already taken a few shots at me. I felt like breaking his other arm.”
    “I, for one, would like to hear about what went on yesterday, Mrs Troupe. Grumpy over there, with his mouth full, wouldn’t tell me a thing.” Bryan had asked Ellen not to tell his mother he had seen her arrested.
    “Well, I can tell you that getting arrested isn’t nearly as glamorous as it is on TV. When they dumped us — and ‘dumped’ is the right word for it; those cops weren’t gentle — we were taken back to town and herded into a holding cell. About three dozen of us, I guess, including five or six kids and a few seniors. At the time we arrived the cops were still processing the fifty or so who had beenarrested at dawn when they tried to block the trucks from going into the bush.”
    “You mean,” Bryan cut in, “that your group was the
second?”
    “Yup.”
    “It’s disgusting,” said Ellen.
    “It sure is,” Bryan chimed in.
    “They ought to be ashamed of themselves,” Ellen added. “Treating you people like that. As if you were criminals.”
    Bryan almost choked on his last mouthful of Noodles James.
    “Go on, Mrs Troupe,” Ellen urged.
    “Well, there’s not much more to tell. We were charged with contempt of court and asked to sign what the legal beagles call an undertaking that we would appear for our trials — where the hell are we going to go; almost all of us live around here — and that we would not take part in any more road-blocking. About ten people refused to sign, so they were taken into Nanaimo to the minimum-security prison there.”
    “Good,” Bryan hissed. Had Ellen forgotten that her father was a big gun in MFI and that her mother got most of her legal business from the company?
    “Contempt of court,” Ellen commented. “Doesn’t sound too serious.”
    Iris sighed, putting down her fork and pushing her empty plate aside. “Actually, it is. Judges get very touchy when they feel the court’s authority is flouted.Sometimes I think a few of those buggers are a bit too vain about their powers. You can get quite a long sentence for contempt.”
    Bryan suddenly felt afraid. “Anyway, it’s all over now for you, right, Mom? You signed, right? Or you wouldn’t be here. They wouldn’t have let you go.”
    “Yes and no.”
    Bryan groaned. Before he could ask what her enigmatic answer had meant, there was a loud knock on the door.
    “I’ll get it,” Ellen said, rising. “I’m closest.”
    She pulled open the door, and in stepped two RCMP offcers. Imposing in their blue uniforms, the two men seemed to fill the small kitchen.
    “Iris, we need to talk to you,” one said. Bryan recognized him, but didn’t know his name.
    Without moving from her chair, Iris said, “Me? What’s it about?”
    “There’s been an act of sabotage in the MFI equipment yard,” the second cop announced dramatically. “A truck was fire-bombed.”
    “ ‘Sabotage’?” Iris smirked. “What is this, a spy movie?”
    “What’s this got to do with Mrs Troupe?” Ellen demanded.
    The cops ignored her. “This is Norm’s Bed ’n Breakfast, isn’t it?” the first cop said, hitching up his leather belt.
    “You know it is, Nick, for God’s sake,” Iris said. “Youlive in this town. I see you and your wife in the supermarket once a week. What the hell