you.
“When [close] we’ve fully. Discussed. The situation. And then I will call for [open!] questions.”
Johnny decided to swim for the shore.
“But I’ll have to leave before the end,” he said. “I have to be in bed by ten.”
There was a general murmur of approval from the audience. It was clear that most of them approved of the idea of anyone under thirty being in bed by ten. It was almost true, anyway. He was generally in his room around ten, although there was no telling when the lights actually went off.
“Let the lad ask his question,” said a voice from near the front.
“He’s doing a project,” said another voice. Johnny recognized Mr. Atterbury, sitting bolt upright.
“Oh…very well. What was it, young man?”
“Um.” Johnny felt them all looking at him. “Well, the thing is…the thing I want to know is …is there anything that anyone can say here, tonight, that’s going to make any difference?”
“That [close] hardly seems an appropriate sort of [open!] question,” said the chairman severely.
“Seems damned good to me,” said Mr. Atterbury. “Why doesn’t the man from United Amalgamated Consolidated Holdings answer the boy? Just a simple answer would do.”
The United man gave Johnny a frank, open smile.
“We shall, of course, take all views very deeply into consideration,” he said. “And—”
“But there’s a sign up saying that you’re going to build anyway,” said Johnny. “Only I don’t think many people want the old cemetery built on. So you’ll take the sign down, will you?”
“We have in fact bought the—”
“You paid fivepence,” said Johnny. “I’ll give you a pound.”
People started to laugh.
“I’ve got a question too,” said Yo-less, standing up.
The chairman, who had her mouth open, hesitated. Yo-less was beaming at her, defying her to tell him to sit down.
“We’ll take the question from the other young man, the one in the shirt—no, not you, the—” she began.
“The black one,” said Yo-less helpfully. “Why did the Council sell the cemetery in the first place?”
The chairman brightened up at this one.
“I [close] think we have covered that very fully [open!] ,” she said. “The cost of upkeep—”
Bigmac nudged Johnny, pointed at a sheet of figures everyone had been given, and whispered in his ear.
“But I don’t see how there’s much upkeep in a cemetery,” said Yo-less. “Sending someone in once or twice a year to cut the brambles down doesn’t sound like much of a cost to me.”
“We’d do it for nothing,” said Johnny.
“Would we?” whispered Wobbler, who liked fresh air to be something that happened to other people, preferably a long way off.
People were turning around in their seats.
The chairman gave a loud sigh, to make it clear that Johnny was being just too stupid but that she was putting up with him nevertheless.
“The fact , young man, as I have explained time and again, is that it is simply too expensive to maintain a cemetery that is—”
As he listened, red with embarrassment, Johnny remembered about the chance to have another go. He could just put up with it and shut up, and forever after he’d wonder what would have happened, and then when he died that angel—although, as things were going at the moment, angels were in short supply even after you were dead—would say, Hey, would you have liked to have found out what happened? And he’d say Yes, really, andthe angel would send him back and maybe this was —
He pulled himself together.
“No,” he said, “it isn’t simply too expensive.”
The woman stopped in mid sentence.
“How dare you interrupt me!” she snapped.
Johnny plowed on. “It says in your papers here that the cemetery makes a loss. But a cemetery can’t make a loss. It’s not like a business or something. It just is . My friend Bigmac here says what you’re calling a loss is just the value of the land for building offices. It’s the rates and
“When [close] we’ve fully. Discussed. The situation. And then I will call for [open!] questions.”
Johnny decided to swim for the shore.
“But I’ll have to leave before the end,” he said. “I have to be in bed by ten.”
There was a general murmur of approval from the audience. It was clear that most of them approved of the idea of anyone under thirty being in bed by ten. It was almost true, anyway. He was generally in his room around ten, although there was no telling when the lights actually went off.
“Let the lad ask his question,” said a voice from near the front.
“He’s doing a project,” said another voice. Johnny recognized Mr. Atterbury, sitting bolt upright.
“Oh…very well. What was it, young man?”
“Um.” Johnny felt them all looking at him. “Well, the thing is…the thing I want to know is …is there anything that anyone can say here, tonight, that’s going to make any difference?”
“That [close] hardly seems an appropriate sort of [open!] question,” said the chairman severely.
“Seems damned good to me,” said Mr. Atterbury. “Why doesn’t the man from United Amalgamated Consolidated Holdings answer the boy? Just a simple answer would do.”
The United man gave Johnny a frank, open smile.
“We shall, of course, take all views very deeply into consideration,” he said. “And—”
“But there’s a sign up saying that you’re going to build anyway,” said Johnny. “Only I don’t think many people want the old cemetery built on. So you’ll take the sign down, will you?”
“We have in fact bought the—”
“You paid fivepence,” said Johnny. “I’ll give you a pound.”
People started to laugh.
“I’ve got a question too,” said Yo-less, standing up.
The chairman, who had her mouth open, hesitated. Yo-less was beaming at her, defying her to tell him to sit down.
“We’ll take the question from the other young man, the one in the shirt—no, not you, the—” she began.
“The black one,” said Yo-less helpfully. “Why did the Council sell the cemetery in the first place?”
The chairman brightened up at this one.
“I [close] think we have covered that very fully [open!] ,” she said. “The cost of upkeep—”
Bigmac nudged Johnny, pointed at a sheet of figures everyone had been given, and whispered in his ear.
“But I don’t see how there’s much upkeep in a cemetery,” said Yo-less. “Sending someone in once or twice a year to cut the brambles down doesn’t sound like much of a cost to me.”
“We’d do it for nothing,” said Johnny.
“Would we?” whispered Wobbler, who liked fresh air to be something that happened to other people, preferably a long way off.
People were turning around in their seats.
The chairman gave a loud sigh, to make it clear that Johnny was being just too stupid but that she was putting up with him nevertheless.
“The fact , young man, as I have explained time and again, is that it is simply too expensive to maintain a cemetery that is—”
As he listened, red with embarrassment, Johnny remembered about the chance to have another go. He could just put up with it and shut up, and forever after he’d wonder what would have happened, and then when he died that angel—although, as things were going at the moment, angels were in short supply even after you were dead—would say, Hey, would you have liked to have found out what happened? And he’d say Yes, really, andthe angel would send him back and maybe this was —
He pulled himself together.
“No,” he said, “it isn’t simply too expensive.”
The woman stopped in mid sentence.
“How dare you interrupt me!” she snapped.
Johnny plowed on. “It says in your papers here that the cemetery makes a loss. But a cemetery can’t make a loss. It’s not like a business or something. It just is . My friend Bigmac here says what you’re calling a loss is just the value of the land for building offices. It’s the rates and
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