by Roy, Philip;
THE KINGDOM OF NO WORRIES
OTHER BOOKS BY PHILIP ROY
Stealth of the Ninja (2017)
Mouse Vacation (2016)
Mouse Pet (2015)
Eco Warrior (2015)
Jellybean Mouse (2014)
Mouse Tales (2014)
Me & Mr. Bell (2013)
Seas of South Africa (2013)
Frères de sang à Louisbourg (2013)
Blood Brothers in Louisbourg (2012)
Outlaw in India (2012)
Ghosts of the Pacific (2011)
River Odyssey (2010)
Journey to Atlantis (2009)
Submarine Outlaw (2008)
The Kingdom of No Worries
Philip Roy
RONSDALE PRESS
THE KINGDOM OF NO WORRIES
Copyright © 2017 Philip Roy
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without prior written permission of the publisher, or, in Canada, in the case of photocopying or other reprographic copying, a licence from Access Copyright (the Canadian Copyright Licensing Agency).
RONSDALE PRESS
3350 West 21st Avenue, Vancouver, B.C., Canada V6S 1G7
www.ronsdalepress.com
Typesetting: Julie Cochrane, in Minion 12 pt on 18
Cover Art & Design: Elisa Gutiérrez
Paper: 70 lb. Rolland Opaque Smooth Natural (FSC)—100% post-consumer waste, totally chlorine-free and acid-free
Ronsdale Press wishes to thank the following for their support of its publishing program: the Canada Council for the Arts, the Government of Canada through the Canada Book Fund, the British Columbia Arts Council, and the Province of British Columbia through the British Columbia Book Publishing Tax Credit program.
Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication
Roy, Philip, 1960–, author
The kingdom of no worries/Philip Roy. — First edition.
Issued in print and electronic formats.
ISBN 978-1-55380-511-3 (softcover)
ISBN 978-1-55380-512-0 (ebook)/ISBN 978-1-55380-513-7 (pdf)
I. Title.
PS8635.O91144K54 2017jC813’.6C2017-902600-3C2017-902601-1
At Ronsdale Press we are committed to protecting the environment. To this end we are working with Canopy and printers to phase out our use of paper produced from ancient forests. This book is one step towards that goal.
Printed in Canada by Marquis Printing, Quebec
for the newest
young Canadians
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
This book was inspired by conversations I have had with many students in schools in and around the Greater Toronto Area. For over a generation I have witnessed the construction and expansion of neighbourhoods that now house millions of people who have come to Canada from around the world. I could not have guessed back then, when the excavators were clearing the land, that the residents to fill those neighbourhoods would be the brilliant young faces I now meet in the schools. Canada is a model for the world. I can’t imagine any other place where global vision is not just an aspiration but a harmonious day-today reality, as in these neighbourhoods. I feel deeply fortunate to have the opportunity to work within this environment, and I am grateful to these young Canadians for their inspiration and wondrous ideas.
I would like to acknowledge the Canada Council for the Arts for its support in the creation of this book. I wish also to thank Ronsdale for its continued publication of my projects, and also my incredible wife, Leila; my mother, Ellen; my sisters, Angela and Estelle; my fabulous kids: Julia, Petra, Thomas, Julian, and Eva; and my dearest friends: Chris, Natasha, and Chiara. No author was ever blessed with more affectionate support.
“So we must lay another command on our guardians: they are to take all possible care that the state neither shall be too small nor yet one that seems great but has no unity… We must watch them, I think, at every age and see… that they must do what is best for the community…”
— PLATO, The Republic
Table of Contents
Acknowledgements
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Epilogue
About the Author
Chapter 1
ONCE UPON A TIME nobody owned anything. People ran around naked and the world was wonderful and free.
Now, everything is owned by somebody: some are filthy rich, and some are dirt poor; some live in gigantic mansions, and some sleep on the sidewalk. How did that happen? Why can’t I go out in the woods and build my own castle? What would happen if I did, would they put me in jail? Who gives them the right to do that?
And who’s they, anyway?
This question jumps out of me on the last day of school, while Mom makes my lunch and Dad grinds coffee.
“Who owns the land?”
They both turn and stare at me, but Mom just smiles, and Dad’s still waking up. I feel a hand come down on my shoulder.
“I’m glad you asked,” says Merilee, my sister.
No!
Merilee’s just three years older but you would guess she was a lot older than that. She’s a bookworm, an A+ student, and a political activist. She writes long letters to politicians and they write back. They always start out by thanking her for her sharp insight and end by asking for money. Once, a politician even asked her to join his reelection committee, but she turned him down because he was too conservative. They don’t have a clue that she’s only fifteen years old.
Dad calls Merilee a “paragon of conscience,” which sounds like a flying dinosaur to me. Mom says that when she was pregnant with Merilee she ate spinach, broccoli, and pine nuts, took long walks in nature, listened to Mozart, and read books. When she was pregnant with me she ate only mac and cheese, Skittles, pop, and slouched on the sofa in front of the soaps. That explains my cravings for junk food.
Merilee doesn’t have a lot of time for me usually, unless I ask a question about the world, such as … “Why do people care so much about what other people wear, like … hijabs, burkas, and things like that?” or “Why can’t countries just get rid of their dictators if they don’t like them?” Then she’ll follow me around all day long answering one simple question. She’ll start slowly, for my sake, but will pick up speed after a while, especially if I appear to lose interest, and will go on and on if I try to run away, and even follow me into my tree fort in the backyard answering one measly question, which by then I won’t even remember, and will wish I had never asked, and will promise myself never to ask again. But sometimes a question will slip out when I’m not paying attention, like now.
I look up at Dad, hoping he’ll answer first, but he won’t speak until he’s had his first sip of coffee. I look at Mom, but she just keeps smiling. She never interrupts Merilee.
“There’s crown land, and there’s private land,” Merilee says as she sits down and stares into my face. I look up at the clock.
“I have to get to school.”
“Crown land is owned by the province. Private land is owned by individuals, or companies.”
“I have to go pee.”
“It might surprise you to know that eighty-five percent of the land in Ontario is owned by the Crown.�
�
I start to get up. She digs her fingers into my shoulder, which is probably what a mouse feels like when it is carried away by an owl. I sit back down.
“Sometimes you can rent or buy land from the Crown, but you need special permission from the Ministry of Natural Resources, because land is considered a resource, just like forests and rivers and mines.”
I’m starting to feel sleepy. I wonder if I can stay home sick today. No, my friends and I have agreed to meet after school to discuss our plans for the summer, which just means epic sessions of video games, movies, and skateboarding. Still, it has to be planned out, which also happens to be a good excuse for an epic junk-food pig-out.
“Once someone buys land and is given legal title to it, they, or their heirs, hold it in perpetuity.” Merilee tosses her hair as if she’s in a shampoo commercial. “On the other hand, people sometimes just lease land, as from the Crown, in which case the ownership reverts to the Crown once the lease runs out. But land leases often run for a hundred years …”
I’m starting to zone out, but I hear Merilee use the word perpetuity, which I’m pretty sure is a pot that old geezers spit chewing tobacco into. I wonder if you can pee into a perpetuity. I look down at the floor—we don’t have one of those. I look up at Dad. He’s standing over the coffee maker with his hand on the kettle and no water coming out. He has daydreamed himself into a trance. That’s something I inherited from him. I have yet to discover any original traits within myself.
Merilee senses I’m not paying attention, so she picks up the pace. Her voice drifts in and out of the window with the breeze. My sister has two friends who are exactly like her: Mehra and Marcie. Dad calls them “the Three Fates.” If you sit close to them in the school cafeteria when they are brainstorming, your head will explode.
“… is owned by the Huron Nation. In fact, our whole city is legally owned by the Huron Nation …”
“What ..?”
I raise my head. For a second, I think I hear something actually interesting. I turn and look into the blindingly smart eyes of my sister. “What? The city of Briffin?”
Merilee is so unused to me asking a question once she’s on a roll, she looks a little confused, like a lizard that has just stumbled upon a sleeping bug. “Yes. Legally, they own it. But … they can’t possess it.”
“Why not?”
“Because the treaties are contested. And there’s conflicting evidence, at least that’s what the Crown lawyers will tell you. The whole thing is so deeply mired in legal technicalities it would probably take a hundred years to sort it out through the courts. But mostly it’s because we’re living here, and it’s too expensive to move a city.”
“Wow. That’s interesting.” I really mean it. Merilee nods her head, stands up, and pours herself a bowl of cereal. She looks pleased. I wait for her to begin again but she doesn’t. She starts eating her cereal. I can’t believe it. I have just learned a most valuable lesson: to escape Merilee all you have to do is show a little interest.
Chapter 2
A LITTLE WHILE LATER, I’m in the car with Dad on my way to school. Dad’s a civil engineer for the city. He’s one of the folks who decide where to dig ditches, tear up roads, lay down sewer pipes, and pour sidewalks. But it seems to me that they always tear up more than they lay down, and every time we drive through the city I sink deeper into my seat because I figure people know it’s our fault they’re sitting in traffic. And it doesn’t help that Dad yells out the window, “Hey, Joe! Bart! Ted! Nice diggin’, boys!” They wave but never smile. Only Dad does, ’cause he’s the only one who sees the beauty in a ripped-up street.
We drive along the river past the shiny brand new Hindu temple, the Mormon church with the golden trumpeter on the roof, the yellow brick Catholic church, the grey brick Anglican church, the white brick Presbyterian church, the Bank of Ontario, the Briffin Public Library, the Better-life Insurance Co., the Finer-life Insurance Co., the Second-chance car dealership, and the red brick post office. Dad’s talking, “… blah, blah, blah …” but I’m lost in thought. I’m wondering what all this land looked like before these buildings were here. Were there First Nations wigwams? Were there long-houses? I turn towards the river, and there … I see it.
“Dad?”
“… blah, blah, blah … Yeah?”
“What’s that piece of land out there?”
“Where?”
“There. In the middle of the river.”
He looks over. “That? Well, that’s been growing ever since the new treatment plant went in. We’ve been redirecting part of the river to clean and recycle it. It reconnects downstream. You know, I told you all about it last year. Remember? We had a picnic down there where the rivers come together again.”
I remember the picnic but have no idea why we were there, which doesn’t mean that he didn’t tell me.
“It’s as big as a soccer field.”
“Yup.”
“And it wasn’t there before?”
“Nope.”
“So … who owns it?”
“What?”
“Who owns it?”
“Who owns it?” We pull up to a traffic light and Dad twists around to take a closer look. “Nobody owns it, I suppose.”
“Nobody owns it?”
“No. I don’t see how anybody could own it. It didn’t exist until now.”
“Wow. That’s cool.”
“Yeah, but it’s just a flat stretch of sand and rock. Nobody could build there or live there; it’s in the middle of the river. Besides, there’s an old dam in the Upper Huronia River District, and if they ever open it up, as they sometimes do, the river will swell twice its size, and that piece of land will disappear quicker than you can say ‘lickety-split.’”
“Oh. When was the last time they opened the dam?”
“Ahhh … 1973.”
“So it’s safe to assume they won’t open it anytime soon.”
“I wouldn’t say that. Okay. Here we are. Behave yourself, Billy. Don’t get thrown out of school on the last day.”
“I won’t. Thanks, Dad.”
I trudge inside the school, listen to the end-of-the-year speeches, the final projects, the sports teams’ feats, and the programs they offer to try to trick kids into staying in school year round, and the day passes like a rainy day at the fall fair when the rides aren’t open. Then I meet up with Sami and Charlie, and we go out the front door together into the glowing sunshine, and we feel like we own the whole world.
Sami’s my best friend. He moved to Canada three years ago from Abu Dhabi, and before that he lived in Lebanon. His family were refugees when they first came to Canada. We’re the same age but he’s three inches taller. Sami’s got a face like a wrestler, and a high voice like a girl’s. He spends all his time playing video games but avoids going into battle. He likes dressing up warriors with armour and weapons, and then goes out of his way to avoid getting blood on them. He’ll spend weeks on a quest for a single weapon or piece of armour, but the thought of actually hurting someone bothers him too much to enjoy the fighting. I’ve never seen him angry. I’m not sure I would want to. I think he carries a lot of sadness inside, and if it ever came out as anger, he might be like the Incredible Hulk.
Sami spends most of his time gaming because there’s no one at home to tell him not to. But he can also quote lines from famous books, which shows that he reads a lot, though I don’t know where he gets the time, unless he doesn’t sleep. He wants to be a hotshot lawyer when he grows up, like his dad, but he’s always singing songs from Disney movies like The Lion King or The Little Mermaid and can impersonate movie stars, so I don’t know, I think maybe he should be an actor or a filmmaker. He wants to be a lawyer because his dad is a lawyer, and he adores his dad, even though he never gets to see him. I like Sami because he’s the most loyal friend you could ever find. He would never betray you, even if he were strapped down in a torturer’s chair.
My other best friend is Charlie. We were bor
n in the same hospital just three months apart, but most people think Charlie is from China because his parents are from China, and he doesn’t speak much, so they assume he can’t speak English. Charlie is fun to hang around with, even though he’s kind of gloomy. Actually, he’s very gloomy, but it’s a witty kind of gloomy that makes you laugh. When he’s focusing on something, he gets an angry look on his face, but it’s just a look. Like Sami, he’s loyal, but you wouldn’t know it to listen to him. You’d think that Charlie doesn’t like anybody or anything, but it’s just that he’s so gloomy about it. I don’t even remember how we became friends. We went to the same school right from the beginning, and just sort of gravitated towards each other over the years. He says he wants to be a brain surgeon or a heart surgeon or a bone doctor, whichever one makes the most money.
Charlie is thin, and a little shorter than me. He has one special talent: he can dance like Michael Jackson. Along with signed posters on his wall—I don’t believe Michael Jackson actually signed them—he keeps an MJ costume, with white sparkly gloves and shiny black shoes. Charlie can do a whole MJ routine, including the moonwalk, when no one’s watching. He calls me Billie-Jean, after one of MJ’s best songs.
SAMI: “Guys. Let’s go to my place and play Demon Revival X; there’s nobody home.”
CHARLIE: “There’s never anybody home, Sami. Your place is a tomb. Let’s grab some candy and go to the park. It’s nice outside.”
ME: “Actually, guys, I want to show you something.”
CHARLIE: “What?”
ME: “Something special.”
SAMI: “What?”
ME: “You have to see it.”
SAMI: “No, you have to tell us.”
ME: “You have to see it. Come on, it’s not far.”
CHARLIE: “Where is it?”
Charlie falls apart if he has to walk anywhere he doesn’t want to go.
ME: “It’s really close.”
