The Kingdon of No Worries

by Philip Roy

  “But … nobody owned that land before we claimed it.”

  “Yes, but it sits in the middle of the city, and so the city feels a right to assume ownership of it, and the police are simply the strong arm of the law, acting on the city’s behalf. There’s nothing personal about it; they simply believe you are breaking the law, which, if they take you to court and prove it, they will have the right to evict you. All Sami’s father did for you was buy you some time. Unless you can get a court to grant your kingdom sovereignty, then when those thirty days are up, they will forcibly evict you from the premises. Being twelve years old, I don’t think you’ll get prison time.” Dad smiles. “But some of the people on your island might get arrested. They certainly will if they resist the police.”

  “But … how can the city feel the right to assume ownership? The city’s not a person, so how can it feel anything?”

  “Well, you’re right, I suppose. But the city is us, isn’t it? It’s all of us. And just as you guys are the leaders of your kingdom, the city has to have leaders who make decisions on behalf of the rest of us. Our leaders are duly elected, of course, and so if we don’t like the decisions they make, we can change our leadership. That’s democracy. But you understand all of that now, right? Merki said you were reading The Republic.”

  “Uhh … yeah, sort of.”

  “Good for you. Remember: the police are only acting on behalf of the City Council, who act on our behalf, and so, crazy as it may seem, the police are just acting in your own best interest when they evict you from where you are not legally allowed to be.”

  “Okay, I understand that, but it sure doesn’t feel like they are acting on our behalf.”

  “Try not to take it personally. Joe Henderson, the Chief of Police, is a friend of mine. He’s a great guy, but I wouldn’t want him to catch me breaking the law.”

  “The Chief of Police is your friend?”

  “Yes. We went to school together, just like you and your friends. I remember him when we used to play on the monkey bars. Come to think of it, he was a stickler for the rules back then, too.”

  “Oh. Thanks, Dad.”

  “No worries. I’ve got to go. We’re ripping up Princess Street today, and I don’t want to miss it because I was there when it was paved for the first time.”

  “Okay. See ya, Dad.”

  “See ya, King Billy.”

  Chapter 14

  THE SUMMER IS LONG and hot and dry. The river drops a foot and a half, which makes it easier for people to cross. There are even places where people can cross without getting their clothes wet. We’re very happy about that because when your clothes get wet every day, your skin gets itchy.

  With less water in the river, the kingdom grows by twenty-five percent. That’s a lot. But it doesn’t take long for the extra land to get covered with plants, animals, and people. Our homeless population swells to five tents, seven people, three dogs, and one rat, because one of the homeless people has a pet rat. There are also two stray dogs who have escaped the city’s dog-catcher and made the kingdom their home. They’re really friendly, and every day they make the rounds to get petted and fed by hundreds of people.

  Our garden grows higher and wider, as people bring over small trees and bushes, which grow very quickly, even though it is a dry summer and the grass above the riverbanks turns yellow. The soil in the kingdom is watered by the river, so the plants here stay green and lush. From a distance it looks like an oasis in the middle of a desert.

  There is also a large portable shelter set up, just poles and a tarp, under which a hundred people can sit out of the sun, or two hundred if they squeeze together. Many older people sit there in the shade and read, especially in the mornings, or watch street performers in the afternoons, or listen to concerts in the evenings. The Briffin Bach Society performs every Sunday now because they have become so popular. Their first concert featured “The Four Seasons,” music by an Italian composer called Vivaldi. Everybody loved it, even the people who don’t like classical music. There’s something special about hearing music outside, any music, in the middle of a river.

  There’s jazz music, too, and rock, disco, and pop. There are singers who sing songs for children, and singers who sing songs for old people.

  We have accepted more advertisements, too. People come from other cities to advertise in the kingdom. The portable toilets (there are five of them now) are completely pasted with advertisements on the inside and out. There are ads for roofing, gardening supplies, libraries, churches, laundromats, grocery stores, garages, and almost everything you can think of.

  If you add up all the money we have taken in from the very beginning of the kingdom, we have earned six thousand, two hundred and thirty-seven dollars. What we have left is thirty-seven dollars.

  One thing we have learned in running our own country: it is a lot easier to earn money than it is to keep it, because the line-up of people looking for money is just as long as the line-up of people who want to advertise. The money goes out just as quickly as it comes in. The Kingdom of No Worries is now the proud sponsor of the Briffin Shelter for Wounded Puppies and Kittens; the Briffin Soup Kitchen; the Briffin Chapter of Amnesty International; the Canadian Association for the Rehabilitation of Race Horses; the Briffin Lost Child Fund; the Huronia Historical Society; and the Briffin Public Library.

  We’ve had more interviews, too. In fact, there are interviews almost every other day, from faraway places. We’ve been interviewed by TV reporters from the US, Britain, Germany, France, Spain, Italy, Australia, India, and Japan. Mostly they ask us the same questions, although they sound different in different accents. We’ve become better at answering them, being kings for a while now. When we are asked why we started the Kingdom of No Worries, our answers sound more like this:

  SAMI: “When we look at the world today, we realize that it needs more places where people can live in harmony, equality, and fairness, without fear of oppression.”

  CHARLIE: “Our dream is to make the Kingdom of No Worries a model country for all the world to see.”

  ME: “We have learned that people of all walks of life can come together and be happy and joyful and have fun together, even when their interests are different.”

  SAMI: “We have learned that people everywhere are basically the same, even when they speak different languages, have different coloured skin, eat different food, listen to different music, and wear different clothes. Everyone just wants to be happy and live in harmony.”

  CHARLIE: “We have learned that you don’t need a lot of money to be happy if you are willing to share.”

  For twenty of the thirty days granted by the injunction, life in the kingdom is blissful. Everyone is happy and the river is a beautiful place to be. Flowers have blossomed everywhere, birds have made nests in the taller bushes and sing in the mornings and evenings, people carry over barbeques, and there is always food for everyone.

  But on the twenty-first morning there is a change. I don’t know what it is exactly but I can feel it. Maybe it’s a small change in the weather, I don’t know. It’s still hot and dry, but the air seems to carry dampness in the morning and night, like a fine mist, so that it feels as though rain is on its way, even though it isn’t in the forecast.

  On this morning, long before we normally receive people in the Council, we have a visit by two men who say they have something important to share with us. So, we take our seats in the Council, which is now under a tarp to protect us from the sun. One of the men is holding a folded paper that he opens, holds up, and shows to us. It’s a map. He speaks with a husky voice and a native accent. He says he is the chief of a First Nation.

  CHIEF: “Good morning. We have come here today to tell you that this island is not your land. This is First Nations land.”

  Sami, Charlie, and I stare at each other. We are shocked.

  ME: “How can it be First Nations land? It wasn’t even here before?”

  The chief makes a face like a smile, but it isn’
t really a smile.

  CHIEF: “It was here before. Look at this map. This map was drawn in 1837. Here you can see the land that became the city. That is our land, too. Look here and you will see the river run through the city. See in the middle of the river, where we are now. This land was here before. This land is sacred. This was a burial ground for our people. You have no right to be here. This is our land.”

  CHARLIE: “Let me see that.”

  Charlie jumps up and stares at the map closely. Sami and I do, too. It’s a photocopy of an old map. It’s faded and roughly drawn, and hard to make out anything clearly. I see what looks like a river, but I have to squint, and can’t see an island in it.

  ME: “I don’t see it.”

  The chief nods his head.

  CHIEF: “It is our land.”

  CHARLIE: “This is the Kingdom of No Worries.”

  CHIEF: “No. This is First Nations land. You have no right to be here.”

  We don’t know what to say. When we ask the men what they think we should do, they say we should leave, and take everyone else with us. We explain that we have a court injunction that gives us thirty days before anyone can move us off the island. They say that doesn’t mean anything to them, that we should leave right now.

  But we don’t want to, so we just sit and stare at the two men for a really long time, which is very uncomfortable. Eventually more people come over, and someone starts playing a guitar, someone lights a barbeque, and people begin working in the garden. Finally the two men turn and leave, but say that they will be back.

  As I’m lying in bed trying to sleep, I hear Merilee come upstairs and flop onto her bed. Sometimes she falls asleep with her clothes on. I wonder if other families are like ours. Probably not. I get out of bed and tap lightly on her door.

  “What do you want?”

  “Can I ask you a question?”

  “I should charge you for it; you guys must be worth thousands by now.”

  I push open the door and enter the darkness of her room. “We were, but we gave it all away.”

  “Holy crap. Did it ever occur to you that you might need money to run a country?”

  “It’s really hard to keep money around; there are so many important organizations that need it.”

  “Who doesn’t? Still, you need money to run a country. You should hire a treasurer.”

  “What’s a treasurer?”

  “Someone who will watch your money for you, so that you don’t give it all away.”

  “Do you know where we could find someone like that?”

  “I could do it for you.”

  “Really? You would?”

  “For a fee, of course. Never hire a treasurer who works for free.”

  “Why not?”

  “A treasurer who works for free has no real concept of money. Either that or they’re corrupt and stealing behind your back.”

  “How much would we have to pay you?”

  “I don’t know. A percentage, I suppose.”

  “I’ll have to discuss it with the Council.”

  “You do that. What’s your question?”

  “Some First Nations people came to see us today. They told us we are on their land, and that we have to get off.”

  “That’s probably true.”

  “What should we do?”

  “Either get off, or take it to court. You probably won’t win but it ought to buy you at least a couple of decades. If you’re still living in your kingdom when you’re thirty years old, it’d be a blessing if someone kicked you off.”

  “But they say it is an old burial ground, and that we are disrespecting their ancestors by being here.”

  “So … show them some respect.”

  “How?”

  “I don’t know, invite them to a celebration, invite them to showcase their culture, have a ceremony for the dead, I don’t know, I have to get some sleep. Close the door on your way out.”

  “Okay. Thanks.”

  “No worries. Let me know if you want me to be your treasurer.”

  “Okay.”

  Chapter 15

  ON THE 28TH DAY of our 30-day immunity period (that’s what the newspapers call it), we hold a celebration to honour the ancestors of the First Nations people who have been buried here. We advertise in the paper but don’t really expect many people to notice it. We are so wrong. It turns out to be the busiest day we’ve ever had in the kingdom. In our advertisement, which has been created by our new treasurer, we have invited anyone with an interest or association with Indigenous culture to come to the kingdom and share their thoughts, feelings, music, art, stories, and gifts. We are completely overwhelmed with the response.

  The day starts early. People who look like they are First Nations, and people who don’t, come over with tables, chairs, drums, decorated spears, decorated clothing and start preparing themselves for performances of music and dance.

  People bring over pictures and hang them from temporary walls they make out of poles. One corner of the garden becomes a sort of gallery of First Nations art. There are also a couple of storytellers, but they speak so softly, and there’s so much noise, and we’re so busy, that we never get to hear them.

  People from other cultures come, too, and we wonder if they misunderstood our advertisement, because there are people in traditional dress from Africa, India, and South America. The First Nations people don’t seem to mind. They just go about their celebration as if they are the only ones there. But each group cooks its own style of food on barbeques and open grills, and the smells that drift across the kingdom are amazing.

  Green Daddy’s still sends over pizza, though Sami, Charlie, and I never get any anymore because our homeless population has grown so much, and the homeless people are always hungry. They greet the pizza delivery guy as soon as they see him coming across the river.

  We watch for the two First Nations men who told us to leave but never see them, although they might have come in traditional dress and we just don’t recognize them. The native people wear feathers on their heads and clothes. Their clothes are made of deerskin and are covered with beads.

  In the middle of the afternoon, another group of First Nations people come down the river in a birchbark canoe. They’re smiling and laughing as they pull the canoe out of the water and join the celebration. There are so many people in the kingdom now you can hardly see beyond walls of smiling faces and waving arms.

  In the late afternoon, we recruit a group of volunteers to run around and quiet everyone down so that the First Nations people can hold a ceremony to honour their ancestors. They do this with drums, dancing, and chanting, while thousands watch from the kingdom, and from the riverbanks. Film crews are there to capture everything. It is so amazing.

  After the ceremony, there are a few moments of silence in the kingdom, which is really strange considering there are so many people. Somehow that silence, more than anything else I have witnessed all summer long, shows me the power of people when they come together. Because it is easy to make noise with lots of people, but to create silence takes the will of everyone all at the same time. This creates a collective will. When there is a collective will in the air, it creates an energy that you can feel in every molecule of your body. It is a little scary even, because you know that the energy can be used for either good or bad. Today, it is used for good. But if it were ever to turn bad, as in a riot or something, I would be very afraid of it.

  The silence is broken eventually by a little talking, laughter, something sizzling on a grill, and the wind. It is then, in the moments immediately after the silence, that I feel the summer change. I don’t know what it is exactly but it is in the air, in the wind, and maybe in the dampness. If I were superstitious, which I’m not, I might even say that it is because we have woken the spirits of the people buried where we are standing. And they have woken in a grumpy mood.

  The day stretches out to be the longest day in the kingdom, with hundreds of people staying past midnight. Merilee st
ays, and so do Sami, Charlie, and I, with our parents’ permission. A hot haze hangs in the air, the sun goes down in a flash of deep red, and you can feel that a change of weather is coming.

  The heat stays long after the sun goes down. It’s in the sand and water, like the heat of a hot thunderstorm. But still the rain does not come. A little after midnight my mom and dad come to pick us up, and we give Sami and Charlie a ride home. It’s the first time my mom and dad have ever come to the kingdom together. They wander around as if they are visiting an island in the Caribbean. It is so strange to see them here and for them to see us treated as the rulers of our own country.

  They see Merilee waiting anxiously for us to make up our minds over a suggestion she has come up with for raising money: a plan in which people can pay five dollars to have their names inscribed on a small wooden footbridge to be built across the river from Briffin to the Kingdom of No Worries.

  Merilee has already collected seventy-five dollars, and we haven’t even made up our minds yet. But finally we do, and Merilee looks as pleased as when she gets an A+ in school, which she does all the time. Then we squeeze into the car, with Charlie on Sami’s lap, and Merilee returns to her old self, telling me that I stink and need to take a bath as soon as we get home. She’s right about that, too.

  Chapter 16

  THE NEXT DAY, our final day of immunity, is by far the strangest on the island. It’s one of those days where, whichever way you turn, you see something weird happening, so that you just kind of wish you could go back home, climb into bed, and stay out of trouble. But we can’t. We have a film crew coming. Merilee is arranging for a contractor to give an estimate for building the bridge. The Briffin Bach Society is putting on a special concert with the Briffin Children’s Choir, for the Children’s Hospital, for which we have promised to clear a space and make sure they have shade and refreshments.

  It starts with a dead dog. An old dog floats down the river and washes up on the north side of the island. We discover it when we are making our inspection. Charlie sees it first.