Page 20 of Storm over the Caribbean
Helping myself, I jumped down from the stage, pulled up a chair and settled in for the show. This was going to be good.
Up on the stage, Mr Rikkard Ambrose was still doing his best to freeze the crowd solid with his gaze. When he finally concluded his problem was not going to vanish by dying of hypothermia, he drew in a sharp, short breath, clenched his teeth, and began.
“I am here today to…” For a long moment, he wrestled with himself, clearly unwilling to say the next, outrageous, words. “…speak to you.”
Silence.
“To speak to you about a subject that, in recent years, I could not help but think about again and again.” His eyes bored into me like professional mining equipment. “In fact, I couldn’t help butface this issue repeatedly. Again. And. Again.”
I beamed. Wasn’t I spiffing?
“The issue I speak of, and which I came to espouse here today is…” A pause. Another pause. His little finger twitched. “…women’s rights.”
I had to admit it was impressive how he managed to almost choke on two little words.
“Since meeting and getting to know my wife, my views of the fairer sex have changed dramatically,” Mr Ambrose continued, his icy voice carrying effortlessly across the silent crowd. “Women play an integral part in our lives. We live with them, wetrustthem…” Once again, his eyes bored into me. “Never do we realize how horrific it would be if, one day, that trust were to be betrayed.”
Folding my hands, I started to whistle innocently.
“Now, some might say that is unlikely, but I know what women have to go through on a daily basis. Day in, day out, they have to work, and work, and work, and never receive a word of thanks or recognition for it. Why,” he finished, staring at me in away that made me question my life choices, “some even have towork while they are pregnant!”
Boos and jeers rose from the crowd at the outrage.
“I say, enough! I say, it is time we start treating women differently!” By now, his gaze was intense enough to probably cause frost to appear on my nose. “It is time we treat them exactly. How. They. Deserve.”
The boos were swiftly replaced by cheers and clapping. Women stood, chanting “Wo-men’s-rights! Wo-men’s-rights!”.
I wondered…would they still be cheering if they realized what he was actually talking about?
I glanced at his perfect, chiselled profile.
Oh, who am I kidding! Of course they would.
“The laws regarding women in this society must be changed!” Mr Ambrose declared, pounding the lectern with a rock-hard fist. He really seemed to have found his flow as an orator. “And I know exactly what changes I would like to implement.”
Matrimonial bondage? Spousal servitude?
“We must stand firm!” Rikkard Ambrose declared, his hand reaching out, and the crowd responded, clapping and waving their fists in support. “We must unite to fight for what is right, and ensure that women across the country receive what is due to them!”
Again, cheers exploded from everywhere. I, for my part, simply stared at him in pure, unadulterated awe. Only Mr Rikkard Ambrose could give a speech about women’s rights while wordlessly suggesting they shouldn’t have any. I didn’t quite know whether to applaud or pelt him with bits of solid chocolate.
I did neither. Instead, I raised a hand and asked, “Excuse me, Mr Ambrose, could you elaborate a bit on that? What exactly is it that’s due to women? What do they deserve?”
I gave him my sweetest obedient-little-wife smile. From all around, dozens of expectant gazes zeroed in on Mr Rikkard Ambrose.
Mr Ambrose’s little finger twitched.
“Why, naturally, it is…” He swallowed, somehow looking as if he’d swallowed vinegar, while not moving a single facial muscle. “…equality.” A moment of silence. “Freedom.” Another moment of silence. If that’s what you can call a moment filled with the noises of teeth grinding. “The right to…towork. And…vote.”
If his previous statement had been greeted with cheers, it was nothing compared to the cacophony of hoorays and shouts that exploded from the crowd now. Somewhere at the back, a few of the women started another chant of “Am-brose! Am-brose!”. Out of the corner of my eyes, I caught several of them eyeing me jealously.
I couldn’t quite keep the self-satisfied smirk off my face.Yep, that’s right, ladies. He’s mine!
My eyes swept back to Mr Rikkard Ambrose, whose white-knuckled fists were currently doing their best to crack the lectern in half.
Although, right now, that might not be such a good thing.
Up on the stage, Mr Ambrose shoved the pedestal aside and started stalking towards me. In a blink, he was down from the podium, rapidly crossing the distance between us.
