Looking for Jane (41)
Allan turns his back on the women, feigning interest in the stone carvings in the vaulted ceiling above his head. Paula lifts a length of chain out of her giant handbag and lowers it as slowly as she can into Evelyn’s. The bustle and chatter of the people around them is noisy, but the clinking of the chains is still audible.
“How are we going to get them out of our bags once we’re inside?” Evelyn asks in an undertone. “They’re going to hear us, see us doing it.”
Paula shrugs. “Just do your best. It’s a protest. It won’t be smooth and I’m sure it’ll go sideways at some point. But it’s the media coverage that counts, and if we can get Question Period shut down, so much the better. The point is, it’s a bunch of men in there making decisions on our behalf, so we need to interrupt the decision-making. It’s our turn to have a voice now, Eve. And remember, if you get hauled away by security, don’t give them your name unless they absolutely force you to. We don’t think they have the resources to actually arrest us all, and it would be a bad headline, anyway.” Transfer of the chains complete, she adds, “Thanks, Allan!”
Evelyn’s companion turns back around, winking at Paula. “Dinner tomorrow night, Paula, after I bail you out of jail? I think you still owe me dinner for the last time.”
“I love and appreciate all the bailing you’ll ever do for me, Allan.” Paula winks back at him, then disappears into the crowd to distribute more chains.
Within another half hour, Evelyn and Allan have settled themselves in their seats in the gallery. Evelyn’s instructions are to wait for one of the leaders to stand up and start shouting her protest, at which point they assume several guards will haul her out of the gallery. During the commotion, the other women are supposed to whip out their chains and attach themselves to their chairs or the nearby railings. Then they’ll each shout out in turn until—hopefully—the Speaker shuts down the proceedings.
Evelyn’s heart starts to race as the doors are shut and locked by those very same security guards, each with crossed arms and generic stern faces.
“Bloody hell, this is fun,” Allan mutters beside her with a chuckle.
Evelyn smiles, despite her nervousness. She glances down at the members of Parliament strolling in across the pea-green carpet below. Suits, bald heads, and shoes shinier than mirrors. The men who have never in their lives had to worry about getting pregnant, dying in childbirth, or trying to access an abortion within their own restrictive system. Paula’s right, Evelyn thinks. It is time for their voices to be heard. To show these clueless men what it feels like to have your life disrupted by the actions of others. To feel helpless and afraid and angry and unable to stop what’s happening to you.
Just a few minutes in, a woman on the west side of the gallery stands up and bellows down into the Chamber, shaking her fist. “Free abortion on demand! Women are dying because of your law, Trudeau! Shame on you, sir! Shame on all of you! Free abortion—”
The two guards at the gallery door immediately descend on her as the Prime Minister and all the representatives in the Chamber turn their heads up toward the commotion. The Prime Minister looks back down at his desk and purses his lips, ignoring the woman.
“Evelyn, the chain!” Allan says.
“Damn it!” She was so distracted by the shouting woman that she forgot her cue. “I’ll wait for the next one,” she whispers back, but already feels as though she’s failed. Allan nods.
Almost instantly another woman yells out, this time in the east gallery. “We won’t be silenced, Trudeau! Free abortion on demand! Free—”
The guards, anticipating the disturbance, apprehend the woman, but this time Evelyn is ready. She lifts the chain out of her purse and wraps it around and around the arm of her chair as quickly as she can with Allan’s help. A woman behind her gasps.
“Order in the gallery!” the Speaker shouts upward, his booming voice carrying into the very back rows. “Order, I say! Control yourself, madam!”
The third protest comes from a woman several seats down on Evelyn’s right. The fourth from the west side again. The fifth from Evelyn’s own mouth, before she even has a chance to think about what she’s saying. It’s as if a stranger stood up in her body and shrieked the words over the excited, outraged chattering from the public gallery and the dark mutterings of deep male voices from the Chamber.
As the entire gallery erupts around her, Evelyn makes eye contact with the Prime Minister, who holds her gaze before strong male hands grasp each of her arms. She stiffens as one of the guards yanks on the chain, but when they nearly lift her rigid body into the air to carry her out, her self-defence training kicks in, and she goes limp. Both the guards pitch forward as her weight drags them all back down. Her head smacks against the back of the chair, and she winces as Allan shouts an admonishment to the guards. Everything is chaos. Evelyn stays as lifeless and heavy as a sack of onions. The guards end up half dragging her out of the gallery.
One of the guards gives her a kick in frustration. “Get up!” he bellows at her, his face beet-red and his doughy forehead beading with sweat. He’s angry. He feels helpless. He’s unable to stop what’s happening. And that’s all Evelyn needs.
“Make me, asshole!” She hardly recognizes herself, but she doesn’t care. “Make me, then!”
He spits on her and reaches down, grasping her arm again in both his hands. He pulls—hard—and Evelyn feels something in her shoulder wrench out of place. She cries out as the other guard yells at his partner to stop.