We ate at Hamburger Heaven, a fast-food place a notch above most with cloth napkins and ceramic coffee cups. She might have preferred La Cuiller d’Argent, but I wasn’t in a mood for French just then. As we ate Mammothburgers (not made, I hope, from the flesh of that creature), I explained my plan: “If Mr. Goodman’s letter is published –”
“If.”
“And if the vandal sees it –”
“If.”
“And if provoked into striking again –”
“If again.”
“We may get him.”
“And if he turns out to be a woman?”
Drat! Feminists even want equality in crime.
The next morning I made a list of all the houses withing a two-block radius of the Goodmans and, armed with a questionnaire I had created, I surveyed the area, getting mostly noes or no-answers, but at the home of the Lee-Strattons (how English), Mrs. L-S asked: “Does my husband count as bilingual? He works for the public service and he’s just finished his third course in French. He needs it to keep his job.”
“Mais oui,” I said sympathetically.
“I’m afraid he’s not a very good linguist, but he tries hard. He watches French TV channels and he bought a big Québec flag, you know, the blue fleur-de-lys, and he intends to fly it on St. Jean Baptiste Day. He gets very upset when he sees editorials attacking bilingualism.”
I thanked Mrs. Lee-Stratton, surveyed a few more houses in case people compared experiences with their neighbours, and went home.
Two days late, Mr. Goodman’s letter appeared in the paper, so I carried out the next step in my plan: at the paint store, I bought a dozen cans of spray paint — robin’s-egg blue and ash gray — and one can of Screaming Orange. This last colour was a kindergarten pupil’s delight. Then I met Amanda for lunch and gave her the spray paint with instructions to distribute them through the neighbourhood as free samples, making sure that she left the Screaming Orange at the Lee-Strattons’.
“What if he’s colour-blind?”
“Achromotopsia.”
“Bless you.”
“Thank you. That’s the medical term for colourblindness. But I’m pretty sure he isn’t and that he has a predilection for bright colours.”
We left, she to give out the paint, I to wait and read.
The next day the paper carried several responses, pro and con, to Mr. Goodman’s letter, and he called to tell me, more graffiti …in bright orange.
