THE CITY OF THE LONER - Chapter Four

4 - THE PLEBISCITE

In just a week, we had completely adapted to life in the City. Mom was welcomed, not only by the housewives on our street, but by all of the women in the City. She felt immensely at ease with these caring, attentive women, whose good natures radiated happiness. They welcomed her to join them in simple and true friendship.

“Who wouldn’t be happy in a place like this?” she asked, thanking God for guiding her when she made her choice.
My dad became a new man, filled with confidence. He even looked younger. He had found his
niche and was sure to grow professionally.

As soon as he arrived, his mind began to churn with fantastic ideas that would soon become
reality. He noticed at once that there were no rivers in the City, and even though the beautiful man-made lake was cherished by the population, he couldn’t accept that the landscape had no river and no bridges. In spite of the logical explanation that there was no water over which a bridge would span, it still seemed a shame. Finally and lamentably, he noticed that the City had neither a public square, garden nor park, where adults could meet and children could run and play.

Dad was an architect. He had the refined taste and sensitivity of landscapers and urban
planners. He specialized in beautification and humanization of cities. In the City, three of his projects, produced not only personal satisfaction for him, but also motives for pride for the City’s population. They also guaranteed my father’s name for posterity.

Dad started with the river. It was a simple project to implement. He said that it would consist of a deep channel dug into the earth, according to a preestablished route. Its source would be the Lake of the City, from which it would flow winding around some of the streets downtown past a few suburbs and finally spilling into the unknown. It was simple task in spite of its Babylonian
dimensions. The construction brought to mind projects of the Egyptian pharaohs.

Thousands of men worked like ants, each conscious of his responsibility. They dug into the soil, transferring the earth to the backs of trucks. When the trucks were loaded, their engines roared, and smoky fumes filled the air as they departed slowly dragging the weight.

When they finally finished their task, the river was beautiful with its crystalline water from the
man-made lake.

Surprisingly, the lake never dried up. It was as if there were no river at all draining its waters. Nothing changed, and the people of the City continued appreciating the view the Lake and the River that had become part of
their lives.

When the project was finished, my dad did not even consider stopping to rest.

“Stop? Not even to catch my breath!” he said as he got ready to build the bridge.

He chose a delightful spot. He wanted it to have a Baroque style, but had to carefully avoid a
clash with either the City’s 16th Century architecture or the more modern buildings nearby. The outcome would be admirable. In his mind he was positive that the man-made lake, the river and the town square — which would soon be built — would create perfect harmony.

In an area of the square that had the best view of the lawns, the flowerbeds and the children’s
playground, he built a monument. It was a transparent pedestal, tinged the color of the water of the Lake of the City. Its surfaces were planes of varied widths and heights. On the widest column, he placed a crystal plaque of similar transparency. At first, the people of the City were confused, thinking that the monument was incomplete: a pedestal without a statue and a plaque without an inscription. The people were curious, wondering whose memory would be
preserved on the beautiful work of art. Who would be honored?

No response was given. Yet, the people continued to admire the beauty and perfect equilibrium
of lines and forms of the anonymous monument.

Circling the monument, were tables and chairs that my dad had placed there, so that the area would become a meeting place, where people would sit and relax while enjoying unhurried, light, and happy conversations. For some time the main subject of conversation was the inauguration of the three public works. There was no way that the event would be forgotten because everyone enjoyed rehashing the entire process, especially the plebiscite and Teto's discovery of the waterfall.

A plebiscite was going to be held because the population was divided. One group wanted to have three separate parties, one for each project. The other was in favor of one magnificent celebration. That side defended its idea, saying that the river, the bridge and the town

square were indivisible, and therefore one project.

To end the disagreement, my dad suggested that the mayor consult the population. A true democrat, my father believed that problems that involved the population could only be solved with direct participation of the population.

“You’re suggesting a plebiscite?” asked the mayor.
“Yes,” answered my father.
“Okay. I agree.”

The mayor always listened to my father’s suggestions. He had learned to admire in him and to
confide in him from the time that he first saw Dad’s plans for the City. So, he immediately called Secretary and ordered that measures be taken to call the population to a plebiscite.

“What’s a plebiscite, Mayor?”
“You don’t know what a plebiscite is! Unbelievable! How can my Secretary, the Mayor’s
Secretary not know something of this nature.”

Mayor was irritated. He couldn’t accept that kind of ignorance, especially in someone in his own
cabinet.

“I’m sorry, but I must confess that it’s the first time that I ever heard the word.”

From the frankness of the Secretary, Mayor deduced that many other people in the community were also probably unaware. This would be a great opportunity to build consciousness among the citizens and to build his reputation as an enlightened politician. Looking straight into his Secretary's eyes, he gruffly stated his order.

“You know very well that I do not like to teach individuals over and over when a group could be
taught all at once. So, call a meeting for everyone who works for the municipal government. I’d like to address the entire group.”

The order was received and carried out.

That night the auditorium was full. Smiling and confident, Mayor made his way through the audience. What he planned to say was on the tip of his tongue.

What a beautiful speech!

He had a gift for speaking and he used it well. In the middle of his presentation at the perfect
moment, he delivered his message, his voice ringing with authority:

“...and consequently your city government will be presenting an idea to you, the people. It is you who will decide to accept or not accept the proposal. A Plebiscite is just that: the vote of the people “yes” or “no”.

He concluded his speech with two decrees; the first, convoking the people to the popular vote, and second, appointing a committee to be in charge of writing the proposal ballot.

As usual, Secretary went right about dispatching orders and everything was organized quickly. Soon two illustrious writers of the intellectual community began arguing over the best way to clearly word the proposal. One wanted to promote the single celebration; another supported three distinct commemorations.

Actually, there was no reason for the two to be in opposition: they realized that whatever the wording of the question, the will of the people, based on their votes, would prevail.

Luckily, the two men put their differences aside, and with a bit of understanding on both parts, the wall that divided them tumbled.

By the end of negotiations, the proposal
consisted of one short question:

“Do you want the inauguration of the three projects to consist of three separate celebrations? _____ YES _____NO

The people would mark their preference with an X to show their preference.

And that is how the plebiscite would be decided.