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‘The impression I get is that Quebec’s hatred of anglophone Canada transcends anything they could work up against O.N.A.N. Just mention 1759 and the Moms’s lips disappear. Pemulis and Axford keep coming early and putting a big gothic 1759 on the blackboard before GÔcMJ just to watch the Moms’s lips disappear when she comes in and sees it.’

‘My sense is the Subject concurs on the hatred-assessment. They want plain out, always have. Health-care and NAFTA be damned. That’s why they sabotaged all three Meech Lake Accords, she says. She seems to imply the anti-O.N.A.N. thing is some sort of anomalous dodge or something.’

‘I’ve got to confess a sort of curiosity now about this profiler you just last week were preparing to fend off about Himself. Not to mention comparing her to defensive linemen. Rubensian was never your type, I didn’t think.’

‘…’

‘Plus any Subject you’re bothering about even giving the impression of depth to. This is more work than your type of Subject tends to demand, usually, isn’t it?’

‘…’

‘This is something else that isn’t you. You’ve never exactly been shy about discussing Subjects with me.’

‘It’s complex. She’s grown on me.’

‘It’s this certain way she takes notes on your explanation of Coffin-Corner punts.’

‘It’s complicated. There’s a lot I’m not saying. She’s got levels. I’ve discovered levels and dimensions to her I didn’t know were originally there.’

‘Oh O., please don’t let it just be you’ve just discovered she’s married with little kids.

That’s not it by any chance is it? Please let it be something other than little kids.’

‘…’

‘Let it be something other than the hordes of other Subjects I’ve sat and listened to excruciatingly detailed sadistic blow-by-blow Strategic accounts of. Orin “Home-wrecker” Incandenza, this is what the team calls you, in like jest? You sick pup.’

‘I’m a sick pup? I’m the sick one?’

‘… Wants to blame her, won’t admit it, needs to, won’t admit it, sweepingly blames the whole affair of Himself on her, won’t interface with her or worse even acknowledge her, resents even the fact she forgives things like you and Marlon Bain killing her dog —’

‘— a hit-and-run-and-back-up-and-hit-again driver, I told you rep—’

‘— pretends he gets the most retardate PR staffer he can make hold the crayon to send grotesque solecistic pseudo-impersonal replies to her pathetic letters. Jethro Bodine, O.? Jethro Bodine?

‘A private chuckle. She’d never get it.’

‘Disowns her — worse, sicker, tells himself he’s convinced himself she doesn’t even exist, as if she never existed, but by some coincidence has this rapacious fetish for young married mothers he can strategize into betraying their spouses and maybe damaging their kids for all time, and has this apparently even more rapacious compulsive need to call the blood-relative he hasn’t even seen in four years and tell him all about every Subject and Strategy, blow-by-blow, long distance, in nanomicroscopic detail. Let’s stop and ponder this all for a moment, O., what say?’

‘I’m letting all this be just water off a duck’s back. I can tell it’s the tooth talking. I can remember the stress of the place. All I can say is that trust me here: this Moment Subject is like strickenly dissimilar from what you’re indicting. The levels and circumstances aren’t the ones you’re so anxious to call rapacious. Is all I can say at this juncture.’