A candidate with no pockets

The following morning, MIEP appeared on the fourth line. Joep had added an exclamation mark. It hadn’t fitted on the paper, so he’d written it on the noticeboard.

‘That is exactly why the paper has an edge,’ said Miss Safia.

Joep rubbed the exclamation mark with his sleeve. It became a grey smudge. The smudge looked a bit like a goose, provided you knew you were supposed to be looking at a goose.

‘Miep lives next to the school,’ he said. ‘So she’s part of it.’

Safia looked at the letter. At the fourth line. Then at Vera, who had suddenly become very busy putting the cap on a felt-tip pen.

‘Did you think of this together?’

‘A bit,’ said Vera.

‘It was my idea,’ Joep said at once. ‘Vera did the laughing.’

Eef wanted to know what a goose would do with a hundred and eighty euros.

‘Buy apples,’ somebody said at the back.

‘Lots of apples.’

‘An apple tree!’

Safia took Vera’s pen. On the board she wrote: A REAL JOB. Underneath: AN HONORARY TITLE.

‘A goose can’t be responsible for money,’ she said. ‘She can’t tell us what needs doing. And geese have other things to do besides being mayors.’

‘She hasn’t got any pockets either,’ said Joep.

‘Sometimes I haven’t. That isn’t the main problem.’

Vera tried to imagine Miep with a purse. Mostly she could see loose coins lying in the grass.

‘But,’ Safia went on, ‘an honorary mayor doesn’t have to look after money. They can be a cheerful mascot for the village. If Bennie agrees, Miep can enter that election. We’ll have two votes. A white ballot paper for the children’s mayor. A yellow one for the mascot.’

Joep put up his hand.

‘Can I enter both?’

‘You’re already on the white list.’

‘What about the yellow one?’

‘For this election, a mascot must be an animal or a character you’ve made up.’

Joep sat up straight. ‘I can stand very still.’

‘You could start practising now.’

After the lesson, Vera and Joep were allowed to ask Bennie whether Miep could take part. Safia walked with them as far as the garden gate. Bennie was pulling a wheelbarrow out of a muddy corner. By the time he’d finished, there was mud on the wheelbarrow, on his boots, and on the bottom of his nose.

‘Miep? A mayor?’

He looked round. Miep had her beak in a shallow bowl of water. She rinsed a bit of grass and swallowed it.

‘She doesn’t know much about money,’ said Bennie. ‘Quite a lot about grass.’

Vera explained the two lists carefully. Joep wanted to help, but his main plan was to say all the important words louder.

‘It’s an honorary title,’ Vera finished. ‘She won’t have to make speeches.’

‘She’ll make them anyway,’ said Bennie.

The goose lifted her head from the bowl and honked.

‘See?’

Joep looked at the fence. ‘Perhaps we could give her a ribbon.’

‘No.’

‘Just a little—’

‘Not even a little ribbon. No hat, no chain and no coat. She has a perfectly good suit of feathers. She’s keeping it.’

Bennie rested the wheelbarrow against the shed. ‘And nobody hands out apples. Nobody picks her up or carries her to the platform. If she finds it too busy, we’ll take her back to her usual spot. The fair will manage perfectly well without a goose.’

Miep walked to the far end of the garden. Another goose was asleep there. She stood beside it and closed one eye.

Joep looked disappointed. ‘So she won’t actually campaign?’

‘She’ll be a goose. You can campaign.’

Vera was rather relieved. She hadn’t known how to explain things to Miep without having the explanation eaten.

‘We can make a poster, then?’ she asked.

‘For people, yes. Don’t put it in her water.’

On the way back, Joep stopped beside the school garden. Rows of lettuce grew behind little signs. Safia had put one sign in a clear sleeve because the rain kept washing the words away.

‘Miep must find this interesting,’ said Joep.

‘The lettuce?’

‘The election.’

‘She went to sleep.’

‘To save her energy.’

Vera picked up a twig and drew a goose in the earth. She made the belly far too big. It looked like a ball with a beak.

‘You could vote for that one,’ said Joep. ‘I could cut it out of cardboard.’

‘Then people would be voting for cardboard.’

‘That would make the counting easier.’

That afternoon Safia set out the rules for everybody. Children aged four to twelve could vote on the white list. Each visitor to the fair could cast one yellow vote, including children under four. An adult could help with the reading, but the voter had to make their own choice.

Vera wrote WHITE and YELLOW on two small pieces of paper and stuck them beside the list of candidates. Under Miep’s name she added an arrow: YELLOW. Then she moved her own name a little higher, further from the fold.

Joep put up a third piece of paper.

‘What’s that?’ Vera asked.

‘My trophy.’

He’d drawn a cup with two handles and an enormous base. A trophy that wouldn’t fit on much of anything.

‘You’re not mayor yet,’ said Eef, passing the board.

‘I’m practising.’

Eef nodded. ‘Me too.’ She took a real little spade out of her bag. Tape was wrapped round the handle. When she gently moved it, the blade fell on the floor.

Joep looked at the two separate pieces.

‘That one’s had enough practice.’

Eef picked up the blade. ‘It needs a plan.’