The Toronto Public Library has launched a guide to the upcoming election in Toronto, including survey responses from candidates to help voters get to know their priorities.
The Toronto Star will be posting articles about the council candidates in each ward, and the CBC has been profiling the candidates in Ottawa (1, 2), Thunder Bay, and Windsor/Essex County/Pelee Island. There’s some local media coverage of candidates in Hamilton and London as well.
Pelée and the Great Cleanup (alternative title: Why Dragons Are Effective Eco-Warriors)
Pelée the dragon liked to be busy.
At 7:30 every morning he flew all the way down the island to pick the children up for school, said hello to the turtles at Anse Dufour, looped Diamond Rock on the southern tip, and flew all the way back north again, dropping the children off on the way.
At 9 o’clock, he breakfasted on French bread from the bakery, and fish that the dolphins left on the beach.
After breakfast, he liked to count his treasure. Pelée had lots of treasure, and he was very particular about keeping it safe. His friend Picafleur the hummingbird whizzed up and down the steep slopes with him, poking his beak into all the nooks and crannies to help count.
Seventeen dried bougainvillea. The tooth of a hammerhead shark who had come to the island on holiday. An enormous claw from an enormous crab. Fourteen euros, six francs and a Caribbean dollar. Picafleur zoomed up to Pelée’s ear and hovered there, beating his wings too fast to be seen, to ask if the little black dog was part of his treasure too.
Pelée peered down. The little black dog wagged his tail.
“You don’t live here,” Pelée said. “Where is your home?”
Picafleur sent his hummingbird friends out across the island to search for the little dog’s home. They flashed purple and blue, silver and green as they raced away, stopping at flowers when they needed a drink. They hunted all over the island, but by the end of the day none of the hummingbirds had found the little black dog’s home.
Pelée made a rumbling sound deep in his belly. It made the ground shake.
“Your master needs to look after you better,” he said to the little black dog. “You’d better stay here and help me look after my treasure until we find him.”
After that he flew all the way around the island again to pick the children up from school and take them home, then went for a swim. The water was so clear he could see all the way down past his toes, to where Mr Lionfish hid in the shadow of the coral. Pelée liked to swim all the way out, upsetting the fishermen in their painted boats, and bob on the waves as the sun set. It turned the sky orange and pink and his scales shone turquoise.
When he went home he made sure to polish his scales extra-carefully until they returned to their normal green colour. Then he tipped his head back and yawned, sending a jet of flame high into the night sky.
All over the island, parents pointed out of the window to their children.
“Look, Pelée says it’s time for bed!”
Pelée turned round several times, careful not to trample any of the houses in Morne Rouge. Then he settled down and put his head under his wing to keep out the rain.
All over the island, parents tucked their children into bed and kissed them goodnight.
“Night night, sleep tight, don’t let the mosquitoes bite!”
“Night night,” Pelée said to Picafleur. “Sleep tight,” he said to the little black dog, who wagged his tail and curled up tight on a soft bed of banana leaves. “Don’t let the mosquitoes bite,” he said to himself, and chuckled, because his scales were far too thick for any mosquito to bite through. “Goodnight, everyone.”
The next day, Pelée woke up at 7 o’clock, as usual. He washed all over, paying particular attention to behind his ears and between his claws. He poured the rest of the water over his pineapple plants. Then he bunched up all his muscles, leaped into the air and spread his wings to catch an updraft, soaring away south to pick the children up for school.
He flew all the way south and skimmed the waves at Anse Dufour to say hello to the turtles. He couldn’t see any, so he looped Diamond Rock, and began zig-zagging back north, stopping to let the children climb off his back.
“Thank you Pelée,” they said as they ran into school. “Thank you! See you later!”
“Goodbye children. Be good!”
He stopped at his favourite bakery in Morne Rouge to pick up three fresh baguettes, two croissants, and a bone-shaped apple tart for the little black dog. Then he flew down to Le Carbet, where the dolphins left rows of fish on the beach for him to gobble up.
The beach was deserted.
Not just deserted. Empty.
Empty blue waves curled onto empty black sand.
There were no fish tantalisingly laid out to him to enjoy, and no dolphins breaching out to sea to say good morning and ask him how he liked his breakfast.
Pelée sat down and scratched his head. He was so confused that he didn’t even notice that he’d sat on a house until its owner came out to shout at him. He went to sit in the sea instead. The clear water broke around him and crashed onto the shore. There were no fish to be seen. Pelée looked at the man whose house he had sat on. He was short and round, with springy black hair, and his son Ewan rode to school on Pelée’s back every morning.
“Excuse me,” Pelée said politely. “Do you know where the dolphins have gone?”
The man shook his head.
Pelée was so worried he couldn’t finish his breakfast. He flew home to give the little black dog his apple tart, then took off again straight away.
He flew over Grand’Riviere and Lorrain, where the whales usually sang. Only today, there were no jets of water shooting up where they surfaced. He snagged two plastic bags out of the sea with his claws and kept flying. He flew over Sainte-Marie, where no fish swam, and Trinité, where surfers were the only things that moved. Pelée picked up a plastic bottle and a pair of old shoes and kept flying. Down to Diamond Rock and up the other side of the island, where no turtles paddled and no dolphins played and Mr Lionfish had disappeared from the shadow of the reef.
He stopped to post all the plastic he had collected into a recycling bin. He kept the shoes for himself. They would be an excellent addition to his treasure.
Picafleur and the little black dog were waiting for him when he got home.
“We have a problem,” Pelée said.
Picafleur flapped his wings so fast they hummed. “All the birds are talking about it. Where have the sea creatures gone?”
Pelée showed him the shoes, still dripping salt water. He couldn’t stand still, claws shooting out and retracting, a great rumble building in his tummy. “The sea is full of rubbish. Look. Old shoes. Clothes. Tin cans. I fished out plastic bottles and carrier bags this morning, and the water is still filthy. That’s why the animals have disappeared. The rubbish is making them sick.”
The little black dog put his head down and whined.
The sun was already sinking low over the empty sea when Pelée took off again on tired wings to pick the children up from school. They chattered and laughed as they clambered onto his back, pushing the younger ones into the middle so the big ones could feel the swoop in their tummies as Pelée banked and wheeled. But today he flew slowly, on long wingbeats. His head drooped.
“What’s wrong, Pelée?” A little girl asked.
He sighed and dropped several metres. “We should be protecting the world, but instead we are making it dirty, and now the sea creatures are disappearing.”
The little girl leant forward and spread her arms as wide as she could to give him a hug. She had long hair in tiny plaits and the beads on the ends clinked together. “Don’t be sad. When I go home tonight, I will pick up all the paper and all the plastic and put them in special bins so they can be reused.”
“That will be a great help,” Pelée told her.
Ewan, whose house Pelée had accidentally squashed that morning, finished his snack. Now he tutted and threw the wrapper from Pelée’s back. “Humans are more important than stupid dolphins.”
Pelée saw the wrapper fall. It drifted for a moment, caught on an updraft, and then began spiralling down to the ground. Quick as a flash, Pelée caught it between his teeth and dived. The children screamed.
They landed in a tumble of scales and wings and schoolbags. The children picked themselves up and looked around. Pelée spat the wrapper at Ewan and planted his forelegs. His claws had shot out and the rumbling in his tummy grew louder. Ewan looked at the wrapper, folded his arms, and looked back up at the great dragon. By now the rumbling was strong enough to feel – just a tremble to begin with, but it grew stronger and stronger until the ground shook so forcefully that it groaned. Windows rattled, trees bent and creaked, and the children threw themselves to the ground with their arms over their heads. The ground shook stronger, and stronger, and the rumble in Pelée’s tummy became a growl, then a roar, then an enormous jet of fire that burst out of his jaws, high into the air.
The little girl with beads in her plaits lifted a shaky hand to stroke his foreleg.
“Please, Pelée.”
The dragon snapped his jaw shut. The rumbling died away and the ground stopped shaking.
“We will look after the island,” the little girl said earnestly. “Promise.”
One of the other children raised his hand. “I won’t leave the tap running when I’m brushing my teeth.”
“I will turn the lights off when I leave the room,” another boy said.
“I will remind my mum to take a bag to the supermarket.” A girl with short, spiky hair looked around importantly. “She always forgets and then she has to buy carrier bags.”
They all looked at Ewan.
“And you,” Pelée said softly. “What will you do?”
Ewan looked sulky. Then he saw the size of Pelée’s teeth and changed his mind. “I will put my rubbish in the bin instead of dropping it on the floor.”
“All your rubbish? Even tiny scraps of paper? Even sweet wrappers?”
“All of it!” Ewan shouted.
Pelée snorted two long jets of smoke out of his nostrils. “Good. All aboard then, children. Let's get you home.”
That evening, all the children had something important to say to their parents.
Pelée curled up to keep an eye on the island. He would not take the children to school again until the children had learned to live in balance with the island, keeping it clean and tidy and looking after the plants and animals. Until that happened, their parents would have to take the children to school themselves.
He tucked himself up tight, nose to tail, and fell asleep.
For a few days, the children tried hard. They were careful not to waste water, they picked plastic bottles out of the sea, and they turned the lights off when they left the room. Even Ewan remembered not to drop rubbish on the floor. The dolphins, whales and tortoises returned, and all the children ran up north to watch Pelée wake up.
He twitched an eyelid, but the island was still dirty and the sea was still poisoned, and he did not wake.
Gradually, the children forgot about Pelée completely.
But dragons live for hundreds of years. He is so covered in grass that he looks more like a mountain than a dragon these days, but he is still there, sleeping, waiting for the children to learn how to live kindly in the world. Some say that if you go to the village of Morne Rouge and look up at the great, green mountain, you will feel a rumbling, deep in his tummy, as Pelée the dragon sleeps on.
