A crowd of officials and journalists followed the little party down the corridor to the mayor’s office, where Nat and Su Ling joined Fletcher and Annie and around thirty other people who felt they had the right to attend the select gathering.
‘Can I get you some coffee, Nat, before we proceed?’ asked the mayor.
‘No thank you, sir,’ said Nat.
‘And how about your charming little wife?’ Su Ling shook her head politely, not fazed by the tactless remark of a past generation. ‘Then I’ll begin,’ the mayor continued, turning his attention to the crowded assembly that had squeezed into his office.
‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ he paused, ‘and future governor,’ he tried to look at both men at once. ‘The count will commence at ten o’clock this morning, as has been our custom in Madison for over a century, and I can see no reason why this should be delayed simply because there is a little more interest in our proceedings than usual.’ Fletcher was amused by the understatement, but wasn’t in any doubt that the mayor intended to savour every moment of his fifteen minutes of fame.
‘The township,’ continued the mayor, ‘has 10,942 registered voters, who reside in eleven districts. The twenty-two ballot boxes were, as they always have been in the past, picked up a few minutes after the polls closed, and then transferred into the safe custody of our chief of police, who locked them up for the night.’ Several people politely laughed at the mayor’s little joke, which caused him to smile and lose his concentration. He seemed to hesitate, until his chief of staff leant forward and whispered in his ear, ‘Ballot boxes.’
‘Yes, of course, yes. The ballot boxes were collected this morning and brought to the town hall at nine o’clock, when I asked my chief clerk to check that the seals had not been tampered with. He confirmed that they were all intact.’ The mayor glanced round to observe his senior officials nodding their agreement. ‘At ten o’clock, I shall cut those seals, when the ballots will be removed from the boxes and placed on the counting table in the centre of the main hall. The first count will do no more than verify how many people have cast their votes. Once that has been established, the ballots will then be sorted into three piles. Those who have voted Republican, those who have voted Democrat, and those that might be described as disputed ballots. Though I might add, these are rare in Madison, because for many of us, this might well be our last chance to register a vote.’ This was greeted by a little nervous laughter, though Nat wasn’t in any doubt he meant it.
‘My final task as the election officer will be to declare the result, which in turn will decide who is elected as the next governor of our great state. I hope to have completed the entire exercise by midday.’ Not if we continue at this pace, thought Fletcher. ‘Now, are there any questions before I accompany you through to the hall?’
Tom and Jimmy both began speaking at the same time, and Tom nodded politely to his opposite number, as he suspected that they would be asking exactly the same questions.
‘How many counters do you have?’ asked Jimmy.
The official once again whispered in the mayor’s ear. ‘Twenty, and all of them are employees of the council,’ said the mayor, ‘with the added qualification of being members of the local bridge club.’ Neither Nat nor Fletcher could work out the significance of this remark, but were not inclined to ask for further clarification.
‘And how many observers will you be allowing?’ asked Tom.
I shall permit ten representatives from each party,’ said the mayor, ‘who will be allowed to stand a pace behind each counter and must at no time make any attempt to talk to them. If they have a query, they should refer it to my chief of staff and if it remains unresolved, he will consult me.’
‘And who will act as arbitrator should there be any disputed ballots?’ asked Tom.
‘You will find that they are rare in Madison,’ repeated the mayor, forgetting that he had already expressed this sentiment, ‘because for many of us this could well be our last chance to register a vote.’ This time no one laughed, while at the same time the mayor failed to answer Tom’s question. Tom decided not to ask a second time. ‘Well, if there are no further questions,’ said the mayor, I’ll escort you all to our historic hall, built in 1867, of which we are inordinately proud.’
The hall had been built to house just under a thousand people, as the population of Madison didn’t venture out much at night. But on this occasion, even before the mayor, his executives, Fletcher, Nat and their two respective parties had entered the room, it looked more like a Japanese railway station in the rush hour than a town hall in a sleepy coastal Connecticut resort. Nat only hoped that the senior fire officer was not present, as there couldn’t have been a safety regulation that they weren’t breaking.
‘I shall begin proceedings by letting everyone know how I intend to conduct the count,’ said the mayor, before heading off in the direction of the stage, leaving the two candidates wondering if he would ever make it. Eventually the diminutive, grey-haired figure emerged up on to the platform and took his place in front of a lowered microphone. ‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ he began. ‘My name is Paul Holbourn, and only strangers will be unaware that I am the mayor of Madison.’ Fletcher suspected that most people in that room were making their first and last visit to the historic town hall. ‘But today,’ he continued, ‘I stand before you in my capacity as elections officer for the district of Madison. I have already explained to both candidates the procedure I intend to adopt, which I will now go over again...’
Fletcher began looking around the room and quickly became aware that few people were listening to the mayor as they were busy jostling to secure a place as near to the cordoned-off area as possible where the vote would be taking place.
When the mayor had finished his homily, he made a gallant effort to return to the centre of the room, but would never have completed the course if it hadn’t been for the fact that proceedings could not commence without his imprimatur.
When he eventually reached the starting gate, the chief clerk handed the mayor a pair of scissors. He proceeded to cut the seals on the twenty-two boxes as if he were performing an opening ceremony. This task completed, the officials emptied the boxes and began to tip the ballots out on to the elongated centre table. The mayor then checked carefully inside every box — first turning them upside down, and then shaking them, like a conjuror who wishes to prove there’s no longer anything inside. Both candidates were invited to double check.
Tom and Jimmy kept their eyes on the centre table as the officials began to distribute the voting slips among the counters, much as a croupier might stack chips at a roulette table. They began by gathering the ballots in tens, and then placing an elastic band around every hundred. This simple exercise took nearly an hour to complete, by which time the mayor had run out of things to say about Madison to anyone who was still willing to listen. The piles were then counted by the chief clerk, who confirmed that there were fifty-nine, with one left over containing fewer than a hundred ballots.
In the past at this point, the mayor had always made his way back up on to the stage, but his chief clerk thought it might be easier if the microphone was brought to him. Paul Holbourn agreed to this innovation and it would have been a shrewd decision had the lead been long enough to reach the cordoned-off area, but at least the mayor now had a considerably shorter journey to complete before having to deliver his ultimatum. He blew into the microphone, producing a sound like a train entering a tunnel, which he hoped would bring some semblance of order to the proceedings.
‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ he began, checking the piece of paper the chief clerk had placed in his hand, ‘5,934 good citizens of Madison have taken part in this election, which I am informed is fifty-four per cent of the electorate, being one per cent above the average for the state.’