Obesity Wars

By Saskia van Ryn

If the world turned its back on your best friend for being fat, would you turn your back on him too?

At a time when the obesity problem is headlining at world health conventions, one small nation struggles to find solutions to the rising cost of healthcare. Campaigning on promises to clamp down on obesity, Shape Up – led by the charismatic William Tanner – claims a landslide victory. Honouring its campaign promises, laws targeting fat people are swiftly introduced. Government obesity squads – the GO squads - roam the streets in black vans with a license to enforce the laws by any means, whipping up violence towards fat people.

Teenagers Monty and Levi have been best friends since kindergarten. Levi is smart, funny and loyal – he’s also obese. As the obesity laws become harsher and fat people increasingly disaffected, Monty begins to resent his friend, eventually disowning him. When Levi is brutally beaten by the neighbourhood bullies, Monty hardens himself to the injustice, blaming Levi for not doing more to lose weight.

But when Levi disappears, Monty realises that something more sinister is at play. Recruited to an underground anti-government organisation, Monty seizes the opportunity to fight back in the hopes of finding his friend and restoring balance in a society gone mad.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Release date: Oct 31, 2022
• ISBN: 9781398434578

Saskia van Ryn

Saskia van Ryn grew up hearing stories about war and has drawn on her parents’ experiences of fear, oppression and betrayal as inspiration for her first book—Obesity Wars. She started writing in her teens, but it wasn’t until she was drowning in nappies that she rekindled her love of storytelling and began writing again. Saskia lives and works in New Zealand with her husband and three sons.

Book preview

About the Author

Saskia van Ryn grew up hearing stories about war and has drawn on her parents’ experiences of fear, oppression and betrayal as inspiration for her first book—Obesity Wars. She started writing in her teens, but it wasn’t until she was drowning in nappies that she rekindled her love of storytelling and began writing again. Saskia lives and works in New Zealand with her husband and three sons.

Dedication

For Mum and Dad

Copyright Information ©

Copyright © Saskia van Ryn 2022

The right of Saskia van Ryn to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by the author in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.

Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

ISBN 9781398434561 (Paperback)

ISBN 9781398434578 (ePub e-book)

www.austinmacauley.com

First Published 2022

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Prologue

June 6, 2024

There was nothing remarkable about Bob Trellis. He accepted that a long time ago.

His success was down to sheer dumb luck, not careful planning. Success had been instant and had sprung from a moment in time that he could not have foreseen or planned. Indeed, he might have missed the moment altogether if he’d chosen to wait to use the toilet before leaving the house that night.

As it happened, his father was on the toilet, so he left the house at the exact time that he was meant to. Not going to the toilet was the best decision Bob ever made.

The decision had yielded a great career, a wonderful wife, two children, two cars, a holiday home and overseas trips.

Now in his late sixties, it had been some time since Bob had reminded himself that his good fortune had been built on someone else’s misery – until two days ago, when a nurse turned up on his doorstep and handed him a letter. The letter was from a patient in his care who had died a week ago.

He asked me to deliver it to you in person, the nurse said. I’m not sure how well you knew each other, but I can tell you he died alone. We couldn’t track down any friends or family. He was in terrible shape and half dead when he was admitted to hospital. He’d collapsed on the street you know, on his way back from the supermarket. It sounded like an accusation.

To Bob’s surprise, the dead man had spent his life not 30 kilometres up the line. Remarkable! Bob took the letter, thanked the nurse and closed the door.

He stared at the envelope between his fingers. He knew the man, of course. On and off over the years, he’d pondered his fate. Mostly off. Now, the memories came charging at him like a wart hog. He felt no remorse.

What could this man possibly have to say to him?

Unexpectedly, he felt a thrill of anticipation. It had been a long time since something other than coffee got his heart racing. He took his time opening the envelope.

Gently, he removed two pieces of white, A4 paper, like photocopier paper, folded in half, then in quarters. He pressed the pages out flat in front of him and hunched over them to get a closer look at the contents. His eyesight wasn’t what it used to be. Both pages had been hand-written in blue ink. The first appeared to be a brief covering note. It started: Dear Mr Trellis… and made a request.

The second was a letter. It was dated June 6, 2024, and read as follows:

"It’s late here. Words are bouncing around in my brain like fleas. If only I could catch them and line them up, they would reveal what I want them to say. For years, I’ve tried to drown them in alcohol. But they won’t die. Like the loaves and the fishes, they’ve multiplied. Words, words and more words – with nothing to say.

Forty years ago, I made a decision that set the course for the rest of my life. It seemed like the right one at the time, though a better person would’ve seen it for what it was – a criminal act.

Since then, I’ve achieved nothing. I have no family, no career, no friends. I think I scare people. When I walk the streets, no one will meet my eye. They look away and walk faster. The kid in the flat across the way thinks I’m a white supremacist, perhaps because I shave my head. He yells obscenities at me and calls me ‘Nazi lover’. I don’t go out unless I need to. My reality is like a monster that shoves me back in my hole if ever I’m courageous enough to lift my head and glance out at the world with hopeful eyes. This doesn’t happen often because I’m a coward. I can say it now without flinching. That’s why I ran that night, instead of turning myself in.

I’ve tried, but failed, to find you. You weren’t joking when you said you wanted to disappear. The thing is, I didn’t expect you to disappear for 40 years. I know you never wanted to be ‘that kid’; you always said more was done during that time than anything you’d accomplished. I get it; I really do. But I’ve thought about you every day since that awful night. I expected that one day we’d get the chance to sit down and talk it out. Do you still hate me?

What the hell. I’ve gone over and over this. I’m done trying to rationalise the decision I made – to myself or to anyone else. It won’t change the outcome.

This letter is to say sorry for being a coward. Sorry I wasn’t the friend you thought I was. Please forgive me. I hope your life turned out better than mine. My mum used to say, we all get the life we deserve. I deserve this."

Bob removed his glasses and squeezed the bridge of his nose with this thumb and forefinger. Reading the letter had made him uncomfortable. Really, it should’ve been in a separate envelope. After all, it wasn’t his forgiveness the man was pleading for. And yet, by anyone’s standards, forgiveness was impossible, surely. He felt contempt and, when he dug deeper, guilt. His guilt. His life built on this man’s misery. It was right there – staring him in the face. Bob owed this man. Did he? Wasn’t that warped logic? He’d done nothing to be ashamed of.

He shook his head as though expecting some new revelation to fall from his ears. Then he went to his study and popped the letter in his desk drawer. He needed to think on this one.

****

A moral dilemma

Helen and RJ didn’t want any trouble. So, when they saw Felix and the gang picking on the fat kid, they hadn’t planned to do anything else but walk on by. And really, it was the kid’s own fault. He was fat and everyone knew fat kids got picked on.

Helen and RJ gave each other a look of agreement. If they stopped to say something, they’d be next.

We don’t want any trouble, Helen whispered in RJ’s ear. Let’s just keep walking.

No trouble, RJ echoed, but his eyes remained fixed on the spectacle ahead.

They had the fat kid surrounded and were shoving him hard from one to the other, laughing as he tripped and wobbled his way around the circle.

He whimpered and whined at them to stop. Helen wanted to yell at him to fight back – or at the very least say something clever. Were all fat people stupid and cowardly?

Helen didn’t like fat people. She never knew how to behave around them. She either felt like staring at them, which was considered rude, or being overly nice to them so they wouldn’t think she thought them repulsive – which she did. And why should they put her in this dilemma? It wasn’t her fault they were overweight. She didn’t shove the burgers and chips, sugary drinks and donuts down their throats every day.

No! She shouldn’t feel bad at all, just like she shouldn’t feel bad about crossing the road and leaving the fat kid to his fate. If he didn’t like being teased because of his weight, then he’d just have to jolly well shed some of it.

Come on, she said angrily, grabbing RJ by the collar. Let’s get to Grandad.

She tried to drag him away, but RJ wanted to watch.

Come on! she hissed impatiently, trying to shift him. He stumbled as she dragged him, but he looked back in time to see the fat kid being shoved hard on to the concrete where he lay, face down, sobbing. Then, Helen did stop and watch because to her horror, Felix grabbed hold of the fat kid’s shorts and pulled them down – undies and all – to his knees. Helen gasped and her hand flew to her mouth. RJ giggled.

Helen hit him lightly on his shoulder. It’s not funny.

RJ looked up at her guiltily. Sorry, he said. They could see the kid’s butt cheeks grinning up at the sky. He didn’t even try to hitch up his shorts. He just lay there unmoving like a basking sea lion.

Felix’s gang whooped and hollered at the sight. Felix stood in the middle looking smug.

Helen was beginning to feel ashamed. She knew she should say something or go for help. But she didn’t want any trouble. If she spoke up, Felix might start bullying her, or RJ.

She frowned. Why didn’t the fat kid pull up his shorts? It made her sick to her stomach to stare at his butt.

As though he’d read her mind, the fat kid turned his head and met Helen’s eyes. She blinked, startled and for a few seconds, their eyes locked. She read the message in them, and even shook her head to let him know it wasn’t going to happen.

Let’s go, RJ, she said softly. There’s nothing more to see here.

This time, RJ allowed himself to be led away. They walked to Grandad’s in silence.

Do you think they’ve let him go now? RJ asked as they rounded the last corner.

Probably.

Perhaps we should tell someone, you know, in case he’s been hurt.

Jeez, RJ, would you just drop it? Helen replied angrily. I’m sure he’s fine. It’ll take more than a few shoves to put a dent in that flesh. You saw him. He was the size of an elephant.

Helen greeted her grandfather with little enthusiasm and all afternoon, try as she might, she couldn’t shut out the image of the fat kid’s eyes pleading for her help.

What was I supposed to do? she wailed later that evening when her grandfather asked what was troubling her. If I’d gone and helped, Felix would have pummelled me – and RJ, she added in case her grandfather should think it acceptable that she be beaten up but not RJ.

Quite right, her grandfather replied as he cleared away the dishes, but Helen could tell by his tone that he didn’t think she was right at all!

"You think I should have been beaten up, don’t you? she said petulantly. I don’t even know this kid and for your information he deserved it. If you ask me, some people are asking for trouble."

Grandad tut-tutted. "No one asks for trouble, Helen."

This kid did – he was fat, Helen said moodily.

If you think you did the right thing, why are you so upset?

I’m upset because you think I should have got beaten up just to save this fat kid’s arse.

I didn’t say that, Grandad replied calmly, slinging the tea towel over his shoulder and taking a seat opposite her at the dining table. I’m just saying… He paused. Ah, Helen, it’s a tricky one and I wasn’t there. He paused again and studied the table. Helen waited expectantly. She knew he had more to say.

He looked up suddenly his eyes alight.

I’ll tell you a story if you like, he said. It may help you decide whether you made the right decision. Would you like to hear a story?

Helen shrugged. Sure, why not? She hoped it wasn’t boring, like the stories Sister Mary Margaret told during religious studies.

Get your brother and make yourselves comfortable in the living room. I’ll make us some hot chocolate.

Helen brightened. Hot chocolate! Her chair scraped as she rose to fetch RJ. It’s a long one then?

Grandad smiled. It’s a long one.

Chapter 1

Grandad’s Story

Monty took off after dinner even though his mother told him to do his homework first. She was always telling him to do his homework and Monty would always reply ‘later’. He had all week to do it, which meant he usually ended up cramming it into one night and just scraping through. That was good enough for Monty. Monty didn’t get school. He especially didn’t get Shakespeare. How was analysing Shakespeare’s plays going to help him get a job?

It was 7.30pm and still light. The summer of 1983 was shaping up to be one of the hottest on record. Right now, the only thing on Monty’s mind was the next five minutes. He skipped to the house next door and leaned on the bell.

A tall, muscular woman answered. She had an apron tied around her middle – squidgy and shapeless – and a tea towel slung over her left shoulder. The smell of that evening’s dinner clung to her clothes.

Hello, Monty, she greeted him with a big smile exposing strong, yellow teeth. Have you come to see Levi?

She stood aside to let him pass.

Monty took the stairs two at a time like he’d done a million times before and knocked on the door that said, Keep Out.

Busy!

It’s me pecker head – Monty.

Come on in.

Monty sneezed as he entered, kicking the door shut with his foot.

What’s that smell?

Levi was buckled over a wooden desk, his face inches from the surface. Without looking up, he handed Monty a facemask.

You’d better wear one of these if you’re planning on hanging around.

He was wearing rubber gloves and he held a scalpel. It had blood on it.

God, Levi, you’re not slashing your wrists, are you? Because if you are, I’m gonna have to tell your mum.

Levi straightened. His chair groaned. Don’t be a moron. I’m pickling a mouse.

Monty leaned closer. A mouse was pinned on to a wax tray by its paws.

Is it dead?

Of course, it’s dead! Christ Monty, I happen to like animals. I don’t get a hard on torturing God’s creatures.

No, you get a hard on pickling them.

Levi huffed. I didn’t kill it; it was already dead. The cat brought it in. Watch if you want to. I’m about to slit open its belly. This is the trickiest part. His cheeks glowed.

He leaned over the mouse, his brow puckered in intense concentration.

Don’t bump me. I need a steady hand.

Monty watched, both fascinated and horrified, as Levi meticulously slit open the tiny belly.

Now I’m going to cut open the abdominal muscles with a pair of dissecting scissors. Levi gave the scissors an experimental click. Monty held his breath, afraid the smallest draft might distract Levi.

When he finished, Levi and Monty straightened simultaneously and grinned at each other idiotically. Levi arched his back.

Good job, Monty enthused.

Thanks! Levi said admiring his handiwork. He ripped off his gloves and dried his sweaty hands on a towel. Then he donned a fresh pair. He used the towel to mop his forehead.

Now, I’m going to pin back the flesh, he said returning to the task.

Picking up tweezers, Levi pulled back the skin and pinned it on to the board, leaving the innards intact and exposed.

When it was done, Levi was sweating hard.

Excellent work, Doctor Fox, Monty said. Thanks to you he’ll make a full recovery. He let a few seconds pass, readying himself for the real reason for his visit.

So, I told Harry I’d meet him at the playground, have a few drinks – you know. He tried to sound casual.

No, I don’t know. Levi’s tone was disapproving.

I know you don’t like him but he’s all right Harry is.

It’s not Harry I don’t like. It’s that bunch of deadbeats he hangs with.

We’re just going to kick about for a bit.

Yeah, like last time when you drank too much and firebombed the slide.

For God’s sake Levi, stop sounding like my mum. I don’t need a lecture.

Whatever! Levi replied, feigning disinterest. He reached for a jar of formaldehyde and unscrewed the lid.

It released a powerful odour, but Monty didn’t flinch. He was too cross. Sometimes Levi acted like an old woman instead of a college senior.

He watched Levi lower the mouse into the fluid. Once he was satisfied with its positioning, he screwed on the lid and placed it carefully on a shelf alongside other gruesome collectibles, including a snake skull, weta and spiders.

Then he looked at Monty critically. You still here?

Monty looked sheepish. I was kinda hoping you’d tag along.

What? Like I’d be real welcome. Sorry, Joe, you’re on your own.

Come on it’ll be a blast, Monty said, reassured by his friend’s use of his first name. Honest! Harry and the others won’t mind you being there so long as you don’t grass. I’ll vouch for you.

Levi looked at him uncertainly. Part of him really wanted to go, just so he could be one of the gang for a change.

You don’t think they’d mind?

Course not, you’ll be with me. And you won’t even have to drink if you don’t want to. Just take a bottle and pretend. I do – mostly.

Levi considered this.

Okay, he said after a moment. But the first sign of trouble and I’m outta there.

They told Levi’s mum they were going for ice cream and would be back in an hour.

"No later liebe, she said. It’s a school night."

I remember, Mum, Levi said giving her a hug. Don’t worry.

Why do you always tell your mum not to worry when you go out? Monty asked as they headed towards the park.

I don’t want her to worry that’s all.

You think just telling her not to is enough to stop her from worrying?

I don’t know. Maybe.

Monty pondered this. I know my mum would worry whether I told her to or not.

Levi glanced sideways at Monty. Maybe she has reason to.

What’s that supposed to mean?

Why do you have to hang out with Harry just to prove you’re tough? They’re a pack or retards.

If you think that, why’d you bother coming along?

Because you asked me to and I like hanging with you.

Monty had nothing to say to that.

After a moment, Levi said, Your mum probably worries more because your dad’s dead. Do you ever think about him?

I don’t really remember him, Monty lied. He didn’t want to talk about his dad. All I remember is that he was sick all the time.

Has your mum ever thought about marrying again?

If she has, she never said anything to me, and I don’t remember her bringing blokes home.

Levi wiped his forehead on his sleeve. It was unusually warm for October and he was sweating.

My cousin’s mum re-married and his stepdad turned out to be a real bastard.

Why?

He drinks too much and has a temper.

Bummer.

At the park, there were a few kids half-heartedly kicking about a soccer ball. They’d taken off their t-shirts and tucked them in their shorts. On the other side of the park, a man was practising his golf putts.

Monty and Levi headed across the field to the playground. As they got closer, raucous laughter sounded from the hut at the top of the slide. It was a favourite hangout for teenagers. The floor was littered with empties and the walls scrawled with crass comments, phone numbers and crude drawings of penises.

Someone hailed Monty from a small window on the side of the hut.

"Monty my man!"

It was Harry.

Monty grinned but he didn’t wave. He just lifted his chin a fraction the way he’d seen the cool college kids do.

Then Harry’s face disappeared and seconds later, Monty and Levi heard a chorus of foul words. Monty started to climb the ladder, but before he could get to the top Nail, the gang’s leader, appeared.

At 16, he was already over six feet, with a bushy head of black, dyed hair. He wore black jeans and a black, vampire t-shirt. His jeans hung low, belted almost around his thighs, exposing red and black boxers. His ears were pierced, and he had a silver stud in his nose. Monty wished his mother would let him pierce his nose. Everyone called him Nail.

"You can’t bring that in here," Nail said, nodding at Levi.

Monty turned to stare at his friend still waiting at the bottom of the ladder. He had his hands buried in his shorts pockets and he was staring out across the field pretending not to be interested in the conversation.

Levi’s all right, Monty said quietly.

I’m sure he is, but you still can’t bring that aisle blocker in here. There’s no room.

Monty glanced at Levi to see if he would react. He was still feigning disinterest.

Aisle blocker.

Over the years, Monty had heard them all. Chair crusher, lard ass, porkbelly, hippo, Tuba Luba… In the past, hearing them had always made him spring to his friend’s defence, but lately it had become awkward.

He never really thought of his friend as fat until someone pointed it out. To him he was just Levi – mad scientist and maths geek. But if he really took a step back and saw him for what he was, then yes, it was fair to say Levi was fat; obese really. Ever since he’d known him, Levi had been big. They’d met at a pre-school playgroup, gone to kindergarten together, kept company during primary school, and were now in their fourth year of college.

Every year, Levi got a little fatter. Once, at primary school, he’d got wedged in one of the playground tunnels and the fire service had to cut him free. From then on, the pair never set foot on the playground equipment.

Only babies play on swings, Monty said to make Levi feel better.

These days, they spent most of their time either at Monty’s house or Levi’s, just to avoid the stares of people and sidelong glances of disgust every time they walked the streets. Levi even made Monty buy the burgers and fries when they went out, while Levi waited a block away.

Monty peered into the hut. There were four of them – Harry, Adam, Slasher and Nail.

Come on, Nail! he pleaded. Let him join in. We could move outside.

This isn’t the bloody Christian League. We don’t do charity cases.

A titter of laughter from inside followed. Monty felt the familiar surge of anger.

No, just psychos, right? Well, stuff the lot of you.

Aww come on Nail let him in, someone jeered. We could use a lazy boy to sit on. More laughter.

And for your information, it’s not fat, it’s muscle, Monty yelled up at them. Hoots and hollers ricocheted around the wooden hut.

Monty gave them the fingers.

Ooooo, Slasher called out the window. You horror! What would Mummy say?

Monty swore at him. Slasher shrieked delightedly and threw his beer bottle out the window. It smashed close to Monty’s feet sprinkling his shoes with beer and glass.

Thanks very much, tosser, for ruining my sneakers.

You’ll be in for a spanking Joseph Montague. I bet Levi wants to watch. Fat pervert!

Would you shut up already? Levi hissed tugging on Monty’s shirt.

What? I was trying to defend you.

Well don’t, okay? I don’t need defending. I told you they wouldn’t want me here.

I thought they’d be okay with it!

No, you didn’t! You knew damn well they wouldn’t want me tagging along. This always happens. I let you talk me into it and then I get made an idiot. Levi’s cheeks were pink.

Yeah well, I didn’t exactly come out of it looking good.

If you wanted to look good, why the hell did you ask me to come along?

Monty shrugged. "I dunno. I guess I still like