{"id":174,"date":"2026-04-13T02:46:32","date_gmt":"2026-04-13T02:46:32","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/euphemism.illinoisstate.edu\/21-2\/?page_id=174"},"modified":"2026-04-21T21:55:34","modified_gmt":"2026-04-21T21:55:34","slug":"bacalhau","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"https:\/\/euphemism.illinoisstate.edu\/21-2\/fiction\/bacalhau\/","title":{"rendered":"Bacalhau"},"content":{"rendered":"

John Tavares<\/span><\/p>\n

Courtney, with Regan in the passenger seat, sped down Bloor Street West in her father\u2019s convertible Mustang. They celebrated the fact that Courtney had just received her Class G driver\u2019s license, passing her practical and written motor vehicle tests, so she was now a licensed driver. The teenage friends, students at Forest Hill Collegiate, decided to drive the length of Bloor Street West and Danforth Avenue from one end of the city boundaries to the other, on a lark, late that September night, to celebrate Courtney acquiring her driver\u2019s license on her first attempt.<\/span><\/p>\n

The goth girl, whom Tyrell met on the Ossington 63 when he drove that TTC bus, recognized him from across Bloor Street and waved to him. He momentarily lost his grim visage and waved back. He walked back to Spadina station with his takeout coffee, for his attacks of drowsiness on the midnight shift, and a bran muffin, for his constipation, which he had ordered from the takeout counter of the fast-food restaurant down Bloor Street.<\/span><\/p>\n

Tyrell smiled back at the young woman he also remembered as the Portuguese girl and waved hello. The Portuguese girl rode the bus regularly when he drove the Ossington route. Then he was attacked by a passenger. So, he decided to take a leave of absence for mental health reasons. When Tyrell returned to work at the TTC, the public transit agency, he decided to take a position as an information agent and fare collector at the toll booth in St. George station, near his apartment building, where most customers and commuters seemed civil and nice. Then he was transferred to Spadina station, which was still close to home but the pace was hectic.<\/span><\/p>\n

Isabella stood on the boulevard near the parkette on Bloor Street around midnight, negotiating on her smartphone. The urgent cellphone calls had run all evening between her and Professor Cabral, with Damian at her side. \u201cYou deliberately took advantage of me, Professor Cabral,\u201d Isabella said. \u201cYou know that I had a father who died from liver cirrhosis caused by alcoholism, and you knew that I was a teetotaler, and that I didn\u2019t imbibe. You knew I was eager to obtain your insights on the economics of the stock market, and investing, yet you continued to ply me with that red wine.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cIt wasn\u2019t red wine exactly; it was port.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cPrecisely, you\u2019re practically confessing\u2014you\u2019re admitting you manipulated me and you conned me, and maybe even drugged me.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI ordered the port because you said you preferred something sweet.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s precisely what I mean. You plied me with port, which is sweet, and strong, and potent, because you knew that it would make me oozy and drunk. Then you ordered some<\/span>Madeira, right\u2014wasn\u2019t it Madeira?\u2014which was even worse.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cBut you liked the Madeira even more. I didn\u2019t order you port to make you drunk. \u00a0I ordered it because you said you\u2019d like to try this fine smooth wine. When I gave you a sip of mine, you said you loved the taste. You liked the Madeira even better. You made yourself drunk, if indeed you were drunk.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cBut I was drunk. The server even noticed that I was intoxicated. She knew precisely what was going on; she knew you were a sexual predator. That is why she wanted me to leave the restaurant, leave you, go right away by myself home, why she wanted me to order a taxi to drive me home.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cYou were play acting. You were acting drunk and said you were staying at your mother\u2019s house on Ossington. That would have been an expensive cab ride.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cThe point is\u2014I was visibly intoxicated\u2014because you insisted on plying me with a potent alcoholic beverage until my judgement was impaired. Why didn\u2019t you simply let me order <\/span>Diet Coke like I originally intended.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI ordered you your Diet Coke, but I guess that drink never arrived. We were in a fine restaurant, and I had ordered an expensive meal, and even though I assured you and reassured you I was picking up the tab, you insisted on ordering fish and chips.\u201d Professor Cabral muttered to himself, beneath his breath, \u201cLike the white trash you are.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cThe fish was cod, Bacalhau, which I can hardly pronounce I\u2019ve become so anglicized. Cod fish is traditional Portuguese food,\u201d Isabella said firmly, the large exhalation of breath muffling the acoustics on her smartphone. \u201cAnyway, the server even tried to warn me. She said she thought I looked Portuguese.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cThere again I wanted to get you back in touch with your ethnic origins,\u201d Professor <\/span>Cabral said.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cBy serving me potent wine when I warned you that I was sensitive, super sensitive, to the effects of alcohol\u2014maybe even allergic. And the server told me she was Portuguese herself, that she knew Portuguese men, and that I should be on the watch and careful.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI tried to be careful with you,\u201d Professor Cabral said.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cBut you took me back to your condo, and you had sexual intercourse with me, when I told you I was a virgin.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cBut I had your consent. I asked you several times, and you became annoyed with me, when I kept asking.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cBut I was in no position to provide consent. I was intoxicated. I was clearly intoxicated. <\/span>Wasn\u2019t I intoxicated?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI didn\u2019t notice. You weren\u2019t intoxicated. And, if I did, I thought you were play acting, dramatizing, for attention.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019re in denial. I tripped and slipped in the restaurant; the server and ma\u00eetre de noticed and wanted to call a cab because they saw how you were all over me, groping me, staring at my breasts during dinner. Then, the vendor at the hot dog cart outside the restaurant said I should take a cab home\u2014that the age gap made him nervous and he didn\u2019t like what he was seeing.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cIsabella, why are you calling me? What do you want with me, aside from tormenting and harassing me?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m recording this conversation, Professor Cabral, and I\u2019m seriously considering reporting this incident to the Police Service, and having you appropriately criminally charged. <\/span>The university should be no place for sexual predators.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

Professor Cabral hung up the telephone. Damian couldn\u2019t resist laughing, involuntarily, after the prof hung up the telephone. Having listened to the cellphone call on speakerphone, <\/span>Damian said, \u201cLooks like you\u2019ve got him between a rock and a hard place.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cBut he hung up the telephone.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cBecause he needs a timeout. He needs time to think this scenario through and to reconsider his options.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cYou think? He promised he would write me a letter of recommendation to graduate school. He said he would make certain I got admitted. He said he would push the admission committee. No other prof even offered me a letter of recommendation.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

Damian had already walked across Bloor Street to pick up a pizza slice. He returned to the parkette where they rested on the sculpture of the dominoes. He offered her a piece of the slice of pepperoni pizza he bought from the Pizza Pizza takeout restaurant near the street corner.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cYou said you needed the money to finish your last year of university.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cBut it\u2019s true. It\u2019s all true. My father is dead from alcoholic cirrhosis,\u201d Isabella said.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI thought the Europeans, especially from the Mediterranean, could really hold their liquor,\u201d Damian replied.<\/span><\/p>\n

Isabella continued speaking as if in a daze, as she continued to eat her piece of the pizza slice. \u201cMy mother would never pay for my tuition and rent; my stepfather is practically a deadbeat. He thinks of me as nothing more than a Portuguese peasant girl when I\u2019m actually part <\/span>Oji-Cree and Scottish, on my mother\u2019s side. Even my mother calls me peasant girl.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI wouldn\u2019t hold it against her,\u201d Damian said. \u201cShe doesn\u2019t like your goth girl style\u2014<\/span>that\u2019s all.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cAnd I really was a virgin when we had intercourse on the floor of his condo, surrounded by these boxes of vinyl records and the racks of compact disks and cassette tapes. There wasn\u2019t even a bed in his condo.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

Damian sipped his coffee and ate the crust of his pizza.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cThat because his condo is an investment.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cThen why doesn\u2019t he let someone like me stay there?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t know, Isabella.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

Damian added another packet of sugar to his extra-large takeout cup of strong, dark coffee, into which he had already squirted hazelnut flavored syrup, from the convenience store at the street corner.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cHow can you be a virgin when we had oral sex together.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cBut I was drunk then, after I went clubbing, with friends at the Madison. That was the first time I had oral sex with anyone.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cFor real?\u201d Damian asked.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWhy do you think I thought I needed a tranquilizer or a drink, or at the very least a bottle of mouthwash.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cVodka was all I had. I\u2019m not a pillhead or a pill pusher. I thought you enjoyed the oral sex.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cYes, I enjoyed it, I suppose, but I only did it because you were so insistent and kept asking. Semen has such a horrible and disgusting taste.\u201d Isabella buried her face into her crossed arms on her lap.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI told you I should have a drink of pineapple juice. They say pineapple juice helps, but <\/span>I\u2019ve never tested the theory.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI was worried and even convinced I had contracted some horrible sexually transmitted disease; my mouth felt raw and my throat hurt afterwards. I went straight to the university medical clinic. They sent me for sexually transmitted infection testing, and they took swabs, urine samples, and blood tests,\u201d Isabella said.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t know why you didn\u2019t believe me. I told you I was clean, disease free, and recently tested, and I\u2019m not lying.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cThe nurse at the clinic even asked me if I wanted a rape counsellor and the police.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cShe did? She must be woke or politically correct or a prude or something.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cDamian, can you just shut up about it. I was crying and the nurse was worried.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWhy were you crying?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cBecause I was a virgin and I was worried you had given me oral gonorrhea or chlamydia or syphilis,\u201d Isabella said. She glanced at her cellphone. \u201cDo you think he\u2019ll call back?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cHe will. If not immediately, eventually. You just need to apply pressure.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

Shortly after he uttered the words her cellphone rang on a ringtone that sounded like the haunting melody of a Leonard Cohen song. Professor Cabral blurted into his smartphone and his voice echoed from the speaker of her smartphone a few miles away. \u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cIsabella, I\u2019m truly sorry about what happened last Friday. This is not the outcome I expected, and I\u2019m truly sorry you feel this way. But what is it exactly you want and how can I make this right? I\u2019m an economist not a psychologist.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

Psychology was indeed Damian\u2019s major in university. He had worked in the traffic signals department of the city for a summer job while he studied to become an optometrist. Then Damian had a huge row, a violent conflict, with his father, during which extremely expensive diagnostic optometry equipment was broken. His optometrist father wanted him to join his optometry practice, but Damian dropped out of university. When he made amends with his mother, who seemed delighted he had had a fight with his father, she agreed to pick up the cost of his tuition and residence. Damian returned to university, but he switched majors from health sciences to psychology. Damian returned to what he originally wanted to study\u2014psychology.<\/span><\/p>\n

Isabella thought of him as a counsellor, a life coach. She just couldn\u2019t understand how someone could work in a department of traffic signals as a summer job. Damian had carefully coached her as to what she should say. When he heard her say twenty thousand dollars instead of the fifty thousand dollars they had originally agreed upon as a reasonable settlement, he grimaced and cursed to himself.<\/span><\/p>\n

Damian was ready to blurt his disappointment and shout the number she should utter. She told Professor Cabral that he should meet him at the tiny municipal park, the parkette, at the edge of the university campus, with the domino statues, with twenty thousand dollars the following evening at 9 pm. Did he have any problems with these instructions and her request for compensation? No, he replied, he was perfectly fine with the amount, as long as she agreed not to raise the matter again, as long as she didn\u2019t personally contact him again, as long as she didn\u2019t expect him to get her into graduate school.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cDo you really think you\u2019ll be able to quit me and walk away?\u201d Isabella asked.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cIsabella, after what you\u2019ve just told me on the telephone, you\u2019re just another student to me. In fact, you\u2019re worse than that but I believe in conflict resolution, I believe in the sixties ideals of peace and love, and all that implies. Just please go your own way, though, like the <\/span>Fleetwood Mac song says.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

When he mentioned the song, Isabella remembered his massive music collection in the empty condo. Distracted, Isabella absently replied, \u201cYes, I could go my own way.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cAnd I\u2019ll agree to your request even though it sounds like extortion.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWell, then if it sounds like that to you maybe I should go to the police and allow them to decide.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

Damian nodded at her from across the sidewalk and muttered, \u201cWell played.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

But Professor Cabral overheard Damian\u2019s voice. Professor Cabral\u2019s manner suddenly became severe and academic. He asked why it sounded like she was talking on speakerphone. <\/span>She said she was tired after a long day of studying, and her head needed a rest.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cThen why don\u2019t you just get some rest,\u201d Professor Cabral said.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019ll be able to rest after you pay me for the tuition I owe,\u201d Isabella said.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cOK. Fine. Understood. I\u2019ll meet you at the park on Friday night at nine.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cAnd no funny stuff.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cIsabella, I have a position and reputation to protect. I should be asking why the drama, why the urgency. Can\u2019t we work it out?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cDon\u2019t you just want to get it over with?\u201d Isabella asked.<\/span><\/p>\n

Damian nodded in agreement, where they sat on the edge of the park bench, and mouthed, \u201cMake him pay tonight.\u201d He whispered to her, \u201cTell him: no delays, no funny stuff.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

Professor Cabral agreed he just wanted to move on. He could see no reason for delay, but raising the money would take him a few hours, since he didn\u2019t have that kind of cash at home. <\/span>He would meet her then shortly with the money, in just under two hours at midnight.<\/span><\/p>\n

Damian whispered in her other ear encouraging her to make the midnight deadline firm. Damian whispered he was confident Cabral had the cash in some safe at home, since he was married to some real estate heiress before they separated and she moved to London, England to hook up with some avante garde painter and multimedia artist.<\/span><\/p>\n

Isabella shook her head, pushed him away, and punched his thigh. She said she didn\u2019t want to be unreasonable. She joined Damian as he strolled across the street intersection to the convenience store. She returned to the parkette before the midnight deadline with Damian.<\/span><\/p>\n

They sipped takeout coffee from the 7-11 convenience store across the street on the domino statues until Professor Cabral arrived in his sleek silver luxurious-looking car, which <\/span>Damian said and Isabella confirmed was a Jaguar.<\/span><\/p>\n

Professor Cabral surveyed the scene carefully from across the street in his Jaguar and finally emerged from his car with the backpack of money. \u201cYou didn\u2019t say you were bringing a friend,\u201d Professor Cabral said.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cFor safety,\u201d Isabella said.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cGet real,\u201d Professor Cabral countered.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI believe I\u2019m the aggrieved party who should have safety concerns. Anyway, I recognize you,\u201d Professor Cabral said, motioning to Damian, \u201cas another student.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

Damian stretched his arms, covered his face, and stared away.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cYou tried to get into an advanced game theory class in our graduate department without anywhere near the perquisite academic requirements.\u201d Isabella glared at Damian, who turned crimson. Professor Cabral rubbed the stubble on his chin thoughtfully. \u201cGame Theory. Hmm. Now I think I know what\u2019s going on. Anyway, I suppose I can play that game for just this night alone.\u201d Professor Cabral handed Isabella the backpack and the money and reassured her the cash was all there. \u201cI visited two different automated teller machines for three different bank accounts, including a joint account I held with my former partner, to get that cash.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

Professor Cabral shook his head. Then he told her he never wanted to see her again as soon as the semester ended, and she started to cry. \u201cCan you please ask her not to cry,\u201d Professor Cabral said, as Damian wrapped an arm around her shoulder.<\/span><\/p>\n

Damian warned him not to harm her. Professor Cabral said he wasn\u2019t in the mood for playing games with a princess. They were extorting and blackmailing him, and he threatened to call the police. The lanky youth and middle-aged man somehow got into a pushing and shoving match until Isabella placed herself with her upraised hands between the two men and managed to separate them.<\/span><\/p>\n

Isabella reassured her prof the matter was settled and Professor Cabral decided it was most prudent to move on. Isabella huddled in her zippered hoodie and Damian tried to comfort and console her. Professor Cabral drove off after he warned them further.<\/span><\/p>\n

Professor Cabral drove off and barely avoided colliding in his Jaguar with the Mustang as Courtney, with her college freshman friend, turned into the intersection on the wrong traffic signal. Then she tried to put her car into reverse. Professor Cabral slammed on his brakes and honked his horn and several other motorists yelled at Courtney.<\/span><\/p>\n

Isabella counted the money as they sat on the domino sculptures in the darkness. Isabella felt relieved, a bit euphoric, and even incredulous he had actually paid her twenty thousand. Isabella had agreed to pay Damian a certain significant percent of the lump sum, originally eight thousand dollars because Damian had expected her\u2014and they agreed\u2014she should ask for fifty thousand dollars. But she thought twenty thousand dollars was a more realistic and practical amount. Then they quibbled back and forth about his cut, his percentage, until Damian realized it wasn\u2019t an issue he wanted to negatively impact their relationship. Damian decided to settle for the two thousand dollars since he wanted to remain friends with Isabella and possibly even friends with benefits. Anyway, he enjoyed the sensation, the thrills, the scheme induced. Damian placed the money, the fifty-and-one-hundred-dollar bills, in his wallet, and walked away, heading home to his apartment above a storefront in Kensington Village.<\/span><\/p>\n

Damian didn\u2019t notice the traffic signs because he had been distracted by the police cruiser racing down Bloor Street with its sirens wailing and red and blue lights flashing. He walked into the intersection and pedestrian crosswalk as Courtney and Regan continued their high-speed crosstown journey, celebrating the fact Courtney had just passed her driver\u2019s test and received her driver\u2019s license.<\/span><\/p>\n

Courtney saw how light the traffic appeared before, during, and after she struck Damian. There were no witnesses, she agreed with her friend Regan. So, she fled the accident scene and sped away in her father\u2019s Mustang. Damian lay unconscious from the crushing blow to his body and head.<\/span><\/p>\n

In the aftermath, Isabella felt dirty and guilty over the whole tawdry affair, but she was also broke. She still owed student services at the university tuition money. She had student loans to pay, residence rental payments collecting interest, from the time she decided to give the university dormitories a try, which increased her debt and then she had credit card bills.<\/span><\/p>\n

Isabella saw Damian was breathing but he was unconscious. She saw no blood or bruises. She assumed he was stunned but would survive his motor vehicle collision injuries. She took the wallet from his pocket. Then she slipped out the bills she had given him, the neat, unwrinkled currency that reminded her of the casino when they had visited Niagara Falls over the Labor Day weekend. She replaced the wallet in his pocket, and tightened the hood of her hoodie of sweatshirt, assuming her hoodie and loose gym clothes and the sunglasses would protect her identity against closed circuit cameras.<\/span><\/p>\n

Then she walked to the nearby subway station. Outside Spadina subway station and the bus terminal, Isabella made an anonymous call from the payphone, informing the dispatcher about a pedestrian accident, urging the first responders to hurry because the accident victim required urgent care. Then Isabella went through the turnstiles and down the escalators and along the train platform and rode the last westbound subway to Ossington.<\/span><\/p>\n

Tyrell had been walking down the street with a takeout McDonalds bag in his hand, a Big Mac and French Fries, along with a large Coke. He couldn\u2019t believe his eyes. He recognized the pretty undergrad since she rode the Ossington bus nearly every school day for the first three <\/span>years she was a student at the University of Toronto. She was always friendly, sociable, and paid her fare with a monthly student transit pass. They chatted about the weather, city politics, public transit, and his dream of attending university.<\/span><\/p>\n

Isabella was an antidote to the inevitable nasty work encounter Tyrell had nearly everyday during which invariably a TTC customer called him the N-word. He felt saddened and disturbed by what he witnessed.<\/span><\/p>\n

Tyrell walked across Bloor Street at St. George to his apartment and ate his takeout meal in the darkness of the kitchen before he fell asleep in his bed. He simply couldn\u2019t bring himself to report the scene he had witnessed to authorities, even though it appeared to be a serious accident. Anyway, even as he stepped through the foyer, he could see the fire truck and the paramedics attending to the accident scene after Isabella had scurried away.<\/span><\/p>\n

He felt so stressed and such a loss of appetite and heaviness and lethargy that he quietly fell asleep on his couch in the darkness of his living room. He dreamed that virtually the same accident scene had occurred but instead Isabella had been the victim of the accident victim. In his dream, the young man had taken the money from her handbag. But he had seen the reality of what he had seen\u2014there was no denying his senses and vision\u2014he realized when he woke to the grey light of autumn dawn coming through his apartment windows.<\/span><\/p>\n

He splashed the lukewarm water over his craggy features, shaved, and toweled his face. He looked at the leftover cold fries, left over from his partially eaten meal, which he usually devoured since that was never enough food to satiate him. But he felt the harsh realities of life and remembered the last time he hadn\u2019t finished his fries he had learned his city cousin, who also drove a city transit bus, had died of a heart attack. He looked down through his high-rise apartment window at the intersection. He scrutinized the accident scene, a bit disappointed, a little bit heart broken, at what he had seen the previous evening, a gritty urban scene that had been washed away by the overnight rain.<\/span><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

John Tavares Courtney, with Regan in the passenger seat, sped down Bloor Street West in her father\u2019s convertible Mustang. They celebrated the fact that Courtney had just received her Class G driver\u2019s license, passing her practical and written motor vehicle tests, so she was now a licensed driver. The teenage friends, students at Forest Hill… <\/p>\n

Read more Bacalhau<\/span><\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":81,"featured_media":0,"parent":17,"menu_order":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","template":"","meta":{"footnotes":""},"class_list":["post-174","page","type-page","status-publish","entry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/euphemism.illinoisstate.edu\/21-2\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/174","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/euphemism.illinoisstate.edu\/21-2\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/euphemism.illinoisstate.edu\/21-2\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/page"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/euphemism.illinoisstate.edu\/21-2\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/81"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/euphemism.illinoisstate.edu\/21-2\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=174"}],"version-history":[{"count":4,"href":"https:\/\/euphemism.illinoisstate.edu\/21-2\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/174\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":262,"href":"https:\/\/euphemism.illinoisstate.edu\/21-2\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/174\/revisions\/262"}],"up":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/euphemism.illinoisstate.edu\/21-2\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/17"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/euphemism.illinoisstate.edu\/21-2\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=174"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}