The mid-January day was very cold. The wind coming in with the rising tide stung her face, and she drew closer to Myron, who was also hunched up against the biting wind from off the North Atlantic. The sea was green-gray and the sky overcast with only scattered patches of blue peering through the heavy clouds. The beach, a thin strip of sand between beach grass and the pounding waves, was empty except for a lone person a quarter of a mile ahead of them stationary before an outcropping of rocks. At first they could not see what he was doing, but as they drew closer they could see he was peering through what appeared to be a telescope on a tripod at seabirds.
When they came up to the man they could see the ducklike birds, the larger ones dark and the other smaller birds with dark heads and backs contrasting with white faces and necks. On closer inspection the telescope turned out to be a telephoto lens. The man’s face, obscured by the fur-lined hood of his coat, and showing only a red nose, a gray beard and black-rimmed glasses, broke into a smile when he became aware that he was not alone. He had been so intent upon his photography that he hadn’t seen them approach.
“Afternoon,” he said in a friendly voice.
“Afternoon,” Myron said. “I recognize the eiders out there, but what are those other, smaller birds?” He pointed to the four with white faces and necks. As they looked, two of them dove into the sea.
“They’re horned grebes in winter plumage. They’re what I’ve been photographing.”
Becky saw Myron covering his eyes with his gloved hand and looking closely at the birds. He seemed to be filing away the visual information so that the next time he saw the grebes he’d recognize them. He turned back to the man. “I’ve always thought those seabirds must have amazing insulation in their feathers. I know I wouldn’t want to be out there on a cold January day.”
The man nodded in agreement. “It’s not all that comfortable on land, is it? You folks from around here?”
“Here” was a fishing village some forty miles north of Portland.
“Close. We’re having a winter getaway from routine. We live in Waska.”
“That’s the town with the mercury-poisoning case. I’ve been following it. Any new developments?”
Myron, pleased to find a fellow spirit, became more expansive and relaxed. “A civil suit has been filed by the family of the victim. It was just in the paper the other night. I don’t know about the other aspect, though. I mean the government’s case. It seems to be going very slowly.”
“Hope they nail that Ridlon guy.”
“Me too. He deserves it.”
Myron had told a white lie to the man when he said they were on a weekend getaway from routine. It was a getaway, but the real purpose of the break from routine was to have an expanse of time to talk about their political differences so that they could come to a fuller and deeper understanding of each other. It was a new concern and had nothing to do with the fright she’d had in the early fall over the Nevins business. In that case it turned out that she had worried herself into a tizzy about nothing. After the large demonstration in front of Ridlon Recycling and (more to the point) after receiving numerous phone calls, letters and e-mails in support of Myron, the blustering coward Nevins had wilted like a rose on a hot rock. The rest of the fall flowed smoothly and Christmas, which Myron shared with her and the boys, was the happiest since Bill’s death. When Trevor got a new baseball glove from Myron, he even blurted out “Daddy! I love it!” in his excitement. The new trouble came in January when the reading group read two plays by Bertold Brecht, The Good Woman of Setzuan and Mother Courage. In discussing these two works Myron showed himself to be even more left-wing in his views than Becky had thought. The communist plays showed that the ruling class were wolves who devoured the poor, that to be a capitalist was to be completely without compassion and human feelings, that at the very center of capitalist society were injustice and oppression. All these opinions were defended by Myron in the discussions, sometimes very forcefully. Becky thought the plays were wonderful works and liked them, but she had managed to read them without making the strong conclusions that Myron had seen. The gulf between their political opinions seemed disturbingly wide, and as a result the decision had been made to get away for a weekend without any distractions and talk.
Their mission had not begun propitiously. They left after lunch because they had to attend Johnny’s indoor soccer match in the morning and get the boys packed and ready to go to Lynn’s house for the night. She was nervous in the car, thinking of all the misunderstandings between her and Bill that had led to his death and knowing that that was the reason she wanted to come to a complete understanding with Myron. She was sure intellectually that their talk would be liberating. Her fears, though, grew stronger the closer they came to the motel where they had a reservation. Then arriving at the motel, she found the woman at the check-in desk unpleasant. Without any specific reference but rather with an oily attitude and one remark delivered with everything but a wink—“This is a nice private place,” she said—she regarded them as an adulterous couple on a tryst. It made Becky feel cheap, which in turn depressed her. She wondered if there was any point in attempting to communicate honestly in a world that was filled with alienating misunderstandings. She was glad Myron had suggested as they unpacked that before they began their discussions they should take a walk to clear their minds and work off the stiffness from the two-hour drive.
Now, having bidden good-bye to the lone birder and back in their room, she was as dry-mouthed and nervous as she was the first time they had sex. Myron sat on the bed facing her, near enough to touch her knee from where she was sitting in the one easy chair. He was looking at her and waiting for her to begin.
She surveyed the room. The walls were painted a dull green, the doors white. Instead of trim, where the brown carpet that covered the floors met the wall, there was rubber or plastic cove. Back when she showed houses, such a tacky detail could be enough to lose a sale. Two of the walls had matching pictures of vases of flowers, one with red roses, the other with white. The mattress on the bed sank in the middle and promised uncomfortable sleep. The dresser, with her toiletries sharing the space with a coffeemaker and cups, was old and the finish scarred and faded. The double window behind Myron faced the sea, but from where she sat all she could see was the looming clouds growing darker. Myron’s face, showing only loving patience as he waited, gave her the courage to take the first step.
“You don’t think I’m foolish to be trying to be too perfect about us?”
He shook his head and smiled. “No, not a bit. One thing we share completely is a sense of order. Anything that keeps chaos at bay is a good thing.”
“And misunderstandings are chaotic?”
“Oh, definitely. I think in relationships they are what cause the most problems. That’s why I’m all for communicating all the time. I think this getaway is an excellent idea.”
She considered for a moment, thinking of Bill and not wanting to, and then said quickly, “That’s my attitude too. Relationships require work. The work is communication.”
“So let’s keep talking. Do you want something to drink? A beer?
“Let’s have a cup of tea.”
She went over to the coffeemaker, which could also heat water, filled it in the bathroom and then plugged it in. They had brought a canvas bag that contained among other things tea bags. Extracting two and putting them into the two cups, she turned and faced Myron.
“I still have doubts. I was wrong worrying about Richard Nevins, so—”
“Oh, I don’t think so. You were right to be concerned. Standing up for your principles is a good thing, no doubt, but it sounds better at a distance. A moral duty can be a scary duty. You do take a chance and have to accept the consequences. Nevins turned out to be cautious and cowardly, but if he wasn’t I suppose I could have lost my job. I was prepared to if it came to that. That doesn’t mean I wasn’t feeling uneasy—because I was.”
“Because duty comes first?”
He
looked out the window at a seagull flying by. It looked like the bold rogue was actually looking in at them. “Along with integrity and self-respect. But it’s a kind of fear that makes me take these stands, you see. I wouldn’t have respected myself if I had caved in to Nevins’s demands.”
The water was whistling. She got up and poured it into the two coffee mugs doing duty as teacups. Handing him his cup, she said with a smile, “I know you well enough to know you’d never do that.”
“I hope not.”
He put his cup on the side table, turned the thermostat down and took off his sweater before sitting on the bed. Liking his tea strong, he bobbed the tea bag by its string several times. She liked hers weaker and after a few perfunctory dips of her tea bag into the hot water put it in a large scallop shell that apparently was used as an ashtray on the table beside her. She sipped the hot beverage and began thinking. She admired his integrity and the honesty of his admission that it wasn’t always easy to stand up for his beliefs. Here there were no grounds for disagreement or misunderstanding. Her problem lay in a different direction. She was brought up in a rock-ribbed Republican household, and being a business major, she had found nothing in college to challenge her beliefs or make her change her mind. Bill, like her best friend Lynn, was a liberal Democrat, and she was used to hearing opposing views and being teased about them. But Democrats still accepted capitalism. Myron, a Green, did not. What she couldn’t understand was the radical tradition that Myron was raised in. It was completely foreign to her experience, and suddenly she had been gripped by an irrational fear. What if the new love in her life was so different that the journey they began together led to a fork in the road that would separate them?
She put her teacup down and took a deep breath, but still she did not know how to start.
He was watching her and saw her perplexity. “I should say right off that I’ve known many conservative people throughout my life. I respect their opinions. I respect your opinions. I have no problem with a genuinely conservative view. I come from an open-minded tradition. We’re all different and it’s a big world. I do dislike the hard right—the mean-spirited Fox News types totally lacking in empathy for poor people and driven by an insane egoism and ambition no matter what the cost. As I said, I come from an open-minded tradition, but there are limits. I also understand how it might seem alien to you. That’s why I will be glad to explain my views. The radical tradition goes back to the English civil war when George Fox founded the Society of Friends and continued through English and American history. Shelley, Byron and Blake in England, Thoreau, Whitman and Steinbeck are some of the names in that tradition.”
As he spoke she felt the tension drain from her body. He couldn’t have said anything more comforting than what he said. It was as if he read her mind. Now she could begin. “A good place to start is something you said when the group was discussing The Good Woman of Setzuan. You said it, and then someone else said something else and it was never explained. You said politics begins with ethics. You also implied you judged every situation in the same way. What did you mean?”
“It’s a combination of my Quaker-Unitarian background and things I studied in college. But I can give you a good example. We’ve heard many times in recent years reports of the Israeli or American military bombing houses in the West Bank or Iraq because they suspected insurgents were there and in doing so killing innocent bystanders. The U.S. military calls them ‘collateral damage.’ Okay. In the starkest terms, would military commanders order such strikes on a building or neighborhood if their family lived there?”
“Of course not.”
He had been sitting on the bed, but with a sudden movement he stood and said forcefully, “Then they should never do it, period. When they do they’re doing evil.”
He waited for her to respond, but she was still thinking. He seemed embarrassed at his emotional outburst. After he sat down again he said with studied calmness, “Do you see how it works? Most people forget the humanity of those whom our government has designated enemies. The easy correction for that kind of dehumanization is the Golden Rule. Put yourself in the place of the Palestinians or Iraqis and see and feel the difference.”
“Okay,” she said. “I see how you’re thinking. I’m always distressed when I read about civilians being killed, especially kids. It makes me think about Trevor and Johnny. But what about when there are military objectives—a city has to be conquered or whatever. War is brutal and sometimes the brutality is necessary.”
“At the cost of soul and humanity. That’s why Quakers are pacifists.”
“But isn’t evil too strong a word for the president and others directing foreign policy. They’re just doing their duty to protect America and her interests.”
“Well, I know that many people think governments are separate from individuals and that governments have to do what is good for the country. That’s where it gets basic. The Golden Rule is absolute. Evil comes into the world when people only think of themselves. But governments aren’t things. Governments are people. People, a man or a woman, make those decisions that affect other people. That’s when ethics is operative. The trouble is, the kind of people attracted to power are almost always people for whom ethics is not important. They’re usually driven people with monster egos. Egoism is the opposite of ethical regard for others. It’s the people in government, not ‘government,’ that make these inhuman decisions that kill people and destroy their lives. In every case, egoism is the opposite of having regard for others, which is what I mean by ethics.”
“Well! I think that needs some more explaining,” she said, attempting a light touch but feeling perplexed still and apprehensive. “It sounds to me like you’re saying self-interest is always bad.”
Myron rubbed his chin. “I am. How do you see it?”
“Couldn’t it be seen in a different light? I mean that the government is on the side of freedom and rewards those who show initiative and are willing to work? I remember what my father always says whenever he’s asked why he’s a Republican. He mentions Jeb Jones.”
Myron made a comic face that made her smile in turn.
“I know, I know. He’s not famous. That’s the point. Jeb grew up on a dairy farm outside of our hometown, but by the time he inherited it the farm was bankrupt. He had to sell off the herd and much of the land just to pay his father’s debts. He kept the farmhouse, a few fields, and three or four acres of hardwood forest. Then he worked at two jobs for many years. He was a house painter and clerk at the local store on weekends. In the meantime, he cut down some of the oaks and aged the wood, then cut it up himself with woodworking power tools. He tried various things like making cabinets and fine furniture but ultimately settled on making high-quality picture frames. He sold them locally, and then after a summer visitor bought some and told Jeb he could sell as many as Jeb could make at his shop in New York City, he concentrated on them. To make a long story short, he now owns a business that has eleven people working for him and he is a millionaire. He’s a good employer too. All eleven of those people at his factory have full benefits, and he gives a lot of money to the town for parks and—you’ll like this—one time when the library was in trouble, he gave them a hundred thousand dollars.”
“Well, he does sound like a good man.”
“And not selfish? Do you agree he’s not selfish?
“No, not selfish. I have no objection to people like him. If all capitalists were as decent and responsible, capitalism wouldn’t be quite as bad. But still I think the only just society will be basically socialist. I’m not an ideologue, so I’m willing to allow a limited amount of free enterprise. I don’t think of socialism as a society where everyone gets five hundred bucks a month. I could see a new division of labor. People who do nasty work like garbage disposal would get paid more. That’s an idea borrowed from John Ruskin, incidentally. But all I really mean is that it would be a society where everyone is guaranteed all the basic necessities. In today’s world that would
mean not only food, shelter, clothing, health care and education, but also things like phone service, electricity and the like.” He smiled and added, “And I shouldn’t forget computers. Everyone gets one of them too. So, yes, Jeb Jones is a good and decent man, but the trouble is he is not typical. Most people with money want to get more money. They want to hold on to every dime they can. They don’t want to pay taxes, and they don’t want to acknowledge any responsibility to others. They’re selfish. They’re greedy. They don’t want to recognize the primary reality of the world, which is interdependence.”
A lot of what he said seemed foolish to her, and she was not sure he wasn’t being facetious. His last statement was obviously sincere and troubled her, but she held back, concentrating instead on a criticism she could deliver. “I see a free-market problem with your society,” she said with a smile.
“Which is?”
“If people didn’t pay for electricity, a lot of energy would be wasted. People would leave lights on all the time and so forth. The world would become more polluted.”
He nodded and pursed his lips in concession. “Okay, you’re right. I was making an assumption, though—one I think is fairly accurate. In a free, just society where people don’t grow up in degrading poverty, they would have a sense of responsibility. They would be good citizens of the world and realize we are all caretakers of the earth. I’m not being facetious either,” he said, noticing her smile. “For socialism to work well it would demand that everyone be well educated and enlightened. Most people think socialism destroys individuality and demands a rigid conformity. I think it’s just the opposite. It requires more individualism than capitalism. Capitalism passes off responsibility. It wants to keep people at an adolescent level where all they want to do is consume. In our society even most religions and virtually all alternative fads of pseudo-religion are excuses for self-absorption. This suits Madison Avenue just fine. They want everyone to be so self-absorbed they never think of solidarity. In this kind of a world the only check on behavior is economic. I envision a society where everyone recognizes our oneness and where internal moral values are the check.”
“But isn’t it a bit utopian? How would you get around the stifling conformity of socialism—and how would you avoid totalitarianism? You said yourself the world is big and contains all kinds of people. Wouldn’t there be a danger in socialism of stifling human creativity?”
His face looked grim. “I admit that the biggest experiment in socialism, the Soviet Union, was a total failure, and that’s because they emphasized conformity and totalitarianism. It was really left-wing fascism Stalin foisted on the poor Russian people, not socialism. History shows that total power without limits is always a danger. But first, it’s not as if there isn’t oppression in capitalist societies. We jail the underclass at an unspeakable rate, and I truly believe that wealthy people are rich only because of exploitation and oppression. It is really impossible to have rich people without having poor people. But those failed socialisms came about prematurely—they were revolutions, not the product of evolution. I think history moves slowly, rather like biological evolution works slowly. But slavery in the West is now gone. Most educated people are disgusted by patriarchal societies that oppress women—even though just a few generations ago women in Europe and America had no rights whatsoever. I think history will move to the point where everyone will see the logical and ethical absurdity of a man like Bill Gates being wealthier than the combined income of half the people in the world.”
She followed his speaking of social evolution calmly but found his remark about Bill Gates unsettling. It was as if they came from the mouth of some other person, one who was a dangerous revolutionary. “But most people who think that way also think that the rich should be arrested and jailed or even killed.”
He nodded in agreement. “That’s why I call myself an evolutionary, not a revolutionary. I hate violence. If it’s violent, it’s not a revolution. I think the inconsistencies and inequalities inherent in capitalism are so great that inevitably the world will turn away from them. Maybe a limited free enterprise will be allowed, maybe not. Whatever keeps people happy and free from exploitation I’m for.”
She thought for a moment. His answer had partly defused her anxiety, but she remembered her father always maintained that it was Bill Gates, not Bill Clinton, who was responsible for the economic boom of the ’90’s. He was a perfect example of enlightened self-interest, her father said. “But what if it’s human nature that is the problem? What if the desire to make your life better for yourself and your family is accurately reflected in the free enterprise system? Like in the Declaration of Independence the words about the ‘pursuit of happiness’ speaking to all people. What if socialism can only be forced on people? Then would you still be an evolutionary?”
“If that were so, no. No, I wouldn’t, but it isn’t so.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Well, because I believe in the power of education to change people, for one thing. For another, I think people desire peace and security and will take those things every time over war and chaos. I do think that’s human nature. We began agreeing that we’re both orderly people. I think socialism can be orderly without being oppressive because it will have inner-directed citizens. The inequalities and injustice of a capitalistic society lead to crime, drug abuse and other social ills that arise from poverty. There’s the chaos. And look at Europe. They’ve already got a large percentage of their citizens educated and with critical minds. Someone was telling me about how in her trip to Athens she befriended a tour guide. He told her that when he had a group of Germans he was expected to give lengthy and in-depth lectures on the Parthenon and people like Plato and Aristotle, but he was expected to be brief whenever he had American tourists. They were only interested in taking a couple of pictures and then going shopping, the guide told her.”
“Okay, I can believe that. But are these things the only basis for your thinking that socialism is inevitable—education and the desire for peace?”
He stood and paced about for a while, pausing and looking out into the gathering darkness of the late winter afternoon. “I started to say something about interdependence being the primary reality of the world earlier, but then we went in another direction. Right now the U.S. is a force for reactionary politics in the world. Before we can do anything in the world, we have to change America.”
She stared at the floor trying to tell herself that she didn’t hear the hostility in his tone directed against America. But it was there. She heard it. She didn’t make it up. She didn’t dream it. Okay, then, the purpose of this weekend was to come to an understanding, or really to come to understand his thinking. There would be no purpose in holding back. She looked at him. “I really want to hear about what you mean by interdependence, but first I hear a tone of strong disapproval about our government. What exactly is it that you have against the U.S. government?”
He appeared to hesitate, as if fearing to go beyond a point of no return. She felt her pulse quicken, and she took a sip of her now cold tea to moisten her dry mouth.
“In a nutshell, I think we’re always on the wrong side. We always back the rich and powerful. We’re on the side of money. As a result we cause a great deal of pain and death in the world. That’s why we’re so hated.”
“Our government is elected. That means in one way or another the government is expressing the will of the people.”
“I don’t think it’s the will of the people to oppress and kill people.”
Feeling patronized, she bristled. “What do you mean by that?” Her voice shocked her. She had snapped at him and was angry.
He in turn spoke warmly, and his eyes flashed. “I won’t lie to you. I think every American president since the second world war has blood on his hands. It’s not the fault of the American people. They’re not innocent, but their sin is anti-intellectualism. They believe the self-serving lies their presidents tell them instead of investigating matte
rs themselves and coming to their own conclusions. It seems most people go through their education without ever learning to think for themselves or analyze anything. But American leaders don’t have that excuse. They are virtually sociopaths. They sit in beautiful rooms with everyone present at their beck and call. They wear expensive suits and silk ties and after a lunch of shrimp and avocado institute policies that kill and destroy the lives of the small people of the world.”
She had winced at the word “sociopath.” She remembered how as a girl she thought of Ronald Reagan as a kindly uncle. Her father worked on both his campaigns in the local Republican Party and raised money for him. He thought Reagan was the best U.S. president since Lincoln. For the first time in her life with Myron, she felt anger bubbling inside close to a boil. But she spoke calmly: “You’re using strong language. What examples can you give?”
“Many, too many. We killed three and half million Vietnamese during that war. We dropped more bombs on that country than were used in all of World War II. We napalmed them, poisoned their forests with Agent Orange, the effects of which still to this day cause birth defects and cancers in the people. We assassinated leaders not favorable to our side. All for nothing. We alienated everyone except the rich elite, and we didn’t learn anything either. We didn’t learn that you can’t stop a people’s movement. So then there was Iraq. In Iraq even before the war the embargo we instituted killed another million and a half people, and it wasn’t an accident. We embargoed medicines. We first bombed their water treatment plants and then embargoed the equipment and chemicals necessary to purify water with the results that children and old people as well as the weak and sick died of typhoid fever. In Nicaragua, El Salvador, Africa, Indonesia, all over Latin America, in the Middle East and Southeast Asia, our policies have led to similar results. We flouted the Geneva Conventions and tortured prisoners. Ecologically we are the worst of polluters, and we block international treaties that attempt to curtail emissions. For those and many other reasons I am ashamed of our government. I don’t know how our presidents, cabinet officers and Congress sleep at night. If they were as Christian as they profess, they wouldn’t do these things.”
Again she listened for the voice of her father, searching for the arguments to refute Myron’s charges. She remembered a Thanksgiving dinner when he spoke of Reagan’s policies leading to the downfall of the Soviet Union. “It’s as if you’re totally ignoring the context of these things. It turned out that decisions like Vietnam were terrible ones, but we were in a life-and-death struggle with communism at the time. And it’s not as if the enemies were strewing roses across the paths of the world. Everybody knew what Stalin had done. Everyone knew about Gulag. Everyone knew about the excesses of the Cultural Revolution in China. They were dangerous people and human life didn’t mean anything to them. Is it fair to not consider these factors?”
With a dismissive shrug he said, “They explain the decisions. They don’t really excuse them.”
“But don’t you think the first duty of a president is to ensure the safety and prosperity of the American people? I don’t like it that innocent people are made to suffer, but you’re making presidents out to be murderous madmen and it’s not fair.”
“I think the duty of everyone is to do the right thing, not cause harm, and make the world a better place. I refuse to put politicians in a special class where they are not subject to the same conditions that define every good man or woman. So I take my stand on ethics. What an individual shouldn’t do, a government shouldn’t do.”
“You may be right philosophically, but in the real world what would happen? If a presidential candidate followed such a policy, he would never get elected. And if he got elected and tried to do these things, he would not be reelected. He might even be impeached. If you were walking down the street and a man with a knife attacked you, you would do everything possible to save your life. You would even kill the man if you had to. And if that happened, no one would blame you. That’s how the situation is for presidents. They have to make decisions in the context of someone threatening us. Instead of a knife, they have weapons that could kill thousands or millions. But these decisions presidents make aren’t subject to ethics.”
“Then you’re admitting that the U.S. government acts unethically?”
That brought her up short. Never in her life had she ever said or even thought that. His logic must be working on her. Having no answer, she stared at him.
“I think the morally and ethically safe position is always to sympathize with those who are vulnerable and weak, the ones who have no voice, no money, no power. They are the ones these presidents don’t hear.” He spoke quietly, seeing he had the advantage—and for that she was grateful.
“You’re thinking about dictatorships that the U.S. has backed, aren’t you? The ones in South America and Asia and Africa?”
“Yes, I am, and the way we treat the Palestinians too.”
“But again it’s out of context. We were fighting a cold war with Russia.”
“There are many ways to fight a war. Let’s put the most charitable light on it and say the U.S. government unfortunately chose the way of the enemy, which, I might add, it’s still doing in the so-called war on terrorism.”
“Okay,” she conceded, “I think at least I see the logic of your position. But couldn’t it apply to business too?”
The question seemed to surprise him. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
“I mean that you project a better world in socialism because people act more ethically in this world, but couldn’t business move towards the way Jeb Jones conducts business?”
“Fair enough. I suppose it could.”
She smiled at his easy concession and felt all her anger melting away. “I gather that’s the kind of behavior you’re thinking of when you say interdependence.”
“Well, I mean a little more than that. The reason there is always tension in a capitalistic society instead of harmony is because it emphasizes the self—and that despite that slogan on the dollar bill, e pluribus unum.
“Okay, perhaps it’s time you explain exactly what you mean by interdependence.”
He brightened and seemed, like her, relieved to be leaving behind the argumentative style of discourse. “First, again, what it is not: capitalism only recognizes the self. It’s view of society is Darwinian—it’s just an extension of nature and a struggle for survival. It doesn’t recognize the wholeness of society, its oneness.”
“But businessmen recognize they need customers and workers. Isn’t that seeing society is necessary?”
“But the workers are seen as rivals and customers as someone to make a profit off. They don’t recognize any duty to them. Think of the way Ridlon was driven by greed to save a few bucks on processing the hazardous material he was supposed to send to New Jersey. He recognized no duty. He only saw a way to make more profit. Your friend Jeb Jones doesn’t act that way, but he’s the exception, and I’m sure he does not take it the whole way. He doesn’t, for example, do what a few enlightened companies do and share profits with the workers.”
“No, I don’t think so. But what duty besides being decent and honest do businessmen have?”
“I mean they don’t recognize that interdependence is the fundamental law of life. Let me give a couple examples that I am pretty sure you’ll agree with. Suppose some contagious disease shows up. When that happens everyone has to be inoculated, not just rich people.”
“Sure, that’s easy to see. Polio, for example. We all get inoculated.”
He smiled. “See? We’re on the same page. Pollution is another example. If a factory spews out poison, everyone has to breathe it. If the water supply is contaminated, everyone is affected.”
She nodded, thinking more of the calmness that had come over her than of his words.
“And even if you don’t agree, I hope you’ll recognize where I’m coming from when I say that capitalism doesn’t recognize this. Its Shen Te side may, but it is the Shui
Ta side that does its work in the world. But the evidence is all around us of all the ways we need other people. The clothes we’re wearing, the tea we drank, the car we drove in, the building we’re in, all these things and thousands more were made by other people. Disruptions of oil supplies on the other side of the globe affect us. Cutting down the rain forest in Brazil affects the amount of oxygen we all breathe. Emissions in America, India, China, Europe and everywhere else contribute to global warming. Remember that line in The Good Woman of Setzuan about the people freezing? How the solution was a blanket 10,000 feet long? It’s a way of saying that private charity that helps only a few people does not solve the problem. Let’s say people are starving in Africa. It’s a situation just like the bombing of buildings we talked about. If they were your relatives, you wouldn’t want it to happen. Therefore an ethical person does not want it to happen period. The whole world is one world—that’s what I believe. I want to see unity and oneness, people caring for one another. Capitalism is in a sense in a permanent condition of war—I sometimes suspect that’s why every time there is a social problem like drugs or terrorism, the government calls its campaign against these things a war. That was one of the main points in Brecht’s Mother Courage—in the constant state of war the main victims were the little people.”
She leaned forward, her elbows on her knees. “Isn’t private charity better than no charity? I mean, helping one poor family like the Kimballs doesn’t transform the world but it does help that one particular family.”
“Of course. Right now that’s the best we can do in the world—help people in need when we see people in need.”
She smiled at him. “I see I have fallen in love with a man who thinks differently than I do, but who also is not a wild-eyed revolutionary. You simply care about people and the world. That’s what I’ll say if anyone ask me what your politics are.”
“I’d have to describe myself as a nearsighted evolutionary?” he said, with a smile that answered her smile.
“You think, don’t you, that we can make a good marriage?”
He leaned forward and took her hand, pulling her to the bed. With his arm around her waist, he said, “I think we’re a pair. Are we different? Sure. Just as our bodies are different, so are our minds. But that old French saying still applies: vive la différence!”
She snuggled against him. “What do you think makes a good marriage?”
“What do you think?”
“Love.”
“Yes, especially love. And more. A good marriage is one where each partner gives the other space. Each respects the individuality of the other and doesn’t try to impose his or her views. Only equals can have mutual respect. I wouldn’t dream of asking you to become a Green. Of course compromises, big and small, have to be made. Often I like to read at night, but if you wanted to watch a television show, I’m willing to defer reading to another time. And I wouldn’t ask you to watch a Red Sox game because I know you are not interested in sports. As far as politics goes, I think it’s like religion—you find what you’re comfortable with and go with that. Most often it’s what you grew up believing, but again it’s something that should never be imposed. I think ninety percent of life is simply being human. Agreement in politics or religion is not necessary. What’s necessary is to respect the other’s right to believe what he or she thinks is best.” He turned to face her. “Does that sound right to you?”
Instead of using words, she kissed him, and in kissing her back he pulled her down so that they found themselves reclining on the bed. The time for talking was over, and it was a long, long time before they left the room to go to dinner.
The Mission