End of the World

by D Thomas Jewett

  Joe was silent, weighing his options. And then he sighed. “Fine, officer. Please give me ten minutes to collect my things.”

  “That will be fine, sir.”

  Joe had been living in the house without benefit of furnishings, knowing that this moment was soon to come. And now it was here, and Joe packed his suitcase with his meager living items – clothes and toiletries – and walked out of the house.

  He placed the suitcase into his truck, and then turned to look at the house one more time as he wiped a tear from under his eye. And then tears welled up inside him, but he held them at bay and gazed at the house he loved, now standing as a monument to his broken dreams and empty life.

  Interlude

  Imagine a room with walls of dark walnut and finished in pristine satin – and with a ceiling of white plaster, edged in 17th century crown moulding and textured with large, wide swirls. And carpeting! Not just any carpet, but a truly warm, plush carpet made of the finest of fabrics. And also a fireplace. But not just any fireplace – for this is a massive stone fireplace with a wide solid mantel of black walnut.

  And imagine, if you will, five upholstered chairs – dark brown in colour – facing towards the fireplace, and forming a semicircle, with a man seated in each chair. The men are talking amongst themselves as they enjoy a snifter of old, rare brandy, and each enjoying the pleasure of a fine cigar of his choosing. All are relaxed and at ease as they gaze into the roaring fire, watching as it dances and swirls – casting flickering shadows onto the walls, and into the ether – and imbuing the room with a dark foreboding of events yet to pass.

  Have you ever sat and watched a fire? The sight is spellbinding, almost mesmerizing in its dancing shapes, colours, and textures. And the intensity of the flames as they bounce from one log to the next, is amazing.

  Julius was speaking. “... the Gulf oil spill was a work of genius, even if I say so myself.”

  “Yes it was, my dear comrade. With oil covering so much of the Gulf floor, we are assured that the North Atlantic conveyor ceases to flow. And as a consequence, we shall have introduced radical changes in weather – especially in the northern hemisphere.”

  Lord Basil seemed almost gleeful as he spread his arms in a flourish. “Yes, my comrades, global food production shall be reduced because of the contaminated Gulf seafood; and because of the shorter growing season in the northern and eastern part of North America.”

  “Add this to the already low food stocks, and we shall have our population reduction,” he said passionately.

  And no one in this room felt the slightest emotion for the tens or hundreds of millions of people who would soon starve!

  * * *

  A tall, dark, lanky man walked into the room and toward the inner circle of men. He arrived at the circle's centre and bowed his head. “You called for me, gentlemen?”

  Lord Basil replied. “Yes, Daniel. Thank you for coming in.”

  Lord Basil leaned back in his chair and looked up at Daniel. “You are aware, of course, of the next steps in our plan?”

  “Yes, my Lord. I believe the next steps are to promote civil unrest and revolution in many countries of the Middle East and North Africa – with the objectives, of course, of taking control of the central banks, installing dictators who will oppress their people, and driving the price of oil to new heights.”

  “That is correct,” Lord Basil replied. “But those of us of The Council have also decided to take control of Libya – now. After all, they possess oil resources, and they have fought against our control over their currency for some time.” Lord Basil paused and then said, “so please communicate our desires to the President.”

  “Yes, my Lord. I understand.” Daniel replied. “Is there anything else you wish that I attend?”

  “No, Daniel. You may go.”

  Daniel’s long strides took him quickly out of the chamber.

  Chapter 10

  Congressman Paul: Do you think gold is money?

  Chairman of the Federal Reserve Bernanke: No. It's a precious metal.

  Paul (smiling): It's not money? Even if it's been money for six thousand years, somebody reversed that – and eliminated that economic law?

  Bernanke: Well, it's, er – you know, it's an asset. Would you say that Treasury bills are money? - I don't think they're money either; but they're a financial asset.

  Paul: Why do? ... Why do central banks hold it?

  Bernanke: Well, it's a form of reserves.

  Paul: Why don't they hold diamonds?

  Bernanke: Well, it's tradition. It's long term tradition.

  Paul (laughing): Some people still think it's money.

  - - - Exchange between Congressman Ron Paul and Chairman of the Federal Reserve Ben Bernanke at a Congressional Hearing of the Financial Services Committee

  * * * * *

  Mark yawned yet again as the droning voice of Fed Chairman Cohan continued. And then he shook himself awake and took stock of his surroundings, finding himself sitting behind Congressman Clark Roberts on the top tier of seating, in the conference room at 2128 Rayburn House Office Building.

  The Financial Services Committee hearing was in progress, and Mark had a good view as he looked over the lower tiers of desks and toward the witnesses and audience, all of whom were facing toward the committee members. But he was particularly interested in Fed Chairman Cohan, seated at the primary witness table in the center of the chamber.

  The Fed Chairman presented a powerful image to the committee, attired as he was in a dark blue pin-stripe suit. And with his hair combed back and his penetrating brown eyes, he exuded an air of confidence as he interacted with the committee.

  Mark focused on the discussion at hand, just as the committee chairman banged his gavel and announced, “At this time I recognize the gentleman from California, Mr. Sheffield.”

  Congressman Sheffield was a man of small stature. His brown hair was combed straight back, making the wrinkles in his forehead more prominent. He smiled often, causing his wrinkles to curve upward around his cheeks. But he nonetheless presented a superficial facade – he was all plastic, and with no guiding principles save his next re-election campaign.

  Sheffield's eyes were vacant as he smiled at the Fed Chairman. And then he began his questioning. “Thank you, Mr. Chairman. And thank you Chairman Cohan for coming today. I am so delighted to meet you and to talk with you.”

  His hands folded together, Chairman Cohan nodded and said “Certainly.”

  Sheffield made a gesture of bowing his head. And then he said, “Chairman Cohan. My constituents are deeply concerned about the economy. Many of them are out of work and are suffering – their families are suffering. And frankly, ah – Mr. Chairman, we're losing a lot of jobs in my district, as we are across the country. So, Mr. Chairman, I am asking you to maintain the lowest interest rate you can so that money is freed up for our great and suffering country. Will you please respond?”

  The corner of Chairman Cohan's mouth crooked up. And then he said, “Thank you Congressman Sheffield. I can assure you that we at the Federal Reserve are doing everything possible to inject more liquidity into the markets and into the economy. This should alleviate the suffering and put people back to work.”

  “Thank you Mr. Chairman. I yield back the balance of my time.”

  The committee chair then announced, “Thank you, Mr. Sheffield. At this time I recognize the gentleman from Texas, Mr. Roberts.”

  Mark's yawning ceased as he became instantly alert, for this was the part of the hearing he enjoyed. His boss, Clark Roberts, had recently come to Congress. A middle-aged man of medium stature, and with brown hair graying at the temples, he was elected on a populist message. And with his clear blue eyes and fiery manner, he had a way of engaging people through his honest dialogue. Mark smiled as he reflected on Roberts. Unlike most of Congress, Roberts was well informed on economics and monetary policy. And damn how I love the sparks flying when Roberts is talking!

  Congressman Rob
erts sniffed and then began his questioning. “Thank you, Mr. Chairman. And thank you for holding these hearings. And a warm welcome to you, ah – Chairman Cohan.”

  Roberts looked down at the chairman with an engaging smile, and then said, “I look at the Fed's monetary policy today, and I'm, ah – deeply concerned. It seems like we have lots of money to loan to banks, and we keep interest rates near zero so that government is funded more easily. So we give money to banks, to big corporations, to Fannie and Freddie, and every other too-big-to-fail corporation.” He paused. “But what happens to the little guy? The guy on the street who's lost his job? The little guy who's lost his home? His mortgage? Maybe his family? It seems, ah – that we do nothing for them.”

  Roberts paused and then went on. “But I'm deeply concerned about your zero interest rate policy, Mr. Chairman, because Austrian economics teaches us that without capital there will be no jobs, and that capital comes from savings. And yet, your zero interest rate policy is destroying people's savings which is destroying capital. And, ah – private economists are estimating the real unemployment rate at well over 20%. The last I looked, they were saying 23%.”

  Roberts paused and took a deep breath. And then he said, “So my question to you is: do you sleep well at night knowing that your policies are keeping people out of work?”

  Chairman Cohan's hands shook as he shifted some paper in front of him. And then his voice quivered as he replied, “ First of all, Congressman, the Federal Reserve was, um – created by Congress to be the lender of last resort for the retail banking sector. That remains our primary mission. Having said that, Congress also placed a dual mandate on us to, ah – maintain price stability and full employment; so, our policies are meant to achieve these directives.”

  The Chairman looked down at the papers before him, and then looked up and continued. “With regard to my quality of sleep, I must tell you, ah – Congressman, that I sleep very well; because I know that the policies we pursue are designed to move money into the, ah – economy so that consumers can spend more. The increased consumer demand leads to greater investment in plant and equipment and causes the economy to expand. And to answer –”

  Congressman Roberts interrupted with, “I'm sorry, Mr. Cohan. But I have some more questions.”

  “That's fine,” Cohan replied.

  Congressman Roberts continued, “As a follow up to your answer, Mr. Chairman, how do you expect, ah – money to get into the hands of consumers if the consumers do not have jobs? And how do you expect, ah – capital to be created if there's no savings and the banks aren't loaning money?”

  Chairman Cohan sighed. And then his voice quivered as he answered. “Fed policy provides for a loosening or tightening of the money supply. When the supply is, ah – increased, banks have more funds to loan. This is how –”

  Congressman Roberts interrupted him. “But Mr. Chairman, banks are not loaning money now, are they?”

  “Ours is not a perfect system, Congressman. But the extent of our power has been made clear by the federal reserve act, so that our primary charter is as lender of last resort. The banks need money and we loan it to them. We have no control over what the banks do with that money. Now, Congressman, –”

  Roberts again interrupted. “Pardon me, Mr. Chairman; but I must ask you ... You assert that you have no control over bank lending, but is it not true that the Federal Reserve is paying the banks to park their money at the Fed, rather than loaning it out into the economy? And is it not true that this policy by the Fed stifles job creation and economic growth?”

  “Ah – Congressman, our mandate to restrain prices makes it necessary that –”

  “So, the answer is ‘yes’. Is that correct, Mr. Chairman?”

  “Ah –”

  Roberts interrupted yet again. “Excuse me, Mr. Chairman, but I have another question. We have rising prices due to your actions to inflate the supply of money. Oh – I know – government CPI[44] shows an inflation rate of 2 percent or so, but that number leaves out food and energy price increases, and we have free market economists who're estimating the, ah – inflation rate at about 9 percent or more per year.”

  Roberts paused for effect and then went on. “So I ask you, Mr. Chairman, how do you justify inflating the money when it leads to the poor and elderly especially unable to buy food? Or energy?”

  Cohan responded with a (still) quivering voice. “As you know, Congress has given the Fed a mandate for price stability. And government statistics show that inflation is quite low. Now, I hear, ah – that you, ah – discredit the government's CPI; but that is the number we are working with according to the expressed mandate of the U.S. Congress. As for Americans experiencing price inflation, Congressman, if the American people live and work and shop in the U.S., they will experience only a moderate price inflation –”

  Roberts interrupted and said, “But not if they're buying food or energy. These people are hurting, and they're being robbed!”

  An awkward wordlessness descended on the room as Chairman Cohan glared across the table at Congressman Roberts.

  The committee chairman pounded his gavel and announced, “The gentleman's time has expired. The gentlewoman from Ohio is recognized for five minutes.”

  Chapter 11

  Joe relaxed in his boat, waiting for a bite on his fishing pole. The mild waves moved the boat gently, hither and yon, while the peacefulness, the silence, the serenity, brought out his happiness. He reeled in his lure, empty though it was, and made another cast – sending it further out from the boat this time. Ah, yes! This is what retirement is supposed to be.

  He gazed patiently across the lake, enjoying the gentle caress of the waves. And then he drew the line in yet again, and cast his lure out into the lake. This time, I'll get one! He mused.

  Leaning back serenely in his boat, he noticed an ever so slight impact on the water's surface, and then another. And then he heard raindrops, and the drops sent out pitter-patter sounds across the lake. But then he thought, this is not the sound of rain drops hitting the lake; this is the sound of raindrops hitting something hard. How strange! It was then that Joe knew he was sleeping.

  Joe opened his craggy eyes to daylight. Without moving his body, he let his eyes take in his surroundings – the hard concrete floor, the walls of brick surrounding him, and an old decrepit light hanging far above him from a ceiling. And then he turned his head slightly and realized he was in the entrance to a building, crumpled into a corner with an old blanket covering him.

  He awakened further as he looked around, rubbing his face through his grizzled beard. And then he gazed beyond the sidewalk onto the street, watching the rain hit the pavement and spattering as it settled on the hard surface. The rain was coming down softly, but he sensed it would soon be falling much harder.

  Shit! It's the end of October and the rainy season is coming. I need to find some shelter for the winter.

  Although his body was wracked with aches and pain, he nonetheless picked himself up off the concrete. He cloaked the blanket over his shoulders. Gawd, I feel like shit– more broken down every day. How did this happen? Shit – the world has no need for a fifty-seven year old man. I guess we're just supposed to shrivel up and die.

  Joe gazed into the window of a nearby car and saw his reflection look back at him. He looked awful; but with his tattered clothes, long unkempt hair, and grizzled beard, he knew that his appearance likely got him more donations. And yet, that's not why he looked this way. No – he looked this way because he had no money and no place to live. The world had discarded him as they discarded millions of other fifty-something men and women.

  Joe grimaced in pain as he began shuffling, limping, toward the nearest freeway overpass. He reached the overpass and pulled out his sign – the sign he had left flat against the knee wall last evening. This has been getting me more hits than the others, he reflected. He held up his sign next to a traffic light, near the entrance to the overpass.

  Homeless. Need food. Need
money.

  God Bless.

  Joe waved the sign as the cars passed through, trying to get them to look at it – but the drivers faced forward, ignoring him. Finally, the light turned red and the line of cars stopped. Maybe someone will dig out some money now, he thought. And then a woman rolled down her window and handed him a dollar.

  “You take care now,” she said with a pitying tone in her voice.

  “Thank you,” he spat as he grabbed the money from her hand.

  A surprised and then angry expression crossed her face as she rolled up the window. The light turned green and she punched the gas pedal, accelerating quickly away from the intersection.

  God how I hate their pity, he reflected without feeling. And then he felt angry as he continued waving the sign. I hate their God damn judgment and their condescending looks. They act as though they're better than me. As though I am just a slug. As though I am less than human.

  After about thirty minutes, Joe collected enough for his breakfast. His tattered blanket hanging off of him, he shuffled off to the nearest fast food joint.

  * * *

  At 7:00 pm, Joe called it a day. He pulled down his sign and again laid it flat behind the knee wall. He moved off, shuffling along the streets toward his next destination. He shuffled past stores with barred windows, past old cars, past a beggar here and there.

  “Help a friend, old buddy?” One of the beggars asked as he held out a hat.

  “Joe looked down at him as he was moving. “Shit, man. I can't even help myself.”

  The streets were rolling up for the night. Outside on the street will soon be dangerous, he mused. He glanced into an alley as he shuffled past, seeing two men sprawled out on the ground. Probably druggies, he thought.

  And then he did a double-take toward the other side of the street. He watched as a car pulled to the curb. There was a woman leaning against a building, and she also noticed the car pull up. Clad in tight leather, her breasts were bursting out of the blouse as she moved over to the car. She put her hand above the window and spoke through the opening, and her breasts were now in full view for the driver to see. In a matter of seconds she pulled the car door open and got in. The car drove off.