2030

by Albert Brooks

  “Who told you about this?”

  “This guy.”

  “What guy?”

  “A guy who works in security.”

  “What do mean, security?”

  “He’s a bouncer, but he’s a nice guy. Really smart.”

  “Jesus,” Kathy said. “You met a guy in a fucking bar?”

  “He’s a nice guy. I was telling him about your dad and he suggested I come to this meeting.”

  “Why are you telling bouncers about my dad?”

  “You’re making too much of this. This guy is in the same situation as you. Paying off his mother’s health care. He bounces to make extra money.”

  Before Kathy could say anything else, two motorcycles roared up behind them and the biggest guy she had ever seen recognized Brian. He yelled, “Hey, man!”

  “Hey, Louie. I came.”

  “I wish I’d cum!” Louie laughed at his dirty joke.

  Louie was basically a skinhead. About six-five, 290 pounds, quickly running out of any more room for tattoos. They had perfected laser treatment that could remove tattoos and leave the skin looking normal, but what they found was that most people who had their tattoos removed eventually put a new one in its place. Louie had the words FUCK YOU tattooed on his right forearm. He had it removed, but a year later he added MOTHERFUCKER. He always kicked himself when he realized he only had to remove the YOU. By just adding MOTHER and ER he could have saved three thousand dollars. This was the guy Brian called really smart.

  They all walked in together. There were about thirty-five people standing around getting high and talking a mile a minute. Kathy, who was no prude when it came to altered states, didn’t feel comfortable enough to lose control tonight. When she looked around the room, she had mixed feelings. Part of her felt that Brian was an idiot to get talked into something that he knew nothing about, and the other part was drawn to these people like a magnet. There was something all of them had in common. The anger.

  A blond-haired guy stood up. He looked to be in his early thirties. Kathy couldn’t help but stare; he was gorgeous. Six foot two inches. Two hundred pounds. He looked like a poster boy for being in shape. And a handsome face. Not movie-star handsome, more like Olympic-ski-team handsome. He introduced himself. “Hey, everybody, my name is Max. I’m originally from Maine. I’ve lived here for three years and I’m bored out of my fucking mind.” Everyone laughed. “I think we all showed up for the same reason. This fucking country no longer cares about us. We’re only here to pay the debt of the olds and it’s time to say no. We are not going to pay their fucking bills any longer.” The whole group broke into applause.

  Kathy was wet. She was in love with this guy. Like crazy. She actually looked at Brian and felt sorry for him. His simple idea to go to this meeting was going to change their relationship forever.

  Kathy had never been a love-at-first-sight person. As a matter of fact, with the feelings that she was experiencing at this moment she wondered if she had ever really been in love before. This is crazy. Just listen to what he has to say and tomorrow this will all be nothing. But as the meeting continued she felt closer and closer to these people. They were different from the kids in the resentment gangs. It was not just that they were more articulate; they were actually experiencing what she was—having to work for years to pay off a medical debt—or else they were sick themselves and couldn’t get the proper care.

  One woman, Sandy, had a damaged heart valve and was always tired, even at twenty-five years old. Her mother’s health plan was so meager it would not pay for her operation, so Sandy lived her life with the energy of someone three times her age. Another young man, Robert, lost his vision in his left eye after a carjacking. If he could have gotten care quickly enough, his sight might have been saved, but his parents were divorced, and when his father remarried and had a son, Robert’s health care vanished. It was something in the law that Congress always wanted to fix, but didn’t.

  People, one by one, stood up and told their stories. Brian told of his grandfather’s illness and how it cost his parents a fortune, but he spoke quickly and did not make much of an impression. Kathy didn’t feel she wanted to speak. But when she stood up and told the story of her dad, everybody was mesmerized. No one more so than Max.

  She found it to be a great release. She could vent and cry and maybe even do something about it, though at the moment she didn’t know what that was. No one had gotten to that part.

  When everyone finished, Max stood back up and said, “Tonight is a starting point. It’s important to know our stories and how we feel. Next time we’ll talk about what we can do. The only thing worse than what we are going through is to feel helpless. So it’s time to take back some power.” Again, people applauded. No one really knew what he meant, but the words sounded so good. Everybody agreed they would meet again.

  Kathy didn’t want to leave. She wanted to talk to Max all night. She went up to him and said, “You were so great. We’ll see you at the next meeting.” Max gave her a hug.

  “Feel better,” he said.

  Kathy stared at Brian as Max had his arms around her. She was aware of her expression. Don’t swoon. Look like it’s your uncle.

  “Thank you,” Kathy said, breaking the embrace so it wouldn’t lead to anything more serious. Her tone of voice was all for Brian’s sake. She sounded as matter-of-fact as possible. “We’ll see you again sometime.”

  As Brian and Kathy were driving home, Brian was the first one to speak. “That was sort of boring, I’m sorry I dragged you there.”

  “I didn’t think it was boring. I thought it was fascinating.”

  “You don’t want to go back, do you?” Brian knew the answer.

  “Are you kidding? I want to hear some solutions. Don’t you?”

  “I don’t think that group is really going to have any solutions.”

  “Why not? No one else is doing shit.”

  “So we should go back?”

  “I’m going back. You don’t have to.”

  “No, that’s all right. I’ll go back.”

  And they drove for a while in silence. Brian reached over and pressed a button and music filled the rest of the ride home. Neither of them spoke until he dropped her off. Kathy beat him to the question of whether or not he should come in.

  “I’m exhausted. I’m going to read for a bit and go to sleep. Thank you so much for taking me. I loved it.” She gave him a quick kiss and opened the car door.

  “I’ll call you tomorrow,” Brian said.

  “Great,” Kathy answered, hoping she sounded as if she meant it.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Shen Li had a grand celebration for his fortieth birthday. He flew his parents in from Hunan province and treated all of his childhood friends from home to an airplane ticket and a hotel room. Most of them had never been on an airplane, and certainly none of them had ever stayed anywhere as nice as the Beijing Hyatt.

  Li’s success story was legendary in his hometown. He had gone to the same rundown school that all of his friends attended, but from early on he showed ability as an organizer. At sixteen he got his prefecture’s president to organize a protest against a factory that was poisoning a local stream. His younger brother, Hue, was diagnosed with cancer at the age of ten, and Shen was sure the stream was the reason, since his brother, more than anyone else in the family, was a swimmer and loved to dive into the water day or night, no matter what the weather.

  When his brother died, Shen vowed to teach the factory a lesson. At sixteen, all he could do was protest. But at twenty-five, after graduating law school third in his class, he sued Matchuta Manufacturing and won a rare verdict against a company that fought everything and was always victorious. Shen’s reputation grew, not only as a brilliant litigator but as someone with a future in politics if he wanted it. It was highly unusual for a person to come from his humble background and rise so quickly, but he had a gift.

  Shen’s mother, who still did her laundry in that same strea
m, looked at her son’s birthday party as if she were on Mars. She was so proud of him and occasionally thought, This can’t really be my son; someone must have switched him at birth.

  Li’s father was like a kid in a candy store. He had never seen a hotel buffet before and the Hyatt did it up right for the party, with all the delicacies that his parents loved but almost never got a chance to eat. Steamed wax gourd and straw mushrooms. Cheese-baked prawn, and one of his father’s favorites, fish heads with the eyes sautéed in vinegar.

  His mother loved frogs. Not the legs, the whole frog, boiled, cut into pieces, and mixed with onions and peppers. And although they were not drinkers by nature, the cocktails were so tasty that both of his parents got tipsy and rambled on about how their son had paid for all of this and how he was famous and beloved in Beijing. He wasn’t really famous, but he certainly was heading in that direction.

  Shen Li did not want to stay in law. It was not exciting enough. He felt he could succeed in business in a spectacular way as soon as he found his passion.

  While still a lawyer he invested some money in a company that made pencil phones. As the name implied, a communication device, along with a camera, was put into a regular pencil without adding any bulk or noticeable weight. The company made them for a dollar and sold them for seven. It sold ten million in two years, and Shen made a small fortune. But he wasn’t interested in gimmicks. He wanted to make money at something more important. And probably because he always thought of his brother and how someone who was so full of life was deprived of it so early, Li felt that something must be done to get health care to the masses. In 2022 Health Care for All was formed, with Shen Li as its president.

  The concept was simple, even though the execution was not. Hundreds of millions of people throughout China would see a doctor, if they were lucky, two or three times in their life. Once, maybe, when they were born; once when they started school; and once if they enlisted in the People’s Army. And decent medical care was still located in just the big cities.

  In a rare instance an employer might pay to have a very valuable employee taken to a hospital in Beijing or Shanghai, especially if there was any thought that the company was responsible and could be fined. But mostly the poor got little or no help. Shen was convinced that if enough people paid pennies, small clinics with nurse practitioners who had access to current medical data could be set up around the country and bring care to people who would otherwise simply live with their illness or, in many cases, die from it. He knew that helping someone with pneumonia was not only cheap, but kept other people around them from getting the illness, and the result was that people were sick less and could be more productive. When the government saw that a little went a long way in keeping the population healthy, it became the biggest investor in Health Care for All.

  So Shen Li wound up creating something that was one of the most successful public-private ventures in modern China. And he, in the process, became one of China’s richest men.

  * * *

  President Bernstein was in the middle of his morning workout when John Van Dyke walked in. Bernstein was given a look that said, I need you in private. The President asked his trainer to step out. He wiped the sweat off his face and took a swig of water. “What is it, John? Another earthquake?”

  “Your mother is in a coma.” The President didn’t say a word for what seemed like a full minute.

  “When?”

  “A half hour ago.”

  “Where is she?”

  “They took her to Lady of Mercy.”

  Bernstein had a contentious relationship with his mother. He thought she never treated him like an adult, certainly not the adult he was, the most powerful man in the world. Well, not the most powerful anymore, but right up there with the Asian countries. He also blamed his mother for killing his father when she up and left him after fifty years of marriage. His dad got up one morning and found a note. An old-fashioned note, handwritten, in an envelope with his name on it. He had had no idea what it was, not even a clue. When he read that his wife had been unhappy for two decades, it wiped him out. It made him question everything he ever knew. He thought his whole life was a sham and wondered if everybody felt the same way about him.

  Bernstein was Speaker of the House at the time and was so busy it made him angry that he had to come and take care of this mess himself. He let his dad come to Washington and got him an apartment, but his father died within the year. The President never forgave his mother, who came to the funeral with a date. She claimed the man just drove her because she was too upset, but Bernstein saw them holding hands.

  John Van Dyke knew all about this, so he was not surprised to see his boss basically emotionless.

  “I guess I have to visit her,” the President said.

  It was odd. He now had to act more distressed than he was, simply because he was president. The President was the griever in chief and if he didn’t look sad that his own mother was in a coma, it would confuse the country. “Set it up, John. Put me through the paces. Let’s leave today. We’ll get there and do what we have to do.”

  “I’ve already arranged it, sir. Do you want to look at your statement?”

  “No. I know what I said.”

  When the President arrived in Chicago, the press was waiting. Betsy didn’t like his mother any more than he did, but when they got off the plane, they both could have been contenders for an Academy Award. She even had tears. The President approached the reporters and said, “We have no further information at this time. My mother is still in a coma and we are rushing to the hospital to be with her.” One reporter actually yelled out, “Were you close, sir?” Bernstein almost laughed. What a ballsy question. This guy deserved an answer.

  “Very.”

  When the motorcade got to the hospital, there was a slew of press waiting there, too, but they avoided it by going into the garage. They were taken to intensive care, where his mother was obviously being given special treatment. She was all alone in a large room designed for at least fifteen people. The President asked where the other patients were, and he was told they had been moved to other hospitals or different floors so she would be secure. This actually made him upset. He didn’t think people who were in critical condition needed to be moved just so his mother could have all the machines to herself, but of course he said, “Thank you.”

  He looked at her face. She had no expression. Three doctors were standing by to answer any questions and, of course, to be near the president of the United States. Bernstein took his mother’s hand and squeezed it. She didn’t squeeze back, but no big deal, he was used to that. After a few minutes of touching her forehead and rubbing her arm, he asked to talk to the doctor in charge. A heavyset man introduced himself as Dr. Martinez.

  The President was always amazed at how fat doctors were. How can they ever give you medical advice when they need to lose a hundred pounds? And why don’t they take the weight-loss drug? Do they know something we don’t? He asked to talk to the doctor privately.

  They went into a small office and the President said, “Give me the truth. Real information. How long will she live?” Martinez didn’t hesitate.

  “She could live for years, sir, as long as the machines are connected.”

  “Really?” the President asked flatly. “Can she come out of the coma?”

  “At this age and with the extent of the bleeding, I would say no.”

  “Is she brain-dead?”

  “No.”

  “So she is not brain-dead but will remain this way?”

  “So it seems, sir.”

  “And whose decision is it to keep the machines running forever?”

  “Did she have a DNR, sir?”

  “I know a lot of abbreviations,” the President said, “but remind me what that is.”

  “‘Do not resuscitate,’ sir.”

  “I don’t know if she did. Would that be in her will?”

  “In her will or special instructions, Mr. President.”

/>   “I’ll see. We’ll look into it and let you know. Obviously she can’t take up the intensive care unit forever. What will happen to her?”

  “She would go to a facility.”

  “That’s wonderful, it sounds so inviting. She can have lunch with Ariel Sharon.” The doctor didn’t laugh. He didn’t know who that was.

  Bernstein was on the plane back to Washington when he broke down. He wasn’t crying for any simple reason. He was sad about the coma, he was sad that their relationship had deteriorated to such a degree, and he was sad that at the very moment in his presidency when he wanted to approach the subject of keeping dead people alive, it was taken from him by his own mother. Then he started to laugh. Do not resuscitate. How funny. He actually thought his mother might have had an “RAAC,” “resuscitate at any cost.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  It took about fourteen days for the military to get completely in place in Southern California. The work was so overwhelming that no one knew exactly where to start, but the first order of business was to bury the dead and to try to locate and attend to the injured. One hundred triage stations were set up in strategic points around Los Angeles. The U.S. Army Corps of Engineers worked day and night to restore as much electricity and water as possible. Generators were installed where landlines were completely destroyed, and electricity was fed neighborhood to neighborhood, if there were still standing buildings that could receive it. Water mains were repaired where the damage could be seen, but there were so many breaks in the system that even when large mains were fixed, nothing flowed.

  Hundreds of trucks with drinking water were sent around the city, and people stood in line to get their few gallons. It was like Bangladesh, with the people of Los Angeles lining up with buckets and thermoses waiting for fresh water and precooked food. Helicopters flew over the city with loudspeakers directing people to the food stations, and the army tried to space things out so no one would have to walk more than four miles.