The foundation of human existence, the pamphlet explained, was dependent on a well functioning ecosystem. Healthy food, clean water, a stable climate, and so forth, depended on the oceans, which functioned as buffers for the temperature and moisture of the atmosphere and provided an environment for fish. They depended on massive forests to absorb carbon dioxide and emit oxygen, so that there would be enough wood, and on having enough insects to decimate pests that harmed human crops, on microorganisms in the ground, without which no farmland could support crops.
All these complimentary services that an intact ecosystem furnished was worth an estimated 30 trillion dollars, the pamphlet said, double the GDP of the entire planet.
John stopped reading and looked out the little window. They were flying over a bright white layer of clouds. This was the first time he’d come across a number that he could compare to his own fantastic wealth. The gross global product was worth around 15 trillion dollars. In other words, with his money, John could buy one fifteenth of the world’s products and services that were produced and offered in one year. Hard to believe! What could he do with all that? The prophecy had to entail some incredible invention or innovation, something it would cost a fortune, and which would be the crucial factor for change. But what?
He sat there thinking for a while, but all there was in his mind was a fog of uncertainty and no great idea to cut through it. He continued reading. So the earth’s ecosystem was worth 30 trillion dollars.
It was remarkable to have this explained in such a manner. The other arguments he had kept on hearing all his life were for the most part emotional: how wonderful nature was, how terrible it is to have it destroyed — this sort of tear jerking stuff. There is no doubt that was true, but the discussions people had didn’t go to the core of it. Of course it was terrible when a forest cut down for a highway or factory, but when emotions went up against money, then money usually won.
But hadn’t the true worth of the ecosystem been ignored? For instance, let’s say that one wanted to build an ecosystem on the moon or some planet that had nothing but space. Then all those things that are free on Earth would have to be either transported there or created. Things like water, air, plants, animals, fertile soil, and so on. All this would cost unbelievable sums of money. The costs would be astronomically high to even re-create an average village with its average-sized fields on the moon. And if all this were so, then there was a huge error in the math that assumed the Earth’s natural resources were there for exploiting. Maybe it meant that all those ecologists were wasting their time blocking excavators or singing songs at some demonstration? The destroyers of nature could only be beaten with their own weapon. There needed to be a reconfiguration of the calculations made to figure out the ecosystem’s real value and the true cost of destroying it so the world could see the actual bottom line.
But John couldn’t do that on his own. And there certainly were no generally accepted methods to calculate the worth of a forest, a lake, or an animal species. In its closing words, the pamphlet emphasized that ecosystems did not begin or end at international borders, that solutions had to be sought at multi-national levels, and that the WWF was the body to do this. If he was to donate at least a hundred million dollars to their cause, they would hold a special ceremony in his honor.
John put the letter away, ordered a fruity, low-alcohol cocktail, and stared thoughtfully out of the window.
What was the reason for the mass extinctions? The disappearance of untouched nature? Over time, man had stepped into every part of on earth, explored them and eventually made use of them. Humans chopped down trees, built houses, and used fertilizers, pesticides, and machines to grow crops. At the root of all mankind’s problems was the constant growth of the world population. More and more people who had to eat, who had to live somewhere, who would again make more children, and so on.
This whole thing was so complicated … and so hopeless. Should he use his wealth to provide condoms and the pill to the entire world’s population? That was the source of all the problems: humans, many, many, humans, armies of humans — a flood of people, growing ever larger in numbers on a planet that stayed the same size.
He glanced around the first class cabin, which, though a bit cramped, was luxurious compared to the restricted space of the tourist class a deck below. He thought about his mansion by the beach, the large fence around his property, the guards, private stretch of beach and the yacht. It was like the sudden onset of a toothache when he realized that rich people spend a lot of money to keep the flood of people at bay — to have space.
He had been afraid his parent’s house might have become alien to him, underprivileged, and cheap, like his old dishes. But when they arrived, and he stepped through the doorway it all was so familiar. It was home. He hugged his mother in the hallway that smelled of the leather and shoe wax that practically oozed from the workshop, even though his father had closed it for today’s special occasion.
The living room smelled of tomatoes, basil, and hot water thanks to the pasta being prepared in the kitchen. John and his father hugged while his mother could hardly get over how grand John looked and what a tan he had.
Everything was the way it had always been. There was the same wallpaper in the hallway still getting darker with age, the stairs leading up and the creaking third step, and his room, which hadn’t changed a bit since he had left and moved in with Sarah. He would sleep in a museum tonight. And there was still this unidentifiable odor upstairs that reminded him of his childhood more than anything else.
But there was a new TV in the living room. He sat down on the sofa, which had needlework doilies on the armrests, and told them he was well. Mother set the table. His father told him that she’d been having problems with her legs lately. He didn’t let John see that he noticed him wearing his old pocket watch, but John hadn’t expected him to.
A little while later Helen and Cesare arrived. They brought a big bouquet of flowers. The way they greeted John seemed constrained, as if they didn’t quite know how they should act around him. Helen looked like she always did, like the intelligent philosophy teacher she was, with her hair loose, and dressed in elegant black. She looked as if she had found a magic trick to freeze the march of time. Cesare, on the other hand, had even less hair than the last time John had seen him, making him look like well over forty although he wasn’t even thirty-eight. John spotted stern looking wrinkles by his mouth, which he hadn’t noticed last Christmas. Cesare was still gaunt and didn’t look very happy either.
“How many anniversaries have you had so far?” Helen asked as they sat at the table. No one mentioned Lino; his chair wasn’t there either. “Thirty-nine? You’ll have to plan something really special next year!”
John noticed that his mother took a quick look at him following Helen’s comment. “We’ll see,” she said simply.
The saltimbocca tasted so good it was unbelievable. John looked down at his plate and wondered if he ever had tasted anything so good in all the ritzy expensive restaurants he’d visited lately. Or did it only seem like that because he grew up with this kind of cooking?
“John,” his mother said in a low tone of voice, “do those two men have to sit out there in the hallway?”
He didn’t quite understand what she was talking about. His previous life seemed so far away, like a dream. “They’re only doing their job, mamma.”
“Is it okay if I bring them some food?”
The bodyguards were convinced by mamma to go to the kitchen and to eat by the table.
“They have weapons underneath their jackets!” his mother exclaimed as she came back.
Over dessert John remembered what it was he wanted to tell everyone. He announced to his gathered kin that he wanted to make every person in the family financially independent. “And Lino too, of course,” he added. Everyone is to receive ten million dollars; an amount of money that would rid them all of any future financial worries; in fact they could live purely off the interest.<
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“There will be a gift tax to be paid,” Cesare said in typical official tone.
Father cleared his voice distinctly, took the napkin from his lap, placed it beside the plate, and wrinkled his forehead above his bushy brows. “That’s very fine of you, my son,” he said. “But I won’t stop working.”
“But you won’t ever have to work again!”
“A healthy person must work. That’s life. John, we can’t just live from the interest! There must be someone there to bake the bread and to repair shoes to make sure everything gets done. I will accept the money and say thank you. I will stop worrying about the future. That will be a relief, yes. But I honestly believe that I have such worries only because the world is set up in such a weird way that a person can’t live from doing an honest day’s work anymore.”
John looked at his father and felt as if he had made an absolutely ridiculous suggestion. To make matters worse, Helen said with a taught mouth: “We won’t accept your money. I’m sorry. I know that you mean well, but we don’t need it. Both of us have careers, earn enough, and have everything we need.”
“I understand,” John said calmly and looked at his older brother, who nodded affirmatively, but there seemed a gray shadow in his face that he hadn’t noticed before. John wondered if Helen had decided this on her own. He would have asked, but could hardly do so with her around.
“A few years ago,” father began to say, “a man from the neighborhood had won the lottery. Gianna, do you remember him? He always went for a walk with his poodle that had this white curl on its forehead. He was a Russian … Malkov, or something like that …”
“Malenkov,” mother said, “Karel Malenkov. But he was from Poland.”
“Malenkov, you’re right — that was him. He won the lottery, two million dollars, I think. He was a bus driver. Anyway, he stopped working and only went for walks. I always saw him from the little window in my shop when he was walking his dog. Half a year later I hear that he was dead. His wife said it hadn’t done him any good just lollygagging around all the time. At some point his heart had got so lazy that it just stopped beating.”
“Wealth makes life more complicated,” Helen interjected. “You might not realize this yet. Now you have a large mansion, cars, a yacht, and staff, and you have to take care of all these things. That takes time, time that you don’t have for yourself. Have you ever asked yourself whether maybe your wealth really owns own you?”
“Well,” John said carefully, “I used to deliver pizza the entire day so I could pay the rent, and after that I was totally exhausted. I had far less time for myself then.” He felt like telling her that she had no idea how it was to be rich.
“And guards!” she exclaimed. “Good heavens! John, I’d hate to have bodyguards around me all the time.”
“I admit that to own a trillion dollars is a little weird, but when you actually do have that much than bodyguards are a must.”
“No, no. Up until now I earned every dollar on my own. I would lose my sense of independence if I were to accept your money.”
John shrugged his shoulders. “Nobody is going to make you take it It’s up to you.” Nobody mentioned what Cesare might think.
On their way to the very same café where their father had proposed to their mother, Helen asked John why he didn’t simply give his money to all the charities. “Like you said, you could keep ten million and live off the interest. Then you wouldn’t have to worry about being poor and or about being super rich.”
“I have other worries,” John admitted. The sun stood high and made the mailboxes and street lantern wires twinkle in its light. There was a lot of traffic.
Their parents walked a bit ahead arm in arm, and John told his brother and his sister-in-law about the prophecy. He explained the relationship between the fortune and the prophecy and that he felt he had to keep the money together because whatever it was that he must do to fulfill it, it would most likely be possible only with lots of money. He added that he had no idea what it was that could fulfill it.
The owner of the café had reserved the same table for the family’s special occasion as he did every year.
“Here is where I sat,” mother said with a melancholy smile, “and your father was there, right on that chair.”
“Of course, it’s not the same chair today as it was back then,” father grumbled and sniffed to cover up his emotions.
“We had cappuccino.”
“Wasn’t it coffee con latte?”
“And we went to the movies on Fifth — the one with the little blue tower that got torn down. It was a Cary Grant movie.”
“To Catch a Thief. That was the name of the movie.”
“I can still remember; I was all engrossed in the movie. Then he asked me right there and then if I would marry him. Can you imagine that?”
“I was afraid that if I didn’t ask you then, I never would.”
“Back then he looked a little like Cary Grant, your father.”
“Oh really?”
“And I said “yes” right away, without a second’s hesitation.”
He took her hand in his, worn with age spots now. “Would you marry me again if you could turn back time?”
She put an arm around him. “Any time.”
They kissed then stopped abruptly, as if it were an improper thing to do, and laughed when they realized how old-fashioned they must seem.
Everyone ordered cappuccino, except for Helen who wanted espresso and a piece of cake. John thought he saw tension between his brother and his sister-in-law. The old couple’s display of love and affection clearly was having no romantic effect on Helen.
To John’s surprise, during their walk back home, Cesare began chatting to him about football, which Helen thought was boring so she walked together with her in-laws. John had a feeling that Cesare was deliberately letting the others get in front.
“I want to touch on the subject of money …” Cesare said changing the topic suddenly, but his voice faded when he didn’t know how to say it.
“Yes,” John said as encouragingly as he could.
“A few months ago I was told of a surefire stock investment. It really did sound good, like a sure thing, and that’s why I thought I’d risk it.” Cesare hesitated. “Helen knows nothing about it, and, of course, it didn’t work out as I had hoped and now I’m having problems with the mortgage payments and…“
“No problem. I only need your bank account number.”
“You know, my job doesn’t allow me to earn much extra money, that’s why I thought … I mean, since you made the offer…”
“Cesare, you don’t need to explain. Helen won’t find out. I promise.”
John’s brother turned around and when he was satisfied they were still far enough away from his other half, he stuck a note into his brother’s pocket, which he must have written in the café restroom. “And John, no ten million, please.”
“Why not?”
Cesare mouth twitched oddly. “Like I said, there would be taxes and I couldn’t keep it secret form Helen.”
“Got you, then how much?”
“The max without paying taxes is ten grand a year. If you give me ten thousand now, and next year another…”
“Twenty thousand? That’s it? Are you serious?”
“Only enough to make up for my losses. I don’t need more than that.”
“Alright, will do. No problem.”
“Thank you.” Cesare sighed. “I couldn’t handle ten million to be honest. I don’t know how dad will manage with it. And how about you? How is it you’re not going nuts!”
John shrugged his shoulders. “It may still happen.”
They had to fly back home that evening, because Cesare had only one day off work. They said their good-byes and hugged and kissed. Mother’s tears flowed too, of course. They waved as the taxi drove away. The two bodyguards stood nearby like shadows, one by the front door and the other near a streetlight.
Then they went back insi
de the house and into the living room. Father opened a bottle of Chianti. He poured a glass and said, “You know, John, I’m a happy man. I know … I don’t always look like it; you can be happy and sometimes forget about it and act like an ox. When my mind is clear I know that I am a happy man. And it’s not only because I married your mother and that we have a happy marriage, even though that is very important, of course, but also because I love my work. You know, you can love your wife, and that is nice, but how much do you see her during the day? Maybe one or two hours? But work, you are there for eight hours a day or even longer, and that’s why it’s important that you like it. And I love my work. I love leather … the way it feels and smells. I love to cut leather, to puncture holes in it and the sound of the hammer when I nail on a heel, and I love to sew on a sole with the machine. I admit that I’m not the best shoemaker in the world, for sure I’m not. And I haven’t made a pair of shoes in a long time; I only repair them these days. Once upon a time, I made my own shoes. How long ago was that? Ten years? Maybe even fifteen. Never mind, it don’t matter. But what I’m trying to say is that I feel good when I’m in my shop with all the shoes, the tools, the machines that smell of oil, and the cans of wax. Sometimes I get a visitor or a customer, and then we chitchat. Then I’m alone again and let my mind wander as the old hands work almost by themselves.” He took another drink and smacked his lips. “Do you understand now why I don’t want to quit? I really enjoy it, so why should I stop only because it’s called work?”
One Trillion Dollars Page 21
