He held me close to his chest, which I loved, both of us sweaty, and he asked what I was thinking about, and I said, “Manuals. Wouldn’t it be great if there were manuals that came with Jon and Nate? You know, page 1: ‘Yeah, other kids are like this, but your Jon is different because of A, B, C, and D. Page 2: Handle Nate with care when . . .’ Or, maybe hospitals should be required to give you a Proposition 65 warning when your kid is born. Something like: ‘The State of California knows that this kid could be hazardous to your mental health and physical well-being for at least eighteen years, maybe twenty-one years, or even for life. The kid could even cause you ulcers and migraines.’”
“Nah,” Mauru said. “You wouldn’t like that, Jan. Once you accept that we’re making it all up as we go, you just let go and enjoy watching your kids grow. You spend time with your spouse, parents and in-laws, your sister, your buddies, and you just enjoy the ride, babe. You just coast along and enjoy the ride.”
I smiled.
Trehoviak was now at the podium, and the veal course was served.
I hadn’t realized that when you’re a man that short, they put a block of wood by the podium so that you appear taller than you actually are. There were some chuckles in the audience, and Trehoviak didn’t mind because “We all need a little help to make it through the day, folks, and the California Water Party is here to help you and your family make it through yours.” [Applause all around and a smile from Chief Justice Cathay, who had been eating so fast that he stuffed two s’mores bars into his mouth in one go as the justices of the Supreme Court of California looked on in awe.]
“President Taft,” Hannah murmured, “who then became Chief Justice Taft, ate a twelve-ounce buttery broiled steak, multiple slices of buttered toast, many cups of coffee with milk and sugar, and two oranges for breakfast every day. Cathay has nothing on him, and I’d pick Cathay any day over Taft.”
“You crack me up,” I said to Hannah.
“Just some Americana,” Hannah said, “when you’re trying to not think of a man who thinks another woman is right for him, but he’s clearly wrong, and you both know it.”
“Speaker of the House, Raphael Imaga,” Trehoviak s. “Chief Justice Cathay; the senators of California, Arizona, Colorado, Nevada, New Mexico, and Texas; the justices of the California Supreme Court; colleagues and friends in business, entertainment, medicine, and social justice; fellow family members of the California Water Party, thank you for joining us today.
“Three stories will help me make my point tonight.” Trehoviak took a deep breath, and he looked agitated.
“A boy of about eight witnesses his dad murder his mom. His dad then points the gun at the boy and orders him to never reveal what he saw. That boy doesn’t speak at all for another seven years until his foster parents get him a friend, a pet dog, which becomes his sole companion, and it allows him to trust people again. The boy puts himself through college, joins the Peace Corps, builds wells abroad, teaches environmental awareness, and cultivates local contacts.
“That’s story number one.
“Story number two.
“Another young man loses his parents to illness and becomes his family’s sole breadwinner. He goes to an immigrant camp, where he applies for a job, which he gets, working in the Welcome Center serving displaced people. He steals about $5,000. His employers at the camp ask him to return the money he’s stolen, and they will forgive him. They offer to find housing for him, and he returns a day later and kills two people.
“Number three.
“A gifted local woman receives help building her community and sustaining her family. She asks us to document her people’s struggle with a changing environment by telling her story. She goes on to mastermind an attack on a water convoy, killing not only four of our truck drivers, but also many others, including members of her own family.
“Three people. Three stories.
“The first story is Anton Cola’s. The second story is Malcolm Waife’s. The third story is Eleena Chiredzi’s.
“What makes one person a model citizen and another a killer? The answer is simple: moral character. The California Water Party firmly and unapologetically believes that it is the Right Path that those with the moral character required to thrive in these times should lead. They should be welcomed by a community of equals, who similarly believe that difficult times do not provide us with easy answers, but they impose upon us great moral burdens that require us to act decisively against those lacking in moral character. Acting decisively means, depending on the circumstances, acting forcefully.
“The world is very different now from what it was, even a year ago. The sympathetic solutions of yesterday won’t do us any good today when we are faced with increases in theft, robbery, and armed violence of all kinds against property holders in our cities, our state, and our nation. From Oklahoma City to Austin to San Diego, communities are under attack because they lack decisive leadership that would allow us all to sleep with our doors open again while keeping our community gates open to those who’ve been forced from theirs.
“Soon, Eleena Chiredzi will be executed publicly.
“We support that result.
“Eleena was our friend, and we did everything we could to help her, but she ceased to be our friend when she attacked that convoy that many of you helped fund with your donations; the result of your hard work and generosity. We had already renewed our TV contract with Eleena, which is binding on us, when we realized what she had done. That contract will terminate with her public execution, and we will honor the contract fully by broadcasting everything we agreed to, including her execution because we believe in the rule of law.” [Applause.]
Trehoviak looked at all the Hoviaks around the room, his troops, who stood ready to do his bidding at a moment’s notice.
“We are also urging the State of California to revive the death penalty,” Trehoviak continued. “We must execute Malcolm Waife for killing people at San Ysidro, not because we believe that the death penalty should apply in every case, but because we believe that the death penalty has symbolic power like no other remedy in our criminal justice system. We should conscript everything we can when our property, our people, and our resources are under attack. Indeed, we dare not show any weakness in this regard for, only when our resolve is sufficient beyond doubt, can we be sure, beyond any shadow of a doubt, that people will never ever dare tread upon us.
“Many of you have asked what we will do when we come to power. This much we pledge—and more. We recite Scrimmage so that we never forget our commitment to you: the people whose lives, property, and well-being depend on our unwavering commitment to your safety. We urge you to learn more about Scrimmage, and we stand with our arms and community open to welcome you.
“We want more Antons, we recruit aggressively for them. We value them in our organization because we know that you care about where your votes go, where your money goes, and you also care about moving beyond the two-party system that has been playing musical chairs with our political system for way too long, which has mired us in nothing but damage, devastation, and destruction! [Applause.]
“Fellow Californians, fellow Americans, friends, and fellow family members of the California Water Party, we will win next year’s election! We will change the face of California, the face of our nation, and the face of the world! Thank you again for your time this evening and for being here. We hope you enjoy your dinner and your time with us. The California Water Party needs your advice and help. Please join us.”
The speech was met with a brief silence as if people had alighted from a wild carousel ride and were deciding whether they’d enjoyed the experience or not. Finally, applause came from the Hoviaks themselves, who must have been told that if no one else applauded, they had to keep the energy up in the room, which they did with great fervor. Their applause swept across the room, and it culminated in a standing ovation for Jeremiah as the Hoviaks encouraged people to stand and applaud Trehoviak, which people did, even
as they laughed about it.
“I think Mike wrote that speech,” Hannah said. “Similar turns of phrase between his speech and Trehoviak’s and a few appeals to great speeches in our nation’s history, including President Kennedy’s Inauguration Address.”
“I’m not political,” I said, “but Mike referred to the Gettysburg Address in his introduction. We studied it at the University of the Finger Lakes. You know, I actually loved my time at Finger Lakes. I wish that I’d realized it when I was there.”
“I hated my time at Condorvine,” Hannah said. “I wish that I’d done something about it when I was there. But you’ve got to be careful when you complain about having had a silver spoon in your mouth and not liking it. People think you’re an asshole for saying the spoon wasn’t silver enough.”
“I don’t know about you,” I told Hannah. “But—”
“Oh, this is going to be in the Herald tomorrow. I promise you, Janet.”
“What the—”
“Yep. They’re serving the final course in leather sandals.”
“Whose boneheaded idea was that? Who serves little desserts in leather sandals?”
“They probably wanted to make a ‘kicking’ final impression.” Hannah smiled at her own joke. “The sandals look great, though. I bet it was Michelle’s idea. Three Gourmet Critics of America awards and all.”
“She’s going out of business tomorrow,” I said. “I wouldn’t eat dessert out of someone’s nasty old shoe.”
“No, they look brand new.” Hannah nodded. “But still, who wants to eat dessert out of a leather sandal?”
“I’m wishing for some chicken pot pie now. I’m starving,” I said as I rubbed my stomach.
“I’m too proud to go in there and face those people who humiliated us,” Hannah said.
“I am, too, but my stomach sure isn’t, so I’m following it into that kitchen and am having myself a three-course meal because Mauru and the kids went to my parents for dinner, where they’re having Chaldean food from a restaurant in El Cajon, which Mauru and Mom love.”
“Chaldean food?”
“Yeah. San Diego has one of the largest Chaldean populations in the country. Delicious food.”
“Who knew,” Hannah said, raising her eyebrows. “I mean, in the ride shares out here you meet people from everywhere. I’ve actually taken notes because when I write my memoirs someday about my time at WS&X, which no one will believe, by the way, I intend to include a chapter on all the people you meet here. So, let’s see, I’ve had drivers, um,” [Hannah counted on her fingers] “from Afghanistan, Australia, Bosnia, Brazil, Eritrea, Ethiopia, France, India, Iran, Iraq, Italy, Moldova, Somalia, the Southern African Federation, and, of course, Orange County.”
“I’m going to miss having you here when you’re famous and writing books,” I said. “In the meantime, I’m going to get some food in me.”
I went to the kitchen and walked up to Sheila, apologized for the scene Hannah and I had made earlier about not being served nine courses, and I asked if it would still be OK if I had the staff meal.
Sheila nodded and smiled, and Layla thanked me for apologizing. (I don’t mean to sound disrespectful to Layla because I sometimes repeat myself when I worry that I’m not being heard, but Layla’s level of superfluity was legendary. Get this: when I apologized, Layla said she was “thankful, appreciative, and grateful” that I’d come to say I was “sorry, apologetic, and regretful.” Moreover, Layla informed me, Hannah’s and my words had “pained, wounded, and bruised” her, and she’d felt “embarrassed, humiliated, and ashamed.” I told myself not to say a thing in response.)
When I tasted that pot pie, though, I had to admit something. I’ll even say this about the Hoviaks: they know chicken pot pie.
The chicken pot pie the Hoviaks served was hands down the best I’ve ever had. The crust was flaky but firm, just like I love it, and the filling was piping hot, tender, seasoned, and juicy. It poured out a little with each slice, and I couldn’t help asking for two more slices. The mesclun salad was . . . meh, but I’d take arugula over mesclun any day. The lime sorbet was sharp and sweet, and it made me pucker up and smile.
As I finished my dinner, Mike walked up to me, thanked me for everything, apologized for the misunderstanding regarding the dinner, and asked if I’d take two chicken pot pies home with me as a gesture of friendship from the CWP. I initially refused because I wanted to be polite, but Mike insisted that no one would mind at all, and he’d already told Larry what he was going to do, so the CWP would be honored if I took two or three pies home with me.
I thanked Mike for his kindness, and he came up to me again at the end of the evening.
“Awesome evening, Janet,” Mike said. “The CWP has built this political platform for Jon, Nate, and those who come after them. Greta and I are thinking of starting a family of our own, and we want the best for them, just like you want the best for Jon and Nate, which is why we’re so proud to be a part of the CWP. I love my job, Janet, and I can’t wait to do it each day. Only two places matter in life: where you have breakfast and where you have dinner. I have both meals with my people from the CWP. Great seeing you again, Janet. Greta and I look forward to dropping by again if that’s still OK.”
“Uh, sure,” I said. “That would be great. Thanks again for the dinner and the pies.”
“The California Water Party,” Mike said, “really needs your advice and help, Janet. Please do join us.”
8
I’m a Disgrace, and I’m Proud of It
It was an early Saturday morning in San Diego in June 2037. Before spending the day with his buddies, Mauru took Jon and Nate to my mom and dad in La Jolla. Every so often, we dropped the kids off with my parents on the weekend, and they took them to the San Diego Zoo, to Balboa Park, to the San Diego Children’s Discovery Museum, or to the beach, which both Jon and Nate loved.
I was tempted to call my friend, Maria, to spend the day with me. As I reached for my phone, though, I realized how lovely it might be to spend the day on my own in my pajamas, on the couch, with a romance novel, a fresh buttermilk biscuit, and a cup of coffee.
I was about eight months pregnant with the twins, and I just wanted to rest.
I downloaded the latest novel by Ambrosia Skiffles, which one of my favorite blogs called a “sensation that shook me to the core and took my emotions on such a rollercoaster ride that my toes curled.”
I scrolled down to the first page and sighed merrily as my head sank into the velvet cushion. I felt one of the twins kick, which my OB-GYN called “quickening,” and I wondered if that twin had decided to be like Nate who, when I was pregnant with him, once kicked Mauru in the back when he lay too close to me.
“Sydney Beggars,” Ambrosia’s book begins, “could not believe her liquid brown eyes. She stepped into the bakery, and wafts of fresh cinnamon enchanted her nostrils, tickled her memory, and enticed her to the counter in a few delicate steps. A snowy smile met her at the counter. It was his: the dreamy man with the hands of a pianist her friend Stephanie had told her about. Sydney swooned; he had a wedding ring.”
I smiled.
Ambrosia Skiffles’s novels were criticized for being “caricatures of the very best romance novels,” but I didn’t care. Like me, Ambrosia was from Upstate New York, and her romance novels were filled with details of the Finger Lakes region, like the wineries and the dairies, but she also drew on characters from across the world, reflecting Ambrosia’s belief that “desire can ignite anywhere on the planet.”
Ambrosia had written thirteen romance novels thus far, and her goal was to write more romance novels than “any other novelist, living or dead.” Ambrosia’s previous novel, Go From Me, Barrett, had just been shortlisted for the Grand Sow Award, the most prestigious award for romance novels.
I received a text message from Mauru.
“Eleena’s on TV, babe,” he said. “Worth watching?”
I’d had enough of Eleena.
She was all pe
ople talked about, and I hadn’t quite decided whether she’d betrayed the Water Party or they’d betrayed her. In any case, I didn’t feel good thinking about her. Mom couldn’t understand “why anyone expresses any interest in that terrorist. Watching her execution will only encourage people to be like her. Eleena tried to overthrow a democratically elected government, and now she’s paying the price.”
I continued reading Ambrosia, and I found myself turning the TV on and selecting the California Homeland Channel. It was just after 6 p.m. in the Southern African Federation, and Jeremiah, Anton, Mike, Granite, Sheila, and Miriam were all there. The sun hadn’t yet set; it was clear the day was coming to an end, and its end had been chosen for its symbolic meaning. It was also the time of day when temperatures were easing off.
The gallows were in the middle of a stadium filled to capacity.
Ninety thousand people from across the world, the crawl at the bottom of the screen said, were in attendance. I was surprised by that. I wasn’t aware that Eleena was that well-known, that famous, or that global, nor was I aware that the California Homeland Channel or the California Water Party were that well-known outside the US.
The crawl indicated that members of “sister political parties” were also in attendance, including the African Future party, Blue Without Borders, the Earth Rising Party, the Eastern Ascension Party, the European Homeland Party, the Mexican Water Party, Millennials for Macaques, the Moral Patriotic Front, Remember the Bonobos, Revive the Great Barrier Reef, the Southern Water Party, the Utopian Canada party, and Women for Environmental Action, among so many others.
This was now much bigger than Eleena.
A previously unknown woman from the Southern African Federation, who had risen to prominence through her friendship with the CWP, was about to be executed with the world as her audience.
What about Eleena’s story had captured people’s imaginations?
Her story had something in common with others at the time. There were stories of youths going on hunger strikes to push their governments to act more forcefully for the environment, of water riots in cities in which water had once been abundant, of the elderly and the ill dying from the heat, and of animal migration patterns disrupted.
Sands Rising Page 14
