2030_ The Real Story of What Happens to America - Albert Brooks [90]
“I saw that. What’s that all about?”
“It just means whoever did this isn’t particular. As long as enough elderly get it, whoever is nearby gets it, too. That’s a bad guy.”
“I appreciate whatever info you can get me.”
“I appreciate the tickets.”
* * *
“Did you hear?” Kathy asked.
“I heard.”
“Where are you?”
“I’m at an art supply house,” Max said.
Kathy still hadn’t mentioned the wall. What is he doing at an art supply house? “Who do you think did this?”
“Someone with passionate enough feelings to take their own life. I sure would like to know who it was and what that’s all about.”
Kathy was on Max’s side, of course, but she didn’t condone a suicide bomber. “You don’t think that was a good thing, do you?”
“Baby, I don’t think killing indiscriminately is ever a good thing. And I understand that some young people died, too. But I have to admire the passion that went into this. If it was for the same reasons that we’re fighting for, then the idea was right, though the action was probably wrong.”
“Probably?”
“Kathy, stop taking me literally. We’re in a war. It can’t always be bloodless. I would like to see things change without any violence, but that’s obviously impossible. In any case, I think the killing here was bad. Okay?”
“Okay.” Kathy needed to at least hear him say that. “By the way, why are you in an art store?”
“What?”
“Never mind. Call me when you get home. I love you.”
“Love you, too.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
The bombing was the talk of Camp David. The President was informed early Saturday morning and the rest of the delegation, both American and Chinese, heard about it at breakfast.
A decade earlier the Chinese had experienced similar problems, but they put them down quickly. There was no mercy in China for killing the olds. Though over the decades respect for the elderly had been dwindling in Asian countries, its origin was still there, and respect for elders was ingrained into the Asian culture, even if it was not practiced as it once was. And besides, the Politburo had so many old members there was just no tolerance for those kinds of actions.
Thousands of Chinese soldiers had been sent to put down this revolution before it ever got started. Young people were put in jail for life or killed or tortured, and it was shown to every schoolchild in the country. China was big on “this could happen to you,” and, for all intents and purposes, it worked.
On Saturday morning, at a head-of-state breakfast before any negotiations started, the Premier mentioned to the President that his country had also experienced the younger generations “getting jealous,” as he called it. He warned the President that in his humble opinion it was a bad idea to let this fester. Bernstein thanked him for his thoughts, and for a moment he was tempted to get into the discussion with the Premier about older people living too long. But Chen Biao was going to be eighty-eight in January, so the President decided to let that conversation go.
They had a nice breakfast, chitchatting about meaningless things like the weather and soccer and food, and then at noon everyone went into a large conference room and the real purpose of the weekend got started. Chen Biao spoke sufficient English, but he liked to mix the languages, starting a sentence in one language and finishing it in another. The Nextrons were out in full force, so that when he chose to speak to the President in English his own delegation could understand what he was saying.
The meeting started with Biao telling the President, “There is no way we can loan you twenty trillion dollars.” Bernstein was a little taken aback at how quickly everything began, but he wasted no time, either.
“Well, Mr. Premier, we don’t need that amount at this point. We are actually looking to borrow three trillion, which would be enough to get the massive Los Angeles project started.”
“But what happens after that?”
“I don’t know,” the President said. “That would