The Trail to Buddha's Mirror - Don Winslow [126]
Neal’s head hurt like crazy. He glanced sideways at Buddha’s head, and wondered about the organization and discipline it had taken to build the gigantic statue. One thousand years ago.
“Thanks for the geography lesson,” he said, “but what does this have to do with Pendleton?”
Simms started to raise his hand for emphasis, but grabbed the railing again when it shook.
“Food,” he said. “There are two things that are holding the Chinese back. The first is food, and the second is Mao.”
“Mao’s dead. It was in all the papers.”
“Exactly. Mao’s dead and Maoism is on the rocks. There’s a battle going on here between the democratic reformers and the hardline Maoists, and the major weapon is food. It’s China’s age-old issue: What system will provide the most food? Some boys down here in Sichuan have figured out that privately owned land is more productive than state-owned land. You get it? You take an acre and give it to a family. You take the next acre and have the government run it, and guess what? The family acre kicks significant butt. No contest.”
“How’s your backflip, Simms? Pretty good?”
“Don’t get itchy, I’m getting to Doctor Bob, I am.”
“Hurry up.”
“The boys down here are quietly converting the whole province to privately owned land. The only way they can get away with it is by being so successful that no one will dare to purge them. Old Deng Xiaoping knows that his road to Beijing runs right through the farmland of Sichuan, and he’s started his own little Sichuan Mafia down here. It’s going to surface if and when the agricultural experiment becomes an undeniable success. Then he’ll use that success to rout the Maoists and launch democratic capitalist reforms over the whole country.”
Neal’s head was whirling.
He asked, “Wouldn’t we want to get behind that? The democratization of the largest country in the world?”
“On the surface, sure. But think about it, Carey. Even you can think this through. Think about a China that looks like Japan. All those people, all those international connections, all that organization and discipline. You modernize that, you shrug off the Maoist yoke—I’m telling you Carey, when these people can feed themselves, it’s all over for the white man in the good old U.S. of A.”
Neal’s wrist started to ache. The pistol was heavier than it looked, a lot heavier than it looked on TV.
“Are you telling me,” Neal asked, “that we’re supporting the Maoists in this battle?”
“We’re supporting the legitimate government of the People’s Republic of China. Yes, it happens to be hard-line Maoist at this time.”
“And we want it to stay that way.”
“I believe I’ve explained the doleful alternatives.”
“It’s a long fall and I’m getting impatient.”
Simms smirked. “That’s just like you, Carey. I’m talking about the lives of a few hundred million people, and you’re bitching about your delicate emotional condition. My head’s getting clear, Carey. I can take you with one rush before you squeeze off a shot.” Come on.
“When I’m ready.”
“I’m ready to hear about Pendleton.”
“You just don’t get it, do you? Pendleton was on the verge of developing Supershit, Mighty Manure. It maximizes the nitrogen content of the soil, accelerates the growing process.”
“So?”
“So it would give these agrarian reformers down here a third crop. Get it, Carey? They get two harvests of rice a year now. With Doc Pendleton’s Homegrown Formula they could get three. That’s a thirty-three percent gain. You add thirty-three percent to what they’re already doing, and … well, it’s a lot of rice. More than enough rice to make Deng the top chink, more than enough rice to turn this fucked-up shithole into a modern country. We can’t let that happen, Carey.”
“Maybe you can’t.”
Neal watched Simms’s eyes. They were getting clearer and his breathing was slowing down. If Simms was going to make a rush, it could come anytime.