Jonathan Kellerman - The Web

"The blockade was economical oppression, Nick," said Moreland.

Hoffman cut free a white outer scrap of melon, stared at it, chewed, and swallowed.

"Sometimes things change, Bill," he said softly.

"Sometimes they shouldn't, Nick. Sometimes under the guise of helping people we do terrible things."

Hoffman squinted at Ewing again. "Could you be a little more forthcoming for Dr. Moreland, Elvin?"

Ewing swallowed. There'd been no food in his mouth. "There was some local unrest. We appraised it given the data at hand, and the judgment was that it had the potential to escalate and pose a hazard to Navy security. Restricting contact between the men and the locals was deemed advisable in terms of risk management. The proper forms were sent to Pacific Command and approval was granted by Admiral Felton."

"Gobbledygook," said Moreland. "A few kids got out of hand. I think the Navy can handle that without choking off the island's economy. We've exploited them all these years, it's immoral to simply yank out the rug."

Ewing bit back comment and stared straight ahead.

"Bill," said Hoffman, "my memory is that we saved them from the Japanese. That doesn't make us exploiters."

"Defeating the Japanese was in our national interest. Then we took over and imposed our laws. That makes the people our responsibility."

Hoffman tapped his fork on his plate.

"With all due respect," he said very softly, "that sounds a little paternalistic."

"It's real istic."

Pam touched the top of his hand. He freed it and said: " 'Local unrest' makes it sound like some kind of uprising. It was nothing, Nick. Trivial."

Ewing's lips were so tight they looked sutured.

"Shall I check on the second course, sir?" said Zondervein.

Ewing gave him a guillotine-blade nod.

"Actually, it's not quite that simple," said Creedman. "There was a murder. A girl raped and left cut up on the beach. The locals were sure a sailor had done it and were coming up here to protest."

"Oh?" said Hoffman. "Is there evidence a sailor was responsible?"

"None whatsoever, sir," said Ewing, too loudly. "They love rumors here. The locals got liquored up and tried to storm-"

"Don't make it sound like an insurgence," said Moreland. "The people had justification for their suspicions."

"Oh?" said Hoffman.

"Surely you remember the people, Nick. How nonviolent they are. And the victim consorted with sailors."

"Consorted." Hoffman smiled, put his fingers together, and looked over them. "I knew the people thirty years ago, Bill. I don't believe Navy men tend to be murderers."

Moreland stared at him.

Ewing was nearly scarlet. "We were concerned about things getting out of hand. We still believe that concern was justified, given the facts and the hypotheticals. The order came from Pacific Command."

"Nonsense," said Moreland. "The facts are that we're a colonial power and it's the same old pattern: islanders living at the pleasure of Westerners only to be abandoned. It's a betrayal. Yet another example of abusing trust."

Hoffman didn't move. Then he picked something out of his teeth and ate another ice cube.

"A betrayal," repeated Moreland.

Hoffman seemed to be thinking about that. Finally, he said, "You know that Aruk has a special place in my heart, Bill. After the war, I needed peace and beauty and something unspoiled." To us: "Anyone tells you there's anything glorious about war has his head jammed up his rectum so high he's been blinded. Right, Elvin?"

Ewing managed a nod.

"After the war I spent some of the best years of my life here. Remember how you and Barb and Dotty and I used to hike and swim, Bill? How we used to say that some places were better left untouched? Perhaps we were more prescient than we knew. Maybe sometimes nature has to run her course."

"That's the point, Nicholas. Aruk has been touched. People's lives are at-"

"I know, I know. But the problem is one of population distribution. Allocation of increasingly sparse resources. I've seen too many ill-conceived projects that look good on paper but don't wash. Too many assumptions about the inevitable benefits of prosperity and autonomy. Look what happened to Nauru."

"Nauru is hardly typical," said Moreland.

"But it's instructive." Hoffman turned to us. "Any of you heard of Nauru? Tiny island, southeast of here, smack in the center of Micronesia. Ten square miles of guano- bird dirt. Two hundred years of hands-off colonization by the Brits and the Germans, then someone realizes the place is pure phosphate. The Brits and the Germans collaborate on mining, give the Nauruans nothing but flu and polio. World War Two comes along, the Japanese invade and send most of the Nauruans to Chuuk as forced laborers. After the war, Australia takes over and the native chiefs negotiate a sweet deal: big share of the fertilizer profits plus Australian welfare. In sixty-eight, Australia grants full independence and the chiefs take over the Nauru Phosphate Corporation, which is exporting two million tons of gull poop a year. A hundred million dollars in income; per capita income rises to twenty-thousand-plus. Comparable to an oil sheikdom. Cars, stereos, and junk food for the islanders. Along with a thirty-percent national rate of diabetes. Think of that- one in three. Highest in the world. No special hereditary factors, either. It's clearly all the junk food. Same for high blood pressure, coronary disease, gross obesity- I met an Australian senator who called it "land o' lard.' Throw in serious alcoholism and car crashes, and you've got a life expectancy in the fifties. And to top it off, ninety percent of the phosphate is gone. A few more years and nothing'll be left but insulin bottles and beer cans. So much for unbridled prosperity."

"Are you advocating the virtues of poverty, Nick?"

"No, Bill, but the world's changed, some people think we need to stop looking at ourselves as the universal nursemaid."

"We're talking about people. A way of life-"

Creedman said, "Whoa. You make it sound as though everything was hunky-dory before the Europeans came over and colonization spoiled everything, but my research tells me there were plenty of diseases in the primitive world and that the people who didn't die of them would probably have died of famine."

I expected Moreland to turn on him, but he continued to stare at Hoffman.

Hoffman said, "There is some truth to that, Bill. As a doctor you know that."

"Diseases," said Moreland, as if the word amused him. "Yes, there were parasitic conditions, but nothing on the scale of the misery that was brought over."

"Come on," said Creedman. "Let's get real. We're talking primitive tribes. Pagan rituals, no indoor plumbing-"

Moreland faced him slowly. "Are you a waste-disposal expert in addition to all your other talents?"

Creedman said, "My resear-"

"Did your research tell you that some of those primitive rituals ensured impeccable cleanliness? Practices such as reserving mornings for defecation and wading out to the ocean to relieve oneself?"

"That doesn't sound very hygien-"

Moreland's hands rose and his fingers sculpted air. "It was fine! Until the civilized conquerors came along and told them they needed to dig holes in the ground. Do you know what that ushered in, Tom? An era of filth. Cholera, typhoid, salmonellosis, lungworm fever. Have you ever seen someone with cholera, Creedman?"

"I've-"

"Have you ever held a dehydrated child in your arms as she convulses in the throes of explosive diarrhea ?"

The gnarled hands dropped and slapped down on the table.

"Research," he muttered.

Creedman sucked his teeth. He'd gone white.