Samuel Florman - The Aftermath

“It sounds almost too good to be true,” John Hertzler said.

“And the best is yet to come,” Pieter replied. He faced the assembly, standing still for a moment as the sun set in front of him, illuminating his face and bright hair. “As we move inland, the topography rises into fertile hills through which run numerous rivers. About one hundred kilometers from the coast the elevation varies from about five hundred to one thousand meters, and the climate becomes what is called temperate, subtropical—the summers are hot, but the winters are cool and clear. The natural vegetation is grassland and thicket, wooded valleys, grassy hillsides and evergreen forests. We overcut our trees through the years, just like people in other parts of the world; but then we came to our senses and started to cultivate lots of pine, bluegum and other varieties—the largest man-planted forests in the world—some of them not far from here. We’ve had enough trees to support substantial manufacturing of paper and other timber products, so there should be more than enough wood to provide for our needs.

“I guess you could say that corn is our basic crop, our staff of life. It is grown in abundance, both for cattle and as a staple for the human population. We don’t harvest as much per acre as the Americans do; but we still get plenty, believe me. We also grow wheat, beans, potatoes, just about anything you could want, both on large commercial farms and in small privately cultivated gardens. Fruit like peaches and pears, which tends to be infested with worms when cultivated along the coast, does just fine in the hills where the cool winter nights make short shrift of the insect pests. And let’s not forget the grain sorghum, which is good for a lot of things, not the least of which is making beer.”

“Beer is nice, but I’d rather have livestock.” This came from Harry Wills, one of the outspoken Texans whom Hardy had included on the Council.

“Ah, someone is curious about livestock,” Pieter said. “Well, there are—or at least were—more than twelve million cattle in South Africa, both beef cattle and dairy. As you probably know, among the Zulus and other indigenous tribes, cattle are well cared for and seen as a symbol of wealth and prestige. And on the large commercial ranches, cattle-tending has been raised to a fine art. Our animal husbandry has been admired throughout the world. We have managed to avoid the deadly tsetse fly, partly through dili gence, but mainly through a fortuitous combination of landscape and climate. As for sheep, we have more than you can count, so you needn’t worry for woolen garments, or hides, or for the occasional lamb chop. There are also lots of chickens and eggs. And pigs—many thousands of pigs. And let’s not forget about the wild game. Native animals were hunted to near extinction in the past; but there are now numerous game farms in KwaZulu Natal. Many species have been protected with tourism in mind, also to stock zoos in other lands, and for purposes of ecological preservation. And, let me add, for food. I’m fond of antelope myself.

“Finally, about three hundred kilometers inland lie the Drakensberg Mountains, rising to thirty-five hundred meters, part of the Great Escarpment, which runs in a north-south direction, separating the eastern coastal area from the great inland plateau. If you ever get to the point where you can rest from your work and take in some sights, this is among the most glorious scenery in the world.”

At this point, Robert Barkin of Lucent Technologies raised a question that, judging from the approving nods and comments, had been on many minds: “Aren’t you forgetting about the natural disaster we’ve just experienced? What’s left of this paradise after the ravages of fire and flood?”

“Maybe I can make us all feel a little better,” said Harold Carson, the director of FEMA. “First of all, we will learn more from the expeditionary group very soon. But let me assure you that the earth has wonderfully vigorous recuperative powers. You remember when Mount St. Helens erupted—back in 1980, I think it was—burying the countryside inches deep in ash? Well, within a few months there were ferns and trees sprouting on the slopes, and nearby farmers replanted their fields the very next growing season. An even better example is the eruption of the Indonesian volcano, Krakatoa—that was in 1883, a famous date in the history of natural disasters. That big bang propagated tsunami waves that swept nearby shores to a height of more than forty meters, leaving them bare and covered with a gray, muddy deposit. Within four weeks, with the coming of rain, fresh grass appeared, and splintered coconut and banana trees sprouted new shoots. Also, as you well know, most forest fires don’t do lasting damage. In fact, periodic burning is in many ways beneficial to the soil. Unless nature has some more nasty tricks up her sleeve, the earth should convalesce, and much more quickly than you’d think.”

Pieter Kemm took a deep breath and came to his conclusion: “It is good to hear what Mr. Carson has to say, and that bears out my own optimism. I feel in my heart that this bounteous land will recover from the onslaught of flame and salt water, and will provide for us. I apologize if I sound like a real estate promoter, but I have given you the facts as I know them.”

“Terrific,” John Hertzler interjected, “and as I said, almost too good to be true. I’m looking forward to seeing those nice crops being harvested—assuming we live to see that happy day. But when I ask about resources, I’m not just thinking about filling my stomach.” He patted his paunch for emphasis. “What about metals and chemicals and energy and all those things we will need to climb out of the Stone Age back into the modern world?”

“Kelvin Marshall has a lot of that information,” said Wilson Hardy, “and he assures me that we’ll be encouraged by what he has to tell us. But…” and here he wiped his brow and looked at his watch.

Several torches had been lit, and in the flickering light it could be seen that the men and women of the Governing Council were exhausted past the point of constructive deliberation.

“Let’s pack it in,” said Captain Nordstrom, stepping forward. “Tomorrow is another day—the good Lord willing.”

I know that, as designated historian, I’m supposed to be preparing an account of the major events that have transpired—which I have done and will continue to do. But in my “spare time” I also want to record certain personal aspects of the story that are central and important to me personally. The most momentous of these is the appearance on the scene of Sarah—my Sarah. Another is the serendipitous formation of the Focus Group.

That’s what my father called us one night early in the cruise when he found the six of us in one of the ship’s bars arguing about the meaning of life. Amazed to hear us carrying on in such earnest debate, my father came up with that label, the “Focus Group,” and it stuck. It was all lighthearted at first, but once he took on the burden of co-leader of our survivor society, he started to use us as a resource in the Governing Council’s deliberations. Not that he looked to us for ultimate wisdom. But, pending the evolution of a formalized democratic-style government, he felt the need to refer to several “sounding boards,” and we were one of those.

Focus groups had become quite the thing in recent decades, particularly with market research companies. These firms would bring a small number of people together in an informal setting and have them engage in roundtable-type discussions with a facilitator, usually aimed at seeing how one product or another might fare in the marketplace. Political parties used them too, as a way of predicting how the electorate might react to campaign ads or contemplated policies. Such groups were supposed to be a microcosm of “the public.” Of course, our sextet cannot claim to be representative of the world population, even as severely reduced as it is. No way. We’re all young, white Americans. On the other hand, half the group is male, half female—no small distinction in the scheme of things—and philosophically, we do represent a variety of views. Most important, we share a taste for debate.