Лайонел Шрайвер - The Mandibles - A Family, 2029-2047

Never a science-fiction fan, instead Douglas now immersed himself in the more recently minted genre of apocalyptic economics, rehearsing debt-to-GDP ratios as he had once memorized Saul Bellow. (When younger, Carter had never imagined he’d grow nostalgic for being quoted to death from Seize the Day .) If Pop couldn’t remember the age of his only son, the chances were poor that any of this pontificating tutorial was even ballpark accurate. What few scraps of his feverish reading that the old man did recall verbatim would be exaggerated for effect. Yet the last Loony-Tunes statistic was the limit.

“You might double-check that,” Carter chided gently, in preference to what a load of crap . “In 1981, I was a junior in college. Why wouldn’t I remember my own currency that steeply in freefall?”

“Because it’s boring, son. The American government counts on your being bored by it. Why, I barely remember the fallout from Nixon going off the gold standard myself. I buried my head in books. Perhaps the wrong books, looking back, but it’s too late now. The point is, when you’ve debased your currency that utterly, there’s not much further left for it to fall. Besides the sheer dullness of it all, the dollar sliding to the penny hasn’t been all that noticeable because every other government has been busy doing the same thing—running the printing press overtime on the justification that a junk currency advantages exports. The world is drowning in worthless paper. But America in particular has been getting away with murder—playing on the heartbreaking international belief in Treasury bonds as the ultimate ‘safe haven.’ Really, the blind trust bears all the irrational hallmarks of theology. What else, financially, is there to believe in besides the full faith and credit of the United States? So we’ve borrowed for basically nothing on the basis of a childlike credulity for thirty years. You know the Fed’s been steadily trying to monetize the debt—”

“Cut it out, Pop. You’re showing off.” In the agency days, Douglas Mandible held forth about anastrophe, metonymy, and onomatopoeia—and now it was all arbitrage, margin calls, and open market operations. Day trading had infected his father’s mind like a fungus.

“You try living to ninety-seven with a wife who can’t recognize a fork. You’d acquire new expertise out of desperation, too. And it’s not complicated. Why, I taught Willing about monetizing the debt the last time you brought Florence up here, and the kid got it right away. Though I have to say that boy’s got a knack. Has that sharp-eyed, quick-on-the-uptake quality that was obvious in Enola by the time she was three.”

Drawing on an inhuman self-control, Carter stifled, Oh, give me a break!

“So,” Douglas continued. “You loan me ten bucks. I photocopy the bill four times, give you back one of the copies, and announce that we’re square. That’s monetizing the debt : I owe you nothing, and you’re stuck with a scrap of litter. For years, the fact that one can swap dollars for tangible goods and services has been a miracle of God. Why do you think I’m invested in the market? In theory, stocks entail owning real things. Unfortunately, I didn’t take into account that most of those stocks are denominated in dollars. And I’ve been as vulnerable as the next idiot to the bias that keeping the majority of your funds in American companies is erring on the safe side. So I do apologize. Had I any idea what was in the offing, I’d have diversified quite differently.”

The apology was Douglas’s first acknowledgment that the portfolio that may or may not have abracadabra-ed into a bunny rabbit was in the long run more his son’s than his own.

“I was going to ask you.” Carter’s tone was defeatist; he already knew the answer. “I have a 401(k), and a small pension from the Times . Is there anything I should do, to protect myself?”

“There’s nothing you can do, for as long as this asset freeze is in place—which is relaxing, too, isn’t it?” At last Douglas gentled his diatribe with a note of paternal tenderness. “As for when the SEC says, ‘Ready, set, go!’—I’d advise moving to gold, but that’s what millions of competing investors will be trying to do at the same time. There’s simply not that much of the metal on the planet, which is one of the main reasons it’s been a staple store of value for five thousand years. When the SEC called time, gold was already at an all-time high. When and if the game resumes, it will go through the roof before you can say Jack Robinson. I’m afraid the same advice pertains to any of the commodities that back the bancor. It’s too late,” Douglas announced elegiacally. “I wouldn’t bother.”

It had long before grown dark, and the banker’s lamp on the table between them cast a soft, protective glow. Once again Carter was struck by how nothing, or nothing tangible, had changed. He’d gulped a horrifying quantity of bourbon, and it was only mid-evening. He shouldn’t drive in this condition, and hadn’t the presence of mind to figure out the driverless function in the BeEtle now. He’d have to stay over. Jayne would be frantic. She wasn’t accustomed to spending the night alone. His wife had determinedly not kept up with the news this week, and wouldn’t be amenable to the idea that exceptional times required extensive consultation with his father. Jayne had become a firm believer in rising above news of any sort, all of which was bound to blow over if you ignored it resolutely enough. The head-in-a-paper-bag strategy worked a surprisingly high proportion of the time.

Douglas patted Carter’s thigh. “What say we have a bite? There’s the dining room, or Grace could whip up something here that isn’t low-salt, low-fat, low-fun.”

“This conversation hasn’t done wonders for my appetite.” Carter continued to slump. He didn’t call Jayne, who if she had attended to the nature of this errand at all would only want the gist. Which he still hadn’t grasped. A bit of bravery was in order—not his strong suit. “Have you been trying to tell me that we’re—that you’re wiped out?”

Douglas laughed. “No, no, no! It’s not as bad as that .”

Relief didn’t immediately drain the surge of adrenaline. Heart pounding in his ears, Carter felt faint, and dropped his head. “You never tell me about this stuff. Like you don’t trust me.” Hard booze made Carter morose.

“Not at all! I simply haven’t read you as interested in the nitty-gritty.”

“I guess I haven’t been. Now there’s nothing but nitty-gritty.”

“Quite. Some detail, then. I’ve steered clear of index funds, but only because I’ve got a piece of every company listed on the Dow.” The same pride once attended acquisition of the complete works of W. Somerset Maugham. “That aspect of the balance sheet could be grim. But I hold gold ETFs, mining stock, even the title to bullion in a safe-deposit box in downtown Manhattan. I always keep 10 percent in cash—with which one will still be able to buy a loaf of bread in the country, and you don’t have travel plans, do you?”

“No, the safari in Tanzania can wait for another year. No animals left anyway.”

“Good. Since the next endangered species will be the American tourist. Otherwise, a good tranche of the portfolio is in Treasuries. The yield is piss-poor, and they’ll drop in value now that the rate’s gone up, but, worse comes to worst, one can always wait for maturity. Times like these, it’s the principal you most want to hold on to.”

“But you said buying American bonds was a sign of worldwide gullibility.”

“That’s right! So why should I be any different?”

They were rising to head to the dining room—if Carter didn’t get some food into him soon he’d be sick—when a knock rapped on the library door. “Mr. Mandible, sir?” The orderly who’d been minding Luella poked his head in. “The president is about to address the nation on TV. The desk was sure you’d want to know.”