Chang-Rae Lee - On Such A Full Sea

It was a good thing that Dale and Landon were in the kitchen at the time, as Landon in particular would have been appalled and perhaps demanded the rude guest leave the table and maybe the inn; you could see he was a fastidious and somewhat severe young man who held himself to an impossibly high standard and was being ground down inside by the burr of constant compromise and disappointment. But this made him, among other things, a needlessly excellent cook; the platters of pasta and salad and grilled wild pig that Dale brought out (it was Tuscan night) were as deftly executed and maybe tastier than most Charter restaurant fare, and he served to the adults tout compris a small glass of red wine — something you never saw outside of Charter villages because of its ludicrous price — simply because it was the perfect accompaniment to the meal.

The deep flavors and genuine warmth filling his belly made Quig think that perhaps life in the counties wouldn’t be as horrible as they assumed. Of course, they were spending a near tenth of their money stash for this single night and couldn’t justify staying for any longer, but the rational calculations that he would normally make didn’t seem relevant, not when he saw how the good food and softly lighted dining room was definitely calming Glynnis and had already lifted Trish out of her silence, as she was now gabbing with the Danish girl about their favorite pop singers and boy bands. They asked to be excused and went off to the chintz-heavy “reading room” to exchange songs and vids. Meanwhile, the adults discussed the issues of the day, at least as far as the open counties were concerned, the Danes and their teenage son listening intently and nodding and periodically asking for clarification of a certain term or reference.

The primary focus of their talk was an enduring counties topic, at least as Quig and Glynnis understood it when they were Charters, which was the idea of confederating the many hundreds of counties communities in this part of the country, much like the Charters were organized. One of the problems was the sheer number of them, some constituted and run like any old-time town or small city, with a fairly dependable infrastructure and public services, the much greater number being impromptu settlements that had grown over the years and were known only by somebody’s name, such as Tinkersville or the Vromans. Those who believed in confederation were always trying to enlist the contiguous or neighboring settlements to pool security and emergency resources, and increase their negotiating power for services, but it never got very far, the leaderships of the entities ultimately unable to agree on who would subordinate themselves, despite the fact that joining together would likely benefit their people. The settlements originally developed because the old-time towns and small cities were dying off because of crushing debts, as they couldn’t afford to run the schools and repave streets and fix the sewers, the last intact services usually being the police. There were many opportunistic gangs and sundry marauders. But it didn’t take long for the inevitable turn, which is that the police forces took over the towns, the chiefs and their officers deposing (often violently) the mayors and other administrators; in fact, many of the settlements are now led by the descendants of those first strongmen, who generation after generation have exercised a martial level of control over their residents, and have profited commensurately through the direct or shadow ownership of food stores and the flow of utilities. Naturally, the generally dismal quality of life from time to time fomented brutal coups, the latest instance of which usually pushed another round of chatter about confederation and its promise of stability and security, which is what was happening now.

The whole idea is to follow a Charter model, one of the women said. Her name was Ursula. It’s better for all. Why should Bennett and I keep trying to expand our clothing business when we know somebody from the counties council is going to come up and threaten to shoot us in the face and sell our kids to slavers if we don’t give them a quarter of our receipts?

We oughta live in a more civilized way, the fellow who brought up his bidet replied. But then we’re not as smart as Charters!

Or as good-looking! Bennett hooted. They toasted one another, not with the precious wine, which they’d instantly slurped down, but with a big bottle of moonshine one of them had BYOB’d.

I think it’s about the councils just stringing us along, the salesman said. They know what they’re doing. Keep us talking and arguing about this detail and that, keep us off balance. Keep us wondering. But they’re not going to give up anything of real value, let me tell you. Your grandkids will be having this same conversation when they’re our age. That’s why I’ll never have a family. No offense, but what’s the point?

So why the hell bother? Ursula asked him. What are you even hoping for?

The salesman extended his own emptied wineglass and Bennett poured him a shot of the clear spirits. Who knows? he said, drinking it down, wincing but satisfied. His voice was whispery from the burn. I’m just passing time, like everybody else. I try to earn enough to always have a full belly and a warm, dry place to sleep and to cover my handscreen fees.

And hootch and cootch with whatever’s left over! the bidet fellow cried.

They drank again to that, as did Ursula, who in the end didn’t seem to mind very much, if at all. In the counties you better have it while you have it, is what Quig and Glynnis were realizing, and they gamely tried some of the homemade booze, too, though neither of them liked it, as it tasted like turpentine. When the others asked what they did and where they were heading, Glynnis simply blurted, We’re visiting a supplier back east, a reply that was sufficiently nonsensical and blunting that no one inquired any further. The striking gray-eyed Danes, who had been observing the proceedings with a scholarly detachment, were now drinking and joking with great enthusiasm, their English not spoken as cleanly as before but rather lustily and with a more pronounced foreign accent, the father animated enough that the odd Danish word elided into his phrases and his rectangular-framed glasses kept steaming up and needed blotting. For dessert Dale brought out a platter of individual mini-cheesecakes topped with wild blackberries, and when the coffee was served, Landon emerged from the kitchen in a clean white apron and modestly acknowledged the compliments from the table, before retiring for the night. Dale then told them how Landon’s parents were well-respected Charter chefs who were killed by carbon monoxide poisoning from a faulty gas-powered refrigerator in their restaurant while Landon was away at summer camp. He lived with foster families until he was of age, when he left the Charter for good. They had met at a counties LGBT roadhouse where Landon was cooking short-order, Dale commenting to the bartender how the cheeseburger was the best he’d ever had, though he couldn’t exactly say why, which is when there was a murmur from the pass-through that it was the catsup, which was made from scratch, along with the mayonnaise and pickle relish. Dale peeked back and there was Landon, a skinny, prematurely balding kid working alone in a tiny but spotless kitchen, the pans and utensils organized by size and kind. It was love at an instant, at least for Dale — Landon was not one to be swept away emotionally — and here they were all these years later, growing older together, if somewhat now in a rut.

The other woman said they were obviously doing a good business, judging from the quality of the rooms and furnishings, and Dale admitted that it wasn’t terribly profitable, though could be if they didn’t always spend so much on doing everything “right,” which was a point of contention between them. With a different emphasis, someone else could make a good living, and they were considering selling and moving on to something new, a possibility that Quig and Glynnis ruminated that night in their huge plush bed, imagining how they might settle right here, where everything was already set up, learning the hospitality business while homeschooling Trish. Glynnis was not the cook Landon was, but she was definitely good enough to make simple, satisfying fare for their guests. Dealing with strangers all the time, they’d rarely be alone, which seemed a vulnerable situation but was likely safer than homesteading or living in some anarchic, lawless settlement.