All Over Creation (46 page)

Cass was watching Geek. Maybe he knew more about potatoes than she had thought. His forehead was sweating.

“Let me finish,” Will said. “First of all, there's a big difference between the digestive system of a bug and a man. Second, Bt is a soil bacterium that's found in nature—”

“Sure it's found in nature,” said Geek. “But not inside natural potatoes. And certainly not in concentrated doses inside every single cell of the potato. Organic farmers use it to control the worst of the infestations, but mostly they don't have to. They use other means, like rotating crops, planting different varieties of potatoes—”

“We rotate, too, you know.”

“Yeah, but what's your schedule? A year? Two? Three? Not enough. And what about other beneficial insects? Like monarch butterflies that die eating Bt corn pollen?”

“Chemical pesticides kill off a lot more butterflies, believe me. It's a question of the lesser of two evils. Anyway, that was corn. We're talking potatoes.”

“Okay, then what about the problem of resistance? What happens when your beetles become resistant?”

The two men faced each other over a leafy row. Cass could see Will's jaw tighten as he tried to control his temper.

“Then we'll just have to try something else,” he said.

“It's the problem with the system,” Geek said. “Monoculture is weak. You should know that. You're Irish.”

“If you're talking about the Famine, it was caused by late blight. You're confusing blight with beetles. Monoculture is efficient. We got six billion humans on the earth, and a lot of them are starving.”

“Oh, right,” Geek said. “That's just corporate marketing. The masses aren't starving because there isn't enough food. There's a surplus—you know that! People are starving because that food isn't being distributed fairly, to those in need. The population explosion argument is the oldest spin in the books!”

Will turned and spat. Cass held her breath. “Look at the demographics. You want people not to have babies? You just try telling them they can't. Listen, I'm no lover of the corporations. As far as I'm concerned, our situation on the farm with agricultural chemicals isn't all that different from what happened to guys in Vietnam getting addicted to marijuana—”

“Aw, come on!” Geek said. “Marijuana's a plant. You can't compare it with chemical compounds like organophosphates and—”

“Fine. Heroin, then. Crack. Whatever. It's the system I'm talking about. The corporations are the pushers, the farmers are the users, and the fields are our bodies, mainlining the stuff in order to wake up in the springtime and keep ticking until fall.”

Geek shrugged. “So just say no?”

“It's not that simple. Cold turkey would kill us, but at least we're trying to cut down. That's the whole point of this.”

They both fell silent, looking out over the closing rows of NuLifes. Bees were moving heavily from flower to flower, and the air was filled with their buzzing.

“No wonder the beetles keep coming back,” Geek said. “Reliable menu. Plenty of it. It's like a fast-food joint.”

“Not now,” said Will grimly. “Not anymore.” They watched another beetle keel over and die.

“I don't know,” said Geek. “Maybe now more than ever.”

They moved off down the row. Cass hung back, watching a leaf where two beetles were copulating. The male had mounted the female, but when Cass pushed at him with the tip of her finger, he fell off his mate and turned belly up, waving his legs weakly in the air. Poor thing, she thought. Just when he was getting lucky. She caught up with the men by the roadside and started back toward the house.

“Hey, Cass?” Geek said. “Before you go . . . ?”

She paused. They stood at the edge of the field.

Geek cleared his throat. He looked nervous now, standing there among the blossoms. “Well, I guess you know where we stand.”

“I guess we do,” Will said.

“It's nothing personal. It's just our position.”

Will nodded.

“So,” Geek said, “we wanted you to know that we're organizing a little event over at the Fullers' in a couple of weeks, on the Fourth of July weekend.”

“What do you mean, an event?” asked Cass.

“Like a teach-in. To educate people about genetically engineered crops.”

Will frowned. “Does Lloyd know about this?”

“He's being very supportive. He gave us his customer list. We're inviting the Power County community, too, and people from Pocatello and the university. And our friends. We're expecting a pretty wide range of folks. We thought you should know.”

Will nodded, but he didn't look happy.

“If anything happens,” Geek said, “we'll be responsible for it.”

Cass looked up. “What's going to happen?”

“Probably nothing. All I'm saying is that
if
anything were to happen . . .” He gestured vaguely toward the field. “We'd compensate you for the damages, of course.”

“Damages?” Will repeated. “Wait a minute. Are you saying you're planning to harm our NuLifes?”

“Not at all. I'm just saying, on the outside chance . . .”

On the way back to the house Will exploded. “I can't believe him! Criticizing the way I farm, then threatening my crops! If I catch those people anywhere near my fields, I'm calling the sheriff. No, that'll be too late. I'm calling Odell right now.”

Cass placed her hand in the middle of her husband's back. He was perspiring, and his shirt felt hot against her palm.

“They haven't done anything.”

“He threatened my crops. You heard him.”

“It was hardly a threat,” she said. “Anyway, what are you going to do? Have them all arrested?”

“Sure,” he said. “Why not?”

“This is America, Will. You can't arrest people for their beliefs, remember?”

“Fine. I'll get a restraining order, then. Prevent them from assembling.”

“It's private property. We don't own Fuller's house yet.”

“Fuller!” Will said, shaking his head. “He's had some crazy ideas in the past, but this is too much. I know he's a sick old man and he probably isn't all there in the head anymore, but he shouldn't be encouraging them.”

She tried to change the subject. “Is it true what he said about Bt concentrations?”

“Not you, too!” Will said, groaning. “How did this happen? And I'm supposed to sit by and let this . . . this
cult
take over the neighborhood?”

“They're not a cult, Will.”

“I saw them doing something weird under that damn peach tree. They had Yummy's girl with them, singing and dancing and banging on drums like heathens.”

“We sing hymns, too.”

“It's not the same.”

And so it went, all through dinner and up until bedtime. Will crawled under the covers still grumbling, but Cass had teased the worst of it out of him, so when she reached her arm across his stomach, he turned to face her.

“You want to try?” she whispered.

“Never hurts.” But from the way he said it, she knew that sometimes it did hurt. As they made love, the image of the copulating beetles in the field kept flitting back into her mind. The doomed, futile mating distracted her, so that when she sensed that Will was close, she faked an orgasm and let him come, then held him until he fell asleep. But she felt restless and wide awake, so she lay there and watched him, checking his breathing from time to time, holding her finger below his nostrils to make sure he was still alive.

There were new deities on Duncan's desktop. Elliot glanced nervously at the pantheon as Duncan reached over and picked up a small bronze statue of a plump-bellied elephant wearing a diaper.

“Ganesh,” Duncan said. “Remover of obstacles.” He rubbed the little elephant's belly and handed him to Elliot.

Elliot looked down at the statue. The past couple of weeks had been filled with obstacles. Now he noticed that the incense in the room was different, too. Sweeter, and the scent unsettled him. He replaced the elephant and tried to pay attention.

“I felt myself moving away from Zen,” Duncan was saying. “I was finding Buddhism somehow lacking—too spare for the new millennium. I was feeling that the times were calling for a more robust system of devotion, something more grounded in the body.” Duncan picked up another deity. It was a flying monkey carrying a mountain on a platter. “Hanuman,” he said. “Creativity. The power of persuasion. A lively mind. Renowned for his complete devotion to Vishnu, the Lord of all Creation.” He gave Elliot a skewering look. “
He
can move mountains for his master.”

Elliot braced himself. This new belief system did not bode well.

“Read an interesting article in the
Post,
Rhodes.” It was always bad when Duncan used surnames. “Business section,” he said, rotating the monkey slowly in his hands. He glanced up at Elliot and frowned. “By a female.”

“Oh?” Elliot said. He felt he should attempt to participate in the conversation. He tried hard to look interested but not terribly concerned. “Yes?”

“Oh, yes.” Duncan nodded slowly. “An article about the Cynaco Pie Incident. Which is not particularly noteworthy in itself, since
everyone
wrote about the Cynaco Pie Incident.”

“The
Post?
” Elliot said, reminding himself to breathe. “I think I must have read that.”

“You must have.” Duncan placed Hanuman back down on the desk. “What made this woman's article particularly interesting to me was that she not only mentioned the name of Duncan & Wiley, she also mentioned you. Specifically.” He sat back in his leather chair and brought his hands together in prayer position. “And do you know what I find
really
odd about this?”

Elliot really didn't want to know.

“You used to fuck her.”

Elliot choked.

“Jillian Davies. You used to fuck her.”

“Excuse me?” This was not what he'd imagined. It was worse.

“Yes. And now she's fucking you.”

“I'm sorry, but . . . ?” He should have seen it coming.

“Don't apologize to me,” Duncan said. “Save it for her.”

“For Jillian?”

“Oh?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. “Are there others?” He opened a file on his desk and took out a newspaper clipping. He skimmed the article. “Ah, here we go. ‘Elliot Rhodes, who coordinates Cynaco's strategic operations for the public relations firm of Duncan & Wiley, was in his Washington office when he received news of the pie-ing. “Tofu crème?” he responded limply.' ”

He put the clipping back down on the desk. “I hate dangling adverbs.” He cocked his head and fixed a sad gaze upon Elliot. “Was it a performance problem?”

“Performance?”

“Listen, I honestly don't care who you go to bed with, but if you're going to fuck the press, you've got to fuck them well. And thoroughly. No prickless little bumps in the night. Finesse, Elliot. Precision. You got her riled, so go out and placate her.”

“Yes, of course. I'll take care of it.”

“See that you do.” Duncan picked up the elephant again and turned it over in his hand. “I want to stress that this Pie Incident was
highly
embarrassing, not to mention a deeply wounding experience for our client on a personal level. We're in the business of information. Why weren't we informed? These Seeds of Resistance were your people. You had a private investigator positioned to watch them. You had an informant on the inside sending you intelligence. What went wrong? Were you fucking
her,
too? What were you doing in Idaho all that time?”

“I'll take care of it,” Elliot repeated. He couldn't think of anything new to say.

Duncan sighed. “I'm worried about you. Are you paying attention to your diet? Are you getting enough exercise? Are you unhappy?”

Elliot hesitated. It couldn't hurt to try. “Honestly, Duncan, I hate to bring it up, but it's . . . potatoes. I just don't feel I have a connection with them. Rice, yes, but—”

Duncan held up his hand. “Please. Not Tokyo again.” He stood and walked over to the large tinted window that ran along the entire back wall of the office. “Japan is over, Elliot. Look at the markets.” He gazed out over the government buildings. “The future lies in the Third World. In Mother India. That's where the starving populations are, who need our help. And now that you mention it, maybe we could move you over to Cynaco's rice division in Delhi once this potato situation is in hand.”