Whatever Lola Wants (23 page)

Benjie, on his own sheet of paper, drew a picture of a stream, and trees. Next he'd do a waterfall. And a picture of the big spider in the corner of the window, lots of flies stuck in the web up there. And after that— His mind wandered. He wished he were by the stream.

As the
RAPT
lawyer made his accusations, John Cochan's well-being diminished. Yes, Terramac would win the day, the month, the decade, because Cochan and his team had proven and would show Intraterra's commitment to ecological progress, distant and deep. But it bothered him profoundly that the Alliance just didn't grasp his contribution, his Econovism. He'd not got through to them.

Benjie finished the picture of the stream, and its waterfall. He passed it to his father.

The picture cheered Johnny. The boy was his posterity, a vindicating lineage. To build for his son a more liveable world would atone for his own father's desecration.

Lawyer Zikorsky concluded: “You have our response to your project. We have so few particulars from you we can barely guess the parameters of destruction. We just can't risk it.”

Benjie drew the picture of the spider to look like the face of the lawyer; spider-lawyer said bad things about his father. The spider was a big fat fellow, not like the lawyer but the lawyer did sound fat. He passed the picture to Johnnie.

“Thank you, Mr. Zikorsky.” Chick Seed smiled. It wasn't often he addressed Dalton Zikorsky formally. Dalt, Chick, and three friends played poker twice a month. Their names for each other tended to the friendly-crude.

Johnnie Cochan stared at the picture. His hand quivered. The paper slipped to the floor.

“Mr. Connaught? Your final statement?”

“Thank you.” Connaught rose, and stepped back from the table. “We've heard with interest, Mr. Commissioner, Mr. Zikorsky's last few words. We agree—”

Benjie felt his father's distress without a word being said. What had he done wrong?

“—he cannot know the range of details of the Terramac project. Because of the magnitude of Terramac, once we have county approval in principle, the details will evolve as our—we hope and expect—joint venture progresses. Joint in promise, joint in planning, joint in responsibility.” He recognized the fears of the Alliance as zones of honest concern.

Why would Benjie have drawn such a thing? John Cochan stared at Zikorsky, and Dr. Magnussen. Zikorsky's skin, tight on his face, showed no response to Connaught. Theresa Magnussen, her cheeks gray, eyes squinting, remained impenetrable. Leonora Magnussen sat silent. A spider, for cripesake!

Connaught nodded. John pulled himself together. From a manila envelope he took a sheaf of paper bound in plastic. He turned, his mouth twitched, he handed the folder to Benjie.

Benjie took the folder and dropped from his stool. Maybe doing this for his father would make it all better. Walking slowly, looking ahead only, he carried his package to the far end of the table, to the spider-lawyer beside the white-haired woman.

Connaught said, “Thank you, my boy.”

Benjie turned, smiled at his father, and walked slowly back to him.

Half the onlookers, Priscilla Cochan first among them, smiled warmly.

Benjie, pleased he'd done his job well, knew he'd never be Mr. Connaught's boy.

Connaught spoke quietly. “In Benjamin Cochan's package the Alliance will find in detail what I shall explain to you now.”

Cochan tested the glance Zikorsky shot Theresa Magnussen. Her head shook once.

“Terramac is prepared to work in consort with Merrimac County, with its own hopes and projections. We therefore commit ourselves to, and request, the following: in exchange for the right to build select dwellings and an infrastructure for human progress on the land known as the Fortier Farm, Terramac Intraterra North commits itself—”

His glance swept the spectators. For fifteen minutes he spoke, and his stratagem undermined their concerns. As if knowing in advance each of
RAPT
's objections, the supporting documents dissolved these one by one. Intraterra agreed to build to no higher than four stories, use only natural herbicides and pesticides, import decontaminated landfill and clean hydroelectric power. The contract with the Quebec Hydro Company awaited Intraterra signature just as Intraterra waited for Richmond's agreement and license. Intraterra would itself provide Terramac's drinking water, purified from the Sabrevois River. Would construct a sewage treatment and recycling plant on the Svenska Lavowasser model. Had months ago submitted these proposals to Vermont's Environmental Impact Commission, had worked closely with them at emendation, last week had received their approval. More, their commendation. And seismological reports to brush aside all fear of earthquake, and aquifer reports extolling the proposed excavation at Terramac. Actually, Terramac would stabilize the water table. To this end Terramac had also acquired all underground and mineral rights, to twenty-five hundred feet down.

A little smile came to Leonora Magnussen's lips: her mother's fears and
RAPT
's, made known, dealt with, had allowed this compromise. The smile, for herself only, hid a small shiver.

In exchange there must be no further intercessions by
RAPT
or anyone associated with
RAPT
and its members. If complaints or intercessions arose, Intraterra was in a position to sue each plaintiff for such damages, material and defamatory, as might result out of delay or libel. The courts had established this principle as due and just in
Pelegrini versus Squaw Valley
.

Commissioner Seed called the hearing to a close. “We'll take into account all you've told us, gentlemen. We reconvene Monday at ten-thirty.”

The
RAPT
executive
met at Magnussen Grange. From Dalt Zikorsky, thin laughter. “Well, it'll be a clean Terramac. We drove them to their knees.”

“Their knees?” Theresa Magnussen whispered her rage. “Don't be so effing daft!” Her voice cracked. “They've beaten you at your own game.”

Milton put his hand on his wife's wrist—

“Sure, it'll cost 'em a dab more.” Theresa pulled away and pushed herself up. “But they've got their goddamn Terramac! They knew every argument and conceded it and ran around it.” Her face flushed maroon, her eyes scanned the room, she hissed: “They knew!”

•

Lola grabbed my arm. “What's that maroon business?”

Fear? Improbable. But fear from a God is what I felt. “Blood pressure, I'd guess.”

“Is this—where she gets her stroke?”

“Just wait and see, okay?”

She nodded, slowly.

•

“Theresa.” Milton took
his wife's arm, drew her down to the chair, stroked her back. “Calm.”

Precisely what Leonora had hoped to avoid. Theresa always, always, went overboard. These extreme dramatics, why'd she have to do this?

The John Muir Society representative, the fellow from the World Wildlife Fund, Stu Blaine the chemist, the two women from the senior center who'd each volunteered fifteen hours a week for
RAPT
, Ira who owned Allen's diner, the two university students up from Burlington, Danny who ran the Gulf station, Dalt Zikorsky, a dozen others, each felt doubts about the offer. But with certain modifications …?

Zikorsky shook his head: “Theresa, for godsake, we've worked months for this, will you read the document? It's pretty good, close to okay—”

“No! By definition, Terramac destroys.”

“It's as near to what we wanted—”

“You won your maneuvers. You lost the battle. If Chick signs, we've lost for all time.”

The Muir Society woman added, “Remember, we didn't want any Terramac at all here.”

Theresa's head shook, little vibrations. “Once the county agrees, Cochan's got you gagged. You mutter, he shoves a lawsuit down your throat.” She paused. “My throat.”

Ira Allen said, “That's what worries me the most, that lawsuit.”

“He's right about Squaw Valley,” said Milton. “We can't afford a court case. Intraterra can.”

Dalt Zikorsky said, “It wouldn't come to that.”

Sunday morning John
Cochan drove Priscilla's Dodge to Green Mountain Cement, an Intraterra subsidiary south of town. He was alone.

Leonora Magnussen, around the side of the building, slouched in her car. Terramac would have come about anyway. With her help it'd be a better safer place. Over the months she'd come to believe in Terramac. She saw herself as a clear-headed woman. But right now she felt edgy, wished the thing were settled, her part done and distant. She spotted Cochan, got out, and followed him into the office.

“So. What's happening?”

“The full Alliance meets today at noon.” She spoke quickly. “Dalton believes Intraterra and Merrimac County can live in harmony.” She smiled, sad. “I'm afraid my mother doesn't.”

John Cochan nodded but couldn't smile. He longed to prove Dr. Magnussen wrong.

The Alliance met.
And cracked apart.

The executive set Intraterra's package before their constituency. Questions, discussion, discomforts; a clearing of the air. Amendments. They voted. Sixty-two percent in favor. Compromise, yes. Still, a victory. Among the minority, bitterness ran deep.

Milton feared Theresa was all too right: Terramac would be a thoroughgoing disaster. Leonora knew her mother was wrong. A painful transition, yes; cities as they grow do alter nature. But better to build a desirable community than let blight sprawl over the land.

On Monday
RAPT
and Intraterra returned to stand before the commission.

Benjie wondered, Did everybody like his father? They all shook his hand, patted him on the shoulder, laughed with him. Johnnie held Benjie by the nape and Benjie tightened a little. He made himself look up. He gave his father a smile because he knew his father wanted that.

Dalton Zikorsky asked for a series of modifications to the Terramac document. Terence Connaught, after consulting with John Cochan, agreed.

Theresa, among the onlookers, shook her head. A great sadness took her.

“Well”—a satisfied Chick Seed nodded—“looks like consensus here. These Intraterra concessions are sound. And
RAPT
agrees to consult, won't bring procedural complaints—”

“No!” Theresa Bonneherbe Magnussen marched to the table. “Never.” Her voice breathed as it had not for years, every word a challenge. “Never in my life will I promise never in the future to commit an action which that future screams for. Never can a piece of paper leave me prisoner in a past grown evil with illegitimacy! No aware human being can sign this.”

Dalton hissed, “Theresa, please!”

She leaned across the Commissioners' table and growled, “Cochan's got you by the conkers, Chick. Next year and in ten years you'll still be tied back to today.”

“Theresa, it's only a contract, an agreement. Take it easy.”

She turned to John Cochan. “You got 'em, Handy Johnnie. Smart.”

Benjie Cochan drew in close to his father. Johnnie put his arm around the boy. “All our best interests lie in Terramac,” Cochan said gently.

“It won't happen, Cochan.” She supported herself on the table and bent her face down to his. “It's not over.”

“For me it's not.” Cochan spoke softly. “I'm building the future. But your fight against me, Dr. Magnussen, yes, that's over. You've been a worthy antagonist. I haven't convinced you. And for that, I'm truly sorry.”

She turned, strode from the room, slammed the door hard. Milton stared at the door. Leonora leapt up and ran after her. Milton followed.

Chick Seed consulted with his associates. All was well? Nods of agreement. “Then Richmond, the Alliance, and Intraterra are united on Terramac.”

Applause and congratulations. The twitching of a few worried heads.

Chick said to Johnnie, “Well, congrats.” He chuckled. “And maybe when you excavate, you'll find gold down there.” He laughed heartily. “Start a Vermont-style gold rush!”

Johnnie smiled back. “Terramac will be our city of gold, Chick.” With Benjie at his side, he watched the room empty. Cochan and Connaught shook hands, spoke a few words. The lawyer left. Johnnie took Benjie by the hand, walked to the door, knelt to Benjie's height, squeezed the boy's ribs with both hands. “We did it!”

The boy smiled. “Is it okay?”

“It'll be all okay when it's done, Benjie. Every project is a risk. But if you reduce the odds, you can take the risk. Take the risk by the neck, and it's yours.”

The boy nodded. His father had done it, all of it.

“We each make the future, Benjie. Terramac is the pinnacle, it's our place in history.” He sat Benjie on a chair and crouched in front of him. “Mine and yours.”

Benjie nodded again. “Take the risk.”

“Terramac, the grandest place on earth, soon to be the most perfect little city in the world. We're building the future, Benjie, we're setting ourselves at the acme of history.”

Benjie didn't understand. But he nodded.

Johnnie picked the boy up by the armpits, he held him high in the air. “We got ourselves here, Benjie. And now we go on.”

Benjie felt light-headed. And a little scared.

The destruction of
the World Trade Center in New York held back the Terramac ground-breaking ceremony by only three weeks. Four months after the Commissioners had reached their decision the digging began, and the blasting. Even at Magnussen Grange the earth trembled.

Theresa felt the ravages as her own. Terramac was a vampire, a starved leviathan, she raged, a scourge, all the vermin of the world. Few listened because Terramac was decided.

The thing, in its way almost as bad as Terramac, was
RAPT
's inside betrayal. This proximity of treason hacked at her trust, it ate holes in her spirit. Who!? A question Theresa shared only with Milton. But he had no answer. Her shoulders drooped in silence. She cursed Cochan's heart, for stealing trust.