Read Online On Such a Full Sea by Chang-rae Lee - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Chang-rae Lee
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When did this change? you ask, though of course nobody at the desk knows. It did change, and now
is
, these “reforms” from this point forward in force, and the result is that you may forgo that diagnostic X-ray, you might take only every other blood pressure pill if that’s tolerable, you will decide to amble another season on that arthritic hip in the hopes that it will somehow, someday, kindly warm. Really, every person we know has had to make such compromises, most not leading to horrific consequences, but the truth is you can’t help but wonder where this will lead, what new reforms will be instituted next year, or in ten, and to what extent the quality of life in B-Mor might someday come to resemble the conditions outside.
They say that with the economy stuck so long in the doldrums, even the Charter villages have had to institute certain cost-cutting measures, like no more free full-body scans each quarter for everyone over age thirty, though some of our more cynical citizens contend this is simply what the directorate and the Charters want us to believe. Even if this is true, what of it? How can it matter what goes on inside those gates? You might as well worry about the life cycle of the nearest star. A twinkling in the heavens, rightful but brief. We must remind ourselves of what the reality is within those lovely confines, that along with the neatly paved streets and the spotless schools and the fancy shops offering uncontaminated goods from all over the globe comes the fact that very little is guaranteed for a Charter person, if anything at all, and that one must continually work and invest and have enough money to sustain a Charter lifestyle or else leave.
This is, in fact, what had befallen certain open counties people. For it is known that a surprising number of them are former Charters. One might ask, Hey, why don’t they just come to the gates of a place like B-Mor? But it’s not as simple as that, and in practical terms, impossible. They can’t quite enter a B-Mor–like settlement because those are oversubscribed already, the row houses or residence halls occupied right up to the rooftops, our children assigned two to a desk at school. Plus, what could any newcomer among us possibly do to make a living? The jobs in the grow facilities and water and power plants are always filled and backed by apprentice attendants, who have been training since youth to step into the positions the moment they come open. The smattering of privately run businesses, like the one the Rivera-Dengs own, have been under family control for generations, and their leaseholds are rarely relinquished.
It’s ironic that ex-Charters should have to fall so far so quickly, that there’s no middle realm for them and their kin, pushed out as they are into the counties with little practical know-how or clue as to how to get by. It’s the reason why so few do get by, at least for very long, in particular those with solely Charter-specific skills, such as real estate speculators, or brokers of insurance or stocks, or the writer/creators of evening programs, one of whom was a compulsive gambler who squandered his considerable fortune. Needless to say, he did not last.
So when our dear Fan came to after the assault by Loreen, lying again in the cot with the splint redone, she couldn’t help but wonder about Quig. Like any of us, she knew the possibilities. Could he in fact be a former Charter nurse, or maybe even a doctor? Though as they say in the Charter villages, that would be quite an “outcome.” Doctors are among the most important and prestigious people around, especially for Charters, and thus often quite wealthy, too.
The messes were gone, her arms and legs and torso sponged mostly clean, the floor cleared except for a faint scrim of yellow paint. Loreen was of course gone, too, and though a panic that the mad woman might soon return sparked through Fan, she had a naturally reciprocal welling of what must be
When did this change? you ask, though of course nobody at the desk knows. It did change, and now
is
, these “reforms” from this point forward in force, and the result is that you may forgo that diagnostic X-ray, you might take only every other blood pressure pill if that’s tolerable, you will decide to amble another season on that arthritic hip in the hopes that it will somehow, someday, kindly warm. Really, every person we know has had to make such compromises, most not leading to horrific consequences, but the truth is you can’t help but wonder where this will lead, what new reforms will be instituted next year, or in ten, and to what extent the quality of life in B-Mor might someday come to resemble the conditions outside.
They say that with the economy stuck so long in the doldrums, even the Charter villages have had to institute certain cost-cutting measures, like no more free full-body scans each quarter for everyone over age thirty, though some of our more cynical citizens contend this is simply what the directorate and the Charters want us to believe. Even if this is true, what of it? How can it matter what goes on inside those gates? You might as well worry about the life cycle of the nearest star. A twinkling in the heavens, rightful but brief. We must remind ourselves of what the reality is within those lovely confines, that along with the neatly paved streets and the spotless schools and the fancy shops offering uncontaminated goods from all over the globe comes the fact that very little is guaranteed for a Charter person, if anything at all, and that one must continually work and invest and have enough money to sustain a Charter lifestyle or else leave.
This is, in fact, what had befallen certain open counties people. For it is known that a surprising number of them are former Charters. One might ask, Hey, why don’t they just come to the gates of a place like B-Mor? But it’s not as simple as that, and in practical terms, impossible. They can’t quite enter a B-Mor–like settlement because those are oversubscribed already, the row houses or residence halls occupied right up to the rooftops, our children assigned two to a desk at school. Plus, what could any newcomer among us possibly do to make a living? The jobs in the grow facilities and water and power plants are always filled and backed by apprentice attendants, who have been training since youth to step into the positions the moment they come open. The smattering of privately run businesses, like the one the Rivera-Dengs own, have been under family control for generations, and their leaseholds are rarely relinquished.
It’s ironic that ex-Charters should have to fall so far so quickly, that there’s no middle realm for them and their kin, pushed out as they are into the counties with little practical know-how or clue as to how to get by. It’s the reason why so few do get by, at least for very long, in particular those with solely Charter-specific skills, such as real estate speculators, or brokers of insurance or stocks, or the writer/creators of evening programs, one of whom was a compulsive gambler who squandered his considerable fortune. Needless to say, he did not last.
So when our dear Fan came to after the assault by Loreen, lying again in the cot with the splint redone, she couldn’t help but wonder about Quig. Like any of us, she knew the possibilities. Could he in fact be a former Charter nurse, or maybe even a doctor? Though as they say in the Charter villages, that would be quite an “outcome.” Doctors are among the most important and prestigious people around, especially for Charters, and thus often quite wealthy, too.
The messes were gone, her arms and legs and torso sponged mostly clean, the floor cleared except for a faint scrim of yellow paint. Loreen was of course gone, too, and though a panic that the mad woman might soon return sparked through Fan, she had a naturally reciprocal welling of what must be
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