Read Online The Back of the Turtle by Thomas King - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Thomas King
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you pushed past the expensive facades, the glossy brochures, and the television ads, Orlando was nothing more than a collection of theme parks, golf courses, and malls, all floating on a humid landscape of wetlands and sinkholes.
At the airport, he had taken time to stop in the men’s room, where he dropped the coupons in the trash and washed his hands until he could no longer smell the house on his fingers.
FERNANDO removed the second place setting. “Isn’t Disneyland in Orlando?”
“No,” said Dorian. “Disneyland is in California. Disney World is in Orlando.”
“Ah,” said Fernando.
“There’s also a Disneyland in Paris and one in Tokyo.”
“Such a clever mouse,” said Fernando. “May I start you off with something from the bar?”
There was no reason why Dorian should feel antagonistic towards another corporation. Disney was substantially smaller than Domidion, but ever since the problems with the French had been worked out, the company had been a solid producer. Dorian had followed Disney stock shares, had even considered buying a block.
What he couldn’t get past was the fact that the Disney corporation didn’t produce much of anything. They sold tickets on rides. They made movies. What kind of work was that for an adult?
WITH Olivia out of town, there was no point in going home. The house in Bridle Path was only a thirty-minute drive, but he’d stay in the city tonight.
Fernando was back. “The usual?”
The usual was
Poulet Rôti Croustillant,
always an excellent choice, but tonight Dorian wanted something more solid than chicken.
“This evening’s
gibier du moment,
” said Fernando, “is Wild Boar
Daube
with Mushrooms, Chestnuts, and Corsican
Nielluccio.
”
“I’ll have that.”
“And for the wine?”
AFTER his talk, during a short question-and-answer period, Dorian had been asked if agricultural research pursued solely for profit would inevitably lead to environmental disasters. It was a question he was always asked, and he answered it as he always did.
“Everything we do, all of us,” Dorian told the audience, “is in pursuit of profit.”
This had led, predictably, to a series of animated arguments that the audience had with itself and, when that fire burned out, Dorian thanked everyone and left the stage.
“ THERE is only one serving of crème brûlée left.”
“Could you set it aside?”
“Of course,” said Fernando. “The boar will be here shortly.”
AT the reception afterwards, Dorian had chatted with the president and told him how excited Domidion was to be a partner in the new School of Business and Media Communications. The proposal was before the various committees, the president told Dorian, but the restructuring and the renegotiation of union contracts would take time.
“That is where the private sector has the advantage,” the president told Dorian with a smile. “You can make mistakes more quickly.”
“Yes,” Dorian countered, “but our mistakes don’t waste as much time and money.”
The wine selection was limited to a thin Chablis and a grapey Merlot. The cheese was white cheddar squares, with brightly fringed toothpicks stuck through their hearts. The red pepper spears and broccoli crowns had held the most promise.
He was standing by the vegetable arrangement when a young woman came by and asked him if had ever read John Maynard Keynes.
“The British economist?”
“Keynes said that capitalism was the extraordinary belief that the nastiest of men for the nastiest of motives will somehow work for the benefit of all.”
“Keynes also erroneously believed that government intervention could mitigate the adverse effects of economic cycles.”
The woman wasn’t unattractive, though somewhat severe, with wide hips and no apparent appreciation for cosmetics.
“I would guess,” said the woman, “that you don’t have children.”
“Neither did Keynes.”
One of the vice-presidents performed the obligatory ceremonyof giving
At the airport, he had taken time to stop in the men’s room, where he dropped the coupons in the trash and washed his hands until he could no longer smell the house on his fingers.
FERNANDO removed the second place setting. “Isn’t Disneyland in Orlando?”
“No,” said Dorian. “Disneyland is in California. Disney World is in Orlando.”
“Ah,” said Fernando.
“There’s also a Disneyland in Paris and one in Tokyo.”
“Such a clever mouse,” said Fernando. “May I start you off with something from the bar?”
There was no reason why Dorian should feel antagonistic towards another corporation. Disney was substantially smaller than Domidion, but ever since the problems with the French had been worked out, the company had been a solid producer. Dorian had followed Disney stock shares, had even considered buying a block.
What he couldn’t get past was the fact that the Disney corporation didn’t produce much of anything. They sold tickets on rides. They made movies. What kind of work was that for an adult?
WITH Olivia out of town, there was no point in going home. The house in Bridle Path was only a thirty-minute drive, but he’d stay in the city tonight.
Fernando was back. “The usual?”
The usual was
Poulet Rôti Croustillant,
always an excellent choice, but tonight Dorian wanted something more solid than chicken.
“This evening’s
gibier du moment,
” said Fernando, “is Wild Boar
Daube
with Mushrooms, Chestnuts, and Corsican
Nielluccio.
”
“I’ll have that.”
“And for the wine?”
AFTER his talk, during a short question-and-answer period, Dorian had been asked if agricultural research pursued solely for profit would inevitably lead to environmental disasters. It was a question he was always asked, and he answered it as he always did.
“Everything we do, all of us,” Dorian told the audience, “is in pursuit of profit.”
This had led, predictably, to a series of animated arguments that the audience had with itself and, when that fire burned out, Dorian thanked everyone and left the stage.
“ THERE is only one serving of crème brûlée left.”
“Could you set it aside?”
“Of course,” said Fernando. “The boar will be here shortly.”
AT the reception afterwards, Dorian had chatted with the president and told him how excited Domidion was to be a partner in the new School of Business and Media Communications. The proposal was before the various committees, the president told Dorian, but the restructuring and the renegotiation of union contracts would take time.
“That is where the private sector has the advantage,” the president told Dorian with a smile. “You can make mistakes more quickly.”
“Yes,” Dorian countered, “but our mistakes don’t waste as much time and money.”
The wine selection was limited to a thin Chablis and a grapey Merlot. The cheese was white cheddar squares, with brightly fringed toothpicks stuck through their hearts. The red pepper spears and broccoli crowns had held the most promise.
He was standing by the vegetable arrangement when a young woman came by and asked him if had ever read John Maynard Keynes.
“The British economist?”
“Keynes said that capitalism was the extraordinary belief that the nastiest of men for the nastiest of motives will somehow work for the benefit of all.”
“Keynes also erroneously believed that government intervention could mitigate the adverse effects of economic cycles.”
The woman wasn’t unattractive, though somewhat severe, with wide hips and no apparent appreciation for cosmetics.
“I would guess,” said the woman, “that you don’t have children.”
“Neither did Keynes.”
One of the vice-presidents performed the obligatory ceremonyof giving
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