Most survivors have to do that to survive. What
you been eating?
Finegan is pretending to look around the rec room for evidence of
gardening or hunting or fishing. The former billionaire says,
105
Not that it’s any of your business, but our
help quit. Ran off and left us.
Finegan motions to the several young women lounging in the corner on
over-stuffed chairs, looking blaze. They are well dressed though some
weed seeds are entangled in hair or on clothing, and their panty hose
ripped and shoes muddy. Finegan says,
Doen’t take much to seed and weed a garden.
They break a leg or something?
The former billionaire is twitching slightly.
We don’t garden. The help does that.
The former billionaire is losing his temper again, looking around and
up at the ceiling, calling out to the general area as though expecting
the resort staff to suddenly appear out of thin air.
I’m a paid member. Where the hell is the help!
Joey is trying not to smile and trying to play dumb, almost biting his
lip at times, in on the secret. Finegan says,
So you had a garden but left it? Just because
the help ran off? Didn’t you treat them right?
The former billionaire is now sounding a bit desperate.
I paid them well but they wanted more, had a
better offer. I’ll pay you plenty. You’d be set
for life after this all blows over. I’m worth
billions. . . Billions.
Finegan again holds his ground.
I told you, paper’s no good. That includes
stocks, bonds, cash. So what you gonna do now?
How you gonna live?
The former billionaire is deflated but still trying to act in charge.
You tell me. What’ll it take?
The former billionaire is jerking his chin at the young women lounging
in the corner, indicating they should go over to Finegan. Seeing them
start to rise from their chairs, Finegan rejects the offer.
And I ain’t interested in that either. There’s
plenty of tail being offered, but food is worth
more. You can’t beg, borrow, or steal these
days. Those growing food work too hard for what
they get. . . But there is one thing you can
do.
The former billionaire is fuming again, but glances up through angry
brows at Finegan, too astute at business to pass up a tip. Finegan
says,
106
Too late to start a garden but there’s grass
and weeds to eat. Fish or set traps if you know
how. And you know, rats aren’t half bad in the
stew pot.
Joey can’t hold it in any more and break out in a guffaw, then slaps
his hand over his mouth and runs up the stairs. Finegan follows him,
barely suppressing a smile himself.
______________________________
The houseboat is pulling away from the resort shoreline. Up on the
hill, in the former golf course, two young women are running after
sheep, their hands outstretched, trying to corral a lamb. The sheep of
course are way ahead of them, flowing like water up and over the hill.
107
Rust Belt
A factory is on the horizon, partially flooded. Metal cranes and
storage silos are among the metal-framed factory buildings. The windows
are smashed and some buildings tilted sideways, but most of the
structures are intact. The parking lots are underwater, only some
gateposts and the rooftop of a guard hut visible sticking up above the
water. Joey is on the roof of the houseboat, taking measure of the
clearance over the parking lot fence. He says,
A good 4 feet I think.
The main factory building has a slightly sloping flat metal roof, with
the walls coming up over the roof edge for a couple feet as a guardrail
around the edge of the rooftop. The rooftop is covered with greenery,
some kind of rooftop garden, with wines hanging down over the edges of
the roof. There is the sound of a metal door opening on the roof, the
access door to the rooftop from a stairwell.
A bent little man emerges from the stairwell door, letting the creaking
door close slowly by itself. He heads over to a row of what looks like
cabbage, bending over it to weed the row, not noticing the approaching
houseboat. The gardener is bent, a back curved from years of working in
this position and from malnutrition, though he is not that old. He has
black hair and pale skin, a gaunt look, and appears to be small boned.
All is still except for the sound of water splashing against the side
of the houseboat.
Finegan hops up to the houseboat rooftop, standing next to Joey, for a
better look. Finegan calls out a greeting.
Yo, the gardens! Good day to you. Finegan Fine
here, trader. . . How you manage that, on the
rooftop?
The gardener freezes at the sound of a voice so close, and so
unexpected. He straightens up, as much as his bent back will allow, and
looks in Finegan’s direction. Then he puts his handful of weeds plucked
from the row down, and shuffles over to the rooftop edge. The gardener
puts a hand up to shield his eyes against the morning sun, taking a
moment before he responds in a high nasal voice.
What kind’a contraption is that?
Finegan replies,
It’s a houseboat. Floats. I got a water wheel
in the back to push it along. Slow, but steady.
The gardener says,
A trader you say?
108
To which Finegan pitches his line.
What might you need?
______________________________
The houseboat is tied to a post at the corner of the factory rooftop. A
knotted rope ladder is hanging down onto the deck of the houseboat.
Finegan and Joey are being given a tour of the rooftop gardens by the
gardener.
. . We seen the water’s a’rising and dug some
good soil before it was covered. Those of us
ain’t never had no land in our name. Cain’t run
off with the house, but them landlords not
gonna miss some soil from a flooded yard. . .
We use rainwater here.
The gardener is motioning along the rows as they walk.
Tomatoes do well . . greens of many kinds . .
Potatoes if you keep ‘em wet . . can’t get