A Fountain Filled With Blood

The eager watchers behind Clare pushed her steadily forward toward the center knot of protestors. Around her, faces were amused, incredulous, angry. She could see one…two…three video cameras in the crowd, pointed at Margy Van Alstyne, the chief of police, the demonstrators. This thing was going to be better documented than a Rose Garden speech. A young woman slipped between spectators, thrust one flyer from a ream of photocopied papers into Clare’s hand, and disappeared, working her way through the crowd. In the press of bodies around her, Clare had to hold the paper close to her face. STOP BWI DEVELOPMENT NOW! the heading screamed. On one side, it was a broadside against BWI; on the other, a gruesome list of the effects of PCB exposure. She tuned back in to Margy Van Alstyne’s speech.

“PCBs are known to cause cancer! PCBs are known to increase aggression!” Clare could see Russ’s head above the crowd as he made his way to the platform.

“Baltimore-based BWI stands to make millions from this development! Meanwhile, we get minimum-wage service-industry jobs and enough PCBs in the water to cause cancer in thirty percent of our population!”

“Any job’s better’n no job!” someone shouted from the crowd.

“They’re promising to pay eight dollars an hour,” a woman yelled.

Bill Ingraham was moving purposefully toward Mrs. Van Alstyne. Russ vaulted onto the platform’s edge and waved him off.

“Look around you at your friends and neighbors!” Margy Van Alstyne shouted. “One out of every four people you see could be dead from cancer within a decade. How many dollars an hour is that worth? No! Get your hands off me!”

Russ had wrapped his arms around his mother’s waist and lifted her bodily off the platform. She waved her megaphone out of his reach. “I have a right to speak! I have First Amendment rights!”

Russ grunted from the effort of pulling her away from the platform’s edge. “No permit,” he managed to gasp out. His mother flailed and twisted, and he staggered back, sending the mayor and several top runners scrambling to get out of his way. Boos erupted from the crowd.

“Let her speak!”

“What’re you afraid of?”

Russ put his mother down. “No permit for public demonstration,” he said more firmly. “Disturbing the peace, resisting an officer, and possible battery. Cuff her, Officer Flynn.”

“Me?” said Flynn.

Another protestor, the redheaded nurse Clare had seen at the town meeting, launched herself over the edge of the platform. Mrs. Van Alstyne tossed her the megaphone. “Ask yourself why the police and the mayor don’t want us to speak to you,” she shouted.

“Damn it, Laura, get down off there. Don’t make me write you up again.” Russ turned to drag her away from the impromptu podium. She danced out of reach.

“The government of this town is too blinded by the thought of the tax income from this development to look after your health,” the nurse shouted. “But you can demand the DEP stop this spa! You can demand new testing of the Landry site! You can demand—oof!”

Russ picked her up with considerably less effort than it had taken to move his mother. Boos mixed with cheers. The central knot of protestors took up the chant again, reinforced by other voices chiming in. To Clare’s right, someone called out, “Development means jobs! Development means jobs!” and the cry instantly spread into a ragged countercall. “Damn Commies,” one beefy man in front of her said to another. “They think government control of property is so great, I say let’s ship ’em off to North Korea.”

Officer Entwhistle was trying to remove the protestors, or the people harassing them. It was impossible to tell. Despite her soggy clothes and her clammy skin, and despite her grandmother’s voice warning her, This isn’t any of your business, miss, Clare couldn’t keep herself from trying to get closer. She edged sideways between individuals, couples, clumps of people, buffeted by excited voices.

“Folks? Folks? I’m Bill Ingraham, and I am BWI Development.” Someone had rescued the microphone stand from beneath the fallen banner and set it up in front of Ingraham. “I said this at Wednesday night’s town meeting and I’ll say it again: If you folks don’t want our resort in your community, we’re outta here.” He didn’t look like the genial, controlled businessman he had been at the meeting. He looked like a construction boss who had just found out his crew was threatening to unionize. “Personally, and professionally, I think connecting your PCB problem with our development site is bad science and worse business.”

“PCBs were stored on that site twenty-five years ago!” someone yelled from the crowd.

“Yeah, and then the storage canisters were removed by the government and the site was cleaned up. Look, folks, the feds and the state have both given the place the thumbs-up. Either you trust the government or you don’t. But if you don’t, why the hell would you want to call them in again?”

“He’s right! Listen to the man!” another person yelled.