The Corrections

“Nature hadn’t learned to break down cellulose. When a tree fell, it lay on the ground and got buried by the next tree that fell. This was the Carboniferous. The earth a lush riot. And in the course of millions and millions of years of trees falling on trees, almost all the carbon got taken from the air and buried underground. And there it stayed until yesterday, geologically speaking.”

“Lap swimming, Signe. Do you suppose that this is similar to lap dancing?”

“Some people are disgusting,” said Mrs. Nygren.

“What happens to a log that falls today is that funguses and microbes digest it, and all the carbon goes back into the sky. There can never be another Carboniferous. Ever. Because you can’t ask Nature to unlearn how to biodegrade cellulose.”

“It’s called Orfic Midland now,” Enid said.

“Mammals came along when the world cooled off. Frost on the pumpkin. Furry things in dens. But now we have a very clever mammal that’s taking all the carbon from underground and putting it back into the atmosphere.”

“I think we own some Orfic Midland ourselves,” Sylvia said.

“As a matter of fact,” Per Nygren said, “we, too, own Orfic Midland.”

“Per would know,” said Mrs. Nygren.

“I daresay he would,” said Mr. Söderblad.

“Once we burn up all the coal and oil and gas,” said Dr. Roth, “we’ll have an antique atmosphere. A hot, nasty atmosphere that no one’s seen for three hundred million years. Once we’ve let the carbon genie out of its lithic bottle.”

“Norway has superb retirement benefits, hm, but I also supplement my national coverage with a private fund. Per checks the price of each stock in the fund every morning. There are quite a number of American stocks. How many, Per?”

“Forty-six at present,” Per Nygren said. “If I am not mistaken, ‘Orfic’ is an acronym for the Oak Ridge Fiduciary Investment Corporation. The stock has maintained its value quite well and pays a handsome dividend.”

“Fascinating,” said Mr. Söderblad. “Where is my coffee?”

“But, Stig, do you know,” said Signe Söderblad, “I am quite sure we also have this stock, Orfic Midland.”

“We own a great many stocks. I can’t remember every name. At the same time, too, the print in the newspaper is very tiny.”

“The moral of the story is don’t recycle plastic. Send your plastic to a land fill. Get that carbon underground.”

“If it had been up to Al, we’d still have every penny in passbook savings.”

“Bury it, bury it. Stopper the genie in the bottle.”

“I happen to have an eye condition that makes it painful for me to read,” said Mr. Söderblad.

“Oh, really?” said Mrs. Nygren acidly. “What is the medical name of this condition?”

“I like a cool autumn day,” said Dr. Roth.

“Then again,” said Mrs. Nygren, “I suppose that to learn the condition’s name would itself necessitate painful reading.”

“This is a small planet.”

“There is lazy eye, of course, but to have two lazy eyes at once—”

“That is not really possible,” said Mr. Nygren. “The ‘lazy eye’ syndrome, or amblyopia, is a condition in which one eye assumes the work of the other. Therefore, if one eye is lazy, the other is by definition—”

“Per, shut up,” said Mrs. Nygren.

“Inga!”

“Waiter, refill.”

“Imagine the Uzbek upper middle class,” said Dr. Roth. “One of the families had the same Ford Stomper we have. In fact the only difference between our upper middle class and their upper middle class was that none of them, not even the richest family in town, had indoor plumbing.”

“I am aware,” said Mr. Söderblad, “that as a nonreader I am morally inferior to all Norwegians. I accept this.”

“Flies like around something four days dead. Bucket of ashes that you sprinkle in the hole. Even the little way you can see down into it is farther than you want to. And a glittering Ford Stomper parked in their driveway. And they’re videotaping us videotaping them.”

“At the same time, in spite of my disability, I do manage to enjoy a pleasure or two in life.”

“How empty, though, Stig, our pleasures must be,” said Signe Söderblad, “compared to those of the Nygrens.”

“Yes, they do seem to experience the deep and lasting pleasures of the mind. At the same time, Signe, this is a very flattering dress you are wearing this morning. Even Mr. Nygren has been admiring this dress, in spite of the deep and lasting pleasures he finds elsewhere.”

“Per, come along,” said Mrs. Nygren. “We are being insulted.”

“Stig, did you hear? The Nygrens have been insulted and are leaving us.”

“It is a great pity. They are such fun to be with.”

“Our children are all easterners now,” Enid said. “Nobody seems to like the Midwest anymore.”

“Biding my time here, fella,” said a familiar voice.

“The cashier at the Du Pont executive dining room was an Uzbek girl. I’ve probably seen Uzbeks at the IKEA store in Plymouth Meeting. These aren’t extraterrestrials we’re talking about. Uzbeks wear bifocals. They fly on planes.”

“We’re stopping in Philadelphia on the way home so we can eat at her new restaurant. It’s called the Generator?”

“Enid, my gosh, that’s her place? Ted and I were there two weeks ago.”