Warday

We met one woman who was of special interest to me, as she was triaged and sick. She was going to Cleveland to visit a popular alternate practitioner, a witch named Terry Burford. I had been eager to interview an alternate practitioner, especially a witch. Since Warday our concept of witchcraft has, of course, changed radically, as they have begun to make themselves public as midwives, herbalists, and healers. How effective they are I do not know, but it seemed important to meet a modern practitioner, since so many of us may eventually depend on one for medical help.

Also on the train was one individual whose dress alone marked him as unusual and therefore of definite interest to us. We first saw this tall, elegant man heading from the sleeper to the diner.

He was completely out of place on the train. Jim got out his recorder and we followed him into the dining car.

His name was Jack Harper. He was an exchange officer with the Royal Bank of Canada at Toronto. He told us: “I am working on the development of the American Automobile Industry Refinance Plan with the Barclay’s Consortium, our bank, and the New Bank of North America. We’re developing a private gold backing for a currency to be issued by the big three automakers themselves. We feel that the best way to deal with the problem of restarting the industry is to attract as many skilled workers back to the Detroit area as we can, rather than attempt to move the plants south. We are hoping that the prospect of being paid in a gold-backed currency will satisfy the concerns about nonpaid work that made them migrate in the first place, and we are guaranteeing a year’s supply of Canadian beef to every registered member of the UAW who comes back. The combination of not getting paid and then getting hit by the famine has made these men extremely suspicious of their former employers.”

The waiter came up and Mr. Harper ordered his lunch. The train had two meals available: soup and salad, or hamburger. Mr. Harper ordered one of each, only to be told that there was a consumption restriction of one to a passenger.

“I hate the bloody States! Too bad there’s no flight from Chicago to Detroit. It would have taken half an hour and I wouldn’t be facing lunch in this diner.” He smiled tightly, but there was venom in his voice.

“Why do you hate us?”

“You mean you really can’t think why? That’s not surprising.

I’ll tell you, the U.S. practically caused Canada to be destroyed. We were completely cocked up by Warday. The bank—you cannot imagine the anarchy. We lost not only our main computer but all our supporting computers as well. At the moment of the electro, we had about eight million in cash just evaporate, lost in the middle of electronic transfer. Within an hour the whole banking hall was filled with people shouting and waving paper records. We didn’t know what we were doing or where we stood. It was madness, terrible madness. And it was caused by the United States and the damned missiles and the damned war. The phones were out, the lights were out, even the lockboxes were unavailable because the electronic locking mechanism was on the fritz.

“Canada had one hell of a time because of your little twenty-minute war, let me tell you. Then there was the Russian business in Alaska Territory, to add panic to the whole affair.”

“What Russian business, and what is Alaska Territory?”

“It used to be the state of Alaska until you ceded it to us last year.”

“We gave you Alaska?”

“The treaty was signed in L.A. and Ottawa in June of 1992. We interned the Soviet naval units that had docked in Anchorage, and it was decided in Ottawa that our national security depended upon our remaining in Alaska. We paid you thirty-five million gold dollars, so you needn’t quibble.”

This did not seem like a very good price to us. “What about Prudhoe Bay? What about the Alaska Pipeline?”

“It ends in Vancouver. Now, if I may, I’d like to attempt my lunch. What sort of grain do you suppose this false hamburger is made of?”

“Soy.”

“I’d say oatmeal, from the taste of the thing. The meat is indistinguishable from the bread. Oh, waiter!” The waiter came over.

“Bring me a half-bottle of Beaujolais, please.”

“We have Coca-Cola, sir.”

“Bottled?”

“Fountain, sir.”

“Sad it’s not bottled. I really don’t want to get the damned Uncle Sam Jump yet again.”

I recalled laughing to Mexican friends about the Aztec Two-Step. If they were as hurt and embarrassed as I felt, they concealed it well.

“What do Canadians think about the U.S. now?” Jim asked.

“About the U.S. as a country? Very little, because it isn’t one.