BEAUTY AND PROFIT
BEAUTY AND PROFIT..
Steven Black idled the old Datsun to a slow rolling halt about five metres from the lake edge and ratcheted up the handbrake. It was always worth the drive up to this point even at lunchtime when minutes were precious. The emptiness of the valley and the constant feel of the west wind on his face brought him back into contact with the real world, a welcome break from the boardrooms, the finance, the jockeying for position of the municipal councillors, the endless chatter of the telephones and hum of the fax machines, which intruded into every waking moment and allowed no time for reflection. Twelve years of it was enough. He pulled the key from the ignition, moved a large, rolled up drawing off the dashboard and tossed it into the back seat, then leaned on the door as he pulled the release lever. It opened with a squeak as usual, reminding him once again that he needed to find spare time to oil it.
Jumping out, Steven stretched luxuriously and then, removing his wireframe glasses. He nudged the door closed behind him with his heel and ambled over to the lake edge. On this spring-like afternoon much of the lake was thawed and the 20 centimetre thick ice which remained on the rest of the surface had broken into small floes which rose and fell like a roller-coaster as the wind whipped the open water into swelling waves and drove the floes into a pack at the east end of the lake. As the floes disintegrated they turned into thick mats of crushed icicles which jingle-jangled and filled the entire valley with a silvery sleighbell kind of sound. Helen had told him about it first for she had heard it many times.
She often said to him in the corner of Teacher’s Diner “It alvayss remintss me of mein childhood”, she said, losing her acquired western drawl in the emotional moment.
“I can magine it, Helly” he would whisper, stroking her dark brown hair.
He knew this was an experience not to be missed because the warm chinook was likely to keep blowing for a couple of days. It usually did in early March in this part of the Rockies and it meant that the ice would be completely melted by tomorrow. The sky overhead was cloud covered, but to the west, over the Michelle Range, was the chinook arch of blue sky, and Steven knew from its size that it was good for at least two days. The sleighbells would soon be silenced for a year. But they would be silenced for good if the chairman of the council had his way with building a new road access. Black was dead set against it, though it would bring a fortune to the chairman. It would be an environmental disaster.
Steven had qualified as an architect in Britain, but had worked in Canada now for about twelve years. The last five years contract was for a single project of an industrial development. He was at the final stage of work on a two-hundred-acre industrial park in the southern Rockies. It was the biggest commercial development in the history of the region, and it would bring back economic life to the depressed area after decades of decline. And he strongly felt there was a chance to really preserve a lot of the natural beauty in the area, if only he could manage the local council. He felt the job would be successful economically and environmentally and it was now time to be moving on, as he always did when a contract was over. He wouldn't wait around for the official champagne and ribbon-cutting with the Mayor and Foxx and the others.
In this mountainous country there were precious few areas of level land, but a large area of undeveloped flat terrain faced Steven across the lake just east of the limestone cliff sloping down the mountainside. It was ideal for industry if only road access could be put across the lake, an expensive venture. The 200-odd acres of land could quickly be made available for industry and the Federal government would be very willing to finance the purchase of the land but road access arrangements were to be left to local politicians and Black as their architect-planner. His was a a 5 year contract (with a hefty bonus)to get industrial development moving. It has been long held up, stymied by previous incompetent architects and greedy selfish councilors. Black had nothing but contempt for the councillors and nothing but respect and admiration for the beauty of the lakes and mountains. But he had to complete this land arrangement in the next few days or lose his bonus and have to abandon all his own plans for the years ahead.
The late winter sun swung out of the cloud cover into the clear blue area to the west and the rays caught the bobbing rafts of icicles. The rainbow spectrums dazzled his tired forty year old eyes, but he felt his soul uplifted. There are some people who need to collapse in an armchair after their day's work, and those who can't get by without a cigarette, and there are those who need constant reassurance from a crowd's applause. But some people have the knack of being able to regenerate their flat batteries on the musky scent of marigolds on a warm breeze, or the snatched sound of girls laughing, or seeing the simmering rage of a thundercloud building rapidly over the prairie: and Steven Black was such a person. He gazed out over the lake and soaked up the roller coaster floes and sleighbells for a full half hour, and then a glance at his watch told him to hurry back to the office. He strode back over the gravel to the Datsun, squeaked the door open and closed, and roared off back down the valley into town.
The Industrial Committee were all assembled again in the design office, Councillor Wareham, Kubik the engineer, Gainsby a quiet guy witha trucking dealership, the Mayor, and Parsons the finance guy from the provincial government in Edmonton. The parish priest and his Bishop sat importantly in two chairs near the Mayor. The church had land nearby and they were keen to sell it for industry or roads or anything. They were not known for their environmental sensitivity. To one side stood Jude Foxx the wealthiest businessman in town. The architect stood in the centre of the group but furthest from Foxx, whom he knew did not like him. The mayor began in his normal pompous style.
“Now let's go over it again, Mr Black, so we're all clear what's involved. I realise that you're the architect, the technical expert but, you know, I still feel that a road access at point ‘A’ at the west end would be a better advertisement for the town even if part of the lake will be blocked off from view. As mayor I'm concerned with the image of the town. After all this is thirty million dollars of the voting public's money we're talking here.”
Steven’s voice was emotionless and factual, disguising his contempt, as he put on his wireframes to deal with the obvious greed of the Mayor. He knew the Mayor favoured road access ‘A’ next to his own land for it would allow him to develop his property too - at present with no road access - but it was a very bad environmental solutlon. It would dam off part of the lake and make the smaller water area stagnant, an ecological grave. Steven’s eyes flickered momentarily to Wareham taking out his gold cigarette case and offered one to the Bishop. Councillor Wareham preferred options arising from access at point ‘B’, but Steven had calculated that the polluted spillages on that proposed access road would seriously affect the fish and plants in the lake. Flicking his cigarette lighter with a slight bow, Wareham turned to the bishop for support, ”What do you think, your lordship? Site ‘B’ would allow development of the church’s property to the north, I suppose.” The bishop drew on his cigarette and offered only a nod in response. He had listened without smirking many times to Wareham’s cynical altruism about the needs of the church.
Steven stayed calm, quietly restating his case,“Fair enough, Mr Mayor, I can understand your concern about advertising the town, but I can only say that my view has not changed: and from an efficiency and safety point of view and environmental concern the main road access must be as far from the lake as possible, possibly at a location like the one I have shown on the map at point ‘C’. Actually not very far from your own land, Sir.”
It was not very far but Black knew perfectly well it was too far from the Mayor’s land for him to make any big profit from the road access, although he would make some. Of course the Mayor could not argue this idea openly in the meeting. Still, he argued about various details and held out for his preferred access at ‘A’. Wareham and the Bishop added their ten cents. Trying to sound like a man who has just received a new vision of the future, Black finally said, “Ok, let me have a completely new, overall rethink of access - and we will meet again in two days, ok? That will be last possible time for a meeting for, as we all know, the cut-off date for the federal grant is two days after that.” Everybody agreed two days was ok and they broke into groups of twos and threes for coffee.
The architect had chosen the time for their final meeting to try to stampede the committee into a decision. In those two days he didn’t have to rethink anything. He favoured the third site at ‘C’ for it was not only the safest from a traffic movement point of view, it was also the least damaging to the environment of the lake. The only question was how to get it accepted by the council. Stampede was one thing, direction of the herd was another. He would not propose site ‘C’ himself - that would be unpopular and invite rejection. No, It had to come from someone else.The Mayor and Wareham were obviously not going to help, nor the Bishop and his sycophants. No, not Kubic either, for although his views were based on good sense he was not a forceful enough arguer. Parsons, the fence-sitting civil servant would be useless to Black in a tussle. And of course the architect knew Foxx disliked him deeply.
They duly met again two days later. Steven opened by stating that he had reconsidered the issue. They all leaned forward in their chairs. Then after some hesitation the architect added that on reconsidering, his view was the same as before. They slumped back, each one feeling a million dollars draining from his pocket. He allowed the message to sink in then added, ”There is clearly a stalemate Mr Mayor, between option ‘A’ and option ‘B’, and unless we can agree here at this meeting we will lose the federal government grant in the industrial development of this region. This committee’s favoured options are ‘A’ and ‘B’, but I have to say that, as a professional, I do not favour either one. However, it is a crucial development - a matter of jobs in the community, so if you gentlemen can compromise, perhaps all will not be lost. Wareham and the bishop smoked together in hushed conversation in one corner, and the Mayor with Joe Kubic chatted in the other. Parsons went to make a phone call to his boss about the finance.
Steven and Foxx were alone and rather than seem unduly awkward, they drifted together and chatted casually about the chinook weather outside.
Foxx coughed in a slightly embarrassed way, “You remember it was last year at this time when I wanted permission to build that new bridge over the creek to my land...and you refused?”
“Oh, Mr Foxx, it was just a bad idea - I had no choice as a professional but to refuse.”
“ Listen Black, I’ll tell you something. That land needed the bridge and since it was out of sight of the main highway, I went ahead without your permission and built it anyhow.”
“Oh I - I - I didn’t know...”
“Of course you didn’t.....and it was fine for three months, but when summer came the creek dried up and the soil became loose, well - the whole bridge collapsed. Lucky nobody was killed. Point is, Black, although I didn’t like your decision, it turned out you were right, and I shoulda listened and also saved myself 200 000 dollars in the bridge wreck.”
“Well, I m sorry to hear about your trouble out there, and I am real glad no one was hurt.”
Foxx waved aside the sympathy, and lowering his tone he turned his head towards the architect, “So I am now thinking that this meeting today is chasing after A or B, which you’re almost sure to refuse, and that the C is again a logical, if unpopular, correct option.
“It’s good of you to of offer me your verbal support, but the problem today is to get them to voluntarily choose C rather than A or B....and they won’t and the town will miss the boat of the economic boost with the development’s jobs possibilities. And if I push for C they will resent the opinion of an outsider, they will resist and nothing will be achieved. But C is in fact the only reasonably logical choice.”
“Yes Black I can see it clearly now and I quite agree. Listen if you can’t propose C, why don’t I? I have no financial gain to make, I have no land near A B or C, but as the biggest business in town I stand to profit from the new industrial developments, same as Wareham of the Mayor. So I am something of an honest broker here. They will have a hard time refusing : and I am their biggest competitor so they may go with me, thinking there must be some hidden agenda and I am going to make a fortune - so they will jump on my bandwagon.”…
“Well Mr Foxx,if you do that you will have my full support and I’d say Joe Kubic’s too if I know him...and we will very likely get this road access at C approved and the development on the way to completion. My preference is obviously for ‘C’ and if I endorse your proposal it will benefit neither of them...good strategy, Mr. Foxx. You will be applauded for breaking the deadlock and I will be doubly pleased because of all theindustrial jobs and the environmental aspects saved. This is to say the least an unothodox method of getting a decision in such meetings - but it might just work. Give it a try if you wish.”
The meeting reconvened, and Black repeated his warnings about the deadline approaching. The Mayor was about to make a final plea for his beloved option ‘A’, when Foxx stood up and entered the conversation with decisiveness in his voice, ” I have listened to these endless discussions and like you I am entirely frustrated because we seem to be about to lose a great opprtunity for this community. We cannot agree with B or A, so we gotta choose another such as C or just forget the whole development. Now I have no personal financial interest here so perhaps you might listen calmly? Can we hear from the architect again? Mr Black what do you think of option C?” He strode to the big map and jabbed a finger in the location of C. Silence followed Foxx’s speech, all of them wondering silently what his angle was, how much was he gonna make from C?
In the silence, the architect held up a hand while he scribbled on his papers. Steven made some spurious calculations on his papers and maps and in the computer. He already knew perfectly well all the ramifications of C. “One moment gentlemen, please.”
In five minutes he quickly sketched out an access plan at C. Then he spoke in a voice somehat firm and a little abrasive, “This design of the road is simply in accordance with proper methods and practice. The east end at C is safer and less environmentally damaging. This design will meet all the requirents of the Finance department in Edmonton.”
Parsons gave a sympathetic nod and a slight grunt of tentative agreement. He had had dealings with Black on previous projects. He knew this guy had no time for bullshit.
The municipal councillors were not concerned with methods and practice or environment. Foxx had proposed it, so they figured there must be a profit for him somewhere. Steven endorsed it and they voted on it, each wanting to avoid losing the chance of making a profit. He praised their enlightened choice, and successfully disguising his sarcasm, he applauded their willingness to compromise. He knew access at C would work for he had already prepared detailed drawings in his office weeks ago and would be presenting them in the Commission meeting the next day.
“But who owns that land?” asked the mayor in an exasperated voice, desperately trying to claw back discussion to option A.
“Do we know?”echoed Wareham resentfully, glancing sideways at the Bishop.
Steven replied factually and unemotionally,“Yes, I have checked all the land ownership around all the access points....the registry in Calgary shows the owner of C being a man from Edmonton, Gerhard Lehrer. He bought the two quarter sections twelve years ago from a local farmer, and used it for a few dairy cows as a hobby but now it’s simply lying fallow.”
“Well whoever this goddamn kraut is he’s gonna make a packet instead of us keeping the money in the town,” Wareham agreed sullenly, and the others nodded slowly.
“Regardless of ownership Mr. Mayor, it’s worth repeating that if we cannot agree on A or B the access must be away from the lake at C, as proposed by Mr. Foxx, are you all agreed? Otherwise, the industrial developmentt cannot go ahead because of the Federal government deadline. The owner will sell either voluntarily or by compulsion but as you say he will make a substantial profit either way.”
Kubik nodded silently behind the mayor, and Steven knew he was home and dry. Once he got the engineer on his side the rest was so much hot air and posturing by the wealthy, the councillors, the bishop and the finance guys. Kubik was a solid guy. No nonsense. He had not agreed last week when Steven had laid out his plans including site C for the industrial park, but he must have gone back to his own staff and done some calculations, because now he was endorsing the very access arrangement Steven had designed last week.
The politicos haggled about trivial details and Kubik drew him aside for a moment.
“You’ll be glad to get away at the weekend I daresay? You must be fed up with these guys haggling and jockeying.”
“You bet Joe, and I am not going to think about work for two whole days.” Kubik laughed in sympathy, “I don’t blame you Steve, and in any case, as you were telling me the other day, this contract is now finished for you so you can be moving on if you like. ”
“Yeah that’s right, Joe.. . . and believe you me,. . . I do like !” They both smirked.
Then followed a meeting with the full municipal council and a couple of hours of mini position-speeches by the Mayor and Wareham and the rest and a few words from Kubik. The vote was held and site C was selected. By five o'clock it was all over and Wareham was trying to formulate a press announcement so that it would look like his idea all along.
“Drinks anybody?” chirped up the Mayor with enthusiasm. At least he had a small profit from his 120 acres.
“Sure thing” said Gainsby, mentally rubbing hands over his 85 acres, now almost a certain location for a truck stop pretty close to site C.
Wareham left without a drink and without the company of the clerics, who had now associated themselves with Judd Foxx at the wine table.
Steven collected together his rolled-up drawings and papers without fuss, and removed his glasses. Joe approached him with two glasses smiling.
“Not for me thanks Joe, I've got to get down to Lethbridge by eight for a Commission meeting. I'll see you after the weekend and we'll wrap up the final details before we go to tender. Goodnight everybody,” he added mechanically.
In his absence they chatted over their drinks. “Odd guy that ..brilliant architect but downright unsociable......works for peanuts at the Commission, handles a project worth 200 million.....and you know what his bonus is? A piddling 50 000 .......some guys you just can’t understand you know?” They all agreed. Foxx said nothing.
The door of the Datsun squeaked and he pulled out between councillors limousines and drove back to the cabin where he had been staying for the past five years. Not his choice of dwelling but necessary - his contract stipulated he had to live in the community in order to be hired. Steven knew that as a public employee his modest cabin and his bonus was well known and was frequently made fun by the members of the council. He threw some clothes and a briefcase in the back seat. The blue door squeaked again and Steven was away down the highway towards the little truckstop at Cowley.
Fifteen minutes later the world had changed completely. Gone were the sharp teeth of the Front Ranges of the Rockies and the landscape was filled with the low rolling foothills east of Lundbreck Falls. Normally white to the horizon at this time of year the landscape had a startling browny-green and bright yellow colour thanks to the chinook. In the gravel-covered parking lot he footed the door closed and eased into Teacher’s Diner with its carpeted floor and friendly owner. The colours of the landscape were as if drawn by a child in bold primary colors - shadows quite black, yellow stubble bright yellow, pine trees dark green. The clear air of the high plains always brought out the purity and beauty of the landscape. Away to the north and south the Rockies were dark blue - pure blue.
“Usual, Mr Black?” suggested a smiling and slightly overweight woman in a somewhat raised voice for customers to hear as Steven sat down. She winked and he smiled knowingly. She knew his favourite meals on certain evenings after five years of his custom in her restaurant.
“Hi, Helen. Yes, I will, thanks a lot. Hey, love that chinook, don't ya?”
“Yes indeed, everybody loves it 'cept ze farmers. They'll be complaining 'bout no water for ze grass next month. Like toast with that, tonight?”
Helen's English had improved in her fifteen years in the country but she was still very German.
But she had been keen to drop all trace of Germanness after her stay with the Stasi in Dresden just before she and her father made it across the wall into west Berlin and then to Canada.
She pulled her sleeve down unconsciously to hide the scars of electric burns on her wrists.
“Yes please, Helly, and a cold milk.” Steven slipped off his parka.
Maybe we’ll go up to Edmonton this weekend Helly?” He dropped his voice and whispered. She nodded
Fraulein Leni Lehrer had long since become Helen Teacher. Like many Germans coming to America, she had been quick to anglicise her name......and now she repeated the soft way he said “Helly” a few times as she walked smartly back into the kitchen, leaving the tired eyes of the forty year old architect to close in rest.
A purring close to his left leg opened his eyes again. It was Rusty, the owner's cat. Steven put out his hand for Rusty to nuzzle and the cat approached gingerly and with obvious hesitation. The cat's nose touched his fingertip with a sharp little crack of static charge and the animal jumped a little, then came to the fingers again for a firm touch and stroke. It was the same every time. Rusty was used to the electric charge from customers' plastic-type shoes on the dry carpet, but he weathered it for the friendly strokes and scraps of food from the tables. Steven Black had always loved cats, ever since he was a small boy. He would always stop to stroke every cat on the way home from school. They seemed to somehow know that he was coming, round about four o'clock. He drove his mother crazy by constantly bringing strays into the house to give them milk.
Helen returned with the cold milk and placed it on the table with a warm smile.
“Still thinking about farming that land of yours?” he offered teasingly.
“Sure - just waiting for the right guy to help me...a little dairy farm you know, just like back home een ze peauteefool Rhine valley”she said in a staged mock-German accent.
“Well maybe you won’t have to wait much longer” - he winked
The milk was what Rusty was waiting for. Steven decanted a little milk into his empty ashtray and placed it on the carpet beneath the table in front of the cat's pink nose, and the pair of them sat in the evening sun drinking and looking out over the endless undulating western plains of Canada. The architect's thoughts rolled back over the years to a childhood place far away where he'd had a cat like Rusty.
“You look tired today....do you really like this sort of work Mr Black?” She always used his formal name in public in the restaurant.
Steven was brought back from his daydream as she placed a plate of butter patties in front of him. “Well, it has always earned me money enough to be free of restrictions and travel and do what I want - so it’s ok. But now you’re right to ask me Helen. I’ve been here five years now and the novelty’s wearing off and I wanna change to something more down to earth...... if you know what I mean,” he winked.
She smiled knowingly and turned back to the kitchen.
Helen interrupted his reverie with two steaming plates of food and a chirpy,
“How ‘sat for dinner? And there's your toast, with lots of butter, just ze way you like it.”
“Thanks, Helly,” he whispered, looking her directly in the eye. “You know, your dinners are going to be the main thing I'll miss when I leave the Rockies. Gonna have to find another place to get dinner in Edmonton,” he smirked
She was clearly amused. She smirked secretly back at him, “Oh, you leavin'? They‘ll sure miss you round here.”
“Job's pretty near finished Hel, but I just can't say any more till it hits the papers tomorrow. Me and Rusty gotta eat this fast 'cos I've got to get down to Lethbridge for eight, you know.”
“It's dat big industrial park ain't it, I'll bet? I seen your little Datsun up at ze lake the other day, and you've been up zere a lot recently. I know. Loggers was in here more than once telling me about ze old blue Datsun out near the lake. Dat park’ll bring a lot of jobs to this area and a lot of poor folks's goin' to get a chance to get out of this dead-end. Am I right or am I right?”
“You're more than just a great restauranteur, Helen, you're a clairevoyant,” he smiled in genuine appreciation at her words.
“Oh, there you go again with them fancy words,. . .” She smiled back. She liked him a lot.
“But it’s true, and I appreciate you enormously,” he insisted.
“Vell, all right. . . but I don't like to be using difficult language viss important peoble in public. I get a few important visitors sometimes to my restaurant and if I say a wrong word in ze English zey laugh.” Her voice became momentarily more German, and lost its acquired western drawl.
Steven snorted dismissively, “God save me from important people! Pompous fools - Hmph!” and tore off a piece of bacon with his fork. He dropped it into the ashtray under the table.
“Rusty's goin' to miss you, too, Steve. He knows ven you're comin' on account of that squeaky car door of yours,” she said, tossing her head flirtatiously and rolling away into the kitchen.
He bent and hauled up the limp cat on to his knee, rubbing a thumb back and forth under its chin till it purred in contentment. The sun finally disappeared behind the peaks and his tired eyes, recovered now, gazed out the windows at the lengthening shadows over the foothills to the east. He had to be a hundred miles away in Lethbridge by eight.
He dropped his voice, “Rusty boy, you won’t miss me for very long - you will be going with us to Edmonton.” The cat pushed out his chin to invite further rubbing. “Helly couldn’t leave you and neither could I.”
Her father, Gerhard Lehrer, was a retired farmer living in Edmonton. He had bought his land twelve years ago and really wanted to give it as gift to Helen when she married. He wanted to start a dairy farm and hoped she might be interested. Steven met him when he and Helly had become close about five years ago when he first arrived in the mountains on his contract. He’d then advised the dad to just keep it for farming but that it had greater potential because of its location near the main highway. That was long before there was any definite industrial park proposed. When the federal government later selected a nearby 200 acre site for industry Steven could quickly see Lehrer’s land was only real possibility for access to the site. But Steven’s professional situation was awkward. Lehrer, an acquaintance, making a profit on land because of the advice of an architect publicly contracted to design a road access. It could be the end of a career and possible legal proceeding. Yet it was not a deliberate plot. Even so, it was tricky and he had had to keep much of his work away from Helen’s eyes.
The next day’s paper reported that at eight o’clock in the Lethbridge commission offices last night the architect had reported the success at the afternoon’s council meeting. The commission congratulated him on a job well done after so many years of frustrating false starts by earlier architects. The paper also showed Gerhard Lehrer’s land as the main access for the huge industrial park. It would have to be acquired and the price would be at industrial values - at least six million dollars. Undoubtedly its Edmonton owner would be very happy.
After approval of design with environmental protection for the lake and its tinkling ice, the finance guy from the Provincial government put his seal on the deal and it was closed. Steven collected his 50 000 dollars contract bonus, closed his contract, and then left the Rockies for good.
The real bonus was that he and Helly were married one year later in Edmonton. His contract money bought a small house and they began life together in the provincial capital and began to plan their future. Gerhard Lehrer used the cash from the sale of option C to buy two quarter sections in the North Saskatchewan river valley about two years later, and Helen and Steven started managing a dairy farm.
...............................................end of story 5300 words.............................................
Comments