Part 19

NECESSITIES OF LIFE

Edward opened his mailbox one morning and read a letter he'd received. As he read, his mouth formed into a small frown.

Last year, when Sideshow Bistro helped him relocate to Los Angeles, among the assistance given was a bank account and money for a down payment on a house. The human resources team instructed him to obtain a state ID, using the address of the Inventor's mansion, and "best guess" vital statistics. Once he had the ID, he was able to open an account at a minimal requirements bank, and from there, to take out a mortgage. Edward dutifully paid off a piece of his house's mortgage every month. Knowing the rules and obeying them thrilled him; he'd mail an envelope containing a check, weeks before the due date!

But today wasn't a thrill. This time, the amount he owed was more than it used to be. Several hundred dollars more. The change must have happened near the beginning of the year. Why was that? There were no differences between how he lived last year, and how he lived now. Except, he thought, that Kim and Dr. Ravenscroft became part of his life. Did the larger bill have something to do with them? Was this the price of love and friendship? It was the only explanation he could think of.

Catching the Doctor in the hallway during his weekend visit to the Home, he got his answer.

"Edward, my boy…", Dr. Ravenscroft explained, his voice wearily indicating he'd dealt with this issue many times before, "this is one of the most annoying and disempowering aspects of modern life. It's called inflation."
"Inflation?"
"You probably want me to tell you all about it now, but I need you to wait a few days. I'm thinking it would make a good lecture topic. This issue is affecting almost everyone, and I'd like to have the entire Home assembled, because they deserve to hear about this too."
"I see..."

Edward desired to hear this lecture more than any previous one. The day it was being given, he staked out a seat in the lecture room an hour before it began, and waited attentively. When Kim passed by the room, noticing him sitting all alone, she humorously pointed out how early he was. Edward responded that he didn't want to miss anything. Later, as more people entered the room, Kim would join him; it was the first lecture she'd attended.

. . .

Soon enough, the Doctor started speaking to them about this very pressing matter.

"If there were only 100 tea kettles in the world", he said, "those tea kettles would be worth several fortunes. But, of course, tea kettles are made by countless companies, and just about everyone can afford one.

So it is with money. Where is money created? At banks, all over the world, when people take out loans. The more money is created, the less each individual dollar is able to buy. We call this process 'inflation'."

As Dr. Ravenscroft expounded, he picked up a piece of chalk and illustrated several diagrams on the board behind him.

"Now, it is true that inflation benefits some people. If you own a business, you can expect an uptick in customers during times of great inflation. People are more motivated to spend their money before the inflation causes prices to rise even higher."

As Edward heard this, he was persuaded a bit further in the direction of starting his own business.

"But even if there are benefits, there are also obvious disadvantages. Now you might be wondering: 'how can that be?' I mean, our wages and salaries keep up with inflation, so doesn't it all even out? Not always, no.

For one thing, inflation can require you to pay more in taxes, even though your wealth hasn't actually increased. Tax rates are fixed amounts and percentages…at least, until new tax policies are made by the government. In the meantime, we're stuck.

But the biggest problem is what inflation does to the money we've saved. If you have $3,000 in a savings account, it doesn't adjust. The bank can't say 'oh, we're sorry about the inflation, here's the rest of the money you lost'."

This struck Edward as very unfair. He raised his hand and Dr. Ravenscroft pointed to him.
"What can we do about it?"

"There are no fast and easy solutions here. Many people will buy gold or silver to deal with inflation, because it's much more stable in supply than paper money. Sometimes it's definitely effective, but if you decide to do this: remember that the value of gold and silver is dependent on how greatly people want those things. Supply and demand. There's still a chance you'll lose money."

At the end of the lecture, Edward stayed in his seat while everyone else left the room. His mind stretched backwards in time. When Kim had asked him at their reunion if he enjoyed his life, he told her that life was complicated. After growing enormously as a person, becoming someone he never dreamt he'd be, the road he'd tread upon unexpectedly circled back around, leaving him to conclude the same way he'd began: life was complicated. And why, oh why, did everything seem to begin and end with money?

We are the dollars and cents
And the pounds and the pence
And the mark and the yen
We're gonna crack your little souls.
-Radiohead

Needing to unload his mind in a simpler, less cynical way, he marched up to the aviary to see if any work needed to be done there. Inside, he found Grant cleaning the birdcages, using his strong sense of smell to discern which ones needed the most care. Edward took the birds' food dishes and filled them with plump blueberries speared on his fingertips.

Grant opened up to him as they worked: "You know Edward, part of me is glad I'm blind."
"Really?"
"Some people have told me that if I knew what sight was, I'd think the world was ugly."
"Some things are ugly. Sometimes people are ugly too. But…" Edward paused. "…I want to make the world a more beautiful place. Grant, if you could see, I'd show you things I've made. I hope you wouldn't find them ugly."
"Yeah man, if I could see, I'd take a look! I trust you. By the way, it's a shame the doctors didn't have the hands you wanted. You had a pretty cool idea."
"I wanted hands so I could hold Kim. Like how people hold their loved ones. Her hands and her face...", Edward sulked.

"Such a gentleman. Girls love stuff like that." He disposed of an old rag and watered down a new one. "Are you thinking about marrying her?"
"I haven't thought about that…would I have to?"
"That's what all love is aiming at. I mean, Socrates said love is about wanting to have what's good, and having it forever and ever. When you get married, that's basically the pledge you make."
"I like talking to you Grant. You've read a lot and I've learned many things from you. By the way, have you written any more of your novel?"

Grant sighed. "I sent a few samples to a publisher. They told me not to quit my day job. But I don't HAVE a day job! This writing thing is my best chance of making a living, and so far, no one is interested."
Edward disputed him. "I'm interested…"
"Well you know what I mean. You don't own a publishing company, you're not an editor…"
"That's true. If they don't want to publish your book, what do you do?"
"Be persistent. Keep trying different publishers. Make sure the book itself is watertight. High quality. That's what Millvina told me. I don't give up easy."

Grant kept cleaning. Then, as if it had just now occurred what Edward said to him, he bolted upright.
"If you're seriously interested in my novel, follow me."
Some of the pigeons began squawking loudly when he said this, the ones who had yet to be serviced.
"Look, just hold on! I'll be back in 15 minutes, I promise! Calm down!", he commanded them abrasively. He grabbed his cane and descended the attic stairs, Edward shutting the door behind them as they headed to Grant's room.

Grant was plowing through belongings under his bed, tossing them aside as Edward watched. The Monopoly box, a Rubik's cube, a tuba, a plague doctor costume…he eventually reached his treasure: a briefcase with a combination lock. Entering a "9", an "8" and another "8", the briefcase revealed its contents: a typewritten manuscript, liberally interspersed with footnotes. He handed the manuscript off to Edward, who read the first line:

"The night is never as dark or stormy as you think it is."

Two weeks after accepting his first overtime dockwork shift, the wound in Edward's shoulder had almost completely healed. During that shift, the wound had caused him enough pain that he couldn't focus on much else, aside from moving the crates properly. Now that the pain had dissipated and he was back at the port with Tayton and Salvador, he was able to pay more attention to the freighter he was on:

Its hull was a bright red-orange, visible even in the blackness of pre-dawn. On the port side were stray white markings that might have been peeling off slightly. When Edward wandered with Salvador to the crates near the back of the ship, he noticed the tinted windows of the boat deck. About 15 minutes later, the skipper emerged from the deck to inspect Edward and Salvador.

The skipper was a heavier man, dressed in a jacket more suited to braving the winter chills than the current springtime. He was brown-skinned, with a pockmarcked face and a Roman nose. Although beardless, he had a long, thick mustache that spread all the way to the periphery of his cheeks.

The skipper waved amicably to Edward, and Edward waved back. He didn't seem to react at all upon seeing Edward's hands. That was how he liked it. He could put on a show and attract attention anytime he wanted, but he was at the mercy of other when he didn't want to be singled out. When other people showed him that mercy and courtesy, he felt more similar to them than different.

"How long will do you think we'll be doing this?", Edward asked Salvador, who laughed in response.
"As long as you want to." Then, adding: "this is what they hired you for."

Edward laughed back. Salvador clearly didn't understand the situation. Sideshow Bistro hired him to be a chef. He'd been cooking for nearly a year. This was just temporary overtime. Once the supply chain was restored, the three of them wouldn't have to awaken at 2 AM and drive to the ocean anymore. They could rest on Sundays, like normal humans did.

. . .

"Who told you that you were hired to work at the port?", Evanthas coolly asked Edward that night as the restaurant was closing, his mouth curling into a slight smile.

"Salvador.", Edward said with no hesitation. "It's pretty stupid, isn't it?"
"To reiterate in no uncertain terms", Evanthas spoke diplomatically, "and to lay aside all misunderstandings, you were hired because you are valuable, and specifically, you are valuable to us. When you cook, you are valuable. When you entertain guests, you are valuable. When you transport our ingredients, you are valuable. And those who Sideshow Bistro values will always be provided for."

Evanthas lay his hand, with its many-coloured rings, upon Edward's wrist and looked deeply into his eyes, like a priest advising a monarch.

"Nothing has transpired which would alter the terms of our deal. Your position as chef is not in danger, nor will it ever be, if current conditions continue. Rest easy. You are a beloved son, and we are well-pleased with you. Do you understand?"
"Yes…"

Edward felt slightly rosy. Evanthas was masterful in his roles as persuader and flatterer. The treatment was so effective at erasing his annoyance, that it took hours for him to even remember Salvador's careless remark. Upon remembering it, it washed off him like water on a duck's back. He had made it, and Evanthas had confirmed it. He was a king in his domain. He may yet trade his kingdom for a different one, that of the barbershop, the trimmed-hedge garden, or the sculptor's studio. He wasn't sure yet.

All he was sure was that he was the king, and it was good to be the king!