PRES. CADWALLADER PROMISES TO SIGN “ANTI-STITCHER” LAW
CAMP DAVID, MD (AP)—Speaking to reporters on Saturday, President Mary Beth Cadwallader pledged to sign a landmark anti-reanimation bill into law on Tuesday after the House and Senate passed it last week. The president said that it would deliver the “final plank” of her ambitious domestic agenda as she aims to boost her party’s standing with voters about three months before the midterm elections.
The legislation—dubbed the anti-stitcher law by its supporters—would ban the medical technology known as reanimation that had been pioneered by German scientists a decade ago. The technology made possible what had only been imagined in folklore and horror novels: the reanimation of once-dead human tissue eventually resulting in over 12 million documented cases of human reanimation subjects in the U.S. alone. The worldwide number is uncertain, though the World Health Organization estimated that there may be more than 100 million reanimated subjects living across the globe.
Due to the recently perfected technology permitting the joining of body parts from multiple cadavers to complete a whole person, the resulting reanimated subjects became commonly known by the crude epithet “stitchers” in a reference to the joining of various body parts that requires, in part, the suturing together of flesh and muscle.
The legislation has strong backing from the country’s religious leaders who had decried animation as playing God. However, organized labor as well as the national and numerous local chambers of commerce lobbied the White House to veto the bill asserting that the reanimation technology benefited the sagging economy by supplying a potentially inexhaustible new source of young, healthy workers.
“This technology can’t be used to reanimate the elderly or infirmed,” observed Carlos Moraga, president of the U.S. Chamber of Commerce. “But it works like a dream to bring back otherwise healthy workers at all levels of the economy, which is good for America. And if we pull the plug on the reanimation industry, we’ll be behind the eight ball with other countries that are going full steam ahead with replenishing their workforce through reanimation.”
Anti-immigrant groups were divided on the issue because the creation of a reanimated population could eventually diminish employers’ reliance on and hunger for low-wage foreign workers. However, those same groups complained that “stitchers” were not “real Americans” and could replace native-born U.S. residents in the near future if reanimation ramped up.
In anticipating a triumphant signing ceremony at the White House, Cadwallader pointed to the bill as proof that democracy—no matter how long or untidy the process—can still deliver for American voters. The president road-tested a line she will likely repeat later this fall ahead of the midterm elections: “Real Americans and human decency won, and the special interests lost."
THE MAN SAT ALONE at his kitchen island. Today he needed to go into the office, but for now, he wore a white T-shirt, boxers, and slippers. The man looked down at two slices of buttered wheat toast that sat on a plate near a steaming mug of coffee. He breathed in the aroma of his breakfast and attempted to affix a word to what he felt at that moment. The bright morning sun shone through the kitchen window onto his breakfast and illuminated it like a stage where the actors stood frozen before uttering their opening lines. The man considered his breakfast.
What do I feel?
That was the question he often asked himself. The man knew he should feel something as he looked upon his daily morning meal, a meal that never changed, at least not in recent times.
What do I feel?
The man sensed something watching him. He turned his head toward the kitchen window and squinted. Ah! The neighbor’s cat, Nacho, sat at the far end of his apartment complex’s communal backyard on the low retaining wall and stared at him. Not a threat. Just a tiger-striped feline. Nacho blinked, licked its lips, and scurried away. The man turned back to his breakfast and placed both hands, palms down, on either side of his plate. The cool white quartz felt solid, secure on his skin.
Is that what I feel? Solid, secure?
The man then focused on the contours of his hands. His left hand was a full two inches longer and an inch wider than his right. And his right hand was much darker than his left. He did feel something.
I feel remorse.
Remorse that his hands were such a mismatch that people often stared and children pointed. Even when he tried to hide the vast differences between his hands by wearing gloves in the winter, people noticed—especially children, whose line of vision brought them eye-to-eye, as it were, with his mismatched appendages.
What do I feel?
Hungry. And so now this breakfast of buttered wheat toast and hot coffee served a purpose. He reached for one piece of toast and brought it to his lips. He held it there for a moment and attempted to confirm that he was indeed hungry.
Yes. I feel hungry.
The man bit into the toast and chewed.
“Is there any of that for me, guapo?”
The man turned and watched the woman walk behind the island, open one cabinet and then another until she found a coffee mug, and pour herself a cup. She turned toward the man.
“Any half-and-half left?”
Before the man could respond, the woman opened the refrigerator, scanned its contents, and emitted a pleased yes! before retrieving a small carton of half-and-half. After the woman lightened her coffee to the appropriate shade of brown, she returned the carton to the refrigerator, walked around the edge of the island, and plopped down on the stool next to the man.
“I hope you don’t mind that I used your very manly-man deodorant, guapo.”
“I don’t mind,” said the man.
“I just wish you had a hair dryer.”
The man noticed the woman’s thick, curly, black hair bounce and set free water droplets that lightly sprinkled the kitchen island and her black pantsuit. The woman smelled like the man’s shampoo mixed with the pungent scent of his Irish Spring deodorant. He liked how she smelled—his Irish Spring took on a subtler scent on her—and appreciated the woman’s glistening hair. The man thought about the woman’s wish that he had
a hair dryer.
“Toast?” said the woman.
“Yes,” said the man.
“That’s your breakfast?”
“Yes.”
“Do you have something a little more Mexican?”
“Like what?”
“Pan dulce?”
“No, I don’t.”
“How about a cheese blintz? I’m happy to honor my Jewish stepfather.”
“No, I don’t have that either.”
The woman reached over and snatched the untouched piece of toast.
“Ni modo,” said the woman. “I have to watch my carbs. Healthful wheat toast it is for me.”
They sat in silence as they both crunched on their toast.
After three minutes, she said, “You know, guapo, this is the second time I’ve stayed over.”
“Yes, it is.”
“And this is the second time I’ve wondered if you’ve had something other than toast for breakfast.”
“Yes, it is.”
“And I know you’ve got a thoughtful side to you.”
“I do.”
The woman chuckled at the concise man’s response. In three quick bites, she finished eating the piece of toast and washed it down with a loud gulp of coffee.
“But you do make good coffee, guapo. That, I admit.”
“Thank you,” said the man. A small smile crept onto his freshly shaven face.
The woman stood, put her coffee mug into the sink, walked back to the man, pecked him on his left cheek.
“I’ll bring the pan dulce or maybe blintzes next time,” she said. “If there is a next time.”
“Thank you,” said the man. “I hope there is a next time.”
“Oh, you sweet talker,” said the woman. “Maybe I’ll bring both.”
“Thank you.”
“Need to grab my purse,” said the woman. “I’ve got young lawyers and law clerks to boss around, a law practice to run, corporations to sue, judges to cajole. Are you going to work today too?”
“Yes,” said the man. “After.”
“After what?”
The man thought. “After I go for a run and then make a trip to the pharmacy.”
“Got it,” said the woman. “Life’s errands and exercise wait for no one.”
“I usually run at night. ”
“Well, I guess I ruined your routine last night.”
The man listened as the woman walked away from him to retrieve her purse from the man’s bedroom. The man wondered if the woman was examining his bedroom, and if so, what she thought of it in the light of day. The woman returned after a few moments and stood near the man.
“Hasta luego, my laconic hookup,” said the woman.
“Goodbye,” said the man.
The man stared at his cup of coffee as the woman stood near him. They remained in silence for several seconds listening to each other breathe. The woman eventually turned and walked to the front door. The man stared at his cup of coffee as he listened to the woman clear her throat. After a few seconds more, the woman opened the door and left. The man could discern the woman’s heels click down the walkway toward her car. The woman’s Irish Spring–infused scent lingered. ...
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