Forty Days at Kamas Read Free Page B

twelve–year–old rum.
    "Well, they’ve made you an offer," Jeff said without enthusiasm.
    "That’s more than I’ve had from anyone else in the last three years," I replied. "I’ll give the Germans credit for that much."
    "Don’t get too excited, Paul. Their offer is half of what we expected and a third of what the company is worth in today’s market. They don’t want to buy the company; they’re out to steal it. Still, it’s an offer. And it might even be worth taking, depending on what you expect from the economy under a Unionist administration."
    "You and I both know that wage and price controls have been a complete disaster for small manufacturers like us," I responded. "The Germans, on the other hand, seem quite comfortable with government controls. With the European economy in the toilet and foreign trade down to a trickle, they seem almost desperate for a foothold in the U.S. market. I’d say that’s good news for us."
    "But the bad news is that they think we’re even more desperate to sell than they are to buy," Jeff replied.
    "Do you think we might be able negotiate a better price?" I asked.
    "I doubt it. They’re talking to some of our competitors. They seem pretty confident that at least one of us will decide to take the money and run."
    "Damned Euros! They see the Unionists come to power and now they think they have us on our knees. They’re certain that the president will go to Brussels, swallow his pride, and give special trade and investment concessions to the EU. It makes me want to—"
    "Not so fast, Paul. If you’re right about the Unionists and they do put the economy into a coma, this may be the last offer you’ll see at any price. And if you have to liquidate, you could wind up buried under a landslide of unpaid bills and tax liens. The Unionists play rough with tax defaulters, Paul. You could be looking at federal prison."
    "But if I sell, then what? This is the only business I know. I’m making a living in spite of it all. If I hang in, it’s possible the company could grow its way back to profitability somehow. If I sell now, and if there’s anything left afterward, where could I invest the proceeds and be able to live off the income? The only option I see would be to emigrate and start over—"
    "Father says it would be crazy to emigrate now," Juliet interrupted with surprising vehemence. "His contacts in Washington insist this is a once–in–a–lifetime opportunity to buy assets at the bottom. And they also point out that when things get better—as they are bound to do eventually—anyone who emigrates will get a very chilly reception on his return.
    "Paul, both of our families have been in Pennsylvania for nearly a hundred and fifty years. You wouldn’t really give it all up, would you?"
    I had rarely seen Juliet so adamant.
    Jeff spoke up before I could respond.
    "Juliet, if you’ll remember," he said gently, "the Jews had been living in Germany and Poland quite a bit longer than a couple hundred years. The Jewish families who emigrated survived. Same with the Russian aristocracy in 1918. And the French nobility during the Reign of Terror. The risks—"
    "Jeff, you don't honestly consider the Unionists to belong in the same category as the Nazis or the Bolsheviks?" she replied.
    "You’ve heard their speeches, Juliet. A person is either with them or against them. To the Unionist mobs, you and I are class enemies."
    "But we’re all Americans," Juliet protested. "Some of our neighbors are Unionists. They’re not bad people. I’m certain they wouldn’t do anything to harm us…"
    "Maybe so," I interjected. "But how can we be sure there aren’t others who would stone our Volvo the way they stoned Sally Zimmermann's Lexus in Ambridge last week?" I asked. "Her children were inside, for God's sake. All the crazies saw was a shiny new SUV. Sally and the boys were lucky to get away with their lives."
    Juliet put down her teacup. When she raised her eyes I could see that she