Читать книгу Cordi O'Callaghan Mysteries 4-Book Bundle - Suzanne F. Kingsmill - Страница 18

The machine whizzed and whirred and then a large room, like a school gym or auditorium the size of a hockey rink, jumped into view. The camera panned the room slowly. The lighting was soft and dim, but there was no way of knowing if it was day or night as there weren’t any windows in the whole of that gigantic room. The off-white ceilings were very low, giving the impression that this was a basement room. On the stuccoed ceiling some tattered white gauze streamers hung languidly over strings of fairy lights not turned on, presumably leftovers from some previous party.

There were groups of people moving about looking at what appeared to be displays at the back of the room. Someone had arranged hundreds of regulation school-type chairs in neat rows down the length of the room. There was an aisle down the middle and a lectern and seating for eight at the front table. The film picked up the muffled footsteps and the shuffling, laughing, and coughing of fifty people, but the size of the room deadened the sound. The organizers had obviously expected a much bigger crowd.

Most of the first thirty minutes was taken up by speeches from foresters and loggers giving background information and regulations. It was obvious that the timber licence had already been granted and this was purely a public relations effort to sway dissenters to their side.

The audience was unusually passive, and I was beginning to think Kevin-buddy had given me the wrong film when the meeting was suddenly opened to the floor for questioning. It looked as though no one was going to ask anything, but then someone rose to ask the first question.

I was surprised to see the camera swing over to Don Allenby in the front row clearing his throat. His thin voice squeezed around the auditorium like a lost waif, but for all that it was steady and clear, if vaguely apologetic.

“I have a question for the forester, Ray De Roach.”

A tall, thin, mustachioed fellow on the stage nodded his head and said, “It’s Raymond Desrochers.”

“Pardon me. Mr. Desrochers. You’re a biologist and a lumber company employee. You advise the lumber company on forestry issues. Surely, you can understand that the lumber industry has never shown much leadership in doing what’s right. We all know it took decades to get them to even replant after they clear-cut, and then it took decades to convince them that clear-cutting was causing havoc by eroding the rivers and mountains and creating moonscapes where trees would never grow again. I mean no offence, but can you tell me why we should trust the lumber industry to do the right thing when they don’t even know what the right thing is?”

There was a murmur of voices and some applause as Don sat back in his chair and wiped his forehead with a big handkerchief, looking relieved at having gotten his question out. The camera swung over to Raymond Desrochers, who rose from his chair and walked over to the podium.

He took a long time adjusting the mike, fiddling with its height so that he didn’t have to stoop over it.

“There have been mistakes made in the past. We can’t ignore that. The lumber industry, like all of us, is not perfect, but we’re helping them remedy the situation by improving forestry techniques.”

“By logging what little there is left?” The voice was deep, low, and rumbling with menace. The camera swung over to a man I recognized as Diamond from his pictures. He was sitting in the first row.

“Some remedy,” he growled.

Desrochers cleared his voice and responded in a calm, quiet voice.

“We don’t go in and clear-cut any more, if that’s what you’re saying. We are practising sustainable development now. Razing the area is not environmentally sound. We’ve discovered that. We admit we were wrong. So we don’t clear-cut any more. We cut selectively and we replant when we’re through. We leave buffer zones around the water. We leave any trees that hawks and other endangered species might be nesting in. We leave them standing with a buffer zone around them and we don’t cut down trees near bear dens and habitats like that.”

When Diamond didn’t respond Desrochers continued.

“Loggers are people too, they care about the wildlife the same as you do.”

The film panned to the loggers, who began to whistle and clap.

“I’ve been really impressed with how they phone up and tell me they’ve got an eagle’s nest, or ask us to come out and help them with a bear den. These guys care, not just about their jobs, but about the animals too.”

There was more applause from the left side, and the forester turned back to his chair as the applause died down. Into the ensuing quiet, clear and strong, Diamond said, “How can you claim to be a forester and advocate this baloney? I’m ashamed to admit you and I went through biology together before you sold out.” The camera swung jerkily over to Diamond, who pushed back his chair and stood up, the scraping of metal against the floor sounding ominous in the sudden quiet of the auditorium.

“Sustainable development, bullshit,” he said, spitting out the words. “You’ve twisted the concept to mean anything goes as long as everyone gets a chunk of the pie. Oh sure, you leave trees around the hawk nest, but those trees are vulnerable to wind. Ever heard of the ‘edge effect,’ or were you asleep during that lecture? I can jog your memory. It’s the little problem where wind screaming in from over the clear-cut areas hits the edge of your buffer and knocks the trees down. And you make it sound as though all loggers spend their days and nights nursing abandoned fawns and baby eaglets. That’s bullshit and you know it. Once in a blue moon, maybe. There’s a far sight more loggers out there who swerve in their big bulldozers, not to avoid the hawk’s nest or the bear’s den, but to flatten them.

“And what about the trees themselves? All you see in these trees are dollar bills, but what about their value as trees and as habitat for all those animals? For God’s sake, Ray, we’re losing maybe two hundred and fifty acres of trees every frigging hour in this country. Our wilderness is shrinking faster than plastic in fire, and you’re willing to leave a couple of trees for the hawks? Well bravo! What a thoughtful man.”

I could see Shannon lean over and try to pull Diamond back into this seat. She was whispering furiously, but Diamond shook her off and glared at Desrochers.

When the camera panned back to Desrochers his face had flushed a lively red colour and he gripped both hands around the mike, knuckles white. His voice was low and even when he spoke, but he recited his words as though they were a set speech.

“I don’t want to get into another fight here, Diamond. It doesn’t get us anywhere. All I can say is we are practising good forestry techniques now and the animals and trees will benefit from that. We’ll keep erosion down and manage the fish and other wildlife like that. You know as much as anyone that when we cut down the trees, new growth moves in and the forest regenerates. It’s healthy, and the moose and deer and lots of other plants and animals thrive on it.”

Diamond leapt to his feet again.

“Why the hell do we need to manage the forest and the animals? They’ve managed on their own quite well for millions of years. Isn’t it rather presumptuous of us to say we can do that? It’s like asking us to manage our own circulatory system. It can’t be done without irreparable damage. Why the hell can’t you leave them alone to manage themselves?”

“As I said before, the forest has to be managed. Old trees need to be cut before they die or cause massive forest fires that destroy valuable timber and kill wildlife.”

“You dirty, rotten quisling. You sold out to your own profession, Ray. You know that? Why the hell did you do it? How much are they paying you? Trees need to be cut before they die. Hallelujah. Euthanasia. Killing the trees for their own good. A really dignified death. Don’t let them suffer or cause others to suffer. Don’t be such a coward, Ray. Say what you mean. You’ve got to cut down the old tree before it falls and rots and becomes worthless.”

Ray moved closer to Diamond, anger suffusing his face. The hate between the two men was palpable, even in the film.

“You bastard. You call me a quisling after what you did to me? You got it. If the tree’s going to die anyway, or choke the life out of trees around it, then why the hell shouldn’t we take it? We’re not talking human lives here. This isn’t a debate on euthanasia. We’re doing the forest a good service by renewing it and making a buck as well. What the hell’s wrong with that?”

“Damn fuckin’ right,” came a call from the left side of the auditorium. The camera swung around and focused on a big behemoth of a logger. Cameron, I thought.

Cameron had leapt to his feet and was waving his arms around as he said, “I’ve been a logger a long time and I’ve walked through old growth forest, and you know what? They’re just a bunch of big tall trees that cut the sun out. There’s nothing growing there, nothing living, and it’s been a bloody grave for a hundred years. What’ll happen to it if we leave it another hundred years? You got it. The bloody trees will die and fall down and rot and that is a bloody sacrilege. It’s a frigging useless forest until we cut it.”

“Jesus, are you really that stupid?” The camera caught Diamond’s eyes glinting in the light as he shifted his attention to the logger. Shannon tugged on his arm again, but Diamond ignored her. It was like a barroom brawl. Diamond was looking for a fight. Cameron’s face turned crimson with anger.

“Who you calling stupid?” Cameron took a deep breath as though trying to control his rising anger. “We let the forest go along on its own and we waste it. You hear? Now that’s stupid. It’s like letting a field of corn go to seed. All that energy that went into making it wasted, if we don’t harvest at the right time.”

“Attaboy, Cameron. You tell the bastard.”

Cameron turned and looked at his colleagues. Encouraged by their support, he turned his back on Diamond, raised his arms, and addressed them.

“We loggers like to think of the areas we log as one big happy family farm, and that’s how we should run it, like a farm. Old growth is like an old cow. Farmers get rid of old cows that can’t produce milk anymore. If he kept all his old cows he’d have no milk. You have to keep regenerating, and that means cutting.”

“All right,” someone yelled and the men and women around Cameron applauded and whistled.

“The problem is,” yelled Diamond above the din, “it’s like selling rubies for a song. You’re selling out your grandkids’ future for a lousy buck. You just want to keep your own bloody job and to hell with the real cost to the country.”

“Damn right I do,” yelled Cameron as he faced Diamond. “And you’re telling me you’re not trying to do the same? I know all about you, Doctor Jake Diamond,” he said with a sneer. “We loggers aren’t as dumb as everyone tries to paint us. We log the area and you lose your goddamned study site. All that work, poof, gone up in smoke, and maybe you lose tenure too, eh? Who gives a good goddamn about your fuckin’ study animals when hundreds of jobs are at stake here?”

Cameron paused as applause broke out and whistles and stamping of feet filled the room.

Diamond clenched his fists and glared at Cameron. In a voice barely above a whisper he hissed, “Do you really think this is an issue about a couple of moose, a few lynx, and a bunch of jobs? This is about the survival of the planet, survival of the plants that nourish it, and the animals that give it diversity. This is about the survival of the natural world that has given us cures for countless diseases, fed and clothed us, and now, by our own hand, we could be losing species to extinction at the rate of several a day. Who are we to say we are not destroying, even as I speak, that very plant or animal that holds the secret which would unlock the cure for cancer? So yeah, I’m not above using animals to stop the logging. If we had here in these woods a rare species like the spotted owls of the west coast that stopped all logging instantly there, I’d stop at nothing to tell the world.”

The camera panned over to a short stocky man who stood up.

“You tell him Donaldson,” someone yelled at him.

“I run the Donaldson Mill, the one that’s for sale, and I can’t find a damn buyer because of your shenanigans. Thank God we don’t have spotted owls around here, is all I can say. This area was built on logging, and we have a good number of mills in the area and hundreds upon hundreds of people are employed in the lumber industry here. That represents big dollars.”

He turned and looked at the audience.

“This tract of land will keep my mill and the other mills in the area busy for five years. Without it, some of the mills will have to close, including mine. I’ll have to lay off my workers and sell the mill for peanuts. I’m getting old and I was counting on the mill as my pension, so was my partner. Logging this hunk of crown land brings much-needed jobs to the area.”

“And five years from now they’ll all be gone,” came a voice off-camera.

“I’m not talking about five years from now. I need trees to make my mill go now. If I don’t get trees my job’s mud. I’ll never sell the mill and I’ll have to go on welfare. I’m too old to start a new career,” Donaldson said.

“Let me tell you something else, Diamond,” yelled Cameron. “We got families to think of. You got no right coming here and telling us the land gotta be left as it is, left nice and beautiful for its own sake. Bullshit. Nice and beautiful doesn’t put a meal on the table, doesn’t clothe our kids. Jesus. Put yourself in our shoes, man. We don’t have the luxury of philosophizing about wilderness values and future generations.”

“Can’t you see?” Diamond’s voice was low, almost pleading. I felt sorry for him. “Five years down the line the trees will be gone, kaput, pulped, so you’re only delaying the inevitable by five years, but you’ll be destroying a forest of untold worth. It all comes down to jobs versus the environment. Do we blithely cut down all the trees? Or do we take a stand now and give future generations a kick at the can? I understand your fears of losing your jobs, but it’s a matter of face it now and save the forest, or face it later and lose everything. Your kids won’t have a thing to show for it. Trust me, the government won’t leave you high and dry.”

“Like hell they won’t,” snarled Cameron, raising his middle finger at Diamond.

Diamond’s anger sputtered to life again.

“You don’t give a shit about the future, about your kids’ future, our kids’ future. Cut and run. Make a fucking buck and to hell with everyone else. You have no long-term vision. We have to stop you. If we don’t, there’ll be nothing left a generation from now and every buck you’ve made from this devastation will be gone, with nothing to show for it but greed. I’ve had enough of being diplomatic, trying to see both sides. To hell with you.”

“What do you mean?” snorted Cameron. “They’ll have had five years of food and shelter and an employed father. You’re asking me to look long-term and sacrifice for the long-term benefit of others. What the hell do you expect us to do? Quit and go on pogey so we can take nice peaceful walks in the forest we decided not to log? You can’t tell me that if you were in my shoes you wouldn’t do the same thing, you hypocritical bastard.”

Pandemonium broke loose as loggers and environ-mentalists cheered on their man. Cameron suddenly lunged at Diamond and ripped the chain with the tooth pendant from around his neck. Shannon tried to hold Diamond back and Desrochers made a half-hearted attempt to rein in Cameron but it was no use. Diamond swung at Cameron and missed, but Cameron didn’t. A loud sickening smack rang out and Diamond dropped like a stone. The camera panned the audience. I saw Leslie stoop and pick up Diamond’s chain to give back to him. Donaldson and Desrochers were grinning from ear to ear. The loggers were cheering, fit to be tied. Cameron towered over Diamond and sneered. Diamond slowly rose on his hands and knees and stared at Cameron. It was deathly quiet.

The camera zoomed in and suddenly Jake Diamond’s face took up the whole screen.

“You’re a bunch of fucking ignorant bastards,” said Diamond as he wiped the blood from his nose. His eyes glinted. In a soft, menacing voice he said, “You’ll never log that area. You’ve left us no alternative but to fight dirty. I’ll make sure of that if it’s the last thing I do.”

He turned his burning stare straight at Cameron, and I could almost feel his eyes boring into my skull from beyond the dead. It was an eerie feeling. A man once both alive and vibrant was no longer either. Abruptly Diamond turned his head away from the camera, but not before Cameron yelled back, “It might just be the last thing you do, asshole.”