text: One Father, One Son It was late spring in the city - one of those days, when both sunshine and light rain are received with joy and, let’s say, with hope. It was an early afternoon - lunchtime in downtown: hugs and handshakes, half-buttoned shirts, a sip of lemonade from the decanter. Chair legs squeaking, silverware clattering, the humming of talk. Lunch specials on the table, pages rustling - people devouring pastas, meats, and soups so intently, as if the meal were altogether a detective novel. Lunchtime was booked for the dates that were not exciting enough to spend an evening with, but, pleasant enough for a meal. A middle-aged, medium-tanned gentleman in a white polo and a jacket, blue jeans, and moccasins - like from glamorous adverts of the '90s - beckoned to the waiter, asked for coffee, and then looked at his watch. The man looked around and didn’t see someone or something he was expecting to see - and finally he opened a newspaper, slowly turned the pages and, eventually, buried his nose in it. After the man had finished his second espresso and handed the cup to the waiter, a voice behind his back said: “Hey Father!” “Finally!” the man responded joyfully. “You are here!” He turned and gasped. “What happened? You look like you’ve been ran over by a... cow.” The young man he was talking to didn’t look that bad. He had dusty boots and shaggy hair, as if he had traveled from afar. Also, he was wearing a questionable, in terms of style, tracksuit, but the “cow” reference said more about gentleman’s hunger than about the appearance of the young man. “And what’s here?” Father asked, “What’s with the neck?” “Oh, that?” Son touched a patch on the right side of his neck. “I removed the mole. It was annoying me.” “This mole?” Father pointed at his own neck. “Not 'this,' of course, but a similar type, yes,” Son said, nodding. “That’s weird,” Father said. “It doesn’t annoy me.” “Clearly, I am not you.” Son gave a subtle smile. Father folded the newspaper and tucked it away in his square-shaped leather bag. Then he stood up and gave a hug, a tight one, to his Son, who didn’t offer much hugging in response - he rather sank in Father’s arms. “I’ve got news,” Son said in a muffled voice. Father released him, and both finally they sat down. Both Father and Son were easy on the eyes. They had straight backs, massive chins, and long necks. When these men moved - say, for an extra tissue, or an ashtray, or to get a spoon that fell to the ground - they did it with an elegant slowness, even grace. They could make quite an impression on someone - for instance, on some bored eater at the next table - so he would wonder if these people actually had learned not to hurry unless there was a really serious reason. “Hold it for a little,” Father said, “the guy is desperate.” He nodded at the waiter. “He approached me, like, three times already. People don’t like to wait, you know, even if they are called “waiters.” Father laughed at his own joke. While he was giving his order about wine and the rare cook of the meat, Son plopped a transparent folder with some papers in it on the table. Then he asked the waiter to bring him the salad with couscous. “Did you come by car?” Father asked. Son nodded at the parked bike. Father laughed. “Can you drink and bike?” he asked. Son shook his head. “I am okay with water.” “Then I will have the whole bottle,” Father concluded. He lit a cigarette and inhaled. “What?” he asked. “Life teaches you nothing,” Son said. “That’s actually fascinating.” “What, again?” “Mum died of cancer.” “I know.” “She was a smoker.” “Your mum, unfortunately, had underlying health conditions.” Father made another puff. “She was 52!” “Exactly,” Father said, nodding. “A critical age for women of their family. Genetics. There is not much we can do about that.” “You are just damn stubborn.” Son sighed. “I am going to be suing you,” he added. “For smoking?” Father chuckled. “No, not for that,” Son said, taking the papers from the folder. “Not just for that. My company is suing your company.” Father finished his cigarette. “I don’t understand.” The waiter brought the couscous salad on the same tray with the drinks. Son sipped his water. “You know what I do for a living, right?” “I believe, you work... at a research center,” suggested Father. “And I certainly know that you chose this job over getting your PhD.” “It’s an Urban Environmental Research Center,” Son explained. “I am an expert, one of the experts.” Father remained silent. “The data we just got in, show that your company, your company’s production is causing pretty terrifying damage to the western part of the town, and...” he sighed, “to the workers as well.” Son had a bite of the salad. “What are you doing?” Father asked. “Oh, sorry, I realized I haven’t eaten since yesterday,” Son said, putting the fork down. He continued speaking, though: “This is toxic metal, for the most part. You’ll have to either replace it with something less environmentally challenging, or, you know, we’ll shut you down.” As Father was pouring another glass of wine, his medium rare steak, covered with cranberry sauce, arrived. “We?” he said. “Who is 'we'?” “We’ve got an amazing legal team.” Father grunted, cut off a tiny piece of meat and chewed it slowly and carefully. “This is not the first time someone has threatened me,” he said. “I am not threatening you,” Son said, sounding surprised. “I am warning you.” “You are warning me?” Now they were both eating. “Dad, you don’t need more money.” “Excuse me?” “You’ve earned a lot, from my perspective, and you don’t need more.” Couscous or bread went down the wrong pipe, and Son started coughing. He then leaned toward the water, but, accidentally, grabbed the wine instead and took a good gulp. “Put my wine back,” Father demanded. “Sorry, man,” Son said and swallowed what was left in the glass. “Nice wine, though,” “Do you know that I once almost killed a man who was trying to squeeze me for my business?” Son paused for a second, as though recalling something, then said: “Yeah, it was a nice bedtime story.” Father smiled. “So you know who I am,” he said. “I am not trying to scare you. I am just warning.” Son shrugged. “The law is on my side, Dad,” he said. He waved to the waiter and asked for a tea. Father took off his jacket - the sun was roasting his body from his forehead to his chest. “I am telling you - your manufacturing is screwed,” Son said firmly. “We’ve got the evidence. Complaints, measurements, numbers. The impact you are making is horrifying. Better leave now, and, you know, go travel, embrace life, all that...” “What you are suggesting exactly?” “If you look into the documents, you’ll see I am offering you a good deal.” Son smiled rather happily. “I’d give you a name. You would transfer the company to this person. You quit. We win the case. The company pays the fee to us and to the state. I pay you a certain commission. Win-win, and - our city is a slightly better place to live in.” “Okay,” Father agreed. “Let’s see this battle.” “What battle?” “You are challenging me to.” Son looked confused. “You are rejecting the deal?” he asked. “This is not a deal,” Father said. “This is everything else but not the deal. Who taught you that?” “Taught me what?” “This.” “I only care about...” Son began, but the phone interrupted him. Son took the call. “Yeah... Sure... I am just in the middle of something... No-no, I will be there. Of course, you can count on me,” he said softly, if not ingratiatingly. Father, in the meantime, was dipping a piece of bread into the sauce, and then eating it with his fingers. The sauce left brownish marks in the corners of his lips. “Is it because of your mother?” he asked, when Son put his phone away. “What? Why?” Son needed a moment to switch to a different tone. “Is this because I left her when she got ill? Because if that’s the case, I can explain.” “I don’t need an explanation,” Son said, gesticulating expressively. “And it’s not because of that... Though it’s awful what you did.” “She didn’t want me to be around,” Father said. “She despised me, just like you do now. She said she wanted to spend her last years without me.” “It’s really not about Mum,” Son insisted. “I am just doing my job, and I like it.” “But I never stopped supporting her - money, good doctors, care,” Father said, squinting at the sun. “I think I left my sunglasses in the taxi.” “I don’t want to hear that!” Son shouted. People at other tables glanced curiously over, waiting for the continuation. Father didn’t say anything, a fight was not flaring up, so people soon returned to their own conversations and meals. For a while Father and Son just sat in silence. “I don’t care about the past,” Son said finally. “I’m trained to care about the present moment and the future.” “You were trained?” Son nodded. “And who paid for your training, I wonder?” “Who?” Son asked. “I did!” Father slammed the glass on the table so hard the stem broke in two. “I paid! To see you betray me!” The waiter came over. He looked displeased. “Is everything okay here, sir?” he asked with moderate irritation. “Yes-yes, I’ll pay for it,” Father murmured and handed him a broken glass. “Can I have another glass?” “More wine?” the waiter asked a bit stiffly. “I said - another glass of wine,” Father said. The waiter hovered over them for a few moments as if he wanted to say something else, then headed into the restaurant. “So this is what you meant by ' I love nature and all that, Dad '?” Father said to Son. “When did I say that to you?” “When you were little. Like eight or something.” “I didn’t lie,” Son agreed. “I do love nature. I want this planet to survive. It is in danger, as you probably know. Oceans, climate, species... My job is to heal it. Or, at least, not to let it die.” “It is a chronic disease,” Father said. “What?” “The disease can get worse or better at times, but it won’t kill the Earth.” Father yawned. Son grinned. “You clearly don’t give a shit!” “Do you?” “I do,” Son said - all of a sudden, joyful. “I don’t know if I'll have kids of my own, but I want future generations to treat the planet with respect. And to enjoy its enormousness, its beauty, its hospitality...” “I just don’t understand,” Father responded quietly. “You were such an affectionate kid. We spent a lot of time together. We hiked, we played football... We did stuff! Do you remember?” “Just some bits.” “How come you abandoned our bond so easily?” “Look, Dad. I am done worrying about insignificant stuff, like how you and Mum screwed up your lives, or me not having the right partner around.” He now sounded and looked like a doctor who was about to deliver bad news to a patient. “Times have changed. The world has changed. There are more important things in the world than two people’s interactions with each other.” Father whistled. “Oceans, I guess?” he said. “Not only, but oceans, too, yes.” “Are you recording our conversation?” Father asked. “No, I'm not.” Son looked perplexed. “That’s an amateur mistake,” Father laughed grimly. “Now you are thinking that you should have, aren’t you?” Son didn’t respond. “I think I have to go now. And you do what you want.” Father waved at the waiter and gestured that he’d like the bill. “I am only paying for myself,” he said to his Son. “Are you leaving?” “Oh, yeah.” He put on his jacket. “You can’t leave!” “Why not?” Father saw his Son clasping his head with his arms. “Headache?” he asked, trying to sound indifferent. “If I don’t bring them this deal, they will fire me,” Son said. “What?” “We are broke,” Son continued. “We lost most of our donors. You know, the world is in crisis.” “Yeah, I read,” Father noted with sarcasm. “We don’t want to go the court,” Son whispered. “We want money. We still have to pay rent, and bills, and salaries... This fee would cover most of our costs and help start new campaigns... Anyway, I promised my bosses to bring them this deal. They don’t know you are my father. If you’d just agree to transfer the company to the third party!” Father suddenly laughed. “That’s some dirty business you’re in, Son!” “For the good cause,” Son said. “Why won’t you find a new job?” “They will sue you anyway.” “You don't have much to offer, huh?” Father asked. “That’s why you are not quitting. Apparently, it is not enough just to declare your love to Mother Nature. You’ve got to have some hard skills, even if you are a bloody damn environmentalist.” Finally, Son started crying. The waiter brought the bill, and Father stood up and paid his half. He was about to leave. “Give me the papers,” Father said. Son looked up at him. “Give me the papers,” Father repeated angrily. “And the pen.” “You will sign?” Son asked. His tears dried up. “No, I will just make a doodle,” Father sighed. “Yeah, I will sign. But first I’ll read what I am about to sign.” Father lit a cigarette and looked at the documents with disgust. “This is the right thing to do,” Son said. “I am happy you are contributing to helping the planet.” “Just so you know,” Father replied, “I don’t give a shit about the planet.”