AllFreeNovel
Share Us
‘I’ll have some tea.’
He fills a kettle and sticks it on.
I sit on one of the chairs by the counter. ‘Dom, I need to ask you a question. It’s rather important to me, so please answer it as honestly as you can.’
He leans his hip against the island and glances at me warily. ‘OK.’
‘You think you shouldn’t pay tax because the very richest are not paying theirs. But what would happen if everybody did that?’
He lo
oks at me seriously. ‘I wish everybody wouldn’t pay. That would make this entire corrupt merry-go-round grind to a sudden halt. They can’t imprison everybody and we’d then have to come up with something different. Not this corrupt system that has slowly concentrated half the world’s wealth into the hands of one percent of the population and allowed eighty-five fucking people to amass as much as three and a half billion people combined!’
He pauses to let his words sink into my psyche.
Is he serious? My mind boggles. ‘Eighty-five individuals own half the world’s wealth! How is that even possible?’
‘Not only is it possible, but the study concluded that soon the wealthiest one percent will own more than the rest of the world’s population put together!’
I nibble the pad of my right thumb and reflect on his claim. It doesn’t sound right. Too unbelievable. ‘Where are you getting your figures from?’
He crosses his arms and narrows his eyes. ‘It’s public information, Ella. You can find it on the websites of the BBC, or Forbes, or the New York Times, or anywhere really.’
I scowl. How can this information be public knowledge and there still be programs on TV like Benefit Street where the poorest, neediest people are put to shame because they receive pitifully meager handouts from the government?
At that moment it occurs to me that not only have I watched these programs myself, but that I, too, have been hoodwinked into despising those poor people while the real culprits remained invisible to my rage and condemnation. What a clever sleight of hand by the one percent indeed!
The kettle boils and he pushes himself away from the counter, drops a tea bag into a mug and fills it with hot water. He looks at me. ‘Milk? Sugar? Lemon?’
‘Black, two sugars,’ I say automatically.
He drops the cubes into the drink and brings the mug to me.
I smile up at him. ‘You made me tea.’
He frowns and seems surprised. ‘Actually, it’s my first time, too. I don’t believe I’ve ever made tea for anyone before.’
I put the mug down and reach into the purse slung across my body. ‘I want to show you something,’ I say. Unzipping it, I take out a folded piece of paper and give it to him. He takes it from me and unfolds it. I watch his eyes scan down my letter.
Then he looks up and smiles at me. It is a rich smile. ‘You know, when we’re at school, we’re really only taught one thing that the system considers important. Every school in the world has different curricula and different subjects, but all schools have this one agenda in common.’
‘What’s that?’ I ask curiously.
‘Schools tame children and teach them obedience.’
‘Obedience?’ I say slowly, tasting the word.
‘Obedience to the bell, the teacher, the rules, the grading system, the uniform, the time-keeping. It’s how the few control the many.’ He re-folds my letter. ‘This letter of resignation is your first act of disobedience. And for that I congratulate you.’
I look up at him, fascinated and intrigued. Never could I have imagined at first sight of this arrogant, cock-sure man that there was such hidden depth to him. ‘Will the system ever get changed, Dom?’
He shrugs. ‘I don’t know, Ella. It’s hard to fight it because it is us. We are the ones who are making this system work, with our apathy, our compliance, and our obedience.’ He smiles and shakes my letter at me. ‘But every time someone writes a letter like this, it gives me hope that one day, maybe not in my lifetime, but one day the world will be different.’
There’s a sound at the kitchen door, and a middle-aged woman comes through. She has badly dyed blonde hair and a big smile on her face.
‘Hello, Mr. Eden,’ she greets cheerfully.
‘Hey, Mrs. B. Come and say hello to Ella. Ella, this is my housekeeper, Mrs. Bienkowski.’
