There are two ways to get enough. One is to continue to accumulate more and more. The other is to desire less.
(G. K. Chesterton)
Tom Keller Junior was the boss now. His dad had died unexpectedly – the death of a farmer, riding on a giant tractor, in the fields, killed by a coronary. Nobody else had been around to help him. Wally had found him when arriving with the sack lunch. – The funeral had been glorious, of course. Cortege for the famous wheat baron had been an obligation for everybody and his dog. The state of Durango had proclaimed official mourning. And President Cárdenas had sent a letter of condolence and a funeral wreath.
The problem was that the new boss was – most probably – mentally deranged. The Keller family had never acknowledged the fact, but to Moses, Abe and Wally, the aged black farm hands, it had been obvious ever since the young man had returned from a business trip to Chicago and Moline. Something strange must have happened up north, but one couldn’t tell what. Tom J wouldn’t tell – and the family wouldn’t ask. His wife, Jimena, had been horrified by the stranger in her bed, but eventually had resigned herself to accept it. – What other alternative did she have?
What was going to happen now? Tom J wasn’t rational – neither in his actions nor in his sentiments. He owned everything – as far as the eye could see and beyond. He was rich. And he was happy. The old Tom J had been unhappy but rational. The new one was happy but irrational. – Well, one was going to see. Los Alamitos was a universe of its own. Until these days, the deceased had set the agenda. Now, it was his son’s turn.
Wheat was in great demand. The US was expanding to the north, where wheat wouldn’t grow – while the traditional wheat fields of the Great Plains had turned waste. The Kellers knew this from dire experience. One could earn another fortune by satisfying the North American demand. – But was Tom J at all interested in banking up more riches? Or would he rather squander the family fortune for silly pleasures?
(G. K. Chesterton)
Tom Keller Junior was the boss now. His dad had died unexpectedly – the death of a farmer, riding on a giant tractor, in the fields, killed by a coronary. Nobody else had been around to help him. Wally had found him when arriving with the sack lunch. – The funeral had been glorious, of course. Cortege for the famous wheat baron had been an obligation for everybody and his dog. The state of Durango had proclaimed official mourning. And President Cárdenas had sent a letter of condolence and a funeral wreath.
The problem was that the new boss was – most probably – mentally deranged. The Keller family had never acknowledged the fact, but to Moses, Abe and Wally, the aged black farm hands, it had been obvious ever since the young man had returned from a business trip to Chicago and Moline. Something strange must have happened up north, but one couldn’t tell what. Tom J wouldn’t tell – and the family wouldn’t ask. His wife, Jimena, had been horrified by the stranger in her bed, but eventually had resigned herself to accept it. – What other alternative did she have?
What was going to happen now? Tom J wasn’t rational – neither in his actions nor in his sentiments. He owned everything – as far as the eye could see and beyond. He was rich. And he was happy. The old Tom J had been unhappy but rational. The new one was happy but irrational. – Well, one was going to see. Los Alamitos was a universe of its own. Until these days, the deceased had set the agenda. Now, it was his son’s turn.
Wheat was in great demand. The US was expanding to the north, where wheat wouldn’t grow – while the traditional wheat fields of the Great Plains had turned waste. The Kellers knew this from dire experience. One could earn another fortune by satisfying the North American demand. – But was Tom J at all interested in banking up more riches? Or would he rather squander the family fortune for silly pleasures?
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