"No," Kenner said. "I think the problem is I don't see many roads."
"Don't you think," Bradley said, "that's because it's the white man, not the natives, who wants to conquer nature, to beat it into submission?"
"No, I don't think that."
"I do," Bradley said. "I find that people who live closer to the earth, in their villages, surrounded by nature, that those people have a natural ecological sense and a feeling for the fitness of it all."
"Spent a lot of time in villages, Ted?" Kenner said.
"As a matter of fact, yes. I shot a picture in Zimbabwe and another one in Botswana. I know what I am talking about."
"Uh-huh. You stayed in villages all that time?"
"No, I stayed in hotels. I had to, for insurance. But I had a lot of experiences in villages. There is no question that village life is best and ecologically soundest. Frankly, I think everyone in the world should live that way. And certainly, we should not be encouraging village people to industrialize. That's the problem."
"I see. So you want to stay in a hotel, but you want everybody else to stay in a village."
"No, you're not hearing--"
"Where do you live now, Ted?" Kenner said.
"Sherman Oaks."
"Is that a village?"
"No. Well, it's a sort of a village, I suppose you could say...But I have to be in LA for my work," Bradley said. "I don't have a choice."
"Ted, have you ever stayed in a Third-World village? Even for one night?"
Bradley shifted in his seat. "As I said before, I spent a lot of time in the villages while we were shooting. I know what I'm talking about."
"If village life is so great, why do you think people want to leave?"
"They shouldn't leave. That's my point."
"You know better than they do?" Kenner said.
Bradley paused, then blurted: "Well, frankly, if you must know, yes. I do know better. I have the benefit of education and broader experience. And I know firsthand the dangers of industrial society and how it is making the whole world sick. So, yes, I think I do know what is best for them. Certainly I know what is ecologically best for the planet."
"I have a problem," Kenner said, "with other people deciding what is in my best interest when they don't live where I do, when they don't know the local conditions or the local problems I face, when they don't even live in the same country as I do, but they still feel--in some far-off Western city, at a desk in some glass skyscraper in Brussels or Berlin or New York--they still feel that they know the solution to all my problems and how I should live my life. I have a problem with that."
"What's your problem?" Bradley said. "I mean, look: You don't seriously believe everybody on the planet should do whatever they want, do you? That would be terrible. These people need help and guidance."
"And you're the one to give it? To 'these people?'"
"Okay, so it's not politically correct to talk this way. But do you want all these people to have the same horrific, wasteful living standard that we do in America and, to a lesser extent, Europe?"
"I don't see you giving it up."
"No," Ted said, "but I conserve where I can. I recycle. I support a carbon-neutral lifestyle. The point is, if all these other people industrialize, it will add a terrible, terrible burden of global pollution to the planet. That should not happen."
"I got mine, but you can't have yours?"
"It's a question of facing realities," Bradley said.
"Your realities. Not theirs."
At that point, Sanjong beckoned to Kenner. "Excuse me," Kenner said, and got up.
"Walk away if you want," Bradley said, "but you know I speak truth!" He gestured to the flight attendant and held up his glass. "Just one more, sweetie. One more for the road."
Sanjong said, "The helicopter's not there yet."
"What's the matter?"
"It was coming over from another island. They've closed the air space because they're worried the rebels have surface-to-air missiles."
Kenner frowned. "How long until we land?"
"Ten minutes."
"Keep your fingers crossed."
Abandoned, Ted Bradley slid to the other side of the plane, to sit with Peter Evans. "Isn't it gorgeous?" he said. "Look at that water. Crystalline and pure. Look at the depth of that blue. Look at those beautiful villages, in the heart of nature."
Evans was staring out the window but saw only poverty. The villages were clusters of corrugated tin shacks, the roads red mud ruts. The people looked poorly dressed and moved slowly. There was a depressing, disconsolate feeling about them. He imagined sickness, disease, infant death...
"Gorgeous," Bradley said. "Pristine! I can't wait to get down there. This is as good as a vacation! Did anyone here know the Solomons were so beautiful?"