“
It’s getting-up time,” Alessandro declares. “Today is the day.”
“What day?”
“The release date.”
“What are we talking about?”
“Daa-add. The new XBOX game. Hunting Old Sammie.”
Armand opens his eyes. He looks at his son looking at him. The boy’s eyes are only inches away. “You’re kidding.”
“It’s the newest best game. You hunt down terrorists and kill them.” Lifting his voice, “‘Deploy teams of Black Berets into the ancient mountains of Tora Bora. Track implacable terrorists to their cavernous lairs. Rain withering fire down on the homicidal masterminds who planned the horror of September eleven, two-thousand-and-one.’” The kid’s memory is canny.
Armand lifts Alex off his chest and sits up. “Who invented it?”
“I’m telling you, dad. It’s an XBOX game.”
“We can get it today?”
“No,” Leah says. “Absolutely not. The last thing he needs is another violent video game.”
“Mahhuum!”
“How bad can it be?” says Armand.
“How would you know? A minute ago you hadn’t heard of it.”
“And you had?”
“I saw a promo. Helicopter gunships with giant machine guns. Soldiers with flamethrowers, turning bearded men into candles.”
“Sounds great.”
“Armand, really. How old are you?”
“I don’t see what my age has to do with it.”
“Dad, it’s totally cool. ‘Uncover mountain strongholds with thermal imaging technology. Call in air-strikes by F-16s. Destroy terrorist cells with laser weaponry. Wage pitched battles against mujahideen. Capture bin Laden alive or kill him on the spot. March down Fifth Avenue with jihadists’ heads on pikes. Make the world safe for democracy.’”
Safe for Dick Cheney’s profits, Armand thinks, knowing all about it from his former life, but says nothing. It’s pretty much impossible to explain the complexity of how things work within the greater systemic dysfunction. Instead, he asks the one question that matters.
“How much does it cost?”
Alessandro’s mouth minces sideways. He holds up fingers, then realizes he needs more than two hands.
Armand can see the kid doesn’t want to say. “C’mon. ’Fess up.”
Alex sighs. “A one with two zeros.”
“One hundred dollars.”
Alex’s eyes slide away. Rapid nods, face averted. “Yeah.”
“For a video game, Alex.”
“Yhep.”
“No way.”
“Daa-add! It’s the greatest game ever!” The boy is beginning to whine.
“Don’t whine,” Armand tells him.
“On TV it’s awesome. The army guys are flaming a cave and when the terror guys try to escape, they shoot them.”
“Neat.”
“Their turbans are on fire.”
“Even better.”
“Armand,” Leah says.
“Dad,” says Alessandro.
He will not admit it but Armand is hooked. It would be deeply satisfying in the second-most intimate way imaginable to kill al Qaida terrorists holed up along the Afghanistan-Pakistan border—something the actual U.S. military cannot or will not completely do. But a hundred bucks. It isn’t really the money, although living on interest income Armand has become more frugal. He can boost the C-note but what message would it send? Hunting virtual terrorists in cyberspace is all well and good. But plunking down $100 for a toy seems irresponsible and possibly wrong in a country where tens of thousands are homeless and millions have no health insurance and children continue, incredibly, to go hungry. Fifty million Americans live in poverty and he’s looking to play games.
”
”