adbindia Chapter 307 - 151: Who Is Opposing "Made in America"?
Chapter 307 - 151: Who Is Opposing "Made in America"?
The woman pushed the wheelchair, profusely thanking him as she prepared to leave.
Just as the wheelchair turned around, the woman suddenly stopped.
She turned her head and looked closely at Leo’s face.
A moment ago, anxious and crying, she hadn’t seen him clearly.
Now, under the bright lights of the lobby, she recognized his face.
It was a face that had appeared frequently on television recently, on the bulletin boards at the Erie Factory, and in her husband’s hopeful conversations during those final days.
"You’re... Mayor Wallace?"
The woman’s voice held a trace of uncertainty.
Leo froze.
He wanted to deny it, but he couldn’t move.
"Yes, I am Leo Wallace."
The woman looked at him, and the look in her eyes changed.
Leo braced himself. He was ready for her anger, for her hysterical curses, for her to unleash all of her misfortune upon him.
After all, he was the one who had ruined this family.
But none of that came.
She just looked at him quietly, her eyes vacant, like a pool of stagnant water.
It was something more terrifying than anger.
"Mr. Mayor."
Her voice was soft and slow.
"The news said you were fighting for us."
"My husband believed it, too. He said you were a good man, that you could save the factory, that if we just followed your lead, things would get better."
"The day before the work stopped, as he was leaving the house, he was still saying that once the money from Pittsburgh came through, he’d buy our son a new pair of sneakers."
The woman looked at the child in the wheelchair, curled up in a ball from the pain.
"But..."
She looked up at Leo.
"Then why are we the ones left to die?"
Leo opened his mouth.
He wanted to say it was Harrisburg’s fault, Monroe’s fault, the system’s fault.
He wanted to say he was doing his best to fix it, that the money would arrive any moment.
But before this mother’s dead, ashen gaze, everything he could say seemed so pale, so hollow, so disgusting.
He couldn’t answer the question.
Because the answer was too cruel.
When gods fight, it’s the mortals who suffer.
The woman didn’t wait for his answer. Perhaps she never expected one.
She turned, pushed the wheelchair, and headed for the doctor’s office.
The wheels of the chair rolled over the tiled floor, making a soft scraping sound that faded into the distance until it vanished at the end of the hallway.
Leo stood rooted to the spot, not moving for a long time.
The lobby was still noisy. People were still moaning, complaining, waiting.
Leo felt himself enveloped by an immense cold.
"Let’s go, Leo."
Ethan came to his side and said in a low voice.
"There are too many people here. It wouldn’t be good if a reporter took your picture."
Leo turned his head and glanced at Ethan.
"Ethan."
"Yes?"
"Is this what we wanted?"
Leo pointed to the now-empty corner.
"Is this what we call a revival?"
Ethan was silent.
He couldn’t answer.
Leo turned and walked toward the exit.
He walked quickly, as if trying to escape this place, to escape the smell of antiseptic, to escape the mother’s final gaze.
’Mr. President,’ Leo thought.
’I know that for the greater good, some must be sacrificed.’
’But why is it always them?’
’Why is it always the ones who believe in us the most, who need us the most, who pay the heaviest price?’
Roosevelt’s voice rang out.
"Because this is war, Leo."
"In this world, there is no such thing as a clean victory."
"Beneath every monument lie bones."
"Every great change is built upon the blood of the innocent."
"This is reality."
Roosevelt’s voice paused.
"Look at that man, Grant."
"Is he a hero? No. He tried to defraud an insurance company. He broke the law. He’s a thief."
"But is he a bad man? No, not that either. He’s just a father who wants his son to be able to stand again."
"This is the American working class, Leo. This is the vast multitude that forms the bedrock of this nation."
"They aren’t the polished, perpetually righteous statues you see in textbooks."
"They are living, breathing people. They’re crude, they’re short-sighted. Sometimes they’re greedy, sometimes they’re foolish. To survive, they won’t hesitate to roll around in the mud, and they’ll even break the rules."
"They are both victims and accomplices."
"They are like the muck at the bottom of a riverbed."
"It’s dirty, heavy, and gives off the stench of rot. But it is this very muck that supports the river above, that holds up the great ships sailing on its surface, that underpins all of the United States’ prosperity."
"You can’t wash the muck clean, because if you did, the river would run dry."
A cold severity permeated Roosevelt’s voice.
"You can’t save everyone."
"You couldn’t save Grant, who lost his job because he trusted you and ended up having to jump from a scaffold."
"His spine is broken. That is your sin."
"But you can’t stop to repent."
"The only thing you can do is shoulder this sin."
"You have to take Grant’s broken spine and make it part of your own."
"You must carry their hopes and keep moving forward."
"Make sure the factory truly reopens. Make sure no other Grants have to jump from a scaffold."
"This is the price of the position you hold."
"Don’t look back. Don’t shed any tears."
"Those are luxuries reserved for the weak."
Leo closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
"Ethan, go and check on those injured workers for me. I need to go outside for some air."
The automatic doors of Pittsburgh General Hospital closed behind Leo, and a cold wind carrying the dust of the street hit him in the face.