Food Wars

Prologue At noon on September 14, Philip McGregor, of 22 New Market Gate, Glasgow, bit into his third cheeseburger. At the same time, a report appeared in the national news: “Scotland now ranks third in the world for obesity figures. In another decade 1 in 3 people will be obese.” He glanced up at the clock on the school canteen wall; plenty of time to eat before the end of break. Physics next, he thought, groaning. Still, if he got a seat near the radiator, he could have a quiet snooze. He finished the burger in two bites. Okay, still got time for another one, he thought, congratulating himself. Up he got and shuffled slowly, swaying first to one side and then the other as those huge legs of his propelled him forward. He was aware that heads looked up when he walked by, just as they did today, accompanied by the usual sniggers, whispers, and pointed fingers. But he was used to it by now. “There you go, Porky Chops,” the dinner lady said as she popped another cheeseburger onto his plate. “Don’t overdo it now, sonny,” she added kindly, reaching out and patting his mountainous belly. “Don’t worry about me – me champion!” he said, putting down his tray momentarily to beat his chest, Tarzan style. “Me eat four burgers in one sitting!” This brave display attracted giggles and stifled snorts from a nearby table. But Maggie, the dinner lady, grinned and gave him a wink. What she liked about Porky was that even in the state he was in, he could still laugh at himself. She had been first to call him “Porky Chops,” in the full hearing of other students too; the name had stuck and was then shortened to just “Porky.” It took several minutes for Porky to reach his place again, he walked so slowly. He took up two chairs instead of one, which was awkward. Once settled, he quickly started munching. Time was running out. After the first few bites, he began feeling a bit dizzy, and his tummy gurgled dismally. He shrugged to himself; he should probably stop now, but hey – he was a growing boy! He needed his nourishment. After all, he would be known as the boy who ate four burgers in one sitting. As he raised the burger to his lips for another chomp, he swayed in his seat and, without warning, suddenly fell off and crashed to the floor with a thump. In the few seconds before he passed out, Porky saw Maggie frantically grab the phone and start dialling. Then a wave of blackness covered him, numbing his senses, and he knew no more. ♦ At six o’clock on September 14, Kitchi had just woken up and was staring at the ceiling. Two hundred years ago on that date, white settlers had returned home, tired and dusty after a week’s sport; behind them, strewn on the plain, lay thousands of slain bison. Today was the day of the Buffalo Dance. Kitchi sighed; he didn’t care. He hated the annual Pow Wow celebration on the reservation in Wind River, Wyoming. ♦ At one o’clock, Porky groggily opened one eye, dimly aware of someone standing over him. He felt strong arms lift him up and put him on a stiff board. After strapping him onto it, the board was lifted unsteadily (not very high) and carried towards a sort of wailing noise. Porky felt a tingle dancing down his vertebrae; was he in an ambulance? But … wait. There was nothing wrong with him – was there? These people had no right, interrupting him in the middle of a meal. He started to struggle but felt a large, firm hand press down on his chest, and a face appeared above him. The face was speaking in muffled tones, and he thought he could just make out the words “you” and “okay.” Porky tried to nod, but that was when he felt the plastic mask on his face with tubes dangling. “Euhhh,” was all he could manage. Then he felt a touch on his forehead, and his mother’s face looked down at him. He blinked up at her and saw that she was rocking backwards and forwards and blubbering into her hands. He’d never seen her cry like that before. ♦ At three o’clock on September 14, Abala, having run into the Ethiopian highlands, crouched behind the prickly undergrowth and waited till the soldiers had gone. At the same time in Addis Ababa, local officials shook hands with foreign investors after signing away 2,500,000 hectares of land in the heart of Ethiopia. Scratched and dazed, Abala crept slowly over to where the soldiers had dragged the boy’s body. He was lying on his back with his eyes open, staring at the sky. They had cut his tongue out. He must have died of shock. ♦ At half past one, the ambulance carrying Porky and his mother stopped at a traffic light. “Bloody hell,” swore the driver. Porky felt his wrist being held; a face peered closely into his. “Get a move on – we’re losing him!” Next came an ear-splitting sound, and the vehicle jolted forward and raced ahead. Everything inside shook. Porky was aware of his mother making a noise similar to the ambulance siren. As they came to an abrupt halt outside the hospital, he braced every muscle in his flabby body for what would come next. ♦ At eight-thirty on September 14, just as Amelia Witheria, the last of the orchid species, breathed its last breath, wilted, and died, Amy Wong started work on her class presentation, “The Face of China.” For once, Amy’s mind drew a blank. But she had to excel – or she wouldn’t be first in the class. ♦ At one o’clock and thirty-three minutes, Porky was wheeled into Accident and Emergency; he was aware of many people clustered around him. In the next moment they were all running alongside the trolley as he travelled at a great speed along the corridor. Then he rounded a few corners and was taken into a dim room, where he was placed on a bed almost as hard as the uncomfortable stretcher. A gaggle of people were in attendance, all muttering about drips and oxygen. When they had finished fixing things around the bed, they put a mask on his face and told him to breathe deeply. Then he was pushed into a room labelled “Operating Theatre.” And that was when his heart stopped. ♦ At five o’clock and thirty-five minutes on September 14, while shoppers in supermarkets all over the United States selected bags of frozen french fries for their evening meal, Bina sat on her bed, wailing while she clenched the bedcovers in her fists. Her little dog jumped up to lick her tears. “Oh, Pluto, it is impossible,” she sobbed. “Move away from India to marry Ajit? I cannot do it.”