Mostly with Veikko you had your choice of two topics, techniques of detonation or Veikko's distant country and its beleaguered constitution, Webb
never having seen him raise a glass, for example, that wasn't dedicated to the fall of the Russian Tsar and his evil viceroy General Bobrikoff. But
sometimes Veikko went on and got philosophical. He'd never seen much difference between the Tsar's regime and American capitalism. To struggle
against one, he figured, was to struggle against the other. Sort of this world-wide outlook. "Was a little worse for us, maybe, coming to USA after
hearing so much about 'land of the free.'" Thinking he'd escaped something, only to find life out here just as mean and cold, same wealth without
conscience, same poor people in misery, army and police free as wolves to commit cruelties on behalf of the bosses, bosses ready to do anything to
protect what they had stolen. The main difference he could see was that the Russian aristocracy, after centuries of believing in nothing but its own
entitlement, had grown weak . . . "But American aristocracy is not even a century old . . . strong from efforts it took to acquire its wealth, more of
a challenge. Good enemy."
"You think they're too strong for the workers?"
At which Veikko's eyes would grow pale and illuminated from within, his voice issuing from an abundant and unkempt beard . . . "We are their
strength, without us they are impotent, we are they," and so forth.
. . .
Webb and Veikko got into the usual argument about whether to blast the 'sucker now or wait til a train came. "You know how owners are," Veikko said,
"lazy sons of bitches can't be bothered to saddle up, they take trains wherever they go. We blow train, maybe get a couple of them with it."
"I ain't about to sit out here all day waitin for some train that likely won't be runnin anyhow, it bein a three-day holiday." . . .
"Your mother fucks reindeer."
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