Earth Unaware (UC), page 13
"Bounce it," Helen said, making a moue. "Daddy can use a little cavalier treatment."
The president's right hand man leaned back in his chair and regarded them solemnly.
He said, "A week ago Friday, TV and radio became inoperative. For several hours the government took no action. It was assumed that the industry would soon discover the cause and remedy it. However, when it became known that the phenomenon was worldwide, an emergency committee
was named. The following day, the president released special funds to increase the size of the committee and give it more arbitrary powers. The following day the committee became a commission. And the day after, in secret session, the Congress voted unlimited resources and I was named head of this project and responsible only to the president. General Crew and Professor Braithgale here, are my assistants."
Buzz De Kemp was evidently awed not even by such as' Dwight Hopkins. He had brought one of his inevitable stogies from his pocket and as he searched for matches, said around it, "You people sure seem to be in a tizzy over moron level entertainment. The major was telling us, last night, it's as important as a war. And…"
"A nuclear war, Mr. De Kemp," Hopkins said.
"Don't be silly," Helen said.
Dwight Hopkins looked at the tall gray civilian. "Professor Braithgale, will you enlighten us a bit on the ramifications of the situation which confronts us?"
The professor's voice was dry and clear, and he lectured, rather than conversed.
"What happens to a civilization when there is an economy of abundance and no publicly provided entertainment?"
The trio, Ed, Buzz and Helen, frowned simultaneously at him, but neither tried an answer. It was obviously rhetorical.
He went on. "The average human being is not capable of self-programming. At least as he is today. He can't think up tasks to occupy himself. He's never had to. Man evolved under conditions where the time and energy he had available were programmed for him; he worked, and he worked twelve to eighteen hours a day. All day, every day. Or he starved. What to do with his time was determined for him. What recreation there was, was very seldom; purely traditional games and dances were a vast relief and entertainment. He never got a chance to become bored with them—he got to play them too seldom. That situation lasted for 99-99 percent of the history of the species."
Braithgale eyed them, and his voice went drier still "Now it's true that leisure is essential for creative activity. Until there is a leisure class, a group with time to do something besides subsist, there is very little opportunity for cultural progress. But, leisure doesn't automatically produce creativity.
"So the question becomes, what happens to a culture with
plenty of everything—except predetermined activity for the noncreative average man? In other words, what happens to this affluent society, this Welfare State of ours, if we take away radio, motion pictures, and especially television—television, the common man's pacifier."
Ed was scowling. "Vaudeville," he ventured. "The legitimate theatre. Circuses. Carnivals."
The professor nodded. "Yes, but I submit that they would provide but a drop in the bucket, even when and if we'get them organized and train the needed talent. How much time can people spend that way?"
Buzz brought his paperback from his jacket pocket and waved it at the other. "There's reading."
Braithgale shook his head. 'The average human does not like to read, Mr. De Kemp. It requires that they contribute a great deal of mental activity themselves. They have to visualize the actions from the words, imagine the voice tones, «he facial expressions, and so forth. They are not up to such creative labor."
The professor seemed to switch subjects. "Do you recall ever having read of the riots which swept Constantinople during Justinian's reign as a result of a minor squabble over the horse races? Well, several tens of thousands of persons lost their lives."
He remained silent for a moment, looking at them, to achieve emphasis. Then, "It is my belief that the thing that eventually destroyed Rome was the growth of an immense leisure class. Rome was no longer a subsistence culture, the colonies supported it. The populace was awarded free food. They had leisure but no self-programming creativity."
Braithgale wound it up. "A man wants something to do. But if he hasn't the ability to invent something to do, what happens when you take away his TV, his radio, his movies?"
Ed said, "I've been reading of the riots in England—and in Chicago, for that matter."
The major general rumbled to Hopkins, "We've got to bear down some more on those darned journalists. They're letting too much of that sort of report get through."
Dwight Hopkins didn't answer him. Instead, he tapped a thick sheaf of papers on his desk and spoke to Ed, Buzz and Helen. "Frankly, your account astonishes me and leaves me incredulous. However, you have this in your favor; you cor-
roborate each other. Hadn't it been for the matter of the cinema, which is utterly inexplainable in terms of atmospheric disturbances, I admit that I would not be inclined to consider your account at all. However… what is the trouble, Mr. De Kemp?"
They all looked at the rumpled newsman who was, in turn, goggling the pocketbook he held in his hands. "I must've picked up the wrong copy," he said, unbelievingly. "But I couldn't have." He looked up at them, as though accusingly. "This thing's in French."
Ed scowled down at it, wondering at the other's confusion. "That's not French. It looks like German to me."
Helen said, "It's not German. I studied German a bit. It looks like Russian."
Buzz said defensively, "Don't be kooky. It's not even in the Cyrillic alphabet. I say it's French. But it couldn't be. I was reading it just before I came in here. And the cover illustration is the same and__"
Professor Braithgale unfolded his lanky form and came to his feet. "Let me see that," he said drily. "I can read and write in all the Romance languages, German, Swedish and Russian. I don't know what has come up but…" His sentence drifted off. His usually quiet gray eyes boggled. "It is… it,is in Sanscrit, I think."
"Let me see that," Hopkins said crisply. "What's the controversy?"
The professor handed him the paperback suspense novel. "Why, it looks like Italian to me. I don't know the language but…"
"Holy smokes," Ed breathed. "He's done it again. He's hexed fiction."
"What!" the major general rumbled. "Are you utterly insane?"
"No, look," Ed was on his feet. "That report you have in front of you. You can stili read it, can't you? I can. I can read these papers I had in my coat pocket. Look at this newspaper." He was excitedly showing them. "The news you can read. But look here at the comic page. All the writing is jabber. It looks like it's in German to me, but I don't read German. He's hexed fiction."
"Sit down," Dwight Hopkins rasped. Into his desk communicator he said, "Miss Presley. I want you to send in several
books, both fiction and nonfiction. I also want an immediate report on why Ezekiei Joshua Tubber and his daughter have not been picked up."
"Yes, sir," Miss Presley's efficient voice came through clearly. "The Tubbers have not been found, as-^yet. The operatives who were sent for them report that they have left Saugerties. Evidently, the itinerant preacher was extremely upset due to the fact that his message was not being listened to."
Hopkins said crisply, "Is there any hint as to their destination?"
"One of their followers said they were going to Elysium. There is no such community listed, sir, in any of the sixty-four States. It might be in Common Europe, or…"
"That will be sufficient, Miss Presley," Dwight Hopkins said. He flicked off the intercom and looked at Braithgale and then at the major general. The latter rumbled, "What's the matter?"
But Braithgale knew what the matter was. He said, slowly, "Elysium. Another word for the Elysian Fields of the Ancient Greeks."
"What the blazes are the Elysian Fields?" the general demanded.
Dwight Hopkins said, "Paradise." He ran a hand over his chin, as though checking his morning shave. "Our friend Tubber has gone to Heaven."
PART THREE
9
"Heaven!" Colonel Fredric Williams blurted from the background where he had been keeping his trap shut through all this. "You mean this necromancer is dead?"
Ed Wonder was shaking his head. "That's not it. Elysium is some gobblydygook word they use in this new religion of Tubber's. They talk about being pilgrims on the road to Elysium, that sort of thing. Elysium is, well, sort of like Utopia, except Tubber is against Utopia. He says the idea is reactionary. I forget why. Something about Utopia being perfect, and perfection means stagnation, or…"
"Wait a minute," Braithgale said, "you're giving me a headache."
"Talking about Zeke Tubber and his religion would give anybody a headache," Buzz said. He paused a moment for dramatic emphasis, then said, "I think I know where Tubber and his daughter have gone."
Hopkins looked at Buzz, stunned momentarily.
Buzz said, "He's at a cooperative colony near Bearsville, in the Catskills. I heard Tubber mention the place in one of his talks. He invited anybody in the audience who was ready for…" Buzz twisted his mouth "… the promised land, to come to Elysium and join up. It's evidently in the tradition of Robert Owen's New Harmony colony, Llano, down in Louisiana, and Josiah Warren's Village of Equity."
Major General Crew rumbled, "What are you talking about, Mister?"
Professor Braithgale was looking at Buzz with a new respect. He turned his head and said to the army man, "Cooperative colonies. Utopias. There was quite a movement in their favor back in the 19th Century. Most were based on religion,
some not. The Latter Day Saints, the Mormons, turned out to be the most successful. They were intelligent enough to adapt when this teaching or that didn't prove out. The others went under."
Ed said, "We might have known they didn't go very far. Tubber travels in a horse and wagon."
"Horesonvagen?" the general rumbled. "What's that, some new German model?"
"Horse and wagon, a horse and wagon," Ed told him. "A wagon pulled by a horse."
The army man stared at him in disbelief. "You mean like in Western movies?"
"Please, Scotty," Dwight Hopkins said, without looking at him. The general shut up and Hopkins said to Ed Wonder thoughtfully, "You seem to be our best authority on Ezekiel Joshua Tubber."
He was interrupted by the arrival of Miss Presley who bore an armload of books. Even the efficient Miss Presley was looking as though something a bit disconcerting had happened, such as Gabriel blowing his horn, or the Atlantic disappearing. She put the books on Hopkins' desk and said, "Sir,!… I…"
"I know, Miss Presley. That will be all for now."
Dwight Hopkins took the books up and examined them one by one, while the others looked at him. He put the last one down and rubbed his eyes with his forefingers in resignation. "It still looks like Italian to me."
The general blurted, "All of them?"
"No. Not all of them. The nonfiction is still readable. In fact," he picked up one hard cover volume. "This novel is still in English. Huckleberry Finn."
"Huckleberry Finn?" Helen said. "Mark Twain?"
Ed Wonder closed his eyes in mute appeal to high powers. "Oh, great. This is a new one. This hex is selective. Anything Tubber doesn't like, becomes jibberish. Anything he approves of, we can still read. Holy smokes, talk about censorship. I thought I noticed something about that page of comic strips."
"What was that?" Buzz asked him.
"I could still read Pogo. Buzz Sawyer, Junior and Little Orphan Annie were jibberish, but I could still read Pogo."
Professor Braithgale took up the newspaper. "You're right," he said. "At least our prophet has a sense of humor."
"Oh, Mother," Helen muttered. "All I can say is that we'd better develop one too."
Hopkins said, slowly, "Mr. Wonder, when your group entered this office, I was admittedly prone to think you just one more set of the eccentrics we have been digging up since the crisis first arose. Now, however, this has developed to the point where no scientific explanation seems possible. I am ready to throw this commission's full resources behind you."
"Behind me?" Ed blurted. "Why me?"
The president's right hand man was not fazed. "Because you are our nearest thing to an authority on Ezekiel Joshua Tubber. You were present at three of his, ummm, performances. Besides, as the director of your Far Out Hour, I am sure you are highly knowledgeable in the field of the, ah, far out. And certainly this is about as far out as it is possible to get."
"But…" Ed wailed.
Dwight Hopkins held up a hand. "I do not mean to suggest that your hypothesis—that Ezekiel Tubber has caused our crisis by a series of curses—is the only one my commission will continue to investigate. Far from it. However, we will set up a new department with you at the head and with full resources."
"No," Ed said with finality.
Buzz looked at him strangely. He said around his stogie, "You haven't said yet, what's in it for me? Little Ed."
Ed Wonder turned on him desperately, "I know what's in it for me. Sure I was present at three of his performances, as Hopkins calls them. I've seen the old buzzard three times and each time the results were worse. What do you think will happen next time? He's getting arrogant…"
"Getting arrogant?" Braithgale laughed bitterly.
"… He's beginning to feel his oats." Ed swung on Hopkins. "He started off innocent. Not knowing what he was doing. Evidently, one of his first curses was brought on by some teenager practicing hill billy music on his guitar. Tubber broke the guitar strings…"
"What's miraculous about that?" the general rumbled.
"… at a distance. Then there was something else that brought him to wrath, as his daughter calls it. A neon sign, or something. So he laid a curse on it. What happened, I don't know. Maybe it stopped flickering."
From the background Colonel Williams said, "I wish he'd
lay a hex on the neon sign across from my house. The darn thing__"
General Crew looked at him and the colonel shut up.
Ed said desperately, "When he laid that Homespun Look hex on women, he didn't know he had done it. Evidently when he gets really wrathed up, he forgets what he says. He was astonished when I told him he'd cursed radio. As surprised as anybody else that it'd worked. But look at this now. He's cursed all light reading. All fiction—except what he likes. Listen, I'll bet you he wasn't even sore when he laid that one on."
Dwight Hopkins frowned. "I'm becoming more convinced by the moment," he said. "And Wonder, you're our man."
"I am not. I keep telling you. This kook is as nutty as almond cookies. Suppose he spots me and is reminded all over again of some of the arguments I've had with him, remembers that hardly anybody'll listen to him. Suppose he gets wrathful again and lays down a hex on all unbelievers. You know what that'd mean? He doesn't have more than a couple of hundred believers all together. I tell you, that twitch is more dangerous than the H-Bomb."
General Crew said thoughtfully, "A sniper. The best marksman in the service. Posted on a hill, with a Winchester Noiseless and a Mark 8 telescopic sight. This Elysium, from what De Kemp has said, is in the hills. A small community, away from any city. A sniper…"
Buzz grinned at him. "And how about this possibility, General? Suppose something goes wrong and Zeke lays a spell on gunpowder? Better still, all explosives? What would happen to the Cold War thaw if all of a sudden no explosives would work?"
The general scowled at him. "The curses are universal. In that case, explosives wouldn't work for the Commies, either."
Buzz took his stogie from his mouth and examined the tip, which was burning unevenly. "They wouldn't need explosives," he said. "The Chinese alone could overrun us with butcher knives made in those backyard steel mills of theirs."
Helen said, "Besides, assassination is out of the question. Actually, like Buzz was saying the other day, Tubber is a kindly old gent who just happens…"
"Kindly old gent," Ed muttered bitterly.
"… to have some powers we simply don't understand. He
sn't seem to understand them either. Very well. I think Little Ed should go and confront him. There's nothing to suggest he has anything against Ed personally. Besides, he dotes on that daughter of his and she has a crush on Little Ed."
Silence dropped. All eyes went to Ed Wonder.
Ed lowered his lids in utter suffering. "That's a lie!" he wailed.
"Buzz?" Helen said.
Buzz De Kemp had been trying to get his stogie to burn straight. Now he nodded and said with a twang, "Yep, right as rain. Nice curvy little wench, blue eyeballs, cheeks shiny as red apples, set up real nice. Any sapsucker can see there's nothing better she'd like to do than spoon with Little Ed Wonder."
"Oh, great," Ed moaned. "Funnies."
Dwight Hopkins said, "Wonder, I'll have an office and staff assigned to you."
"No," Ed said.
Dwight Hopkins looked at him deliberately. "I can pick up this phone, Mr. Wonder and in moments have a presidential order drafting you into the armed forces. In which case you will be under the orders of General Crew, here, and will do as you are told."
Ed muttered, "The old army volunteer system. You, you, and you."
The general beamed at him.
Ed surrendered. "All right," he said. "How about another drink?"
For approximately thirty of his thirty-three years, Edward Wonder had wanted to be a big executive. He had wanted it so badly he could taste it distinctly. To the extent possible in a stratified, stagnant society he had worked to that end. He had been raised in the folklore of his people including that wheeze about any citizen of the welfare state being just as good as any other citizen of the United Welfare States and with an equal chance of working his way up to the presidency, or wherever. Unfortunately, he discovered that it's hard working one's way up, when there is precious little work to do, and the overwhelming majority displaced by automation. Those who did still maintain jobs, and hence had higher incomes than those on the unemployment lists, clung to them. Cherished them with a bitter jealousy, and to the extent possible passed them on to progeny, relatives, or at least friends.
