Earth Unaware Page 2

  “Oh, you were, eh?” The studio chief made facial motions as though he were chewing. “Well, see here. Mr. Fontaine is a member of the chapter, so is Helen, for that matter, even if she doesn’t come around much. Why don’t the two of you just take this tent meeting in for half an hour or so? That ought to be plenty.”

  “A tent meeting!” she said, unbelievingly. “I thought it was the end when you wanted to take in that tea leaf reader’s convention but…”

  “The Precognition Society,” Ed said unhappily. “And it was mainly crystalloscopy, not tea leaves.”

  “…this takes the frosted malted. Whatever gave you the idea I’d be willing to go to a religious revival meeting in lieu of a date, Little Ed Wonder?”

  He explained hastily. Told her he would have put Mulligan in his place, if it hadn’t been a Stephen Decatur Society project. Told her he’d thought she’d be hot to do a chore for the society. Told her they could cut it as short as she wanted. Told her he could spot a subversive in the first few moments of talk. Told her he was a commie spotter from way back. Told her he had denounced two of his schoolmates as undercover reds as early as third grade.

  That last got to her and she made a moue at him. “All right, sharpy. But you’d better not let Daddy hear you being flippant like that. He takes the society seriously.”

  Later, in the Volkshover, she said, “When are you going to get off those impossible hours, Little Ed? I thought the idea was to build your program up and finally switch it to TV on Sunday morning.”

  Ed said, “Well, that’s what I thought, but for some reason old Fatso Mulligan can’t see it. He doesn’t realize how many people go for this kooky stuff. Why, most of the people in the country believe in one sort of far out idea or the other. It’s exactly that kind of twitch who spends half his life sitting in front of his idiot box.” He cleared his throat. “Now, if you could get your father to drop a hint…”

  “Oh, Daddy’s not really concerned with the station,” she said disinterestedly, “just because he owns it. He owns a lot of things. What he’s really interested in is the society.”

  They came to the empty acres on the outskirts of town which provided the room for a medium large tent which had been pitched almost in the exact center. It wasn’t until they had drifted closer that they saw the second tent behind.

  “Oh, Mother,” Helen protested. “Does somebody live in that like—like gypsies?”

  There weren’t many cars descended on the area that had evidently been chosen for parking. Ed sank the beetle parallel to the others and switched off the lights. “It looks as if they’re already under way,” he said.

  Helen said, “When are you going to get a car, Little Ed? I feel like a cockroach crawling in and out of this thing.”

  Under his breath, as he slid out from under the wheel, Ed muttered, “When I’m rich, honey, when I’m rich.”

  He took her arm to lead her toward what was obviously the entrance of the larger of the two canvas shelters.

  She said, “Remember, we’re going to go in there and leave again so quick they’ll think we’re some sort of blur.”

  There was a small reception committee at the entrance, two middle-aged types and a girl. They didn’t exactly block the way, but it was simpler to stop a moment.

  One of the middleaged ones twisted her face in what was probably a smile and said, “Dear ones, are you pilgrims on the path to Elysium?”

  Ed thought about that for a moment before saying, “I don’t think so.”

  Helen said, “I know darn well I’m not.”

  Amusement came from a source unsuspected. The girl member of the reception committee laughed softly and said, “No, I’m afraid you aren’t, at least as yet.” She put a hand out. “I’m Nefertiti Tubber,” she told them. “Tonight’s Speaker of the Word is my father.”

  “Not just tonight,” one of the others put in. “Ezekiel Joshua Tubber, is the Speaker of the Word. The guru of the path to Elysium.”

  “Anyone can spread the word, Martha,” Nefertiti said softly.

  “I’m losing track of this,” Helen said. “Let’s get in and see the big show.”

  Ed Wonder had taken the girl’s proffered hand. It was both firm and soft in a disconcerting way.

  The Tubber girl smiled after them as Ed Wonder followed Helen into the tent and to chairs spank down in the front row. He decided that Helen was feeling mischievous all right. He would have settled for the rear.

  The meeting was already under way and for the time the speaker’s words didn’t get through to the newcomers. While helping Helen with her coat and getting settled on the somewhat rickety wooden folding chair, Ed Wonder kept mental fingers crossed. The score or so who made up the balance of the audience didn’t give the appearance of burn-’em-at-the-stake religious fanatics but still the last place Ed was in favor of starting a ruckus was a revival meeting.

  Helen said, in a tone only one degree below a stage whisper, “With that beaver, he looks more like Abraham Lincoln than a preacher.”

  Ed said, “Shhh. Let’s get a quick line on what he says.”

  Somebody else in the audience said shhhhh too, and Helen swiveled in her chair to glare.

  As a matter of fact, Ed decided, Helen’s description wasn’t as far off as all that. There was a Lincolnesque quality about the old boy up on the speaker’s stand, a transcendent beauty in the sheer ugliness of face. An infinite sadness.

  He was saying, “…no matter how the system of representation or delegation of the governmental function is arranged, there is necessarily an alienation of part of the liberty and means of the citizen…”

  Helen said from the side of her mouth, “What’s he wearing, a suit made out of burlap bags?” Ed pretended not to hear.

  “…all parties, without exception, in so far as they seek for power, are varieties of absolutism.”

  Helen caught that phrase and sang out, “Even the Communist Party?”

  Tubber—Ed Wonder assumed this must be Ezekiel Joshua Tubber—paused in mid-thought and looked down at her gently. “Especially the communists, dear one. Communism fails to recognize that, though man is a social being and seeks equality, he also loves independence. Property, in fact, springs from man’s desire to free himself from the slavery of communism, the primitive form of society. But property, in its turn, goes to the extreme and violates equality and supports the acquisition of power by the privileged minority.”

  Whether or not that satisfied Helen Fontaine, Ed didn’t know, but he was beginning to wonder what all this had to do with religion.

  He whispered to Helen, “Whatever he is, he isn’t a red. Let’s go.”

  “No, wait a minute. I want to hear more of what the old goat has to say. How did a skinny old duffer like him ever get to be father of that pretty, plump little girl out front? He looks like he’s eighty if he’s a day.”

  Somebody back in the audience went shhhh again and somebody else said, “Please, dear one, we cannot hear the Speaker of the Word.”

  Helen didn’t bother to turn this time, but for the moment held her peace, to Ed’s relief. He was beginning to be able to picture being thrown out of the assembly bodily, and if there were anything Ed Wonder hated, it was violence, particularly when it was directed at him. He brought his attention back to Tubber who seemed to be getting into the meat of his subject. “So it is that we proclaim the road to Elysium must be taken. Such has become our lust for possessions, our mad, desperate scramble for goods, for property, for material things, that we are making of this promised land granted by the All-Mother to our ancestors a veritable desert. The nation has already lost a third of the rich topsoil that it had when the Pilgrims landed. Consumption of oil has tripled since the end of the Second War, and although we possess but a seventh of the earth’s proved resources, in our madness we are consuming more than half of the world’s production. Once the world’s leading exporter of copper, we are now the leading importer, and our once tremendous reserves of lead and zinc
are now so depleted that they are rapidly becoming uneconomic to work.

  “But still the waste goes on. Still the demand for more and more consumption. Consume! Consume! they demand of us. Seek happiness in the desire for things. Consume! Consume! they tell us and endless millions are spent on the perverters of Madison Avenue so that our people will continue to demand, demand more things they need not. Why, dear ones, do you know that in this mad attempt to lure us into still greater consumption those who profit by this way of life spend five hundred dollars a year in packaging alone for every family in the nation. Five hundred dollars a year into what is largely waste! Why, dear ones, our brothers in such lands as India have a per capita income of but thirty-six dollars a year.”

  He was, Ed Wonder decided, really beginning to get steamed up now. However, it still didn’t have much to do with religion. Other than an occasional reference to the All-Mother, whoever that was, and Tubber’s habit of calling his audience dear ones it sounded more like an attack on the affluent society than a quest for salvation.

  Ed looked at Helen from the side of his eyes. He had an idea that the fineness was beginning to wear off her mischievous nature and she’d soon be bored with the tent meeting. He had an idea, too, that she was assimilating only every other sentence or so of Tubber’s diatribe, in spite of her scowl of concentration.

  “…frivolous consumption. Why, we spend more for greeting cards than medical research. More on smoke, gambling and drinking than on education. More on watches and jewelry than on either basic scientific research or books…”

  Ed began to whisper, “Look, this guy isn’t a subversive. Just a chronic malcontent. What do you say we take off?”

  But Helen wasn’t having any. Her voice came clear and loud. “What are you moaning about, Dads? America has the greatest standard of living in the world. Nobody ever had it so good.”

  Silence fell.

  Not even the shushers to their rear broke the hush.

  Somehow, the gentle-faced, sad-faced oldster who had been holding forth in a quiet persuasive voice in spite of the nature of his attack, seemed to grow several inches in height, put on twenty or more pounds in pure bulk. For a moment, inanely, Ed wondered if the wobbly speaker’s stand would hold this added weight.

  He whispered to Helen, “Did you say Abe Lincoln? He looks more like John Brown about to free the slaves at Harper’s Ferry.”

  Helen began to say something, but her voice was drowned in the rumble of thunder from Ezekiel Joshua Tubber.

  “Standards of living, thou sayest! Is it standard of living that we must have a new vehicle every two or three years, whilst the old is discarded? Is it standard of living that a woman must needs own half a dozen bathing suits or think she is underprivileged? Is it standard of living that appliances are so constructed—planned obsolescence they call it—that it is all but impossible to get them home from the store before collapse? Indeed, we of the United States have used up in the past forty years more of the world’s resources than all the population of earth has used in all of recorded history up until 1914, in this false pursuit of living standards. Dear one, it is madness. The road to Elysium must be taken!”

  Ed Wonder was shaking her arm, but Helen was not to be stopped. “Don’t call me dear one, Dads. Just because you have to live in a tent and wear gunny sacks doesn’t mean the rest of us want to.”

  Ezekiel Joshua Tubber grew another six inches taller. “Thou hast failed to hear the word, O woman of vanity. Have I not said that the gifts of the All-Mother are being frivolously wasted in the name of thy vanities? Look thou at thyself. At thy dress, which thou wilt wear but half a dozen times before discarding for new fashion, new style. Look at thy shoes, so fragile as to need the cobbler’s care after but a few wearings. Look at thy visage, touched with multiple paints at fabulous cost, and always at the expense of wasting the gifts of the All-Mother. Did I not saith earlier that our copper is all but gone? Still every year women throw away hundreds of millions of brass lipstick holders, and brass is made largely of copper. Take up the path to Elysium, O woman of vanity!”

  “Listen, Helen…” Ed Wonder was tugging unhappily at her.

  But Helen was into it now. On her feet, she laughed at the enraged prophet.

  “Maybe that daughter of yours, out front, would be enjoying herself on a date instead of hanging around a tent meeting, if she used a little makeup herself, Dads. And you can sound off the rest of the night about this path to the all-mother, or whatever, but you’re not going to talk me, or anybody else with good sense, out of looking my smartest. The number of style conscious people is growing, and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

  “Listen, let’s get out of here,” Ed pleaded. He was on his feet too, tugging her toward the aisle that led to the entrance. Once more, inanely, he wondered how the rickety wooden stand upon which Ezekiel Joshua Tubber stood could hold the swollen fury of the man. Even as he tugged, he wondered at the stricken faces of the small audience.

  Only for a moment did Tubber hold his breath, then the voice came in a roar that would have silenced Götterdämmerung.

  “Verily now, I curse the vainglory of woman. Verily I say that never again wilt thou find pleasure in vanity of the person. In truth, ne’r again wilt thou pleasure in paint or bright fashion of clothing!”

  For the first time in the past five minutes, there was the slightest of sound from one of the group of faithful who had seemingly been stunned to silence at Helen’s temerity. Someone breathed, in awe, “…the power…”

  2

  “COME ON,” Ed urged through his teeth. “First thing you know, these kooks will want to lynch you.” He hustled her up the aisle, trying to make with an air of sincere apology while at the same time projecting an it’s-all-in-fun attitude. He doubted if it was going over. Helen was giggling softly. He could have strangled her.

  The girl was a caution. Her devil-may-care attitude was too much for him. He began to wonder how far out the limb of ambition a man should climb, in the way of making a good business marriage.

  Just before the entrance, he shot a quick look back over his shoulder. The audience still sat as though stricken. Up on the rostrum, old Tubber seemed to be regaining his composure. Somehow he had shrunken to his original proportions. Once again his appearance was that of a gentle Lincoln, his face in the sadness of ultimate compassion.

  Outside, Helen shook her arm free. “Let go,” she giggled. “I really got him boiling, didn’t I?”

  “You got him boiling, all right. Come on, let’s get out of here before he changes his mind and decides to sic the faithful after us.” But even as he said it, he doubted there was physical danger in the old man and his handful of followers.

  The girl who had introduced herself as Nefertiti Tubber came hurrying up from the direction of the smaller tent.

  “What… I heard Father…”

  Helen said, “Simmer down, dahling. Nothing happened.”

  Ed Wonder said, “You ought to look out for the old boy. He’s apt to blow a gasket one of these days.” He ran his eyes up and down the girl appreciatively.

  She had pulled to a halt. “I… heard his voice raised in wrath.”

  Helen yawned. “Your language is almost as fruity as his is, dahling. He got a little sore, that’s all.”

  “But, Miss Fontaine, Father should never lose his temper. He is the Speaker of the Word.”

  Helen scowled at her. “How did you know my name?”

  Nefertiti began to say something, tightened her mouth momentarily, while her neck went pinkish.

  “Oh, Mother” Helen laughed. “The girl can blush. I don’t think I’ve seen anyone blush for years.”

  Ed said, “Come to think of it, how did you know Helen’s name?”

  The girl said, lowly, “I… I’ve seen your picture in the papers, Miss Fontaine.”

  They looked at her. Helen laughed again. “So, while Poppa sounds off against fashions and cosmetics, daughter reads the Sunday society page
and yearns.”

  The pink evolved to rose. “Oh… oh no…”

  “Oh yes, Goody Two Shoes. I’ll bet a pretty.” Helen turned to Ed Wonder. “Come on, Little Ed. Let’s go.” She started toward the car.

  Ed looked at the girl before following. He said, “Sorry about getting the old boy roused up. He was doing pretty good in there. At least he’s sincere. I meet a lot of phonies in my line.”

  He got the feeling that she wasn’t particularly used to talking to men. At least when she was alone with one. Her glance went down to the ground and she said, “I suppose you do, Edward Wonder.” She turned quickly and went into the tent.

  Ed looked after her. What the devil, she had known his name too. Well, he squared his shoulders in a preen, that wasn’t as strange as knowing Helen’s. His program was evidently taking on to the point where he was recognized. Confound it, if he could only get the show on TV, he’d have it made. He hurried after Helen.

  Back in the car, and over the road, they reversed roles. Now that whatever physical danger might have been involved was behind them, Ed Wonder could find humor in the situation, but Helen was sobering by the minute and on the morose side.

  She said finally, “Maybe I shouldn’t have done that.”

  “What, the madcap socialite, Helen Beauregard Fontaine, regretting?”

  She tried to chuckle. “Actually, he’s a beautiful old man. Did you dig that air of sincerity?”

  Ed reversed himself on what he had said to Nefertiti. “That’s the stock in trade of religious kooks. You should see some of the characters I’ve had on the program. There was this one who claimed he had spotted a flying saucer landing. He went over to it and was taken aboard and off for a ride to Jupiter. On Jupiter—evidently, he could breath the air and the gravity was exactly the same as here on earth—they taught him the local religion and told him to return to Earth and spread the message. They said that several times before they had come to earth and trained a man to propagate the message, but each time it had become garbled. Moses, Jesus, Mohammed and Buddha were among those who loused-up the true religion revealed to them by the Jupiterians.”