down the streets. They are desperate for amusement.”
Tubber’s homely face, broken for a moment, was now slowly regaining strength. “Amusement!”
Ed said, “Ezekiel, don’t you see? People have to do something with their time. They want to be entertained. They want to have a little fun. That’s reasonable, isn’t it? They like radio, they like TV. You can’t stop them. So, okay, they don’t know what to do with themselves. They’ve got to have some way to kill time.”
“Kill time! Kill time!” Tubber rumbled. “Killing time is not murder, dear one. It is suicide! We are committing racial suicide with our meaningless, empty lives. Man must resume the path to Elysium, not seek methods of wasting life away!”
Ed said, “Yeah, but don’t you see, ah, dear one? People don’t want to listen to your message. They’re well, conditioned. They want to be entertained. And you can’t stop them. Okay, take away their TV and radio and…”
Even as he spoke, caught up in the argument, Ed Wonder knew he had already said too much. Ezekiel Joshua Tubber was swelling in anger.
“Yes?” he thundered. “Take away their TV and radio and what will they do?”
Ed tried to cut it off, but the old man’s strength gripped him almost as though physically. Gripped him and demanded. He said, “And they’ll turn to things like movies.”
“Oh, they will!”
Ed Wonder closed his eyes in pain.
A new voice broke in. “There is a fresh audience, dear one. We have ushered the last group from the tent, and a new one awaits you to hear the expounding of the word.”
Ed looked up. It was one of the faithful, whom he had noticed earlier at the entrance to the main tent.
Tubber stood erect, some seven feel tall, Ed Wonder estimated. At least seven feet tall, and pushing three hundred pounds.
“Ah, they do, do they? Well, verily, hear the word they shall!”
Ed Wonder, stricken dumb, looked at Nefertiti. She sat there, elbows tight against her side, as though in feminine protest at the masculine psychic power emanating from her father.
The prophet stormed from the tent.
Ed looked back at the girl again. All he could think of to say was, “I’m glad I didn’t mention carnivals and circuses.”
Nefertiti shook her head. “Father loves circuses,” she said.
They sat there for a time, waiting. Neither knew for how long. In their silence, they could hear sounds from the larger tent, and finally the swelling thunder of Tubber’s voice.
Nefertiti began to say something, but Ed interrupted her. “I know,” he said. “He’s speaking in wrath.”
She nodded silently.
The voice reached a pitch.
Ed said, “The power.” He added, dismally, “I was looking forward to seeing that production,
He had guessed right. Oh, he had guessed right, all right.
The proof came as he tooled the little Volkshover back into Kingsburg. For the first time in his life, Ed Wonder came upon a lynch mob. A shouting, screaming, hate-smelling crowd milling about in the ever confusion of the mob. Screaming for someone to get a rope. Screaming to go to the park to find the limb of a tree. Counterscreaming that a lamppost would do. Somewhere in the center, a mewling, fear-overcome victim was struggling in the grasps of a wild-faced, glaring-of-eye trio who seemed the leaders of the riot, if a lynch mob can be said to have leaders.
Ed could have lifted above the demonstration and gone on. All his instincts, all his fear of physical violence told him to get away from the vicinity immediately, to get away but fast, to personal safety. But the sheer fantasy of the action held him in fascination. He dropped to the street level and stared.
There must have been fully five hundred of them, and their rage was a frenzy, The yelling and shouting, the shrilling from the women members of the mob—all of it made no sense.
Ed shouted to a passing participant of the demonstration, “What the devil’s going on! Where’s the police!”
“We run the police off,” the raging pedestrian screamed back at him, and was gone.
Ed Wonder continued to stare.
Somebody said, “The natives are restless tonight, eh? Come on, Little Ed, let’s get in there. They’ll kill that poor idiot.”
Ed swiveled his head. It was Buzz De Kemp. He looked back at the screaming crowd again. “You think I’m completely around the bend?” His stomach had tightened in terror at the very idea of getting nearer to the raging.
“Somebody’s got to help him,” Buzz growled. He pulled the stogie from his mouth and threw it into the gutter. “Here goes nothing.” He started for the mob.
Ed Wonder vaulted over the side of the hovercar and took a few steps after him. “Buzzo! Use your head!” The other didn’t look back. He disappeared into the swirling crowd.
Ed grabbed a bystander who seemed a fellow observer of the scene, rather than a participant.
“What’s happened!” Ed demanded.
From the distance came the ululations of fire sirens.
The other looked at Ed, brushed his hand away. “Movie projectionist,” he shouted, above the roar. “Folks standing in line for hours, then he fouls up the projector and claims he can’t fix it.”
Ed Wonder stared at him. “You mean they’re hanging that man because his projector broke down? Nobody’s
The other growled, defensively, “You don’t know, buddy. Everybody’s like on edge. These folks were standing for hours to see this here new show. And that lamebrain louses up the movie machine.”
Something he was going to find difficult to explain for the rest of his life happened to Ed Wonder. Something snapped. His mind, suddenly empty of the fear of the crowd, urged him into an action he wouldn’t have dreamed of two minutes earlier. He began pushing through the mob after Buzz De Kemp, trying to get to the center.
He could hear himself yelling at the top of his voice: “It’s not his fault! It’s not his fault! It’s like the TV and radio. It’s all over the world. Every movie projector in the world is on the blink. It’s not his fault! All movies don’t work! All movies don’t work!”
Somehow, impossibly, he struggled his way to the screaming crowd’s middle where the three burly mob leaders were dragging their victim in the direction of the nearest lamppost. By this time, a rope had been found.
He could feel his voice cracking as he tried to make himself heard above the mob’s roar. “It’s not his fault! All movies don’t work!”
One of the mob leaders backarmed him into a sprawl. He wondered vaguely where Buzz De Kemp was, even as he pushed himself back to his feet and grabbed at the fear-paralyzed movie projectionist. “It’s not his fault! All movies don’t work!”
It was then that the pressurized water hit them.
7
Helen Fontaine and Buzz De Kemp bailed him out toward noon of the next day.
Buzz came back to the cell first, one of the new Poloroid-Leicas in his hands and wearing a grin behind his stogie. There was an adhesive plaster patch above his right eye which only managed to make the sloppy newsman look rakish.
“Buzzo!” Ed Wonder blurted. “Get me out of here!”
“Just a minute,” Buzz told him. He adjusted the lens aperture, brought the camera to his eyes, flicked the shutter three or four times. He said happily, “With any luck I’ll get you on the front page. How does this sound? Local radioman leads lynch mob.”
