After he’d finished eating he threw the dishes into the disposal chute and went back into the living room.
He dialed the Unemployment Bureau, listed himself as temporarily unemployed, listed himself as available for work as a program director for TV or radio, applied for temporary compensation to be deposited directly to his account.
Then he dialed the Universal Credit Administration and applied for moritorium on all installment payments. Even as he did so, Ed Wonder reflected that whatever egghead economist had dreamed up the idea of moritorium had plugged one of the biggest potential holes in the workings of the affluent society. As never-never buying had pyramided, the powers that were had suffered increasingly sleepless nights over the possible consequences of even a fairly mild recession. Had foreclosures ever begun on a grand scale, the whole thing would have avalanched, and as used products flooded the markets, factories would have closed down all over the place, aggravating the recession still more. Yes, whoever had dreamed up credit moritorium had avoided that pitfall of classical capitalism. Of course, so long as you were on moritorium, you couldn’t run up any fresh installment credit, but you can’t have everything, even under the Welfare State.
Business finished with, he leaned back and considered matters. He was out of work. If the automated machinery of the Welfare State’s employment bureau found a potential position for him, he would be notified. Meanwhile, there was nothing to do. No point in going about haunting studios, or stations. They’d think he was a twitch if he went traipsing around on his own.
Well, you had to kill time some way. He reached out and flicked on the TV screen.
For the moment, he had forgotten. The screen was a horror of the abstract. He hurriedly cut it off again. Evidently, the stations were still trying. They simply weren’t getting through.
Just for the exercise, he went on down to the corner drugstore to pick up a paper. They were all gone. Happily, the manager had a copy of his own in a back room and let Ed take it.
There were still crowds around the magazine and paperback stands.
Ed said to the other, “Business in comic books still good, eh?”
“Oh, no,” the manager shook his head, beaming. “We’re fresh out of comic books, already. There’s no more in town. The agents say the presses are turning night and day, putting out extra editions, but for the time, we’re out. Now they’re buying paperbacks and magazines. Even all the more popular magazines are gone. There’s not a detective paperback left, either, and no westerns.” The smile left his face. “Good business, this emergency, but it sure is a horror to go home to the missus at night. We got nothing to do but yell at each other, and the kids go batty with nothing to watch.”
Ed Wonder took the paper back to his apartment before opening it.
The newspapers were evidently staging a comeback, and enjoying every minute of it. With TV and radio news off the airwaves, it was back to reading again.
The heads went:
TV and Radio Scramble World-Wide President to Hold Special Press Conference
Mayor Smythe to Ration Movie and Sports Tickets
Bored Mother Kills Brood and Commits Suicide
Soviet Complex Hints West Deliberately Sabotaging TV
He began to read the details and was interrupted almost immediately by the phone.
Buzz De Kemp’s face, stogie asmoke, filled the screen. “Hi, Little Ed. The great mystery has been solved.”
For a moment Ed Wonder thought he meant… but no. He said, “What mystery?”
“Where Zeke and Nefertiti disappeared to.”
“Oh,” Ed leaned forward.
Buzz drew it out. “I really gave it the works. Everything but the F.B.I. I checked…”
“All right, all right,” Ed snapped. “Let’s have it.”
“They moved up the river to the next town, Saugerties, and set up their tent again. Old Zeke is continuing his lecture tour.”
Ed closed his eyes wearily. He’d had a mental picture of Ezekiel Joshua Tubber escaping by stowing away on a ship to Brazil, or possibly fleeing to the Soviet Complex Embassy and requesting political refuge, or possibly going to earth somewhere and hiding out.
Instead, the offbeat evangelist was a few miles up the river, continuing as though nothing had happened.
6
Ed Wonder said, “Well, great. I’ll pick you up.”
“Hold on, chum,” the reporter took the stogie from his mouth to use as a pointer. “Maybe that old coot might be a little sore at you, but he’s really down on me. I was the one that sounded off and laughed at him. It was mostly me, on the program, who got him speaking in wrath, or however his daughter puts it. I think it might be better if just you show your cheerful face, at first.”
“Oh great. We’ll use me for baiting the tiger, eh?”
“It was your idea to find him again. You said you were in it from the beginning. Brave man. Stout fella.”
Ed growled, “You mentioned you were in it from the beginning too.”
“I was, and I’m going to keep in it, but from a distance, chum, from a distance. Now look, I haven’t even dared bring this up with Old Ulcers, the city ed, but you get the story on this exclusive for me and the Times-Tribune and we’ll find some way of showing our appreciation. This is a story, Little Ed. The story of the century.”
It only came home to Ed Wonder at that moment what a really big story it was. His mind flicked over into first. He could sell it to Look at Life, the picture magazine. He could sell it to…
His mind shifted back into low. No, he couldn’t. If Buzzo couldn’t even approach his city editor in a one horse town like Kingsburg, who was going to listen to Ed Wonder in Ultra-New York?
He suspected that of all those involved, the only ones who really knew that the Homespun Look and the disruption of both TV and radio were the results of curses by Tubber, were himself, Buzz and Helen. Except, of course, for Tubber himself, Nefertiti and some of the followers of the word, or whatever they called themselves.
Buzz said impatiently, “Well?”
Where he got the courage, Ed didn’t know, but he said, “Okay. I’ll go on up to Saugerties for whatever it’s worth. I’ll keep you posted. Remember, if this pays off, I’m in on the loot.”
The reporter rolled his eyes upward as though making solemn promise. “De Kemp always keeps faith,” he intoned.
“Yeah, sure,” Ed growled, reaching his hand out to switch off the phone.
Ed took the elevator down to the cellar garage and got the Volkshover, keyed it to life, lifted it half a foot from the floor, drifted up the ramp to the street, and headed north. The streets were more crowded than ever. He had never realized just how many persons lived in this city. In the far past, he supposed, the majority had spent the day hours working, the evening watching TV, listening to the radio, or taking in a movie. Of recent years, as the number of jobs decreased, until finally the employment rolls included a far greater number of citizens than did employment lists, the average citizen led a more sedentary existence. He had seen somewhere estimates that Mr. Average Man spent eight hours a day being entertained by mass media.
Well, a wheel had come off now.
He headed north at an altitude of about ten feet, and noticed that traffic was heavier than was to be expected at this time of day. It didn’t take long to figure out why. City dwellers on their way to the nearest water for a swim, or to the nearest woods for a picnic. Largely, their faces didn’t indicate that they were expecting any great treat. Probably because their portables weren’t working.