He said, “But I’ve got an ESP girl on for this Friday.”
“Bounce her. Postpone her. This is hot. You’ve got to use Tubber while this Homespun Look fad is new. It’ll be old hat in a couple of weeks. This is one style that the bigwigs aren’t going to let last. They can’t afford to. Department stores, beauty shops, cosmetic manufacturers are already howling. They want the President to give one of his famous Air-Conditioner Side chats, telling the women of the country they’re destroying prosperity.”
“Right!” Ed told him. “We’ll do it. I’ll have to get hopping. I’ll need to dig up some panelists to appear with him. Ask him questions, that sort of thing.”
“Me!” Buzz crowed. “I’ll be a panelist for you. I’ve listened to him half a dozen times. Then get Helen Fontaine to appear, since it was she who brought on the hex. Maybe we can get her to plead with him to reverse the spell.”
“Yeah,” Ed took it up. “And his daughter, Nefertiti. She’s as cute as a pair of cuff links. Nice voice too. We’ll work her in. She implied that old Tubber had made with a hex or two before, when he was speaking in wrath as she called it.”
Ed Wonder had the faintest twinge of misgiving on the way over to where Ezekiel Joshua Tubber had his tents pitched. What would Mulligan, and the Stephen Decatur Society have to say about opening the airwaves to the man that only the week before they were investigating for subversion? He decided he wouldn’t bother to tell the studio head. If he could get Helen Fontaine to appear on the show, Mulligan wouldn’t have much to say. And Buzzo was right, this was a program that was going to pull attention. The breaks, at long last, were coming Ed Wonder’s way.
They drew up to the parking area of the large empty lot the Tubber followers had appropriated for his stay in the vicinity, and Ed Wonder dropped the lift lever of the Volkshover and settled to the ground.
Buzz said, “Hey what’s going on? What’s going on?”
“It looks like they’re wrapping it up,” Ed said. “They’re pulling down the main tent.”
The scrambled out of the little hovercar and made their way in the direction of the activities.
Nefertiti Tubber spotted them first. She had emerged from the smaller of the two tents, carrying a coffeepot and four cups in her hands.
For some inane reason, there came to Ed Wonder’s mind a couple of lines he hadn’t thought of since high school.
Maud Miller, on a summer’s day, Raked the meadow, sweet with hay.
He said from the side of his mouth, “For the past couple of days I’ve been seeing this Homespun Look. For the first time I can say, on her it looks good.”
“On her it looks natural,” Buzz said back. “The rural simplicity bit.”
She stopped and waited for them, questioning in her eyes.
Ed said, “Ah, Miss Tubber. You and your father aren’t leaving?”
She cocked her head infinitesimally. “I’m afraid we are. We’ve been here two weeks, you know.” She paused before adding, “Edward Wonder.” She looked at Buzz. “Good afternoon, Buzz De Kemp. I noticed that you used material from my father’s sermons in some of your articles.”
“Well, yes I did.”
“Without bothering to mention their source, or even that father was in town.”
Buzz winced. “Well, frankly, Miss Tubber, I wanted to do some pieces on the old… that is, your father. But the city editor killed them. Sorry. No interest in small religious cults.”
“That’s why we came over to see you,” Ed put in hurriedly.
She turned her incredibly blue eyes to him. “Because there is no interest in small religious cults, Edward Wonder?”
“Well, in a way. Listen, just call me Ed. What we thought is that if your father appeared on my program he’d reach hundreds of thousands of people, right in their homes.”
Her face brightened momentarily, but then the frown was there again. “But your program deals with cranks, with fakes, Edward… that is, Ed. My father…”
He said hurriedly, “Not at all, Nefertiti. You don’t get it. My program is designed to give people, who ordinarily wouldn’t be able to reach the public, an opportunity to present their beliefs, no matter how extreme. Admittedly some are fakes, some are even crooks, but that doesn’t mean that perfectly sincere folk aren’t also represented. This is your father’s chance to get his message over on the big time.”
She said hesitantly, “Father’s never been on the radio… Ed. I don’t believe he even approves of radio. He thinks people found more enjoyment when they played their own music. When each member of the family had his own instrument, or could sing.”
“When was that?” Buzz De Kemp said flatly.
Her eyes came to him. “It still applies in Elysium.”
The newspaperman started to say something further, but Ed Wonder hurried in. “It’s not important whether or not he approves of radio, or if he’s ever been on. I’m used to inexperienced folk. Almost all my guests are. This is his big chance. Besides, you’ll be on too. And Buzzo, here. And, I think, Miss Fontaine.”
She worried the idea a little, but then shrugged comfortably plumpish shoulders. “We can ask him.” She led the way and now Ed and Buzz could see the elderly evangelist who was, with several others, pulling down the larger tent. Wooden chairs had already been folded and stacked outside, and the lecture platform folded up for transport.
When he spotted the two, he said something to the others who continued the work, and came over.
The old railsplitter, Ed Wonder thought all over again. Abe Lincoln in Illinois. The man had a personality. Maybe he was a father image, or something. It was a shame the program wasn’t already on TV. It’d really go over if the audience could see this bird.
Ezekiel Joshua Tubber looked from one of the newcomers to the other. “Yes, dear ones?” he said.
Ed Wonder cleared his throat. “My name is…”
“I know your name, dear one. My daughter told me of your identity the other night.”
It came to Ed very suddenly that he wasn’t going to get Tubber on the show by appealing to venality. Instinctively he knew the man was no spellbinder on the make. Driving over here, with Buzz De Kemp, Ed had figured on promising the evangelist an opportunity to bring himself before the people in such a way that he would eventually make such great revivalists of the past such as Billy Sunday and Billy Graham look like pikers. Now he decided it might well be better if he made no mention of the curse at all, at this point.
Ed said, “Mr. Tubber, I…”
Tubber said gently, “Mister is derived from the title, Master, dear one. I wish to be no one’s master, no more than I wish anyone to be mine. Call me Ezekiel, Edward.”
“Or Zeke, for short,” Buzz De Kemp said.
Tubber looked at the newspaperman. “Yes,” he said gently. “Or Zeke, for short, if you will, dear one. It is an honorable name, that of one of the more progressive thinking of the Hebrew prophets who wrote the twenty-sixth book of the Old Testament.”
“Easy, Buzzo,” Ed muttered from the side of his mouth. Then to Tubber, “What I meant, sir…”
“The term sir, a variation of sire, comes down to us from the feudalistic era, dear one. It reflects the relationship between noble and serf. My efforts are directed against such relationships, against all authority of one man over another. For I feel that whoever puts his hand on me to govern me is a usurper and a tyrant! I declare him my enemy!”
Ed Wonder closed his eyes for a moment and held silence. He opened them again and said, “Listen, Ezekiel, how would you like to appear on my radio program Friday night?”
“I would like it very much. It is high time our mass media be utilized for dispensing other than trivialities.” The bearded oldster looked wearily at the worn tent being dismantled by his assistants. “It is not through desire that my words are given to so few.” His eyes came back to Ed Wonder and Buzz De Kemp. “I thank you for the opportunity to bring the word to the million mass, dear ones.”