“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 still 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 Ezekiel 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…”
“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…”