I found Miss Simmons in the Puppet Building of the Teachers College. She was sitting at a classroom desk. She had a wild look in her eyes-as well she might, haunted and destroyed by that villain Heller.
She didn't have her glasses on and I knew very well she couldn't see without them. They lay upon her desk and I covertly laid a book upon them as I sat down.
"I'm from the Morning Press," I said. "I've come to interview you about the Antinuclear Protest Marchers' reaction to the UN bill on women's thermonuclear rights."
She peered at me. She said, "If they don't pass it, we're going to blow the UN up, New York Police Tactical Police Force or no New York Police Tactical Police
Force. I am president of the marchers now and what I say GOES!" She looked for her glasses, couldn't find them. Then she added, "And you can quote me."
"There are black forces at work behind that bill," I said.
"I'll hear no talk against minority groups," she said. "The Harlem 'I-Will-Arise' Burial Society is right behind us to the grave." She patted around, still looking for her glasses. "Haven't I seen you someplace before? In the psychiatric ward, maybe?"
"You have indeed," I said. "We're fellow revolutionaries. I am from the PLO, actually. The Morning Press is just my agent cover."
"Then we can talk freely," said Miss Simmons. "Thermonuclear bombing has got to stop even if we destroy the whole world to do it. Didn't I meet you in Psychology 13?"
"You did indeed," I said. "I sat right behind you and cheered you on all the way."
"Then your name is Throgapple," she said. "I always remember my classmates."
"Correct," I said.
She was patting around trying to find her glasses again so I thought I had better distract her. "What are you teaching here?" I said, pretending to indicate the book, but actually moving it so her glasses dropped off the desk into my hand.
"Postgraduate deportment," she said. "These young teachers go out into secondary schools and foul up. So we preindoctrinate them to be calm and controlled, even cold, at all times. Spare the child and spoil the rod is never used today. Hysterical conduct by the teacher is frowned upon, even when she finds a can of worms in her purse. Where the hell did I put my glasses? Do you see my glasses around anywhere, Throgapple?"
"No," I said, which was true, as they were now in my pocket. "But to get back to the Antinuclear Protest Marchers, what will be your statement if that UN bill does not pass the Security Council?"
I recoiled. She had leaped up and began to pound on her desk and rave and rant in four-letter words that even I had never heard. "And you can quote me!" she screamed. She sat back down pretty spent. "But of course their failure to pass it is unthinkable. All the women of the world would tear them into little bits with their fingernails, laughing all the while!"
I don't like to see women get upset. It recoils on one. I decided I had better calm her down, put her mind on gentle hills and chuckling brooks. I had to dim down that insane glare which still made caldrons of her eyes. I said, "I understand you also teach Nature Appreciation."
The glare got worse!"Throgapple, there was once a time when I enjoyed those little Sunday rambles in the woods. I could cheerily chatter to the rabbits and smile upon the daffodils. But last year, Throgapple, an awful thing happened. It changed my life!"
"Tell," I said.
"Throgapple, in a moment when my poor motherly heart swelled chokingly up in my breast with pity, I took into my class that vilest, that most awful, that most vicious species of malignant fauna ever devised by the devil...." She was breaking down. Her lips were twitching to disclose clenched teeth. Her breath was coming faster.
"I understand," I said gently. "A nuclear physicist named Wister."
She leaped out of her seat. She grabbed student chair after student chair, stacked them in a high tower and agilely scrambled to the top and sat there teetering. She was glaring blindly all about.
"He isn't here," I said reassuringly.
"Thank God for that!" she cried.
Two students, probably for her next class, were standing in the door with their mouths open.
"I take it," I said, "that you do not like him."
She began to scream. It hurt my ears.
The two students thought I must be baiting her. One of them ran off. The other, a brawny youth, stood there glaring at me.
Miss Simmons, apparently having run out of breath, stopped screaming.
More students were gathering at the door. The original one was whispering to the others and pointing first at me and then at Miss Simmons, sitting clear up to the ceiling on the rickety tower of chairs.
"Miss Simmons," I said, speaking upward, "please let's get on with the interview. Incontrovertible evidence has come into our office that there is a mammoth, elephantine cabal on the prowl to defeat that UN bill, and the editor ordered me to come and get your reaction."
She was looking way down at me. I was probably just a gray blur below.
I had her attention so I continued. I had worked it all out after that original flash. I knew exactly what to say. "You can understand completely, I am sure, that certain parties would give their very lives to stop that bill from passing."
The tower gave a shake. Then she stared blindly down at me, her mouth poised to start screaming again.
I went on. "Working day and night, slaving into the tiniest hours before dawn, creeping out of the woodwork like a vile serpent, praying at black masses and enlisting all his friends, working secretly with a slyness only he is capable of, one person alone is seeking to corrupt the delegates with women and drugs, blackmail and threat, to crush that bill so thoroughly that it will never raise its head again."
I knew I had her attention. I had the attention of the mob of male students, too. It was a dramatic moment. I dragged out the suspense.
When I was sure Miss Simmons' every brain cell was glued to my speech, I added the death blow.
"The secret enemy's name," I said, "is Wister."
She jerked upright in a dreadful spasm beyond any possible control.
The pile of chairs started sideways.
In slow motion the lofty tower fell, faster and faster.
The chairs came all apart.
Miss Simmons hit the floor!
CRASH!
There was a spatter of splinters and debris and then, with a mighty roar, the gang of students rushed on me.
"He pushed her!" screamed one.
"Get him!" screamed another.
"Kill the (bleepard)!" howled a third.
I had made a mistake. I had not realized that going amongst a gang of students was not dissimilar, today, to entering the hangar in Afyon. I had not come armed!
Pummelling me and tearing at me, they bore me out. They got me to the top of a stairs.
One ambitious soul plunged a hand into my ripping coat and got my wallet.
"A FED!" he screamed. "A dirty, stinking, rotten FED!"
That was all it took.
They threw me over the stairwell.
I hit with a thud.
Outraged, they threw my hat and wallet at me.
I outsmarted them. Before a single one could get down those stairs, I grabbed hat and wallet and sped like a leopard out of the building.
The roars behind me diminished behind the drive of my General Service Officer boots.
I got to 116th Street. I was just in time to catch an express train.
As it closed its doors, only then did I start to laugh.
I had done it! Actually, it had worked perfectly.
If that bill passed now, she would jeer at Heller that it had gone through despite his most villainous plots. And if it didn't pass I could certainly guarantee that his life from there on out would be a Hells not even he could live through.