The fat girl's eyes swept over the scene, and then she nodded to herself. "So it was him," she said. "It figured. One of the attendants just reported to the doc in charge that he was slugged by a patient on the loose. In a minute they'll be checking all the cells to see who's flown the coop. You've got to get out of here."
Llona followed her out into the hallway. Hannah went to the linen closet. "Sammy!" she hissed. No answer. She called the name again and then opened the door. The linen closet was empty. "Now where the hell did he get to?" Hannah wondered. But there was no time to puzzle over it. She led Llona out through the gate and to the stairwell beyond. "Think you can find your way back to the office?" she asked.
"I think so."
"Good. Wait for me there. I'll see if I can find Sammy. Be careful nobody sees you." Hannah left her.
Llona tiptoed down to the floor below. Just as she reached it, a man came charging through the door from the landing, still shouting. Llona flattened herself against the wall behind the door, and the man didn't see her. White hospital coat flapping, he took the stairs two at a time, his shouts reduced to mutters now. Halfway up, he wheeled around, spied Llona, and yelled again. She bolted through the door, down the hallway, and into one of the rooms.
Llona didn't know it, but Ogilvie was already hiding from the very same pursuer in the room next to the one in which she'd sought refuge. At the moment, he was in the middle of a discussion with the occupant of the room. "Either you're for the American way, or you're against it," Ogilvie was insisting. "The fence has been torn down. You can't sit on it anymore."
"I don't know," the gaunt, skeletal man in the bed sighed. "'Ban the Bomb!' or 'Bomb the Banners!'? Confusion! Confusion! Confusion! I suppose that's why I'm here. I've lost all my buttons."
"You mean your marbles." Ogilvie corrected him.
"No. My buttons. I used to make them. That's how the confusion started."
"They wouldn't fit the buttonholes, or what?" Ogilvie asked.
"No-no-no! You don't understand." The skeletal patient was quite agitated. "Not that kind of buttons. Not for buttoning things, you understand. The kind of buttons I manufactured had slogans. For political campaigns, originally. Yes, that's how I started. I'll never forget my first button. 'VOTE FOR ALF LANDON.'"
"Most under-rated statesman of our time," Ogilvie commented. "He would have bombed Peking years ago."
"Perhaps. Perhaps. Anyway, things were simpler then. A slogan-button manufacturer could put out a product he had some faith in. Landon. Dewey. Even Taft. Not that it was all political, of course. There were Yankee and Dodger buttons and 'Beat Army!' buttons and Eli buttons and even high-school buttons. But nothing like what's happened today. Why, do you know that buttons today are fast replacing television as the chief means of non-communication between people. I mean it. People don't talk to each other. They just read each other's lapels."
"But that should have been good business for you," Ogilvie pointed out. "And WHAT'S GOOD FOR BUSINESS IS GOOD FOR AMERICA!"
"GOOD BUSINESS IS BAD PSYCHOLOGY," the button-maker replied. "That was one of my buttons. UP GM'S! That was another one. You see what I mean? I never knew what to believe."
"I BELIEVE IN THE AMERICAN WAY," Ogilvie proclaimed;
"YANKEE GO HOME!" the button-maker countered.
"FIGHT COMMUNISM!" "BETTER RED THAN DEAD!" "RIGHT IS MIGHT!" "LEFT IS LIFE!"
"LIBERALS ARE LIBERTINES!" Ogilvie gritted his teeth.
"LOVE THY NEIGHBOR'S WIFE!"
"LOVE THY NEIGHBOR'S WIFE!"
"WOULD YOU WANT YOUR DAUGHTER TO MARRY VLADIMIR NABOKOV?"
"STAMP OUT MARRIAGE!" "PRESERVE THE HOME!"
' "I'M FOR SEXUAL FREEDOM!" the button-maker countered.
"PROTECT CHILDREN FROM PORNOGRAPHY!" "PORNOGRAPHY IS FUN!"
"NUDITY IS LEWDITY!" Ogilvie snarled.
"BARE PLAY IS FAIR PLAY!" "DRESS FOR DECENCY!"
"GOD MADE MAN NAKED!" the button-maker quoted.
"GOD IS ALIVE AND WELL IN MEXICO CITY!" "GOD IS DEAD!" "JESUS LIVES!"
"JESUS WAS A DROPOUT!" the button-maker remembered.
"THE FAMILY THAT PRAYS TOGETHER STAYS TOGETHER!"
"TAX THE CHURCHES!"
"KEEP CHRIST IN CHRISTMAS!" Ogilvie insisted, sisted.
"DECK THE HALLS WITH BOSTON CHARLIE!" "LET GOD IN THE HALLS OF IVY!" "DON'T LET DIRKSEN PREY ON YOUR CHILD!"
"IMPEACH EARL WARREN!" Ogilvie was getting very red in the face.
"RESURRECT LENNY BRUCE!" "DRAFT WAYNE MORSE!" "DIAPER BOBBY KENNEDY!" "DRAFT LBJ!"
"DRAFT LBJ!"
"LSD NOT LBJ!" the button-maker sought common ground.
"IMPEACH JOHNSON!" There was agreement of a strange sort.
"LBJ-FIRST GREAT SOCIETY DROPOUT!" "LYNDON LOVES BARRY!" "LYNDON LOVES LENIN!"… in point-counterpoint.
"IS LB J AYN RAND IN DRAG?" the button-maker wondered.
"I STAND WITH AYN RAND!" "AYN LOVES BARRY!"
"JOSEPH HELLER IS A POLTROON!" Ogilvie retorted viciously.
"EDGAR ALLAN POE IS A LUSH!" Ogilvie swung wildly.
"SOCRATES EATS HEMLOCK!" The button-maker followed his lead.
"GENET LIKES BOYS!" "MARCEL PROUST IS A YENTA!" "HERMAN MELVILLE EATS BLUBBER!" "NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE IS A PRUDE!"
"ALDOUS HUXLEY TAKES DRUGS!" Ogilvie shouted.
"LET'S LEGALIZE POT!" "DOPE IS FOR DOPES!" "PSYCHEDELICIZE SUBURBIA!"
"SICK! SICK! SICK!" Ogilvie snarled.
"STAMP OUT MENTAL HEALTH!" the button-maker snapped back.
"SUPPORT MENTAL HEALTH OR I'LL KILL YOU!" said Ogilvie menacingly as he moved toward the button-maker…
Meanwhile, in a room at the other end of the hall, Sammy Spayed was having troubles of his own. The room was occupied by two men, and Sammy's entrance had sparked an argument between them which he now found himself in the position of attempting to arbitrate. Still, as an arbitrator, Sammy couldn't help feeling ignored.
"… not possible that barbarians could have performed such a feat," the dark-haired, Latin man was insisting vigorously. "Only a culture such as the Italian, founded on the glory which was Rome, could have produced a Columbus capable of discovering America."
"Culture snob! All you Italians are the same! Scandinavians were walking the shores of America while you Italians were crawling around the ruins of the Roman Empire!" The blond, blue-eyed Norwegian looked at his roommate with contempt.
"Just listen to him!" the Italian turned to Sammy for support. "He talks like Italians invented the idea of Columbus discovering America. It's history! How can he argue with that? Vice-President Humphrey was right. If this prejudice against Italian-Americans persists, they'll be claiming Joe DiMaggio couldn't hit and Da Vinci did really paint the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel!"
"Humphrey! That politician! The only reason he took sides is that there was an election going on in New York and there were lots more Italian voters than Norwegian! But there's proof that Leif Erickson discovered America! Positive proof!"
"What difference does it make?" Sammy interjected mildly. "Whoever discovered America, it was hundreds of years ago. Why fight about it now?"
"History must acknowledge the accomplishments of the Vikings!" the Norseman insisted.
"Italian honor demands that Columbus be recognized!"
"Italian honor!" the Norwegian sneered. "It is typified by the army surplus sale which took place in Rome directly following the Second World War. Ten thousand army rifles were placed on sale and advertised as never fired in anger and only dropped once. Five thousand tanks were sold under cost because the rear gear was stripped on each and every one of them."
"Canard! Base canard!" the Italian sputtered.
"And culture! Italian culture," the Norwegian continued, ignoring the Italian's outrage. "Do you know how many Italians it takes to pull off a kidnapping?" he asked Sammy.
"No." Sammy played straight man. "How many?"
"Six. One to snatch the victim. One to drive the car. And four to write the kidnap note."
Sammy giggled.