32
The little Pennsylvania town was swarming with scientists who were there to study a crater that had been apparently caused by an extraterrestrial impact. In a remote farmhouse, Krantz was asleep sitting at the table, his head resting on the surface. When he awoke he saw two creatures standing before him. He recognized them as aides to the people who had sent him on the journey. They were the interrogators, and before he could say anything they asked him the first question. They were dressed in skin-fitting suits which covered everything but their eyes and lips. One was dressed in black, the other white.
“Why did you pick a name like Krantz in the first place?”
“I dunno, I think that I saw it on a paperback in an airport bookstore,” Krantz said, rubbing his eyes and yawning.
“Well, that was your first mistake, and then that episode with the cocaine,” the black one continued.
“I was experimenting.”
“And the conversion. You were only supposed to fake it, and then we caught you praying. Praying to one of their gods. The others wanted to eliminate you, but we overruled them,” the white one said, glancing at the black one. Their voices sounded like those of cartoon chipmunks.
“We didn’t do it because we thought you would come to your senses. Get over your addiction to things earthly, and concentrate on your mission.”
“I didn’t know that my life was in danger.”
“Do you remember the night you remained late in the White House, that four years ago, and you were asking for a sign from one of their gods, a red-eyed monster came running down the hall at you?” the black one said.
“Yes, I remember. I thought that I was seeing things. I rushed out of the White House.”
“It was Satan. He favors the image of the coyote. We didn’t want you anymore and were about to send a substitute, but then we decided against it. We figured that just as you got over your coke addiction, you’d get over your Pentecostalism and your dreadful right-wing politics.
“Satan does work all over the universe. He collects souls like a homeless surp down here might collect bottles or cans. He does us a favor, sort of like what the algae does for the clam. Imagine what would happen if the devil didn’t collect souls. The universe would be more cluttered than it is.” The black one stared at the white one, who had a tendency to poeticize.
“Now they’ve put you out of the White House, and we can’t find out what is going on,” the black one said.
“And you’re about to fall in love with a woman,” the white one said.
“This love they have — it makes you feel good all over. We could use some of this back home. Everybody there is so businesslike. So abstract,” Krantz said, moonily.
“He’s fallen under their power,” the black one said. “Maybe we should remove him from this assignment. This love thing has led to nothing but misery on this planet. Wars, feuds. They’ve never been able to create a great civilization because of this … distraction. I mean I’ve read this Plato, Aristotle, Hegel, and all the rest. If those are the best minds that they could come up with, then they’re better off blown to kingdom come. You can understand why they haven’t advanced technologically. They spent the first thousand years of philosophy trying to decide whether matter was real or an illusion.”
“We don’t have time to train another one. All of the time and effort we’ve spent on him would be wasted. All he’s learned about their habits and their ways of communicating,” the white one said.
“This is the third one we’ve lost to them. There’s something about this place. There’s just so many things to do. So much to see,” the black one said, in a sort of reverie. The white one gave him a reproachful glance. “Not that anything here can top what we have,” the black one added quickly.
“Krantz, I know that it’s easy to fall in love with this place, but you’ve forgotten what your original assignment was. Why you were sent here. The years you spent studying communications and nuclear weaponry. The barbarians are about to invade our planet. It’s being taken over by the yellows. We blacks and whites have no place to go. You were supposed to start a little nuclear action here so that these cockroaches on two feet would be removed and there’d be room for us. But you’ve become sidetracked over such issues as loyalty and now love. Loyalty to Reverend Jones because he saved you from a burning sports car. And love for this woman,” the white one said.
“I just don’t think that I can betray Jones. He saved my life.”
“That incident merely inflated what was already an overlarge ego,” the black one said.
“But now he’s turned against me. At one time, he was like a father to me. I’ve never met anybody as … as pure as he is. Sure, he has some crazy ideas, but all of the rest of the televangelists, with their theme parks and their constant whining for money, and their prostitutes and gay lovers, the wives and their mascara farms — Reverend Jones cleaned all of that up.”
“He’s responsible for the death of his mother. It’s bound to come up sooner or later,” the black one said.
“He what?”
“He hired an orderly to abuse her in a nursing home or something. Anyway, we checked him out,” the white one said.
“Maybe that will cure you of your addiction to earthly habits. Phony. They’re all scoundrels. Not one of them without larceny in his heart. The sooner we get rid of them the better,” the white one said.
“Maybe you’re right,” Krantz said, stunned.
“Now you’re beginning to see it our way,” the black one said.
“We’ll give you another chance. Pretty soon Jones will need all of the help he can get. Try to get to him. Offer your services,” the white one said.
“What about Clift?”
“We’ll take care of Clift,” the black one said. He pulled a ray gun from the holster on his hip and vaporized the handcuffs that had been on Krantz’s wrists. “Krantz, I hope that you will succeed this time. Try to get over your addiction to things earthly. We’ll do something for this planet. Rejuvenate it. Look at what these people have done to it. Why, that ozone belt is about depleted. It will destroy all life on earth. If we get rid of these earthlings, we’ll save the earth, before they finish it off.”
“I hope you succeed, Krantz. If you don’t, we plan to kidnap all of the American women and hold them hostage until these inferiors submit to our demands.” Krantz laughed for about three minutes. The black one looked at the white one. They were puzzled as Krantz laughed until he eased out of the chair and began to roll about the floor, holding his stomach. “What’s so funny?” they finally asked.
“Go and read Truman Capote, Tennessee Williams, and Edward Albee. You’ll find out.”
33
Though the Xmas advertising has sometimes shown Peter with as much sensitivity as a colon, he always answers a voice in distress. Just part of his nature. He really can’t bring himself to be mean, and hasn’t given a child a switch in hundreds of years. Besides, you switch a modern child, and they might have enough sense to dial 911 on your behind, or call some social worker to charge you with child abuse. He knew what everybody in the country knew. That Black Peter had been eclipsed by Saint Nicholas. Nicholas’s material was larger, more global, and after the testimonies of James Way, the Social Darwinist columnist, who mixed up a little Skinner and Malthus in his theories, and Nola Payne, fifty-two Congressmen and just about half of Washington, Black Peter’s miracles involving Tommy Turkey, Beechiko Mizuni, and Fryer Moog, plus a number of surps, and others at the bottom, didn’t seem to amount to much in the public’s eye. All that they did was to deter him from his mission. That of putting the impostor out of business, permanently. Little did Black Peter know that the ersatz Black Peter was out of business alright. He had been discarded like an old wind-up toy. Jack Frost had the hotel change the locks on the door, and when he tried to phone Frost for an explanation, Frost was unavailable or “in conference.” He read the Wall Street Journal the next day and got the explanation. There was a boom on Nick, and a bust on Peter. All of the prices on Black Peter’s goods had been slashed drastically.