“Thank you,” Max said. “This is Paradise, isn’t it?”
“That’s the technical term,” their host replied. “We have our own word for it, though. We have named it after its founder—the Caliph of Phornia.”
“Max . . .” 99 whispered. “Have you noticed our host’s looks—tall, white-haired and distinguished-looking . . .”
“Of course, 99. Do you think I’m blind? Now, I’ll show you what I’m going to do about it.”
Max clipped the old man with a karate chop, dropping him to the ground.
“Why did you do that?” the old man asked puzzledly.
“Because you’re tall, white-haired and distinguished-looking,” Max replied. “That means that you’re Whitestone, the ex-vaudeville magician, now a KAOS agent.”
“You must be out of your head,” the host said, rising. “Everybody in my family is tall, white-haired and distinguished-looking. But I forgive you. There is no hate here—only love.”
“Gee, I’m sorry about that karate chop,” Max said contritely.
“It is forgotten,” the host smiled. “Now, let me show you our Paradise.”
Max, 99 and Hassan started to enter. But the host put out a hand, halting Hassan.
“Not you, fella,” he said. “You’re too flat.”
“You mean there’s discrimination even here?” Max said.
“What discrimination?” the host replied. “Your friend is welcome, too. But he’ll have to use the special entrance for flat people. It’s around in back.”
“But isn’t that discrimination, having a special entrance?” Max said.
“Not a bit,” the host replied. “It’s a simple matter of efficiency. See this entrance here—how wide it is? If a flat person passed through here, he wouldn’t use all the space. The space, in other words, would go to waste. So, we built a special, skinny entrance for flat people. That’s all—discrimination has nothing to do with it.”
“You can’t argue with the reasoning,” Max said to Hassan. “So maybe you better go around to the back.”
Hassan ambled off, following the wall.
“Where will we meet him?” Max said to the host.
“You won’t,” the host smiled. “The special entrance for flat people is closed.”
“Closed?”
“Yes. You see, it’s so skinny that not even a flat person could get through it. So, since it was never used, we decided to close it.”
“Oh. Well, that makes sense,” Max said.
The host led them through the gate, into Paradise. The inhabitants, all dressed in flowing white robes, were singing and dancing in the streets.
“Is this all you people do here, just dance and sing?” Max asked.
“Yes. It’s what our founder, the Caliph, wanted. No toil. No violence. No hate. Only love. Eternal dancing and singing.”
“Constantly?”
“Of course not. We’re a modern society—we have the eight-hour day.”
“I see. What do you do then, after the eight hours?”
“Well, the singers and dancers switch to dancing and singing, and the dancers and singers switch to—”
“—singing and dancing,” Max nodded. Then, leaving the host’s side, he delivered a karate chop to the back of the neck of one of the singers, a tall, white-haired, distinguished-looking old man. The old man dropped to the ground.
“I suppose you had some reason for doing that,” the host smiled.
“This is the KAOS agent we came here to find,” Max explained. “I recognized him by his height, his white hair and his distinguished-looking appearance.”
“He’s my father,” the host said. “I told you, the whole family is tall, white-haired and distinguished-looking.”
Max bent down and helped the old gentleman to his feet. “Sorry about that,” he said.
“That’s all right,” the man replied. “It was kind of a nice change from all this singing and dancing. And I needed the rest, anyway.”
A crowd was gathering.
“How did you do that?” one of the other inhabitants said to Max. “I’ve never seen that done before.”
“That karate chop? It’s very simple. Here . . . I’ll show you.”
He hit the host’s father another blow, flattening him once more.
“Thank you,” the old gentleman smiled up at him.
“Let me help you up,” Max said.
“No, I think I’ll stay down here. When you’ve been singing and dancing as long as I have, it’s a great relief to be able to lie flat on your face.”
“Is that what you do all day in the place where you come from?” another inhabitant asked Max.
“No, no,” Max replied. “We save karate chopping for special occasions. Mostly, we work.”
The people in the crowd looked at each other puzzledly.
“What is work?” one asked.
“Well, it’s . . . uh, doing things,” Max replied. “There are many kinds of work. Brain surgery, for instance, is work. A brain surgeon is a doctor who opens up heads, and, assuming that he finds a brain, does . . . ah, brain surgery.”
“Is it difficult?” another inhabitant asked.
“As I understand it, the opening up is a snap,” Max replied. “Any baseball pitcher with a wild arm can open up a head. But after that it can get complicated. Where I come from, you very seldom meet a brain surgeon who isn’t, at the very least, a high school graduate.”
“It sounds like fun!” a female inhabitant giggled.
“All right, break it up!” the host said, making shooing motions at the crowd. “Back to your singing and dancing.”
“All singing and dancing and no work makes Jack a dull boy,” one of the inhabitants complained hostilely.
“All right, Jack can have the day off,” the host said. “But the rest of you—let’s hear those high notes, let’s hear the tap, tap, tap of those dancing feet!”
The crowd began breaking up. But the dancing and singing did not resume. And the inhabitants were muttering grumpily.
“Max, I’m afraid you made them dissatisfied,” 99 said.
“Oh, they’ll adjust,” the host said confidently. “We’ve had these flare-ups before. Once when a group of rock’n’rollers tried to get in here, our people all wanted to take up the guitar.”
“Tried to get in?” Max said.
“We judged them on the basis of their singing, and had to send them around to the special entrance,” the host explained. “They were flat.”
At that moment, another tall, white-haired, distinguished-looking man approached them. Instantly, Max dropped him with a karate chop.
The host helped the man to his feet. “I’m sorry, little cousin Lucille,” he said. “Our guest doesn’t seem to be able to understand about our family trait.”
“He doesn’t understand our way of life, either,” little cousin Lucille said. “There’s trouble. And he’s the cause of it.”
“What trouble?” the host inquired.
“Our people are forming protest groups,” Lucille answered. “One group is protesting against singing and dancing and the other group is protesting against the group that’s protesting.”
A large number of inhabitants suddenly appeared, shouting and shaking fists, and headed for the place where Max and 99 and the host and his cousin Lucille were standing. Many were carrying signs, with such slogans as:
SINGING AND DANCING
CAUSE PIMPLES!
THE FAMILY THAT PERFORMS BRAIN
SURGERY TOGETHER STAYS TOGETHER!
UP WITH WORK!
DOWN WITH
‘DOWN BY THE OLD MILL STREAM’!
The inhabitants surrounded Max and 99 and the host and Lucille, shouting the slogans, and angrily shaking their fists at the host.
“Citizens! Citizens!” the host pleaded. “Quiet! Quiet, please!”
But the shouts became louder.
“Shut up!” the host raged. “Or I’ll hit you with a lightning bolt!”
There wa
s sudden silence.
“Now, then,” the host smiled. “What seems to be the grievance?”
“We want work!” an inhabitant yelled.
Others took up the chant. “We want Work! We want Work! We want Work!”
The host shook his own fist. “You’re going to get it! Oh, such a lightning bolt!”
Silence again.
‘Think!” the host said, smiling once more. “Suppose I let you do a little work—making your own beds, say, taking out the garbage, mowing the grass. It wouldn’t be long before you’d tire of it. You’d be sneaking off, leaving your work, dancing and singing again. Take my advice—leave well enough alone.”
The inhabitants began shouting the slogans again.
“Brain surgery is dangerous!” the host raged at them. “You could cut a finger!”
“We want Work! We want Work! We want Work!” they chanted.
At that moment, the group of inhabitants who were protesting against the protesting came into view. They, too, were shouting and shaking their fists and carrying signs.
“Max, maybe we better leave,” 99 said. “I don’t think Whitestone is here, anyway.”
“We can’t go yet, 99. I’m sure he’s here somewhere. Maybe he’ll be with this new group of protesters.”
The anti-protest protesters were near enough now that their signs could be read:
WORK
CAUSES PIMPLES!
IF WORK IS WHAT YOU WANT,
WHY DON’T YOU GO BACK
WHERE YOU CAME FROM?
I DIDN’T BRING UP MY BOY
TO BE A BRAIN SURGEON!
The anti-protest protesters surrounded the protesters, still shouting and shaking their fists. But it was difficult to hear what they were saying over the shouts of the protesters. The protesters were now shouting loudly that the anti-protest protesters, by surrounding them, had violated their rights. And a group of protesters broke off from the main force, pushed its way through the line of anti-protest protesters, surrounded them, and formed a new protest group called the anti-anti-protest protesters.
“Oh, boy, are they asking for a lightning bolt!” the host groaned disgustedly.
99 tugged at Max’s sleeve. “Max . . . let’s go . . .” she urged.
“Wait a minute, 99. I think I see Whitestone. See? Over there at the edge of the crowd. The one holding the sign that says, ‘The Host is Always Right!’ ”
“Hands off,” the host warned. “That’s my sister Bertha.”
“Oh . . . sorry . . .”
“Max, please, let’s leave,” 99 begged.
“Maybe you’re right, 99. We’ll slip out the back way.”
But as Max and 99 started to leave, one of the anti-protest protesters shouted, “Stop them! We were all happy dancers and singers until they came here!”
“Who was a happy dancer and singer?” one of the protesters protested. “You know how I went home every night? Raw tonsils and bruised toes! Is that any way to live!”
The anti-protest protester dropped the protester with a karate chop.
“Why, you anti-protest protester you!” the protester screamed, leaping up. He dropped the anti-protest protester with a karate chop.
The anti-protest protester was back on his feet in an instant, though. “Karate chop me, will you, you would-be worker, you,” he snarled. “Take this!” And he dropped the protester with a karate chop.
Karate chops began flying in all directions, as the protesters attacked the anti-protest protesters and the anti-protest protesters attacked the protesters, both of whom were then attacked by the anti-anti-protest protesters.
“It’s a shame,” Max said, looking back, as he and 99 made their way toward the gate. “They were all so happy before, singing and dancing.”
“Well, it probably got to be too much like work, Max,” 99 said.
“Then what are they fighting about?”
“They wouldn’t be human if they didn’t fight, Max.”
“I suppose that explains it.”
They reached the gate. And as they passed through they heard the voice of the host in the background, shouting in violent rage.
“Okay! You asked for it! This is your last chance! Cut out the foolishness! Or, oh, baby—such a lightning bolt!”
Hassan was waiting for them. “How’re things in Caliphphornia?” he asked.
“About the same,” Max replied. “Shall we go?”
9.
MAX TOOK the lead and they pushed on into the jungle. But after they had been traveling for about a half-hour, he called them to a halt.
“What is it, Max?” 99 said.
“I think before we go any further, there’s something I ought to mention,” Max said. “I haven’t the vaguest idea where I’m leading us.”
“I know exactly where you’re taking us,” Hassan said. “After all, that’s my job. I’m the guide.”
“Good,” Max said. “Where are we headed?”
“In the wrong direction.”
“You could have said something, you know,” Max said.
“Not me. I know when to keep my mouth shut. What are you paying me for? To guide? Or to run off at the chops? To guide, that’s what you’re paying me for. If you’d wanted a blabbermouth, you’d’ve hired a blabbermouth—right? I know my duty. To guide, that’s what I’m here for. You won’t catch me boring you with a lot of jabber-jabber-jabber about which way to go. If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s this: a guide should be seen, not heard. A guide should be out in front, leading the pack, showing the way. What good is a guide who lags behind, making snide remarks and causing dissension in the ranks? Why, a guide like that is a traitor to his craft. That’s why I didn’t say anything.”
“Just one little question, Hassan,” Max said. “If you’re supposed to be out front, leading the pack, showing the way, why aren’t you?”
“Because the pack is going in the wrong direction,” Hassan replied. “That puts me in the rear. But if the pack would turn around, I’d be in the lead—right?”
“He’s right about that, Max,” 99 said.
“All right—about face!” Max commanded.
They all turned and faced in the opposite direction. The move placed Hassan in the lead. Once more, the party set out.
After a while, Max said, “Hassan, I don’t want to be a trouble-maker, but how do you know that, now, we’re going in the right direction?”
“Simple logic,” Hassan replied. “Before, we were going in the wrong direction—correct?”
“Yes.”
“And we did an about-face, turning us in the opposite direction—correct? And what is the opposite direction of the wrong direction?”
“The right direction.”
“Brilliant,” Hassan said. “You could be a guide yourself.”
“Max . . .” 99 said, sniffing the air, “. . . do you smell something?”
“Hassan,” Max said, “you better move back here to the rear.”
“No, Max,” 99 said. “This is . . . isn’t it . . . yes, it is, it’s the same odor we smelled when we were back in that cannibal village.”
They halted, and Max and Hassan turned their noses into the wind.
“99, you’re right!” Max said, making a face. “It’s the terrible odor! We’ve picked up Dr. Livingstrom’s trail again! Hassan—full speed ahead!”
“Do you want some advice?” Hassan said, hesitating.
“No, Hassan. A guide should be seen, not heard.”
“Maybe we better listen, Max,” 99 said.
“All right, Hassan. What’s the advice?”
“You better change that command to: full speed to the rear,” Hassan said. “Do you hear that rumble?”
Max and 99 listened, and heard a noise in the distance that sounded something like thunder.
“Hassan, is there, by any chance, a bowling alley anywhere near here?” Max said.
“The nearest bowling alley is in Provo, Utah,” Hassan replied. “That’s the
animals you hear.”
“Hassan, I am willing to believe that animals can be taught to bowl. But I refuse to believe that they’re so fond of the game that they’d travel all the way to Provo, Utah, to—”
“Max, he means the animals are stampeding!” 99 said. “That’s the sound we hear! They’ve smelled the odor and they’re fleeing from it in panic!”
“Oh. That’s very interesting.” He turned to Hassan. “Do you think we’ll be able to see it?”
“I’m positive,” Hassan said. “All we’ll have to do is look up. We’re right in the animals’ path.”
“Let me get this straight,” Max said. “What you’re saying is that if we remain here we’ll be trampled by the stampeding animals—is that right?”
“It’s not right—I’m too flat to die—but it happens to be the way the ball is bouncing right at this moment,” Hassan replied.
“Max! That sound is getting closer,” 99 said fearfully.
“I know, 99. I’m not deaf. I’m also aware of the fact that we’re in great danger. And, I think that the longer we stay here the greater the danger becomes. But I don’t want to make a decision without first hearing what Hassan has to say on the matter. Remember what happened the last time? When I plunged ahead without getting his advice? I led us in the wrong direction.”
“Max!” 99 shouted, “I can’t hear you over the sound of the thundering hoofs!”
“What I’m saying, 99!” Max shouted back, “is that I don’t want to make a mistake! If it were entirely up to me, I’d say that we ought to run! But, Hassan—”
“Max,” 99 screamed. “Hassan isn’t here!”
“Isn’t here? Oh, yes . . . I see. There he is, running through the jungle! Well, 99, that gives me a pretty good idea what his advice would be. So—”
“Max! Run!”
Max and 99 plunged into the jungle, following Hassan, fleeing the sound of the stampeding animals.
“Max, we’ll never find a place to hide,” 99 said. “The animals are everywhere!”
“99, in a case like this, you have to depend on the quick thinking of your guide. That’s what guides are best at, protecting you in instances of dire emergency.” He called to Hassan. “Do you have a place in mind for us to hide!”
Get Smart 5 - Missed It By That Much! Page 10