“Where had I better start?”
“I would forget the books for a while and charge right through the historical recordings. Then I would view all the customs records. Then tomorrow you can start to run them piecemeal with the books, if you like. But be sure to read the Code of Customs all the way through. Lots of the customs aren’t illustrated in these records.”
“OK, where’s that first record? See if I put it on properly. All right—let’er roll.” The cool calm voice of the announcer stated the title of the record and the period covered, then ‘Washington, 1900’. Perry, staring into the stereoscopic picture, found himself floating over Pennsylvania Avenue facing west. It was winter and cold and grey. He moved along over a fairly dense traffic of carriages and hansoms, clop-clopping over muddy pavement and splashing through slush in car tracks. A street car clanged its bell and started. He floated over the tops of the vehicles and found himself approaching the White House. He entered the front door, proceeded to the West Wing and found President McKinley at his desk. Seated at ease near the President, but with his great frame exuding energy even in repose was the one and only Teddy, Teddy Roosevelt, the people’s darling. “I tell you, Mr. President, the only way to handle it is to speak softly but to carry a big stick.” The scene faded and others appeared with the voice of the commentator frequently in the background. Sometimes the voice carried the story and was merely illustrated by the living shadows. Again the picture presented the story and dialogue provided sufficient explanation, but constantly the scene shifted. At Kitty Hawk the Wright brothers lifted their ‘crazy contraption’ off the ground. The Panama Canal was dug and yellow fever conquered. ‘Too proud to fight.’ The Lusitania. War in the air. High Cost of Living. Automobiles poured over the continent. Chain stores melted into Tea Pot Dome and a market crash. ‘My friends—’ came out of a radio by a fireside and Boulder Dam climbed high. Then Perry leaned forward in tense anticipation as 1939 passed by. He kept very quiet for the better part of two hours except at first for a few ejaculations of surprise. After that, surprise left him. He stopped once to ask Diana for some cigarettes and again to get a drink of water. This time he discovered that Diana had gone out. A long time later he felt a touch on his shoulder.
“Don’t you think that is about enough at one dose?”
“Oh!—Sorry, you surprised me. You’re probably right, but it gets to be a vice.” He snapped off the power. “It’s as hard to put down as a detective story.”
“What’s a detective story?”
“A story about the solution of a crime. These were all the rage in 1939. Half the stories published were murder mysteries.”
“Good Lord! Was murder that common?”
“No, but the stories were primarily puzzles—like a chess game.”
“Oh—. But look, Perry, I called you to see if you would like a swim before lunch. Do you swim?”
“Sure, but where do we swim? Isn’t it too cold?”
“No. You’ll see. Come along.” A door in the end of the room opposite the canyon opened directly outdoors, but instead of a January winter in the High Sierras, it was summer, summer in a tropical garden. The sun shone brightly on masses of flowers and on a patch of green lawn which bordered a little rock pool with clear water over white sand. The pool was just long enough for four or five strokes. Beyond the garden Perry saw winter and snow-capped peaks. Yet the garden and pool were apparently unprotected in any way from the rigors of the mountain climate.
Perry turned back to Diana. “Listen, Dian’, I’ve believed everything else, but this is a dream. Put me out of my misery. How, how is it done?”
Diana smiled in delight. “It is nice, isn’t it? I’ll show you how it’s done. Walk along the path by the pool. When you get close to the edge of the garden put out your hands.”
Perry did as directed. As he reached the edge he stopped suddenly and gave a grunt of surprise. Then he cautiously ran his hand up and down what appeared from his actions to be a wall of thin air.
“Why, it’s glass!”
“Yes, of course.”
“It must have an amazingly low refractive index.”
“I suppose so.”
“Look, Dian’, I can’t see the stuff. Tell me where it is, so I won’t bump into it.”
“You won’t. The garden is laid out to keep you a half meter or so from it and it’s quite high enough overhead. The base of it runs all around here”—she indicated most of a semicircle—“From there it arches up to the house. If you look closely you can see the joint of the seal, and there it runs down the rock wall and back to the ground again. It is shaped like a giant bubble.”
Perry mused. “Hm—I see. And that’s why it doesn’t need supports. But how did it get there in the first place?”
“It was blown in place, just like a bubble. It is a bubble. Look, did children blow bubbles when you were young?”
“Yes.”
“Did you ever wet a dish or a box or a table top and blow a bubble on it and make it follow a shape you wanted?”
“Yes, yes, I begin to see.”
“Well, first they painted the wall and a sheeting on the ground with sticky stuff—bubble mixture, right up to where the bubble is to stop. Then they put their bubble pipe gadget in the middle and commenced to blow. When the bubble just reached the proper size, they stopped.”
“It sounds easy the way you tell it.”
“It’s not very. I watched them do this one and they broke four bubbles before one held up. Then it takes several hours to dry tough, and any little touch can ruin it until it does.”
“I don’t see yet how you can get glass to behave so.”
“It isn’t glass—not silicate glass anyhow, but a synthetic plastic glass. One of the technicians said it had molecules like very long chains.”
“That’s reasonable.”
“I wouldn’t know, but it’s a sticky stuff when they decant it, like a white molasses, but it dries very hard and stiff like glass only it’s tough, instead of brittle. It won’t shatter and it’s very hard to cut or tear.”
“Well, it’s a grand notion in any case. You know we had patios and outdoor living rooms and pools in gardens in my day, but it was generally too hot or too cold or too windy to enjoy them. And there were always insects; flies, or mosquitoes, or both. In my aunt’s patio it was honey bees. It’s very disconcerting when you’re trying to sunbathe to have bees crawling over you and buzzing around your head.”
“Are you sensitive to bee stings, Perry?”
“No. I can handle bees. They don’t sting me, but they used to drive my aunt nearly frantic. The poor woman never did get any real pleasure out of her garden. They would sting her and she would swell up like a poisoned pup, and get sick to her stomach. Sad really, she did love her garden so and got so little fun out of it.”
“Then why did she keep bees?”
“She didn’t. One of her neighbors did.”
“But that’s not custom—Never mind. I asked you about bee stings because bees don’t sting anymore.”
Perry clapped his hand to his brow and gave a look of mock agony. “Enough, woman enough! Tell me no more! No. Stop. One more thing. Answer me this question and I die happy. Do watermelons have seeds?”
“Did they used to have?”
Perry stepped to the edge of the pool, assumed a declamatory pose and orated: “Farewell, sad world. Papa goes to his reward! Sic semper seeds,” nipped his nose between thumb and forefinger, shut his eyes tight and jumped feet first into the pool. He came up blowing to find Diana wiping water out of her eyes and laughing hysterically.
“Perry! You’re a clown! Stop it!”
He didn’t answer but asked solemnly, “Tell me, bird of mournful numbers, do blackberries still have seeds?”
Diana controlled her giggles. “Blackberries have seeds, you idiot.”
“That’s all I wanted to know.” Perry’s head disappeared and he gave a creditable imitation of a drowning man, accompanied by glug
ging sounds. Diana dived in, joined him on the bottom, and tickled him vigorously. Both heads reappeared. Perry coughed and blew.
“Wench, you made me strangle.”
“Sorry.” But she giggled again.
Some minutes later Perry lay on his side drying off and watching Diana, who was still in the pool. She floated with just her face and the curve of her breast appearing above the water. Her hair formed a halo about her head. The warm sun soaked into their bones and rendered them sluggish and contented. Perry chucked a pebble into the pool. It hit the water with a little chunking sound and splashed a drop on Diana’s face. She turned on her side, took two effortless strokes to the side of the pool, and rested her hands on the edge.
Diana cut in. “Are you hungry, fella?”
“Now that you mention it, there does seem to be something missing.”
“Then let’s eat. No, don’t get up. We’ll eat out here. It’s all ready.”
She returned laden with a tray as big as she was. “Perry, you move over into the shade. You haven’t the tan I have and I don’t want you blistered.”
Three-quarters of an hour later, Diana stirred out of a digestive calm. “Before you get back to your studies, I want to have you measured for some clothes.”
Perry looked surprised. “Clothes—why, I had gathered the impression that they weren’t necessary.”
Diana looked puzzled. “You can’t stay in the house forever, Perry. It’s cold outside. I’ve planned a little picnic for tomorrow, but we’ll have to get you some warm clothes first. And while we’re about it, you might as well order some other things that you will need.”
“Lead on, McDuff.”
Diana selected a combination on the televue. A Semitic gentleman appeared on screen. He rubbed his hands together and smiled. “Ah, Madame, can I do you a service?”
“Thank you; my friend needs some costumes. A heavy and medium snow suit, first, and then some other things.”
“Ah, that is fine. We have some new models, very dashing and sooooo practical too. And now will you have him take position?”
Diana nudged Perry into a spot near the televue, then turned the screen so that it faced him. The Semitic gentleman seemed ecstatic. “Ah, yes. A beautiful figure. It is a pleasure to make clothes for a man who can wear them. Wait. Let me think. I have it! I shall create a new model for him. With that proportion of the shoulders and that length of leg—”
Diana cut in. “Not today, thank you. Another time perhaps.”
“But Madame, I am an artist, not a businessman.”
Diana’s lips barely moved. “Don’t let him fool you, Perry. He’s one part artist and three parts businessman.” Then to the televue. “No, we need these clothes today. Please use a stock pattern.”
“Service, Madame.” He wheeled up a camera-like device somewhat larger than the one used to take Perry’s palm print. “Is your friend exactly four meters from the screen?”
“Exactly.” He fiddled with the camera.
“Is your screen corrected for angular aberration?”
“Yes.” He made an adjustment.
“Now—front view. Very well, right side. Back view, please. Left side. Will you bend over, please? Extend both arms. That’s fine. Now raise your knees in succession. That’s all.” The camera disappeared. “Will you examine materials?”
“No, make them all wool with cellutate lining. How about colors, Perry? Would dark blue suit you?”
“Fine.”
“With white piping, perhaps?” The vendor’s anxious voice joined them.
“Very well.”
Diana also okayed the purchase of a pocket belt with a detachable kilt for travel and general public wear, some sport sandals, and a pair of light slippers for city wear. She firmly vetoed any discussion of ornaments, jewelry, knickknacks, and accessories, and refused to be drawn into considering any feminine frills for herself. The ‘artist’ finally gave up and the screen went blank. Perry returned to his studies. Record followed record and the afternoon wore away unbeknownst to Perry. Once, Diana came in and changed the position of the screen and propped Perry up on pillows. Later she brought him a cup of tea and a sandwich. Perry hardly noticed the interruptions. He was held by the endless, ultimate drama. Late in the afternoon the last supplement whirred to a stop. Perry got up and stretched cramped limbs. Diana was not in sight. He looked around, sighed, sat down and lit a cigarette. Presently Diana appeared in the garden door. “How far did you get, Perry?”
“I’ve been through them once right up to date.”
“How about it?”
“Well, I feel for the first time as if I actually were in 2086. It’s a lot to swallow at one dose though.”
“I’ve invited an old friend of mine here this evening, Perry. He can help you a lot. He’s a Master of History who used to be one of my teachers.”
“Say, that’s fine. When does he get here?”
“He should be here for dinner. He has to fly over from Berkeley.”
Less than an hour later the visitor appeared. He was a thick set man, with broad powerful shoulders. His cranium was large, his eyes deep, his face homely and rugged. He gathered Diana in a bear hug that lifted her off her feet, kissed her on both cheeks, sat her down and started to peel off his flying kit. Perry judged him a well preserved fifty-five or sixty, and noted with interest that he appeared to shave his entire body with the exception of his bushy grey eyebrows. Diana introduced them.
“May I do you a service, my boy.” It was more a statement than a question. “Diana has told me something of your case. We should have lots to talk about.” His name, it appeared, was Master Cathcart.
Diana insisted on refraining from historical discussion until after dinner. Once it was over however, and Master Cathcart had persuaded a big bowled pipe to burn, he came right to business. “I am to assume, I take it, that you are for all practical purposes an inhabitant of 1939 A.D., well educated in your period, transported by some witchcraft to this period. Very well. You have been studying some records today? Which ones?” Perry ran through the list. “Good enough. Now suppose you summarize briefly what you have learned today and I will explain and amplify and answer questions as best I can.”
“Well,” replied Perry, “that’s a large order but I’ll give it a try. At the time of my accident, July 1939, President Franklin D. Roosevelt was in his second term. Congress had adjourned after wrecking most of the President’s program. The war in Spain had been won by the fascists. Japan was fighting China and was apparently about to fight Russia. Unemployment and an unbalanced budget were still the main troubles in the United States. 1940 was a presidential year. President Roosevelt was forced to run for a third term through lack of an electable successor to carry on his policies. His nomination by the Democratic convention resulted in the defection of the conservative wing of the party to Republican Party. In the meantime the National Progressives had organized on a nationwide scale and put young Bob LaFollette in the field. The Republicans nominated Senator Vandenburgh. Vandenburgh was elected but polled considerably less than half of the popular vote and failed to get a majority in either house. His administration was doomed from the start. Very little was done for four years except for a half-hearted attempt to balance the budget by eliminating relief, but riots and hunger marches soon scared Congress into providing more and more for the dole. In the spring of 1944 the death in a plane crash of Mr. Roosevelt demoralized the remnants of the Democratic Party and most of them joined the Republicans or the Progressives. The Democrats adjourned their convention without naming a candidate. The Progressives named LaGuardia, the fiery little Mayor of New York, while the Republicans after many ballots picked Senator Malone. President Vandenburgh was as thoroughly discredited by circumstances he did not understand and could not control as President Hoover before him. Senator Malone was a midwestern politician, a typical demagogue of my period, if I’m any judge. The recordings show him red-faced and raucous, a man of the people. Malone ran on a plat
form of blaming everything on Europe and the radicals. He demanded instant payment of the war debts, which were pretty silly since the second European war was already on. He called for the outlawing of the Communist Party, protection of the American home, and a return to rationalism in education which he defined as readin’, ’ritin’, and ’rithmetic and a particularly offensive jingoistic patriotism. He advocated deportation of all aliens, laws to prevent women from holding men’s jobs, and protection of the morals of the young. He promised to restore prosperity and promised everyone the ‘American’ standard of living. And he won, by a narrow vote in the electoral college. LaGuardia said afterwards that since Malone had promised them the moon, all he could offer was the moon with whipped cream, which didn’t seem practical to LaGuardia.
“Once in office Malone ran things with a high hand. Congress was willing in the first session to pass almost any law he desired. One of the most important was the Public Safety bill which was in effect a gag for the press and other means of public information. Inasmuch as it was first used to suppress news of labor troubles which resulted from the discontinuance of the dole, the capital controlled press submitted to it without really knowing what they were in for. Then a law was passed which greatly increased the scope of the G-men or Federal enforcement agents and making them directly responsible to the chief executive. Malone staffed these expanded and greatly changed corps from his home state political machine. In the meantime, in spite of his controlled press, the people were getting restless. Even those who were still economically fairly comfortable had had swarms of the hungry, dispossessed, and unemployed turned loose on them. Malone was apparently afraid to chance another election, even a mid-term. Perhaps he never intended to. In any case he declared a state of emergency, using the mobs of unemployed as an excuse, and took over the internal civil government as an absolute dictator. He used the army and navy to quell any local difficulties. With his new secret service and control over the means of communication and propaganda this was feasible. By the way, the record states that he was able to use the army and navy to destroy the democratic form of government. I find that hard to believe, Master Cathcart. You see I was in the navy myself and I don’t believe that the American Services were fascist minded. How do you account for it?”
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