The scientist being grilled2 had no hope left. He could answer honestly, for there was nothing that could save him from that which was in store.
"The strain was virulent3. There is no known antidote4—nothing could have saved that port, nor most of Africa and most of India—and there was no way for the world to know from whence came the death-dealing submarine except that it be the mighty5 America.
"The bombs should have come in retaliation6, spreading their death and adding to the impetus7 of the epidemic8, so that enough of the world was wiped out to give the great People of the Dragon room into which to expand. We calculated that a third of our own would be wiped out in the holocaust9, which would have relieved us of many problems. The tan peoples of India and the darker peoples of Africa should have sued us to lead them in a unity10 of the yellow peoples, against the insanities11 of the pale peoples of the west.
"There is no antidote ... yet the epidemic is destroyed. I cannot yet believe what is told me. I would go to my ancestors happily if I could go to them with the answer to this riddle12."
That night Bill Howard came on the screen his big homely13 face wreathed in smiles, his tweed suit and shaggy blond hair looking even more informal than usual.
"It's a great day for the people of the world," he said.
"There's undoubtedly14 tremendous political significance in what happened at Suez, and every statesman and every politician will have statements to make, and conclusions to draw.
"Suez's obvious healthiness has been variously attributed to American technology, garnered15 from the experts we've sent them over the years; to Russian technology, garnered from their experts loaned to the nation involved; to Mohammed and to the God of the Christians16.
"The peoples of the world," he said softly, "are concerned with these things in the abstract, but mostly, we the people are willing to leave this to the theorists, while we rejoice."
"For we the people, who thought we faced that most degrading, that most unanswerable, that most horrible fate of all, bacteriological war, find ourselves at bacteriological peace."
At the break, the thirteen witches danced on, crying their chant, and behind them as a background was the bright, clean sub-and-shanty scene.
"Witches of the world unite, to make it clean, clean, clean, Witch clean—NOW!" they chanted. "Pestilence17 or peril18, disease or disaster, Stay clean, clean, clean, Witch clean!"
"Ah," said the deep voice of the announcer as the jingle19 muted, "Which witch do you really wish? Witch is the modern method of cleanliness, using the best of modern technology, and the Witch witch is witching through the world...."
Randolph watched the program skeptically. The best lawyers and the best p.r. agents to be had, he reminded himself. Still.... There was a nagging20 worry that this thing was going too far. It's O.K. to claim the moon, he thought, chewing his lip, but isn't it a little risky21 to claim peace on earth for the Witch products?
He made a mental note to call BDD&O the next morning. The audience reaction would make itself felt by then, and he could decide....
It was almost noon next day before Randolph reminded himself of the call he'd planned to make to BDD&O. He got Oswald on the wire almost immediately.
"Randolph, here," he said. "I called about that new commercial. It seems a little drastic to claim peace on earth for the Witch products. What are you planning for tonight?"
"More of the same!" Oswald's voice was jubilant. "The switchboard has been swamped, and we're on almost every program on every channel! They're taking us apart, of course. 'Witchcraft22 raises its head,' and 'Salem is here with a new twist and a singing commercial,' and 'Anybody got a pestilence?'—that sort of thing. But they're crediting Witch products from dawn to dawn. I sure didn't make a mistake when I tied our contract to your sales! We ought to break the bank!"
Randolph chewed the thought in silence. "Oswald," he said, "It's an old habit of the American people to make a joke out of what they can't understand. Sort of Paul Bunyan all over again. But don't overdo23 it. That Witches of the world unite, deal. Remember the IWW? Wasn't that sort of communistic?"
"Every time anybody talks about getting the world peacefully together, about unity, somebody starts shouting 'commie.' Since when has communism and unity got anything to do with anything? You're an international corporation, aren't you? It's in your title, IWC, isn't it? You don't just sell Witch things in the United States—you've markets in Europe and Africa and India, and all over the place, or I read the sales charts wrong. What's worrying you about using it?
"The overseas tapes are going like a cannonball express. Our ratings have skyrocketed everywhere," Oswald said in satisfaction. "What do you mean, don't overdo it? You get the world in a hatbasket, and then you want to throw it away?"
"Incidentally," he added in a calmer tone, "I got one crank call that's got me thinking. The guy got all the way through to me before he'd talk, and that takes some getting, what with the salaries I pay people to keep the cranks off my neck.
"He said that now we had the witches of the world united, why didn't we do some real cleanup work, like slums and insane asylums24. Got me thinking, you know. A good cause never did a program any harm."
Randolph chewed his lip a while in silence, and Oswald, knowing his client, waited patiently.
"I like that a lot better than claiming peace on earth for the Witch products," Randolph said at last. "Why don't you pick a slum we can clean up for not too much, and let's see what you can work out. This cleanup theme isn't bad, it's just peace on earth that doesn't really belong to us you know.
"I tell you what. We'll go to fifty thousand dollars or so on a cleanup job, and you use that. Leave the world to the politicians and the eggheads."
After he hung up, Randolph stood by the telephone, still chewing his lip. Could you clean up something like a slum for say fifty thousand dollars? Oswald would double the figure in his own mind, of course, always did. But he'd get the sales out of it. His contract was tied to sales.
Yes, he thought, it was best to call him off the track he was on now. Lawyers or no lawyers, that sort of thing was dangerous.
It took a week, and it took every member of the staff that could be pulled off other programs, as well as the ones assigned to Witch.
The "slum" had been located—three buildings in a short block just up from the Battery, surrounded by new buildings. It was a one-privy25-to-a-floor, cold-water only setup, with a family living in every room. It existed on high-value land only because the land and buildings were tied up in an estate and couldn't be sold. But they could be remodeled and thrown into one, and contracts were signed, permissions granted, the paperwork alone filled nearly a complete file cabinet.
It would take double the fifty thousand dollars, of course—maybe more. But Randolph had authorized27 it, hadn't he? He always named half the figure—or less—than he meant to be used. Anyhow, international ratings and sales would more than make up the purse, because this thing would hit socko. Worry about the cash was the last thing that was bothering Oswald. He had a bear by the tail, and his contract price was tied to the gross....
The show was ballyhooed the whole week while the work went on.
"Clean, clean, Witch clean—what's the witches next big cleanup? Witches of the world, unite—let's cleanup this old world and make it livable...."
The night the new cleanup job was to show, Randolph tuned28 in his TV as ignorant of the details as the next viewer. It worried him a little that Oswald insisted on keeping him in the dark on everything except the fact that it would be a slum cleanup, but he had the best p.r. men and the best lawyers in the country working on it, he told himself; and certainly the sales charts for the past two weeks had been spectacular.
"We can count on the biggest TV audience of the year tonight," Oswald had told him gleefully at noon. "The buildup's been a natural, and those 'Salem with a new twist and a singing commercial' plugs have been continued on this network—the cost of that was comparatively small—and I've even gotten them onto a few of the really big shows to boot."
Bill Howard came on the screen, his big homely face leaning across the desk toward the TV audience.
"The biggest news in the country right now," Bill said in a solemn tone, "is the biggest single cleanup job in the country today.
"There's a slum," Bill said, "right here in New York that the Witches of the world will unite to cleanup—tonight."
Then he put on the full power of the personality that made him the most listened-to newscaster on the air, TV and radio. The manner that made the news sound human, like it really happened to real people. He put it on full power, and went to work.
First he showed a big map of New York, and talked about how people thought of it as a big, impersonal29 place, but it wasn't. He made it everybody's home town.
Then he traced the map right down to the exact spot where the buildings were. Then he turned on a movie, and he showed the back-door, garbage strewn, and a room where a family slept, seven of them, and the privy they shared with five other families.
Then Bill turned off the movie, and he brought that family to the mike, each of them dirty and in clothes that never had amounted to much, and had seen a long life since—even the baby. One kid's shoes had a sole flapping off, another had the toes cut out so he could wear them, though he'd long outgrown30 them.
"We haven't added to what we found," Bill said. "This is the way the ... I've introduced them as the Jones family, let's leave it at that. This is how the Joneses have had to dress. This is how they've had to live. This is a very real part of America," he said, and his voice was choking a little, and Randolph thought, if he's putting that on, he's the best actor I've seen yet.
Randolph found himself glad he was alone, and didn't have to speak himself. His own throat felt choked.
"And now," said Bill to his audience, "It's time for the witches...."
The camera shifted, and there was a papier-maché model of the buildings, built so you could look in the curtainless windows and see the squalor, lighted with a single bulb on a string. There was a gray pall31 over the whole thing, and newspapers and trash blowing against the front of the building. The gray pall, Randolph had figured from the sub-scene two weeks ago, was an effect of lights on a net curtain, but the effect was really good.
The thirteen witches, slender witches, danced in waving their products and crying their chant, their crimson-lined capes32 swirling33 out to glimpse the audience their long, slender legs.
They cried their chant as they pranced34 toward the dilapidated building. "Witches of the world, unite to make it clean, clean, clean, Witch clean—NOW!" And each threw a spray of her product toward the building.
"Witch soap or detergent35, Witch cleanser upsurgent, which Witch do you need? You should have them all...."
Then riding over the muted jingle the deep voice of the announcer saying "Tonight the Witches of the world clean a slum of the world ... a particular slum, this slum.
"Witches, unite! And clean, clean, clean, Witch clean...."
The dancing witches now threw each her ingredient on the building itself, and the gray pall began to lighten, a bright, new-painted front shone forth36. Inside, the single bulbs blacked out for an instant, and then a soft light showed through curtained windows, a bright new scene dimly apparent through the curtains.
"This is not just an illusion," the deep voice of the announcer continued. "This is really happening, down near the Battery in New York City. It is happening to the Joneses and the Smiths who live there—"
The chorus rose to cover the announcer's voice, "Clean, clean, clean, Witch clean!"
The commercial and the witches faded, and Bill Howard's big, homely face came back on the screen.
"Let me introduce you again to the Jones family," Bill said. "I'll introduce you to the Joneses, but they're just one of the families who will now have a decent place to live—and the same miracle has happened to each of these families."
Now the Joneses came again on camera—clean, in new clothes, hair brushed, a miracle indeed of the costume-changers speedy art. Randolph assumed that teams of BDD&O members had been at work during the commercial, creating the miracle. From the baby up and down they shone, and their faces shone with an inner light—
When Randolph shut off the TV that night, he was chewing his lip violently. Must have been more than double that fifty thousand dollars, he thought. He reminded himself to phone BDD&O first thing in the morning.
It was still an hour before noon when Randolph's phone rang.
"Randolph, here," he said in the formality he'd adopted on an English visit and carefully kept.
"Good morning," Oswald's voice was formal. "Good morning." There was a silence, while Randolph waited for the other to continue.
Finally, Randolph said, "Good show, that. Must have cost a lot more than my price," he added. "It was good, though," he said again, thoughtfully.
"Randolph," Oswald's voice sounded wild, "I don't know what the thing cost. I don't know—"
"Now, sir, just what do you mean, you don't know the cost? I told you to spend fifty thousand dollars, and from what I saw last night it'll cost four times that. I'll go as high as one hundred twenty-five thousand dollars, but not one cent over. And you'd better make it worth the money, for that's a pretty penny," he said.
"Look, Randolph, the cleanup job down there was supposed to start this morning. Contracts let, big crews ready to do the job fast so people could go look at the finished product. Every family was signed up to act as guides, like in Williamsburg. We moved 'em all to the country yesterday, so they'd look healthy when they came back, and the job could start at the crack of dawn today."
"Well?"
"Well, the job's already done."
"That's pretty fast. You said you started it this morning."
"Yeah. And when my man phoned me from down there I told him to get black coffee and sober up. But I went down myself—and the job's done. Exactly the job we specified37, too. Done by our plans. Furnished, painted, paint dry, curtains hung, the works, new bathrooms and kitchen and plumbing38 and electricity. The works. It's finished.
"My best man was down there moving the families out yesterday. He swears the building hadn't been touched then. The contractor39 says he's going to sue, because he arrived with his crews to start the job, and somebody else had done it. You come on. You've got to meet me here and tell me the answers.
"Just what do you put in that soap of yours, anyhow?"
By afternoon it was banners in every paper, wire-serviced across the nation and the world.
Most of the stories were written tongue-in-cheek about the miracle part. It was assumed that Witch Products had done the inside job in advance, and thrown in the outside cleanup during the night.
The tenants40 were interviewed—Oswald had the sense to move them right back into their new apartments—and not one of them could be made to break down and admit that those buildings hadn't been slums yesterday. Well, you couldn't blame them for sticking by Witch, look what Witch had done for them was the word that went around Bleek's.
Of course the thing was a curiosity natural, and the police had so many men assigned there by nightfall it looked like a concentration camp. TV portables and news photographer's flashbulbs didn't lessen41 the confusion any, and the crowds were being let in and through only when there was room for more.
Bill Howard was there when Randolph went through, in earnest conversation with a group of youngsters in one room. Oswald arranged that the Witch manufacturer should have a strong police escort, and the crowds moved back to make way for him in each apartment.
The tenants answered his questions, but they did so with a sullenness42 that surprised Randolph. Yes, it had been a mess the day before. Yes, it had been rebuilt, obviously, during the night, while they were gone. Yes, just the one night.
"They should be saying thank you," Randolph noted43 to Oswald. "They're acting44 as though I were a suspicious character."
"It's our escort," Oswald explained suavely45. "These people don't think of cops as their friends. Besides, this is pretty new to them."
Randolph chewed his lip, and decided46 that Oswald was probably right. But the attitude was general, and it irritated him. He left after the briefest go-through.
That night Bill Howard was conservative in recounting the big news-story of the "slum clearance47." He wasn't giving it the real Howard try, Randolph thought, sitting in front of his TV. There was a quote in the story he told, too, from the father of the Jones family that had been on the program the night before. "I reckon it's pretty wonderful, Mr. Howard," Jones had told him. "But I don't rightly know that I like it. Must admit I'm scared of this stuff," he had said, and he waved his hand at the newness.
It was just a single sour note in the story, but it stuck out. The rest was a description, without any mention of the "miracle" part.
At the break, the witches played the credit line to the hilt, though.
"Witches of the world unite to make it clean, clean, clean, Witch clean—NOW!" they chanted their cry, and reenacted the scene of the night before, while the announcer's voice rode over the muted jingle to explain that Witch products had been used to make the slum clean, clean, Witch clean, even though it took carpenters and builders and contractors48 to remodel26 a slum building itself. That's better, thought Randolph, watching. No more of this "miracle" nonsense.
It was barely 10:00 a.m. next morning when Randolph's phone rang.
"Randolph, here," he said, and heard Oswald's voice without preliminary.
"They've gone."
"Who's gone?"
"The tenants of the building. Just picked up their duds and left. I've put dicks on the case, and one family has moved in with relatives in the Bronx. The others scattered49, but we'll trace 'em. Here's one of the policemen that was on duty when they left. He'll tell you."
A new voice came on the phone, as Randolph chewed his lip.
"Mr. Randolph? This is what happened, near as I can figure. We roped off the area at dark, last night. Figured we'd give the families some rest, and keep out the night-thrill guys.
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1
distress
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| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
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grilled
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| adj. 烤的, 炙过的, 有格子的 动词grill的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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virulent
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| adj.有毒的，有恶意的，充满敌意的 | |
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antidote
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| n.解毒药，解毒剂 | |
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mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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retaliation
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| n.报复，反击 | |
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impetus
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| n.推动，促进，刺激；推动力 | |
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epidemic
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| n.流行病；盛行；adj.流行性的，流传极广的 | |
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holocaust
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| n.大破坏；大屠杀 | |
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unity
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| n.团结，联合，统一；和睦，协调 | |
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insanities
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| 精神错乱( insanity的名词复数 )； 精神失常； 精神病； 疯狂 | |
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12
riddle
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| n.谜，谜语，粗筛；vt.解谜，给…出谜，筛，检查，鉴定，非难，充满于；vi.出谜 | |
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13
homely
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| adj.家常的，简朴的；不漂亮的 | |
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undoubtedly
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| adv.确实地，无疑地 | |
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garnered
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| v.收集并（通常）贮藏（某物），取得，获得( garner的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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Christians
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| n.基督教徒( Christian的名词复数 ) | |
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pestilence
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| n.瘟疫 | |
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peril
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| n.(严重的)危险；危险的事物 | |
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jingle
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| n.叮当声，韵律简单的诗句；v.使叮当作响，叮当响，押韵 | |
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nagging
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| adj.唠叨的，挑剔的；使人不得安宁的v.不断地挑剔或批评（某人）( nag的现在分词 )；不断地烦扰或伤害（某人）；无休止地抱怨；不断指责 | |
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risky
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| adj.有风险的，冒险的 | |
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witchcraft
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| n.魔法，巫术 | |
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overdo
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| vt.把...做得过头，演得过火 | |
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asylums
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| n.避难所( asylum的名词复数 )；庇护；政治避难；精神病院 | |
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privy
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| adj.私用的；隐密的 | |
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remodel
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| v.改造，改型，改变 | |
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authorized
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| a.委任的，许可的 | |
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tuned
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| adj.调谐的，已调谐的v.调音( tune的过去式和过去分词 )；调整；（给收音机、电视等）调谐；使协调 | |
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impersonal
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| adj.无个人感情的，与个人无关的，非人称的 | |
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outgrown
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| 长[发展] 得超过（某物）的范围( outgrow的过去分词 )； 长[发展]得不能再要（某物）； 长得比…快； 生长速度超过 | |
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pall
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| v.覆盖，使平淡无味；n.柩衣，棺罩；棺材；帷幕 | |
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capes
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| 碎谷； 斗篷( cape的名词复数 )； 披肩； 海角； 岬 | |
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swirling
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| v.旋转，打旋( swirl的现在分词 ) | |
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pranced
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| v.（马）腾跃( prance的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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detergent
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| n.洗涤剂；adj.有洗净力的 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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specified
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| adj.特定的 | |
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plumbing
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| n.水管装置；水暖工的工作；管道工程v.用铅锤测量（plumb的现在分词）；探究 | |
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contractor
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| n.订约人，承包人，收缩肌 | |
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tenants
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| n.房客( tenant的名词复数 )；佃户；占用者；占有者 | |
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lessen
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| vt.减少，减轻；缩小 | |
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sullenness
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| n. 愠怒, 沉闷, 情绪消沉 | |
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noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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acting
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| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
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suavely
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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47
clearance
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| n.净空；许可(证)；清算；清除，清理 | |
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contractors
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| n.（建筑、监造中的）承包人( contractor的名词复数 ) | |
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scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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