Everyone was smiling when they started for the fairgrounds.
* * * * *
Balderstone's platform was set up at the edge of the field where
tents were once pitched. Just to the left of the platform was the old
merry-go-round that had become city property after the last carnival
had gone broke. Balderstone's narrow stage was backed by canvas flats,
and Wheelan and Karen stood behind one of these on some machinery
crates, watching the audience through a peephole in the canvas.
"This isn't my idea of backstage," Wheelan said, taking his eye from
the hole so Karen could peek.
"All of Mr. Balderstone's money goes into improving his process. And
things like that."
The night was getting colder and high mist hung over the fairgrounds.
Only half of the bench seats were filled, meaning probably about three
hundred in attendance.
When Wheelan looked out again the lights around the field had dimmed
and the two young men with blond curly hair and double-breasted suits
had stopped taking donations at the entrance arch. Balderstone left the
folding chair he'd been sitting in and walked slowly across the stage
planks to the mike.
"Nothing like a touch of cold to keep people home at nights," he said,
acknowledging with a grin the laughter that followed. He smoothed the
front of his coat and took a small blue leaflet out of his pocket.
"Think you'll find copies of this tacked to your seats. If you're a
regular you know the system. If not, best leaf through it."
About a third of the heads ducked to look for the leaflet. Balderstone
pinched his nose and briefly glanced at the peephole.
Karen slipped a leaflet into Wheelan's hand. He tossed it aside. "You
want to look again?"
"No, I know the procedure. You keep watching. You're the one we want to
convince."
She squeezed his arm gently.
"Lots of worry these days," Balderstone said. "People don't know where
their next worry's coming from."
Most of the heads, except the ones that were still bent over the
leaflet, nodded in agreement.
"Lots of problems people just can't solve. But they still want to give
it a try." Balderstone's voice grew louder. "One more chance at bat.
That's not the way. Worrying about problems causes fretting. Fretting
produces tension. Tense people aren't happy people." Balderstone's
hands came up in front of his chest, gradually clenching. "If you can't
change the world, I'm informing you, you can change yourself. At least
for awhile. That's important. That's what is called escape. It's good
for you. Applied lycanthropy."
The lights had been dimming all through his last sentences. A few yards
from the merry-go-round the blond young men had a bonfire going.
"We're going to lose all those worries. We're not going to fret. Not
now, not for awhile." Balderstone's voice seemed to have taken on some
of the crackle of the fire. "Every one of you should have a capsule.
Now, who doesn't?"
A dozen hands went up and one of the young men ran through the crowd,
giving out capsules from an orange cardboard box.
Balderstone had stepped out of Wheelan's range, but he reappeared
wheeling something that looked like a giant sunlamp. It was half again
as tall as he was.
"He's got enough quack equipment," Wheelan said.
"Be still," Karen said, her hold tight now on his arm.
* * * * *
"We're going to change," shouted Balderstone, not using the microphone.
"When I say 'swallow' I want you all to swallow those capsules. Then
you better get out of your clothes quick! Because when I turn on my
applied lycanthropy beam things are going to start happening." He had
reached the platform edge and was crouched there, teetering. "Now! One,
two, three. Swallow!"
Balderstone dived for the beam and clicked it on. Ties and hats shot up
into the air. Coat sleeves flapped, became entangled with print dresses
and lace slips.
"Looks like Annapolis on graduation day," Wheelan said softly, starting
to feel uneasy.
The beam was played over the audience, slowly from left to right. All
the lights were out and there was only the dim orange flicker of the
bonfire. "Relax, relax," Balderstone shouted. "Change!" He dropped and
sat on the stage edge.
There was a sputtering howl near the entrance and a large black cat
leaped up, clawing at the air, twisting and falling back.
Wheelan couldn't breathe, couldn't tell Karen to stop her fingernails
from digging into his skin.
Great yowling cats were popping up across the field, faster and faster.
Wheelan noticed his dentist still hadn't gotten his striped shorts off.
Then he jerked back against Karen and they both tumbled off the crates.
"Run," he said.
Karen twisted up and caught him. "No, Glenn. Wait. Till they change
back. You'll see how happy and calm they all are. You'll be convinced."
"Cats," he said, pulling away. "Run!"
He ran; jumped the fence beyond the rodeo area and stumbled away into
the brush. He got home in under an hour. It was mostly downhill.
Two nights later Wheelan set fire to Balderstone's bungalow while he
was away at the lecture. The fire department put out the fire before
more than half of the house was gone.
Early on the following morning he rented an airplane and had his
remaining leaflets dropped over San Miguel.
Wheelan had decided that if he couldn't do anything positive he was
still going to annoy Balderstone and anybody else who was on his side.
No one mentioned his harrassing actions to him, not even Chief Neff.
Wheelan's aunt did indicate that she would never cook another meal or
wash another pajama top for him. He moved to a run-down motel near the
ocean.
* * * * *
He had been there nearly three days when, just after sundown, someone
knocked on his door. It was Karen, wearing a light cotton dress, her
hair pulled back. "Are you comfortable, Glenn?"
He smiled, "Yeah. I like this business now. I've been thinking up new
activities."