"Listen to me," Professor Lightning said. "The world is at the beginning
of a new cultural revolution. Since the Cold War melted, and freedom of
inquiry and research began to live again on both sides of the old Iron
Curtain, science has begun a new Renaissance. The cultural interflow
has--"
"Please, professor," Charley said miserably, rubbing his toes together.
"There isn't much time before I got to go on. And you ought to be
inside the Science tent, too, because any minute--"
"If I am not in the tent," Professor Lightning said calmly, "I will not
appear in the show. It does not matter."
"But they'll fire you," Charley said. He grabbed for a cigarette with
his right foot and got it into his mouth. Striking a match with his left
foot, he lit the cigarette and blew out a long, ragged plume of smoke.
"If you're not there on time," he said in strained tones, "they'll fire
you. And what about me?"
Professor Lightning gestured with both big hands. It was the same
movement he used every night, when he showed the crowd there were no
wires or batteries secreted on his person. Charley half-expected him to
grab hold of a couple of light bulbs and show them glowing in his fists.
But the gesture was meant, this time, as an aid to relaxation. "Don't
worry," Professor Lightning said, in a grating sort of caricature of a
soothing tone. "If they fire me ... well, then, they save me the trouble
of quitting. And as for you, my boy, a carnival job should be the
furthest thing from your thoughts."
"Well, it isn't," Charley said sourly. "And if you'll excuse me,
professor, I care how I get the money to eat, even if you don't. I got a
good job--"
"You won't need your job," Professor Lightning said, "if you'll listen
to me."
Charley made up his mind. Much as he hated to be impolite, there were
some things more important than social forms, he decided. He stood up.
"After the show, professor," he said with firmness, and went out of the
cooktent, heading at a rapid dogtrot for the big tent at the other side
of the midway. As he reached it he could see Dave Lungs, the outside
talker, climb up on the front platform to begin his spiel.
"Marvels of the world!" Dave announced without preliminary. "Wonders of
the natural universe! Surprises and startling sights for every member of
the family!" By the time he had got that far, a crowd was beginning to
collect in front of the platform. "For the fourth part of a single
dollar bill--" Dave went on, but Charley didn't have the time to listen;
he was in the bally.
He lifted the backflap of the tent with one foot, and wriggled inside.
As he made his way to the cluster of people near the front flap, past
the booths and stands, he felt an enormous sense of relief. He had made
it--with all of fifty seconds to spare.
Ned and Ed stood next to him. "Where you been?" Ed said in a nasal
whisper.
"I got held up," Charley explained. "Professor Lightning, he was talking
to me, and--"
"Later," Ned said. His voice was lower and throatier than Ed's; it was
the only way Charley could tell them apart, but then, he thought, nobody
ever had to tell them apart. They were, like all Siamese twins, always
together. "We're going on," Ned said, and he and his twin moved forward.
Charley moved into place behind them, and came out blinking in the glare
of the front platform.
"Siamese twins," Dave was shouting. "A contemporary marvel of science,
ladies and gentlemen--and here we have ..."
Charley stepped forward as Ned and Ed stepped back into the shadows
again.
"... Charley de Milo! Ladies and gentlemen, the world-wide fame of this
brave and talented boy is stupendous! His feats of skill will amaze you!
Watch him thread a needle! Watch him comb his hair! And all for one thin
quarter, ladies and gentlemen, only the fourth part--"
The electronic band choked on Sousa, coughed and began again with
Kabalevsky. Charley watched the audience below, staring up at him,
hundreds of faces. He heard their gasp as he flexed his shoulders and
turned. He grinned down, taking a second longer than usual, and then
stepped back, still grinning.
"Charley de Milo, the Armless Wonder!" Dave said. "And many more sights
inside, ladies and gentlemen, sights to amaze you, sights to chill your
very blood, sights ..."
* * * * *
One-thirty, and the last show over. The rocket had come down for the
night; all over the midway lights were blinking off and silence was
creeping, like a stain, over the ground. Professor Lightning was sitting
on his bunk, in the small tent he shared with Erma the Fish Girl. Erma
was out drinking with Dave Lungs and some of the others, and only the
professor and Charley de Milo were in the room. Charley was sitting on
Erma's bunk, looking resigned.
"Well, if you still want to talk to me," he said, "now's your chance.
O.K.?"
"I certainly want to talk to you," Professor Lightning said firmly. "I
want to tell you of the most important moment of your life."
Charley tried to think of something to say to this, but there wasn't
anything. He shifted on the bunk, scratched at his nose with his left
foot, and grinned spastically. "Sure," he said at random. "And, by the
way, I'm sorry about before, professor. But the show was going on,
and--"
"The show," Professor Lightning said, in tones of the utmost contempt.
"Forget about the show--now, and tomorrow, and forever."
"But--"
"No words," Professor Lightning said, raising a hand delicately.
"Please. Allow me to tell you of my invention."
Charley sighed and lay back on the bed. "Invention, professor?" he said.
"You mean sort of a machine?"
For some reason, Professor Lightning looked irritated. "It's not a
machine," he said flatly. Then he sighed and his tone changed. "Charley,
my boy," he said, "do you remember what I was telling you before? About
how the world has entered a new Age of Science? How new inventions, new
discoveries, are coming along every day?"
"Well, sure," Charley said. "The papers talk about it every once in a
while. You know, I see the papers, or the Chicago _American_, anyhow. My
mother sends it to me. She likes the columns."
"Why," Professor Lightning went on, as if he hadn't been listening at
all, "right here in Wrout's Carnival Shows, we have things that just
didn't exist ten or fifteen years ago. The electronic band. The Forever
bulb."
"That's right," Charley put in. "And look at Joe Wicks. Why, he can do
tricks with all those new things they got on cars, tricks nobody ever
did before or even thought about in the old days."
"And more fundamental discoveries," the professor said. "Chadwick's Law
of Dimensionality, Dvedkin and the Ontological Mean ... oh, I keep up
with the literature. No matter what's happened to me, I keep up with the
literature."
Charley sighed, very softly so as not to injure the professor's
feelings. But he did hope the old man wasn't going to start on all those
stories about his lost career again. Charley knew--everybody in the
Wrout show did--that Professor Lightning had been a real professor once,
at some college or other. Biology, or Biological Physics, or something
else--he'd taught classes about it, and done research. And then there
had been something about a girl, a student the professor had got himself
involved with. Though it was pretty hard to imagine the professor,
white-haired and thin the way he was now, chasing after a girl.
He'd been fired, or something, and he'd drifted for a while and then got
himself an act and come with a Carnival. Charley knew the whole story.
He didn't want to hear it again.
But the professor said: "I'm as good as I ever was--better than I ever
was, my boy. I've been keeping up, doing experiments. I've been quiet
about it."
Everybody, Charley thought, knew about Professor Lightning and his
experiments. If they kept the old man happy, kept him contented and
doing shows, why not? After all, the old guy didn't drink or anything
really serious; if he wanted to play around with test tubes and even
Bunsen burners, people figured, why, let him.
But Professor Lightning thought nobody knew. Well, he had been a real
professor once, which is to say a square. Some people never really
adjusted to carny life--where everybody knows everything.
Charley figured maybe it was better to act surprised. "Really?" he said.
"Experiments?"
Professor Lightning looked pleased, which satisfied Charley. "I've been
on the track of something big," he said. He seemed to be talking more to
himself than to Charley. "Something new," he said. "And at last ... at
last, my boy, I've found it. I'll be famous, Charley, famous--and so
will you!"
"That's nice," Charley said politely. Then he blinked. "But what do you
mean," he added, "me?"
"I want you to help me," the professor said. He leaned forward, and in
the dim light of the tent's single lamp, his eyes glittered. "I want you
to come with me."
"Come with you?" Charley said, and swallowed hard. He'd never thought,
the way some did, that the old man was crazy. But it did look as if he'd
slipped a couple of cogs for sure and for real. "Where?" Charley said.
"Washington," the professor said instantly. "New York. London, Paris.
Rome. The world, Charley. The world that's going to do us homage."
Charley shifted a little in the bed. "Look, professor," he said, "I've
got a job, right here in the carny. I couldn't leave here. So suppose we
just--"
"Your job?" the professor said. "Your job's gone, my boy. Wait. Let me
tell you what I've discovered. Let me tell you what has
happened--happened to you, my boy. To you, and to me."