She relaxed, hand on heart. In an angry tone, she started to say: "You
gave me such a shock--"
But a noise from outside interrupted her. There was a wail of sirens
and a clang of bells; it was loud and shocking.
The Burckhardts stared at each other for a heartbeat, then hurried
fearfully to the window.
There were no rumbling fire engines in the street, only a small panel
truck, cruising slowly along. Flaring loudspeaker horns crowned its
top. From them issued the screaming sound of sirens, growing in
intensity, mixed with the rumble of heavy-duty engines and the sound
of bells. It was a perfect record of fire engines arriving at a
four-alarm blaze.
Burckhardt said in amazement, "Mary, that's against the law! Do you
know what they're doing? They're playing records of a fire. What are
they up to?"
"Maybe it's a practical joke," his wife offered.
"Joke? Waking up the whole neighborhood at six o'clock in the
morning?" He shook his head. "The police will be here in ten minutes,"
he predicted. "Wait and see."
But the police weren't--not in ten minutes, or at all. Whoever the
pranksters in the car were, they apparently had a police permit for
their games.
The car took a position in the middle of the block and stood silent
for a few minutes. Then there was a crackle from the speaker, and a
giant voice chanted:
"Feckle Freezers!
Feckle Freezers!
Gotta have a
Feckle Freezer!
Feckle, Feckle, Feckle,
Feckle, Feckle, Feckle--"
It went on and on. Every house on the block had faces staring out of
windows by then. The voice was not merely loud; it was nearly
deafening.
Burckhardt shouted to his wife, over the uproar, "What the hell is a
Feckle Freezer?"
"Some kind of a freezer, I guess, dear," she shrieked back
unhelpfully.
* * * * *
Abruptly the noise stopped and the truck stood silent. It was still
misty morning; the Sun's rays came horizontally across the rooftops.
It was impossible to believe that, a moment ago, the silent block had
been bellowing the name of a freezer.
"A crazy advertising trick," Burckhardt said bitterly. He yawned and
turned away from the window. "Might as well get dressed. I guess
that's the end of--"
The bellow caught him from behind; it was almost like a hard slap on
the ears. A harsh, sneering voice, louder than the arch-angel's
trumpet, howled:
"Have you got a freezer? _It stinks!_ If it isn't a Feckle Freezer,
_it stinks_! If it's a last year's Feckle Freezer, _it stinks_! Only
this year's Feckle Freezer is any good at all! You know who owns an
Ajax Freezer? Fairies own Ajax Freezers! You know who owns a
Triplecold Freezer? Commies own Triplecold Freezers! Every freezer but
a brand-new Feckle Freezer _stinks_!"
The voice screamed inarticulately with rage. "I'm warning you! Get out
and buy a Feckle Freezer right away! Hurry up! Hurry for Feckle! Hurry
for Feckle! Hurry, hurry, hurry, Feckle, Feckle, Feckle, Feckle,
Feckle, Feckle...."
It stopped eventually. Burckhardt licked his lips. He started to say
to his wife, "Maybe we ought to call the police about--" when the
speakers erupted again. It caught him off guard; it was intended to
catch him off guard. It screamed:
"Feckle, Feckle, Feckle, Feckle, Feckle, Feckle, Feckle, Feckle. Cheap
freezers ruin your food. You'll get sick and throw up. You'll get sick
and die. Buy a Feckle, Feckle, Feckle, Feckle! Ever take a piece of
meat out of the freezer you've got and see how rotten and moldy it is?
Buy a Feckle, Feckle, Feckle, Feckle, Feckle. Do you want to eat
rotten, stinking food? Or do you want to wise up and buy a Feckle,
Feckle, Feckle--"
That did it. With fingers that kept stabbing the wrong holes,
Burckhardt finally managed to dial the local police station. He got a
busy signal--it was apparent that he was not the only one with the
same idea--and while he was shakingly dialing again, the noise outside
stopped.
He looked out the window. The truck was gone.
* * * * *
Burckhardt loosened his tie and ordered another Frosty-Flip from the
waiter. If only they wouldn't keep the Crystal Cafe so _hot_! The new
paint job--searing reds and blinding yellows--was bad enough, but
someone seemed to have the delusion that this was January instead of
June; the place was a good ten degrees warmer than outside.
He swallowed the Frosty-Flip in two gulps. It had a kind of peculiar
flavor, he thought, but not bad. It certainly cooled you off, just as
the waiter had promised. He reminded himself to pick up a carton of
them on the way home; Mary might like them. She was always interested
in something new.
He stood up awkwardly as the girl came across the restaurant toward
him. She was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen in Tylerton.
Chin-height, honey-blonde hair and a figure that--well, it was all
hers. There was no doubt in the world that the dress that clung to her
was the only thing she wore. He felt as if he were blushing as she
greeted him.
"Mr. Burckhardt." The voice was like distant tomtoms. "It's wonderful
of you to let me see you, after this morning."