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After the befuddled Mr. Sonderberg came out of hypnosis, and his wife told him what he had been doing on stage, the hypnotist gave a good imitation of him to further laughter before they left the stage and returned to their seats.
A heavyset man in a brown suit that was simple to the point of shapelessness came onstage. He applauded the hypnotist as the latter backed off, bowing. Valentine marveled at the man's hair, brushed out at the temples and hairline until it looked like a lion's mane.
"Thank you, thank you to the Amazing Dr. Tick-Toe," he said in a high, airy voice.
"That's the bishop of the New Universal Church, David. From Madison," Mr. Carlson explained quietly across his two daughters.
The bishop stepped to the podium on the small stage at the end of the runway and picked up the microphone. "Thank you all for coming out in the rain, everyone," he said, looking at the speakers mounted high on the tent poles which broadcast his voice. "The Harvest Meeting is always a serious occasion. We have a lot more fun at Winterfest, and the Spring Outing. But I know everyone has all the coming work on their minds. Well, today we have an expert on hard work on loan to us from the flatlands in the south. Won't you please welcome Rural Production Senior Supervisor Jim 'Midas' Touchet, visiting us all the way from Bloomington."
A middle-aged, hollow-cheeked man strode out on stage, dressed in a red jumpsuit. He had thinning hair combed neatly back and held in place with an oily liquid, giving it a reddish tint. White canvas sneakers covered his feet. He took the microphone out of the bishop's hand with a flourish and a bow to the audience. He exuded the energy of a man younger than his years.
"Can you all see me?" he asked, turning a full 360 degrees. "I know it's hard to miss me with this on. You see, we're all color-coded in downstate Illinois. Red is for agricultural workers, yellow for labor, blue for administration and security, and so on. In Chicagoland, you can wear whatever you want. I mean, anything goes up there. Any of you guys been to the Zoo? You know what I mean, then."
A few hoots came from the audience, mostly from the patrollers, Valentine noticed.
"Oops," Touchet continued. "I forgot we have children present."
Valentine shot a questioning glance to Molly, who shrugged. He suddenly noticed how charming she looked with her wet blond hair combed back from her face. It accentuated her features and the tight, glowing skin of a vital young woman.
"Never mind about that. I bet you're out there wondering, "Who is this guy? What does he have to show me, other than what not to wear, ever?" Anyone thinking that? C'mon, let's see your hands."
A few hands went up.
"I bet you're thinking, "How long is he going to speak?" Let's see 'em!"
A lot of hands went up. Major Flanagan, smiling, raised his, and the Carlsons followed suit.
"Finally, some honesty. Okay, since you've been honest with me, I'll be honest with you. I'm nobody, and to prove to you what a big nobody I am, I'll tell you about myself.
"I'm from Nowhere, Illinois. Actually, more like South Nowhere. Just off the road from Podunk, and right next to Jerkwater. Typical small town, nothing much happened. I grew up quick and brawny. You wouldn't know it to look at me now, but I used to have a nice set of shoulders. So I ended up in the patrols. And the patrols in downstate Illinois, let me tell you, they're really something. I didn't have a car. I didn't even have a horse. I had a bicycle. It didn't even have rubber tires; I rode around on the rims. The highlight of most days was falling off my bike. It's a little better now down there, but back in the thirties, we were lean when it came to equipment. In the winter, I walked my route. We didn't get paid back then, just got rations, so there was no way I could even get a horse at my rank.
"I spent ten long, empty years riding that bike. Farm to farm, checking on things. I carried mail. I delivered pies and pot roasts to the neighbors. "Since you're going that way, anyway," they always used to say when they asked me. I was bored. I started reading a lot. I was curious about the Old World, the good old days, people called them. Do they call them that up here, too?"
A couple of "yeps," quietly voiced, came from the audience.
"It was lonely in the patrols, and when you're lonely, you need friends. So when I found a little hidden pigpen or chicken coop on someone's farm, and they said, "Be a friend, forget you saw this, and we'll let you have a couple extra eggs when you come by," I went along. Hey, everybody wants to be a friend. So I went along, got a friend and a few eggs in the bargain. On another farm, I had another friend and a ham now and then. On another farm, some fried chicken; down the road, a bottle of milk, a bagful of corn. I had tons of friends, and I was eating real good to boot. I had it made."
The red figure paced back and forth, microphone in one hand and cord in the other, first facing one part of the audience and then another.
"Eventually, I got caught. Like I told you, I'm nobody special. And I wasn't especially bright. One day my lieutenant noticed me wobbling down the road with a ham tied to my handlebars and a box of eggs in the basket in back. I think I had a turkey drumstick in my holster, I don't remember.
"Boy, it all came crashing down in a hurry. I think I died the death of a thousand cuts as my lieutenant walked up to me. I made the mistake of asking him to be a friend, and I'd give him everything I was collecting from the farms. He didn't have any of that.
"So within six hours of my lieutenant spotting me, I was sitting in the Bloomington train station, waiting for my last ride to Chicago. I was bound for the Loop. I was very, very alone. All those friends on all those farms, they didn't come get me, or turn themselves in and take their share of the blame. They weren't my friends after all.
"Well, it's a good thing for me I got caught in the spring of forty-six. I'm sure you remember the bad flu that went around that winter. It killed thousands in Illinois, and thousands more got so weakened by it, they caught pneumonia and died just the same. So we had a serious labor shortage in Illinois. I got put to work shoveling shit. I'm sure many of you know what that's like. But that's all I did, every single day. I-worked at the Bloomington railroad livestock yards, taking care of the hogs and cows bound for Chicago's slaughterhouses. Of course, I was just on parole. Any time they felt like it, they could throw me on the next train to Chicago, and no more Jim Touchet.
"The first day shoveling, I was happy as a dog locked up overnight in a butcher shop. The second day, I was glad to be at work. The third day, I was happy to at least have a job. The fourth day, I began to look for ways to cut corners. By the fifth day, I was trying to find a nice spot to maybe take a nap where my boss couldn't find me.
"Of course, my boss noticed me slacking. He was a wise old man. His name was Vern Lundquist. Vern had worked at the railroad station in the olden days, and he still worked there. He didn't threaten me, not really. He just called me into his office and said that if I wanted to stay in his good graces, I'd better come in tomorrow and give an extra five percent effort.
"Even though he didn't threaten me, I got scared. That night I couldn't sleep. I was worried that I'd show up at work the next day, and the boys in blue would throw me on the first train to Chicago. I could be in the Loop in less than twenty-four hours."
He stood still, next to the lectem, wiping his sweating brow. His eyes passed over the Carlson family, and he smiled at Valentine. His face took on a scaly, cobralike cast when he smiled.
"That twenty-four hours changed my life. All that night, I thought about giving another five percent. How hard could that be? Vern wasn't asking me to work seven days a week, which is what most of you out there do on your farms.
"The next day, I gave the extra five percent. It was easy. I just did a little extra here and there. Did a job without being asked, fixed a loose gate. If old Vern noticed, he didn't say anything. I got worried; what if he wasn't noticing the extra five percent?
