by Various
Unfortunately, Rogers happened to be watching. He walked over. Broncewicz became intently interested in his work. Ernie sighed resignedly.
Rogers seemed surprisingly resigned, himself. All he said was, "I thought you got enough sleep this morning, Stump. Wake up, get on the stick." He walked off.
Broncewicz raised his head. "Hey, I thought you were going to tell him?"
"Aw, shut up."
Ernie did not like his foreman, but neither did he like the prospect of losing his job. He couldn't afford to be out of work.
The noon whistle blew as he was finishing the last of the extra assemblies. Ernie tossed his tools down and left the line.
* * * * *
The sight of the food in the cafeteria reminded him all over again that he was spending too much money. His stomach had felt queasy. It now turned sour. Without looking at them, Ernie selected a plate of frankfurters and spaghetti, picked up a carton of milk for the sake of his stomach, and sat down at the nearest table.
Jory sat down beside him. "Joe's waving at you," he said, nodding at the cashier at the end of the counter. "You forgot to pay."
"What?" Ernie stomped over to the counter, threw down the money and returned to his seat. To Jory he said: "I feel bad today."
"Uh-huh," Jory said disinterestedly. He turned a page of the book he had propped next to his plate.
"Don't be a wise guy," Ernie grunted. He turned his attention to his plate. Several mouthfuls of spaghetti convinced him that he was hungry after all. He swallowed and opened his carton of milk. He looked up at the book Jory was holding. Jory was a funny guy, always reading.
"What's the book today?" he asked.
Jory held the cover so he could see the title. "Celine's 'Journey to the End of Night.' It's French."
Ernie's interest quickened. "French, huh? Has it got any good stuff in it? You know, like Miller has?" He laughed.
"No."
"Well, what's it about?"
"About a guy who thinks he might commit suicide."
"Oh." Ernie thought about it for a minute. "Is that all it's about? Just some guy wonderin' if he should bump himself off?"
"Yes." Jory turned a page.
"Oh." Ernie thought about it again. "And he made a whole book out of it? Just that ... no sex or nothing?"
"No. No sex or nothing."
Ernie laughed. "Well, it sounds pretty stale to me."
Jory sighed and gave up reading. He put the book down. "No, it isn't stale. The book does depress me, though." He pushed it to one side.
His eyes traveled around the cafeteria; he thought for a moment then said: "Do you ever get the feeling, Ernie, that your life has gotten stuck? That you are just going round and round, caught in one single groove--that you just repeat the same scene, day after day?"
Ernie shook his head. "Nah. I never feel like that."
"I do. I get to feeling it bad, sometimes. Why do you suppose that is, Ernie?"
Ernie considered the question for a moment. "Well," he said helpfully, "it might mean you're cracking up."
Jory laughed. "Thanks. But when I need an analyst I'll go out and hire one. No, I think I feel that way because life has somehow become a lot more futile than it need be."
Ernie shrugged and let it go. He wiped the last trace of spaghetti sauce from his plate. Jory got funny moods--probably because he read so much, Ernie suspected--but he was a good man. All the guys in the plant figured Jory for a regular guy. He liked to read some pretty funny books, but so what? It was his eyesight, wasn't it?
Ernie remembered something else. "Hey," he said to Jory as he lit a cigarette, "Harrigan over in the tool room told me that you write stories. That right?"
"Yeah. But I don't have as much time for it as I once did."
"You ought to stay home nights like I do. Then you'd have time." Ernie paused and added piously, "It makes you sharper on the job, too."
Jory started to laugh but caught it in time. He worked on the line next to Ernie, and had witnessed the foul-up this morning. He said, "What do you do until bedtime? Watch TV?"
"Every night. Boxing is good on Fridays. Monday night ain't so hot. Wednesday, tonight, will be good. Lots of Westerns.
"You ought to try it. Come to think of it you look sort of tired. You shouldn't go out drinking week nights."
Jory shrugged. "Maybe I will try it. What are your favorite programs?"
Ernie told him.
"Say," Ernie asked, "do you make any money writing stories?"
"Once in awhile. If I sell the story I'm working on now, I think I'll lay off for a couple of months and get a cabin down in Mexico. The fishing will be good at Vera Cruz--" He stopped and frowned. "No. I guess I won't. I can't."
"Why can't you?"
"Something I forgot. Never mind."
"No," Ernie persisted, "you were saying--"
"Forget it."
"Oh, I get it. You're afraid to lay off because they might not hire you back?"
"Nuts. There's always some place that is hiring. You'd be surprised at some of the jobs I've had, Ernie." He grinned. "As far as that goes, I might get laid off here before I want to go."
"What makes you say that?"
"Look around you. How many men are working today?"
* * * * *
Now that his attention was called to it, Ernie glanced around the cafeteria. Normally, it was packed during the lunch hour. Today, it was less than three-quarters full.
"So? Some of the guys are out sick, that's all."
"There won't be much work this afternoon. We got most of it out this morning."
"It's some new bug. Like that flu thing last winter." But Ernie's voice, as he said it, was defensive. In Ernie's book, a layoff was a bad thing.
Inside, Ernie's mind began to calculate the possibilities. It was a thing Ernie's mind always did when it was confronted with the unexpected. His mind didn't like to work, but Ernie liked the unforeseen even less.
It was unlikely that the entire plant would be shut down. In that case what supervisors would want him to stay on? He ran through the list of his superiors and immediately came to Rogers.
Ernie winced. After this morning, Rogers would post him for the layoff for sure. He could take it to the union, but--Ernie stopped and looked suspiciously at Jory.
Did Jory know about the beef he had this morning with Rogers? Come to think of it, Ernie didn't know there was going to be a layoff. Was Jory just needling him?
He looked around the cafeteria again. The tables on the edges of the floor were deserted and empty. To Ernie's eyes it suddenly looked as if the men who were eating had purposely gathered so they could be close together. They sat with their backs hunched, turned on the empty spaces behind them.
Even the noise, compared to the usual din of the cafeteria, seemed to be different. It echoed and fell flat. Ernie didn't like it. He felt funny. The overly familiar cafeteria had suddenly become strange.
A feeling began to grow in him that, somehow, the cafeteria was wrong. "It ... looks funny," he said.
Jory became alert. "What looks funny?"
"I don't know ... the room."
"What's wrong with the room?" Jory bent over. His eyes were intent, but his voice stayed low. He spoke with great care.
"I ... don't know. It looks funny. Empty. Older. No, wait--" And the feeling was gone. Ernie shook his head. It was the old, crowded and not too clean cafeteria, again.
He turned to Jory. "Well, they better not! I was out of work six months on the last layoff." He paused and marshaled a last, telling argument: "I can't afford it!"
Jory laughed. "Take it easy. I said there might be one. Lots of things might happen. Hell, the world itself might come to an end."
Ernie said grumpily, "I don't like 'mights'. Why can't they leave a man alone and let him do his work? Why do they gotta--"
Jory stood up and grinned. "Come on, Ernie. What do you need money for? I mean, other than to keep up the payments on your TV?"
&nb
sp; Ernie rose. "Don't be such a guy," he grumbled. "We better get back. If I come in late from lunch, I've had it."
It was a quarter of a mile across the plant yard to where they worked. They walked in silence for the first few yards. Ernie thought his own thoughts and listened to the sound of their feet on the gravel.
Presently, Jory said, "Ernie, you watch the fights. Do you remember back when they had the Rico-Marsetti bout?"
Ernie still felt irritable. "Hell, yes, I remember. It was just two weeks ago. You make it sound like it happened six months back."
"How well do you remember it?"
"Well enough. That bum Marsetti cost me ten bucks when he dived in the sixth. He was the two-to-one favorite."
"He didn't dive."
"Yeah? You ask him?"
"No. I read the papers. He was pretty scrambled up ... in the head, I mean ... for quite a while after they brought him back to his dressing room."
"Maybe he was that way all along. Maybe they just then noticed it."
Jory laughed. "Don't get cynical, Ernie. It's a sign of old age. No. Marsetti was really out of his head. He kept going through the last round ... you know, in his mind. He did it perfect, thirty or forty times, just up to the knockout." Then he stopped and went through the whole round again.
"The doctors that examined him said that it happened because he ran into something he couldn't face."
Ernie said sourly, "Yeah. Rico's left fist."
"Maybe. But it gave me an idea."
"Oh?"
"Yeah. The idea is this: Could the world get knocked out that way? Suppose it did. Suppose everybody ran into something they couldn't take. Would they just run in a closed circle? Would they take a single day, like Marsetti took the sixth round, and just repeat it over and over again?"
Ernie scowled and stopped. They were outside the plant door. "Boy," he said, "you are a bug, ain't you? What are you trying to give me?"
"Just an idea, Ernie."
The suspicion that Jory was needling him came back. "Well, I don't like it," Ernie said scornfully. "In fact, I think it's nuts." He paused to think of something else to say, then shrugged and turned. "I'll see you later. I got to get in to work."
* * * * *
And now here he was, Ernie thought, sitting in his own room with Jory's face looking at him out of the blue screen.
The whole day has been nuts, Ernie told himself.
"Hello, Ernie," Jory's voice repeated tiredly. "Hello, Ernie.... Hello, Ernie--"
Ernie threw his beer can on the floor. Foam spewed out and soaked the rug. "All right," Ernie bellowed, "All right--Hello!"
Jory stopped. He put his hand to his head and looked excited. He was wearing earphones, Ernie saw.
"Ernie!" Jory said. "Do you see me?" He looked blindly out of the screen.
In his rage, Ernie nearly kicked in the face of the set. "Yes, I see you! What are you trying to pull?"
Jory turned excitedly to someone beside him, but off the screen. "I've got him," he said quickly. "He's awake." He turned and faced Ernie.
"Look, Ernie, I can't see you but we've got a microphone in your room. I can hear every word you say. Now sit down for a minute and let me explain."
"You'd better," Ernie said ominously.
"Are you sitting?"
"Yeah, I'm sitting. Get on with it."
"I've been on your screen every night for the past week, Ernie. We took over the station. And we've been broadcasting to you on all channels for the past week."
Ernie shook his head. "You're nuts," he mumbled.
"It's true, Ernie."
"But--" A thought struck him. "Hey, are other people getting this on their sets?"
"Everyone in the city, Ernie. But they aren't seeing it. As far as we can tell they think they're watching their usual programs. Everyone is in a trance, Ernie. They just go through the same motions over and over. It was the same with the engineers here. We just pushed them aside. They're tied up now. We're keeping them under drugs. We had to do that. When they were loose they just tried to get back at the controls. But that was all, they never really saw us."
Ernie shook his head again. "Wait a minute. Let me get my head clear--O.K., now you say everybody is in some kind of trance. Why?"
"I tried to make you see it today. The world is stuck. It's stuck in this God-forsaken one day! We don't know why. Some of us--just a few--have known it all along. But even we can't remember what caused it."
"You mean it's happening everywhere?"
"Yes. Or not happening, I guess you'd say. We're not getting reports from overseas ... not any that are any different from the first Wednesday. So it must be the same over there. It's the whole world, Ernie."
"Wait a minute. Let me think." After a moment, he got up, went into the kitchen and got another beer.
"O.K., I'm ready," he said as he came back. "Now, why did you guys pick me? How many of you are there?"
"Just a handful ... no more than twenty. We're scattered all across the country. We picked you because you're a test case, Ernie. One of us is a psychologist.
"He says you're a common denominator. If we could break you out of it, then we could get through to a whole cross section of people."
Ernie grunted and sipped his beer. "A common denominator, huh? Thanks, pal. You mentioned drugs. I guess you can go anywhere? Just walk past people and never be seen?"
"That's right."
Ernie laughed scornfully. "You've got a good deal. Why louse it up? What do you stand to gain?"
Jory shook his head. "You're wrong, Ernie. For one thing, everything is slowly running down. Miners go to the same part of the mine each day and send out nothing but empty cars. The same thing is happening all across the country, in farms, in factories, in hospitals--"
Ernie got up. "Keep talking," he said.
"Hospitals are hideous these days, Ernie. Don't go near a surgeon. All he can do are the same operations he performed on the first Wednesday. If you're the wrong height, the wrong weight, or just there at the wrong time, he'll cut you to pieces.
"Homes burn to the ground. And nobody tries to get out of them. The fire department is no good. It's stuck in that first Wednesday.
"We broke off broadcasting last night. We had to fight an apartment house fire. There are only three of us here in the city. We didn't save anyone. What could we do? We were lucky that we kept it from spreading.
"We need help, Ernie. We need it badly--"
Absently, Ernie said, "Yeah, I see that all right." He kept pacing.
"I don't know if I can make you understand how important you are right now, Ernie. With you helping, we can isolate the thing that triggered you out of this. We can use it as a technique on whole groups of people. The world will begin moving again. At last, things will begin to change."
"Yeah--" Ernie stopped and looked at the rug beside his dresser. He had found what he had been looking for. He picked the microphone up.
And pulled loose the wires.
From the television, Jory screamed. "Ernie, listen to me--"
Ernie turned off the set.
He sat on his bed and continued to think while he finished the can of beer. When he had it all thought out he smiled. He felt very happy. He could stop being afraid. Afraid of anything. His foreman, his job. All of it.
He wasn't interested in walking into banks and carrying off sackfuls of money. What was the sense to that? He couldn't spend it anyway.
Besides, he had something that was better.
All his life there had been too many bright guys with too many bright ideas. And the bright ideas got put into practice and then things changed. They could never leave a guy alone and just let him do his job. They always had to throw in the unexpected.
But this time, nothing was going to change.
Ever.
He chuckled and turned out the light.
* * *
Contents
THE FOUR-FACED VISITORS OF EZEKIEL
By Arthur W. O
rton
Ezekiel, they say, "saw de wheel"—but he saw somewhat more than that. And Orton suggests that what he saw made perfectly good sense ... to the understanding!
We are told from our Sunday School days that the Bible is a "living book," the oldest of man's written works that is read and used anew, from generation to generation. It remains "living" because we are able to find new meaning to fit our daily lives. Although it is not the usual kind of new meaning, I believe that I have found something of the sort in the very old prophesies of Ezekiel.
Bible scholars have long recognized the first chapter of Ezekiel as a strange and nearly unfathomable account of a vision. I suggest that it is strange only because it is written by a man far removed from us in time and experience, about a subject totally unfamiliar to men of his time. I do not think that this was a vision in the usual sense, nor was it meant to be mystical. This particular chapter has been called "Science fiction in the Bible" and many attempts have been made to unravel the meaning of the original author, along both spiritual and mundane lines. I am convinced that this chapter is the account of an actual happening; the landing of extraterrestial beings, reported by a careful, truthful and self-possessed observer.
I am not a student of theology and therefore you may feel that I am being presumptive in attempting to throw light on a mystery as old and well-studied as Ezekiel's first chapter. I feel that any success that I may have in doing so will be due to the accident of my birth at the very beginning of an era when the events I have to describe are fact, or are about to become fact.
If, as I believe, this is an account of an actual encounter with men from space, I may be better able to interpret the meaning than a student of theology, who by training and interest, is looking for a theological meaning. I have worked with mechanical things, and as an instructor of aircraft mechanics for most of my adult life. During this time I have had to untangle a lot of mechanical misconceptions and misunderstandings. I think that this gives me some insight into this problem.
If you are not too familiar with the Old Testament, I suggest that you read through the first chapter of Ezekiel to get the feeling of the flow of words, and a general idea of what sort of material we will be covering. If you have done a considerable amount of reading in the Bible, I am sure you will notice at once how different and "un-Bible-like" this chapter sounds. It isn't long. The first chapter covers little more than one page. Don't expect to get a clear picture the first time through. It seems to have an elusive quality. About the time you feel that you have hold of a fact, it seems to be contradicted in a later verse. I am going to try to show you that this is due to your own preconceived notions of what some of the words and phrases mean. You, not Ezekiel, are supplying the contradictions.
