“That first night, there was a run on the town’s movie houses. Films weren’t much, but it was like the Oddfellows’ Ball downtown till midnight. Drugstores fizzed up two hundred vanilla, three hundred chocolate sodas that first night of the Calamity. But you can’t buy movies and sodas every night. What then? Phone your in-laws for canasta or Parcheesi?”
“Might as well,” observed Willy, “blow your brains out.”
“Sure, but people had to get out of their haunted houses. Walking through their parlors was like whistling past a graveyard. All that silence . . .”
Willy sat up a little. “Speaking of silence—”
“On the third night,” said Antonelli quickly, “we were all still in shock. We were saved from outright lunacy by one woman. Somewhere in this town this woman strolled out of the house, and came back a minute later. In one hand she held a paintbrush. And in the other—”
“A bucket of paint,” said Willy.
Everyone smiled, seeing how well he understood.
“If those psychologists ever strike off gold medals, they should pin one on that woman and every woman like her in every little town who saved our world from coming to an end. Those women who instinctively wandered in at twilight and brought us the miracle cure.”
Willy imagined it. There were the glaring fathers and the scowling sons slumped by their dead TV sets waiting for the damn things to shout Ball One, or Strike Two! And then they looked up from their wake and there in the twilight saw the fair women of great purpose and dignity standing and waiting with brushes and paint. And a glorious light kindled their cheeks and eyes. . . .
“Lord, it spread like wildfire!” said Antonelli. “House to house, city to city. Jigsaw-puzzle craze, 1932, yo-yo craze, 1928, were nothing compared with the Everybody Do Everything Craze that blew this town to smithereens and glued it back again.
Men everywhere slapped paint on anything that stood still ten seconds; men everywhere climbed steeples, straddled fences, fell off roofs and ladders by the hundreds.
Women painted cupboards, closets; kids painted Tinkertoys, wagons, kites. If they hadn’t kept busy, you could have built a wall around this town, renamed it Babbling Brooks.
All towns, everywhere, the same, where people had forgotten how to waggle their jaws, make their own talk. I tell you, men were moving in mindless circles, dazed, until their wives shoved a brush into their hands and pointed them toward the nearest unpainted wall!”
“Looks like you finished the job,” said Willy.
“Paint stores ran out of paint three times the first week.” Antonelli surveyed the town with pride. “The painting could only last so long, of course, unless you start painting hedges and spraying grass blades one by one.
Now that the attics and cellars are cleaned out, too, our fire is seeping off into, well, women canning fruit again, making tomato pickles, raspberry, strawberry preserves. Basement shelves are loaded.
Big church doings, too. Organized bowling, night donkey baseball, box socials, beer busts. Music shop sold five hundred ukeleles, two hundred and twelve steel guitars, four hundred and sixty ocarinas and kazoos in four weeks. I’m studying trombone. Mac, there, the flute.
Band Concerts Thursday and Sunday nights. Hand-crank ice-cream machines? Bert Tyson’s sold two hundred last week alone. Twenty-eight days, Willie, Twenty-eights Days That Shook the World!”
Willy Bersinger and Samuel Fitts sat there, trying to imagine and feel the shock, the crushing blow.
“Twenty-eight days, the barbershop jammed with men getting shaved twice a day so they can sit and stare at customers like they might say something,” said Antonelli, shaving Willy now. “Once, remember, before TV, barbers were supposed to be great talkers.
Well, this month it took us one whole week to warm up, get the rust out. Now we’re spouting fourteen to the dozen. No quality, but our quantity is ferocious. When you came in you heard the commotion. Oh, it’ll simmer down when we get used to the great Oblivion.”
“Is that what everyone calls it?”
“It sure looked that way to most of us, there for a while.”
Willy Bersinger laughed quietly and shook his head. “Now I know why you didn’t want me to start lecturing when I walked in that door.”
Of course, thought Willy, why didn’t I see it right off? Four short weeks ago the wilderness fell on this town and shook it good and scared it plenty. Because of the sunspots, all the towns in all the Western world have had enough silence to last them ten years.
And here I come by with another dose of silence, my easy talk about deserts and nights with no moon and only stars and just the little sound of the sand blowing along the empty river bottoms. No telling what might have happened if Antonelli hadn’t shut me up. I see me, tarred and feathered, leaving town.
“Antonelli,” he said aloud. “Thanks.”
“For nothing,” said Antonelli. He picked up his comb and shears. “Now, short on the sides, long in back?”
“Long on the sides,” said Willy Bersinger, closing his eyes again, “short in back.”
An hour later Willy and Samuel climbed back into their jalopy, which someone, they never knew who, had washed and polished while they were in the barbershop.
“Doom.” Samuel handed over a small sack of gold dust. “With a capital D.”
“Keep it.” Willy sat, thoughtful, behind the wheel. “Let’s take this money and hit out for Phoenix, Tucson, Kansas City, why not? Right now we’re a surplus commodity around here. We won’t be welcome again until those little sets begin to herringbone and dance and sing.
Sure as hell, if we stay, we’ll open our traps and the gila monsters and chicken hawks and the wilderness will slip out and make us trouble.”
Willy squinted at the highway straight ahead.
“Pearl of the Orient, that’s what he said. Can you imagine that dirty old town, Chicago, all painted up fresh and new as a babe in the morning light? We just got to go see Chicago, by God!”
He started the car, let it idle, and looked at the town.
“Man survives,” he murmured. “Man endures. Too bad we missed the big change. It must have been a fierce thing, a time of trials and testings. Samuel, I don’t recall, do you? What have we ever seen on TV?”
“Saw a woman wrestle a bear two falls out of three, one night.”
“Who won?”
“Damned if I know. She—”
But then the jalopy moved and took Willy Bersinger and Samuel Fitts with it, their hair cut, oiled and neat on their sweet-smelling skulls, their cheeks pink-shaven, their fingernails flashing the sun.
They sailed under clipped green, fresh-watered trees, through flowered lanes, past daffodil-, lilac-, violet-, rose- and peppermint-colored houses on the dustless road.
“Pearl of the Orient, here we come!”
A perfumed dog with permanented hair ran out, nipped their tires and barked, until they were gone away and completely out of sight.
The End
