XV
“Hold on, here’s a bit of news,” said Guy then, suddenly brightening in his big chair and smartly slapping the newspaper spread across his lap. The banner read:
PRESIDENT ASKS NATION FOR FAITHIN GIANT SPACE PROGRAMJackass Payload Promised
He read it aloud in sonorous tones, but Ginger pooh-poohed the claim.
“Probably one of these teeny-weeny Mexican burros!” she cried. “Jackass indeed!” She was a notorious foe of the administration.
“Iwouldn’tunderestimate our Mister Uncle Sambo if I were you,” cautioned Guy, raising a rather arch look for Ginger and the others.
“Why those Mexican burros are no bigger than a minute!” Ginger insisted.
“Ginger’s right,” put in Agnes sharply, donning her spectacles—as she almost invariably did when taking political issue with Guy—to peer down at him then over the top of them, her face pinched and testy. “It would make a good deal more sense to sendthatgreat ninny up into space!” She flung back her head in a veritable cackle of delight at the idea. “I say blast that whole pack of ninnies right out into fartherest outer space!”
Grand laid his paper aside.
“Idon’tthink I’m an intolerant person,” he said quietly, but with considerable feeling, as he rose to his feet, “nor one of hasty opinion—but, in times like these, when the verymettleof this nation is in the crucible, I say that brand of talk is not far short ofdamnable treason!” Still glowering, he did a funny little two-step and ended in a smart salute. “I’m afraid I’ll not be staying for dinner myself, by the way,” he added matter-of-factly.
“Guy, I simply willnothear of it!” cried cross Agnes, snatching her glasses from her nose and fixing the man with a terrible frown. “Surely youshallstay!”
“Guy, Guy, Guy,” keened Esther, wagging her dear gray head, “always on the go.”
“Yes, only wish Icouldstay,” agreed Guy sadly. “Best push on though—back to harness, back to grind.”
*****
It was along towards the end though that Grand achieved, in terms of public outrage, hissuccès d’estime, as some chose to call it, when he put out to sea in his big ship, theS.S. Magic Christian... the ship sometimes later referred to as “The Terrible Trick Ship of Captain Klaus.” Actually it was the oldGriffin, a passenger liner which Grand bought and had reconditioned for about fifty million.
A vessel of 30,000 tons, theChristianhad formerly carried some eleven-hundred-odd passengers. Grand converted it into a one-class ship, outfitted to accommodate four hundred passengers, in a style and comfort perhaps unknown theretofore outside princely domains of the East. Each cabin on theChristianwas a palace in miniature; the appointments were solavish and so exquisitely detailed that they might better be imagined than described. All the cabins were of course above deck and outside, each with a twenty-foot picture window and French doors to a private patio commanding a magnificent expanse of sea and sky. There were fine deep rugs throughout each suite and period-furnishings of first account, private bars, chaise longues, log-burning fireplaces, king-sized beds (canopy optional), an adjoining library-den (with a set of theBritannicaand the best in smart fiction), tape recorders, powder rooms, small Roman bath and steam cabinet. Walls were generally in a quiet tone of suede with certain paneling of teak and rosewood.
Ship’s dining room was styled after Maxim’s in Paris whose staff had been engaged to prepare the meals and to serve them with inconspicuous grace against a background of soft music provided by the Juilliard String Quartette. The balance of ship’s appointments were in harmonious key—there was, for example, a veritable jewel box of a theatre, seating just four hundred, fashioned in replica of the one in the Monte Carlo Casino; and the versatile repertory group, Old Vic Players, were on stand-by for two shows a day.
Ship’s doctor, aside from being an able physician, was also a top-flight mental specialist, so that Problem-Counselingwas available to the passengers at all hours.
But perhaps the most carefully thought-out nicety of theChristianwas its principal lounge, the Marine Room—a large room, deep below decks, its wall (that which was part of ship’s hull) glassed so that the passengers sat looking out into the very heart of the sea. An ocean-floor effect was maintained by the regular release of deep-sea creatures from a water-line station near the bow, and through the use of powerful daylight kliegs there was afforded a breath-taking panorama—with giant octopi, huge rainbow-colored ray, serpents, great snowy angelfish, and fantastic schools of luminous tetra constantly gliding by or writhing in silent majestic combat a few feet from the relaxed passengers.
Though theMagic Christianreceived its share of prevoyage hullabaloo (Lifemagazine devoted an issue to photographs, enthusiastically captioned), its only form of paid advertisement was a simple announcement of its sailing date, which appeared inThe Timesand in theNational Geographic. The fare was not mentioned (thoughLifehad said it was “about five thousand”) and the announcement was set in small heavy type, boxed with a very black border. “For the Gracious Few ...” it opened, and went on to state in a brief, restrained apology, thatnot everyonecould be accepted, that applications for passage on theChristianwere necessarily carefully screened, and that those who were refused should not take offense. “Our criteria,” it closed, “maynotbe yours.”
Ship’s quarters were not shown until the applicant had been accepted, and then were shown by appointment.
The ship was christened by the Queen of England.
All of this had a certain appeal and the applications poured in. More than a few people, in fact, weredemandingpassage on theChristian’s first voyage. Those just back from holiday were suddenly planning to go abroad again; scores rushed home simply to qualify and make the trip. For many, the maiden voyage of theMagic Christianbecame a must.
Meanwhile Guy Grand, well in the background, was personally screening the applications according to some obscure criteria of his own, and apparently he had himself a few laughs in this connection. In the case of one application, for example, from a venerable scioness of Roman society, he simply scrawled moronically across it in blunt pencil: “Areyoukidding?!?Nowops!” The woman was said to have had a nervous breakdown and did later file for a million on defamation. It cost Grand a pretty to clear it.
On the other hand, he accepted—or rather, engaged—aspassengers, a group from a fairly sordid freak show, most of whom could not be left untended, along with a few gypsies, Broadway types, and the like, of offensive appearance and doubtful character. These, however, were to be kept below decks for the first few days out, and, even so, numbered only about forty in all, so that a good nine-tenths of the passenger list, those on deck when theChristianset sail in such tasteful fanfare that Easter morn, were top-drawer gentry and no mistake.
Unique among features of theChristianwas its video communication system from the bridge to other parts of the ship. Above the fireplace in each cabin was a small TV screen and this provided direct visual communication with the Captain at the wheel and with whatever other activity was going on there, giving as it did a view of almost the entire bridge. These sets could be switchedonoroff, but the first day they were leftonbefore the passengers arrived, in order to spare anyone the embarrassment of not knowing what the new gimmick was. So that when passengers entered their cabins now they saw at once, there on the screen above the fireplace: the Captain at the wheel. Captain Klaus. And for this person, Guy Grand had engaged a professional actor, a distinguished silver-haired man whose every gesture inspired the deepest confidence. He wore adouble row of service ribbons on his dark breast and deported himself in a manner both authoritative and pleasingly genial—as the passengers saw when he turned to face the screen, and this he did just as soon as they were all settled and under way.
He was filling his pipe when he turned to camera, but he paused from this to smile and touch his cap in easy salute.
“Cap’n Klaus,” he said, introducing himself with warm informality, though certainly at no sacrifice to his considerable bearing. “Glad to have you aboard.”
He casually picked up a pointer stick and indicated a chart on the nearby wall.
“Here’s our course,” he said, “nor’ by nor’east, forty-seven degrees.”
Then he went on to explain the mechanics and layout of the bridge, the weather and tide conditions at present, their prospects, and so on, using just enough technical jargon throughout all this to show that he knew what he was about. He said that the automatic-pilot would be used from time to time, but that he personally preferred handling the wheel himself, adding good-humoredly that in his opinion “a ship favored men to machines.”
“It may be an old-fashioned notion,” he said, with a wise twinkle, “... but to me, a ship is a woman.”
At last he gave a final welcome-salute, saying again: “Glad to have you aboard,” and turned back to his great wheel.
This contact with the bridge and the fatherly Captain seemed to give the passengers an added sense of participation and security; and, indeed, things couldn’t have gone more smoothly for the first few hours.
It was in the very early morning that something untoward occurred, at about threeA.M.—and of course almost everyone was asleep. They had watched their screens for a while: the Captain in the cozy bridge house, standing alone, pipe glowing, his strong eyes sweeping the black water ahead—then they had switched off their sets. There were a few people though who were still up and who had their sets on; and, of these few, there were perhaps three who happened to be watching the screen at a certain moment—when in the corner of the bridge house, near the door, there was a shadow, an odd movement ... then suddenly the appearance of a sinister-looking person, who crept up behind the Captain, hit him on the head, and seized the wheel as the screen blacked out.
The people who had seen this were disturbed and, in fact, were soon rushing about, rousing others,wanting to go to the bridge and so on. And they did actually get up a party and went to the bridge—only to be met at the top of the ladder by the Captain himself, unruffled, glossing it over, blandly assuring them that nothing was wrong, nothing at all, just a minor occurrence. And, of course, back in the cabins, there he was on the screen again, Captain Klaus, steady at the helm.
Those three who had seen the outrage, being in such a hopeless minority, were thought to have been drunk or in some way out of their minds, and were gently referred to ship’s doctor, the mental specialist, so the incident passed without too much notice.
And things went smoothly once more, until the next evening—when, in the exquisite gaming rooms just off the Marine Lounge, one of the roulette croupiers was seen, by several people, to be cheating ... darting his eyes about in a furtive manner and then interfering with the bets, snatching them up and stuffing them in his pocket, that sort of thing.
It was such an unheard-of outrage that one old duke fainted dead away. The croupier was hustled out of the gaming room by Captain Klaus himself, who deplored the incident profusely and declared that the next dozen spins were on the house, losing bets to remain untouched for that time—gracious recompense, in the eyes of a sporting crowd, and applaudedas such; still, the incident was not one easily forgotten.
Another curious thing occurred when some of the ladies went, individually, to visit the ship’s doctor. For the most part they had simply dropped around to pick up a few aspirin, sea-sickness pills—or merely to have a reassuring chat with the amiable physician. Several of these ladies, however, were informed that they looked “rather queer” and that an examination might be in order.
“Better safe than sorry,” the doctor said, and then, during the examination, he invariably seemed to discover what he termed “a latent abrasion”—on the waist, side, hip, or shoulder of the woman—and though the abrasion could not be seen, the doctor deemed it required a compress.
“Nothing serious,” he explained, “still it’s always wise to take precautions.” And so saying he would apply ahuge compressto the area, a sort of gigantic Band-Aid about a foot wide and several inches thick, with big adhesive flaps that went halfway around the body. The tremendous bulk of these compresses was a nuisance, causing as they did, great deforming bulges beneath the women’s smart frocks. They were almost impossible to remove. One woman was seen running about with one on her head, like a big white hat.
First lifeboat drill was scheduled for the following morning. Shortly before it, Captain Klaus came on the screen and smilingly apologized for the inconvenience and gave a leisurely and pleasantly informative talk about the drill and its necessity.
“Better safe than sorry,” he said in a genial close to his little talk.
When the drill signal sounded, they all got into life jackets—which were the latest thing and quite unlike standard passenger-ship equipment—and then, grumbling good-naturedly, they started for their boat stations; but an extraordinary thing happened: two minutes after they had put them on, the life jackets began inflating in a colossal way. Apparently the very act of donning the jacket set off some device which inflated it. The extraordinary thing was that each one blew up so big that it simply obscured the person wearing it, ballooning out about them, above their heads, below their feet, and to a diameter of perhaps twelve feet—so that if they were in an open space, such as their cabins, the lounge, or on deck, they simply rolled or lolled about on the floor, quite hidden from view, whereas if they were in a corridor, they were hopelessly stuck.
In any event, almost no one escaped the effects of the faulty life jacket; so it was—after they deflated—with a good deal of annoyance that they came backto the cabins, quite ready to hear Captain Klaus’ explanation of what had gone amiss.
Unfortunately though, the foghorn, which had been put to practice during the drill, was now evidently jammed. At any rate, it continued steadily during the Captain’s after-drill talk and completely shut out his voice, so that it was like looking at someone talk behind several layers of glass. The Captain himself didn’t seem to realize that he wasn’t coming through, and he went on talking for quite a while, punctuating his remarks with various little facial gestures to indicate a whole gamut of fairly intense feelings about whatever it was he was saying.
The business with the foghorn was more serious than at first imagined; it continued, blasting without let-up, for the rest of the voyage.
Quite incidental to what was happening during the drill, fifty crew members took advantage of the occasion to go around to the cabins, lounges, and dining rooms, and to substitute a thin length of balsa wood for one leg of every chair, table, and dresser on ship.
When the Captain finished his lengthy and voiceless discourse, he smiled, gave an easy salute and left the bridge house. It was about this time that all the furniture began to collapse—in half an hour’s time there wasn’t one standing stick of it aboard theChristian.
Strange and unnatural persons began to appear—in the drawing rooms, salons, at the pool. During the afternoon tea dance, a giganticbearded-woman, stark naked, rushed wildly about over the floor, interfering with the couples, and had to be forcibly removed by ship’s doctor.
The plumbing went bad, too; and finally one of theChristian’sbig stacks toppled—in such a way as to give directly on to ship’s dining room, sending oily smoke billowing through. And, in fact, from about this point on, the voyage was a veritable nightmare.
Large curious posters were to be seen in various parts of the ship:
SUPPORT MENTAL HEALTHLET’S KEEP THE CLAP OUTOF CHAPPAQUIDDICK
as well as rude slogans, vaguely political, scrawled in huge misshapen letters across walls and decks alike:
DEATH TO RICH!BLOW UP U.S.!
Due to the strain of untoward events, more than one passenger sought solace and reassurance fromthe problem-counselor, the ship’s distinguished doctor.
“Doctor, whatin the name of Godis going on here!” the frenzied passenger would demand.
The doctor would answer with a quizzical smile, arching his brows, only mildly censorious. “Fair-weather sailor?” he would gently chide, “... hmm? Cross and irritable the moment things aren’t going exactly to suit you? Now just what seems to be the trouble?”
“‘Trouble’!?!” exclaimed the outraged passenger. “Good Lord, Doctor, surely you don’t think my complaint is an ... an unreasonable one?”
The doctor would turn his gaze out to sea, thin fingers pressed beneath his chin in a delicate pyramid of contemplation, wistfully abstract for a moment before turning back to address the patient frankly.
“Deep-rooted and unreasonable fears,” he would begin in a grand, rich voice, “are most often behind our anxieties ...” and he would continue in this vein until the passenger fairly exploded with impatience.
“Great Scott, Doctor! I didn’t come here for a lecture onpsychology—I came to find out whatin the name of Heavenis going onaboard this ship!”
In the face of these outbursts however, the doctor almost invariably retained his calm, regarding thepatient coolly, searchingly, making a few careful notes on his pad.
“Now, you say that ‘the life jacketover inflated,’ and that you were ‘stuck in the corridor’—that was your expression, I believe, ‘stuck in the corridor’—and at that moment you felt a certainmalaise, so to speak. Now, let me ask youthis....” Or again, on other occasions, he might behave eccentrically, his head craned far to one side, regarding the patient out of the corners of his eyes, a sly, mad smile on his lips which moved in an inaudible whisper, almost a hiss.
Finally, the patient, at the end of his tether, would leap to his feet.
“Well, in the name of God, Doctor, the least you can do is let me have sometranquillizers!”
But the doctor, as it turned out, was not one given to prescribing drugs promiscuously.
“Escape into drugs?” he would ask, wagging his head slowly. “Mask our fears in an artificial fog?” And there was always a trace of sadness in his smile, as he continued, “No, I’m afraid the trouble isin ourselves, you see.” Then he would settle back expansively and speak with benign countenance. “Running away from problems is scarcely the solution to them. Ibelieveyou’ll thank me in years to come.” And at last he would lean forward in quiet confidence. “Doyou mind if I ask you a few questions about your ... yourearly childhood?”
*****
When Captain Klaus next appeared on the screen, he looked as though he had been sleeping in two feet of water. Completely disheveled, his ribbons dangling in unsightly strands, his open coat flapping, his unknotted tie strung loosely around his collar, he seemed somewhat drunk as well. With a rude wave of his hand he dismissed bridge personnel and lurched toward the video screen, actually crashing into it, and remaining so close that his image was all distorted.
“We’ll get the old tub through!” he was shouting at deafening volume, and at that moment he was attacked from behind by a ruffian type who was carrying a huge hypodermic and appeared to overpower the Captain and inject something into the top of his head, then to seize the wheel, wrenching it violently, before the screen went black.
Also, it was learned about this time that because of fantastic miscalculation on the part of the ship’s-stores officer, the only food left aboard now was potatoes.
Thus did theChristianroar over the sea, through fair weather and foul.
Guy Grand was aboard of course, as a passenger, complaining bitterly, and in fact kept leading assault parties in an effort to find out, as he put it, “What the devil’s going on on the bridge!”
But they were always driven back by a number of odd-looking men with guns and knives near the ladder.
“Who the deuce are those chaps?” Grand would demand as he and the others beat a hasty retreat along the deck. “I don’t like the looks of this!”
Occasionally the communications screen in each of the cabins would light up to reveal momentarily what was taking place on the bridge, and it was fairly incredible. The bridge house itself now was a swaying rubble heap and the Captain was seen intermittently, struggling with various assailants, and finally with what actually appeared to be a gorilla—the beast at last overpowering him and flinging him bodily out of the bridge house and, or so it seemed, into the sea itself, before seizing the wheel, which he seemed then to be trying to tear from its hub.
It was about this time that the ship, which, as it developed, had turned completely around in the middle of the ocean, came back into New York harbor under full steam, and with horns and whistles screaming, ploughed headlong into the big Forty-Seventh Street pier.
Fortunately no one was injured on the cruise; but, even so, it went far from easy with Grand—he had already sunk plenty into the project, and just how much it cost him to keep clear in the end, is practically anyone’s guess.