"Well, I'd say he's sure as hell found it populated by something," said the General.
Groszinger wadded the second telegram in his fist and threw it across the room, missing the wastebasket by a foot. He folded his hands and affected the patient, priestlike pose he used in lecturing freshman physics classes. "At first, my friend, we had two possible conclusions: Either Major Rice was insane, or he was pulling off a spectacular hoax." He twiddled his thumbs, waiting for the General to digest this intelligence. "Now that we know his spirit messages deal with real people, we've got to conclude that he has planned and is now carrying out some sort of hoax. He got his names and addresses before he took off. God knows what he hopes to accomplish by it. God knows what we can do to make him stop it. That's your problem, I'd say."
The General's eyes narrowed. "So he's trying to jimmy the project, is he? We'll see, by God, we'll see." The radio operator was dozing. The General slapped him on the back. "On the ball, Sergeant, on the ball. Keep calling Rice till you get him, understand?"
The radio operator had to call only once.
"This is Able Baker Fox. Come in, Dog Easy Charley." Major Rice's voice was tired.
"This is Dog Easy Charley," said General Dane. "We've had enough of your voices, Able Baker Fox---do you understand? We don't want to hear any more about them. We're onto your little game. I don't know what your angle is, but I do know I'll bring you back down and slap you on a rock pile in Leavenworth so fast you'll leave your teeth up there. Do we understand each other?" The General bit the tip from a fresh cigar fiercely. "Over."
"Did you check those names and addresses? Over."
The General looked at Groszinger, who frowned and shook his head. "Sure we did. That doesn't prove anything. So you've got a list of names and addresses up there. So what does that prove? Over."
"You say those names checked? Over."
"I'm telling you to quit it, Rice. Right now. Forget the voices, do you hear? Give me a weather report. Over."
"Clear patches over Zones Eleven, Fifteen, and Sixteen. Looks like a solid overcast in One, Two, and Three. All clear in the rest. Over."
"That's more like it, Able Baker Fox," said the General. "We'll forget about the voices, eh? Over."
"There's an old woman calling out something in a German accent. Is Dr. Groszinger there? I think she's calling his name. She's asking him not to get too wound up in his work---not to---"
Groszinger leaned over the radio operator's shoulder and snapped off the switch on the receiver. "Of all the cheap, sickening stunts," he said.
"Let's hear what he has to say," said the General. "Thought you were a scientist."
Groszinger glared at him defiantly, snapped on the receiver, and stood back, his hands on his hips.
"---saying something in German," continued the voice of Major Rice. "Can't understand it. Maybe you can. I'll give it to you the way it sounds: 'Alles geben die Götter, die unendlichen, ihren Lieblingen, ganz. Alle---'"
Groszinger turned down the volume. "'Alle Freuden, die unendlichen, alle Schmerzen, die unendlichen, ganz,'"he said faintly. "That's how it ends." He sat down on the cot. "It's my mother's favorite quotation---something from Goethe."
"I can threaten him again," said the General.
"What for?"Groszinger shrugged and smiled. "Outer space is full of voices." He laughed nervously. "There's something to pep up a physics textbook."
"An omen, sir---it's an omen," blurted the radio operator.
"What the hell do you mean, an omen?" said the General. "So outer space is filled with ghosts. That doesn't surprise me."
Reprinted from Bagombo Snuff Box by Kurt Vonnegut by permission of G. P. Putnam's Sons, a member of Penguin Putnam Inc. Copyright © 1999 by Kurt Vonnegut. All rights reserved. This excerpt, or any parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.
Blood at the Root
"A gripping, timely, and important examination of American racism."
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