conversation with a thoughtful and uncompleted “I wonder if this goes all the way back to the Democratic Convention of 1968….”
“Say,” Cortex cried, eyes wide. “What was all that fighting and fussing about, anyway? The way I remember it, the radicals wanted to sleep in the park and the police beat the shit out of them and chased them out of the park. That seems an awfully silly issue to lead to a whole week of rioting and tear-gassing. And why were so many journalists—and especially cameramen—attacked by the cops …?”
“You think maybe the city authorities knew about it, even back then …?” Naismith asked eagerly.
“People may resist new ideas, as we all know to our sorrow,” Williams said, “but a fact this size—over two hundred gorillas purchased by the zoo over a ten-year period and only two accounted for—must have been noticed by somebody on the finance committee at least. You can bet your sweet ass the city authorities know about it. And, of course, they’re imposing a cover-up, just like the air force with the UFOs. The same old government reflex. Pavlov’s Dog meets Schrödinger’s Cat again.”
“This is a time for action, not theory,” said Cotex. “Gentlemen, I am flying to Chicago tonight to begin a personal investigation. A case like this is a surrealist’s heaven and a logician’s hell,” he added with a chuckle. He was totally nonlinear.
THE MAD FISHMONGER
There is no such thing as water. It is merely melted ice.
—FURBISH LOUSEWART V, Unsafe Wherever You Go
The Mad Fishmonger was the patron saint of the Warren Belch Society. He, or she, had originally appeared, or had been alleged to have appeared, in Cromer Gardens, Worcester, England, on May 28, 1881. He, or she, along with perhaps a dozen assistants, had rushed through Cromer Gardens at high noon, throwing crabs and periwinkles all over the streets. They also threw crabs and periwinkles into the fields beside the road. They climbed high walls to dump some of the fish into gardens and onto the roofs of houses.
It was thorough, painstaking work, and since the Mad Fishmonger and his, or her, associates accomplished it all at noon on a busy day without being seen, the citizens of Cromer Gardens claimed that the crabs and periwinkles had fallen out of the sky.
This notion was not acceptable to the scientists of the day, who held it as axiomatic that crabs and periwinkles do not fall out of the sky. A scientist from Nature magazine therefore offered the Mad Fishmonger an explanation, although he failed to explain how the Fishmonger and his co-conspirators had accomplished their feat without being noticed by any of the citizenry.
Charles Fort, founder of the Fortean Society, rejected the Mad Fishmonger indignantly and claimed that crabs and periwinkles did fall from the sky. After Clem Cotex was thrown out of the Fortean Society for his heresies, he reconsidered the whole puzzling case of the mysterious event in Cromer Gardens on May 28, 1881. Cotex decided to believe in the Mad Fishmonger. It was the fundamental hypothesis of his system of philosophy, and the guiding light of the Warren Belch Society, that the craziest-sounding theory is the most likely one. All things considered, the motives and methodology of the Mad Fishmonger were much more mysterious than shellfish falling from the sky; ergo, the Mad Fishmonger probably did exist.
Among the things the science of that time could not explain, which Clem Cotex attributed to the Mad Fishmonger, were other Damned Things that fell out of the sky, such as iron balls with inscriptions on them or chunks of ice as big as elephants. There were also Damned Things on the ground, including jumping furniture, “haunts,” and the Gentry. There were animals that shouldn’t be and animals that couldn’t be and trans-time and trans-space perceptions and religious “miracles.”
The first clue to correct understanding of these things came when quantum causality was finally formulated correctly in Gilhooley’s Demonstration of 1994, and nobody understood Gilhooley.
At the time of our story everybody was as confused as Clem Cotex. Most of them just expressed their confusion, or rather concealed it, in more conservative ways.
ANOTHER CIA PLOT
The spirit of decision consists simply in not hesitating when an inner voice commands you to act.
—FURBISH LOUSEWART V, Unsafe Wherever Your Go
Just before coming to Wildeblood’s party, Blake Williams wrote one of the most heretical passages in his jealously guarded Secret Diaries. He wrote:
I am an anthropologist, ergo a professional liar. An anthropologist is a scientist trained to observe that