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The Aggravation of Elmer

By ROBERT ARTHUR


 _The world would beat a path to
 Elmer's door--but he had to go
 carry the door along with him!_


It was the darnedest traffic jam I'd ever seen in White Plains. For two
blocks ahead of me, Main Street was gutter to gutter with stalled cars,
trucks and buses.

If I hadn't been in such a hurry to get back to the shop, I might have
paid more attention. I might have noticed nobody was leaning on his
horn. Or that at least a quarter of the drivers were out peering under
their hoods.

But at the time it didn't register. I gave the tie-up a passing glance
and was turning up the side street toward Biltom Electronics--Bill-Tom,
get it?--when I saw Marge threading her way to the curb. She was leading
a small blonde girl of about eight, who clutched a child-size hatbox in
her hand. Marge was hot and exasperated, but small fry was as cool and
composed as a vanilla cone.

I waited. Even flushed and disheveled, Marge is a treat to look at. She
is tall and slender, with brown eyes that match her hair, a smile that
first crinkles around her eyes, then sneaks down and becomes a
full-fledged grin--

But I'm getting off the subject.

"Honestly, Bill!" Marge said as she saw me. "The traffic nowadays! We've
been tied up for fifteen minutes. I finally decided to get off the bus
and walk, even though it is about a hundred in the shade."

"Come along to the shop," I suggested. "The reception room is
air-conditioned and you can watch the world's first baseball game
telecast in color. The Giants versus the Dodgers, Carl Erskine
pitching."

Marge brightened. "That'll be more fun than shopping, won't it, Doreen?"
she asked, looking down at the kid. "Bill, this is Doreen. She lives
across the street from me. Her mother's at the dentist and I said I'd
look after her for the day."

"Hello, Doreen," I said. "What have you in the hatbox? Doll clothes?"

Doreen gave me a look of faint disgust. "No," she piped, in a high
treble. "An unhappy genii."

"An unhappy--" I did a double take. "Oh, an unhappy genii? Maybe he's
unhappy because you won't let him out, ha ha." Even to myself, I sounded
idiotic.

Doreen looked at me pityingly. "It's not a he, it's a thing. Elmer made
it."

I knew when I was losing, so I quit.

       *       *       *       *       *

I hurried Marge and Doreen along toward our little two-story building.
Once we got into the air-conditioned reception room, Marge sank down
gratefully onto the settee and I switched on the television set with the
big 24-inch tube Tom had built.

Biltom Electronics makes TV components, computer parts, things like
that. Tom Kennedy is the brains. Me, Bill Rawlins, I do the legwork, and
tend to the business details.

"It's uncanny the way all those cars suddenly stopped when our bus broke
down," Marge said as we waited for the picture to come on. "Any day now
this civilization of ours will get so complicated a bus breaking down
someplace will bring the whole thing to a halt. Then where will we be?"

"Elmer says silly-zation is doomed!" Doreen put in happily.

The way she rolled the word out made me stare at her.

Marge only nodded. "That's what Elmer says, all right," she agreed, a
trifle grim.

"Why does Elmer say silly-zation is doomed?" I asked Doreen.

"Because it's getting hotter." The kid gave it to me straight. "All the
ice at the North Pole is gonna melt. The ocean is gonna rise two hundred
feet. Then everybody who doesn't live on a hill is gonna be drownded.
That's what Elmer says and Elmer isn't ever wrong."

[Illustration: Illustrated by CAVAT]

Doreen they called her! Why not Cassandra? The stuff kids spout these
days!

I gave her a foolish grin. I wanted Marge to get the idea I was really a
family man at heart. "That's very interesting, Doreen. Now look, there's
the baseball game. Let's watch, shall we?"

We weren't very late after all. It was the top half of the second
inning, the score one to one, Erskine in trouble with two men on and
only one down. The colors were beautiful. Marge and I were just settling
back to watch when Doreen wrinkled her nose.

"I saw that game yesterday!" she announced.

"You couldn't have, sweetheart," I told her. "Because it's only being
played today. The world's first ball game ever broadcast in color."

"There was a game on Elmer's TV," Doreen insisted. "The picture was
bigger and the colors prettier, too."

"Absolutely impossible." I was a little sore. I hate kids who tell fibs.
"There never was a game broadcast in color before. And, anyway, you
won't find a color tube this big any place outside of a laboratory."

"But it's true, Bill." Marge looked at me, wide-eyed. "Elmer only has a
little seven-inch black and white set his uncle gave him. But he's
rigged up some kind of lens in front of it, and it projects a big color
picture on a white screen."

I saw that she was serious. My eyes bugged slightly. "Listen," I said,
"who is this Elmer character? I want to meet him!"

"He's my cousin from South America," Doreen answered. "He thinks
grownups are stupid." She turned to Marge. "I have to go to the
bathroom," she said primly.

"Through that door." Marge pointed.

Doreen trotted out, clutching her hat box.

       *       *       *       *       *

"Elmer thinks grownups are stupid?" I howled. "Listen, how old is this
character who says silly-zation is doomed and can convert a black and
white broadcast into color?"

"He's thirteen," Marge told me. I goggled at her. "Thirteen," she
repeated. "His father is some South American scientist. His mother died
ten years ago."

I sat down beside her. I lit a cigarette. My hands were shaking. "Tell
me about him. _All_ about him."

"Why, I don't know very much," Marge said. "Last year Elmer was sick,
some tropic disease. His father sent him up here to recuperate. Now
Alice--that's his aunt, Doreen's mother--is at her wits' end, he makes
her so nervous."

I lit another cigarette before I realized I already had one. "And he
invents things? A boy genius? Young Tom Edison and all that?"

Marge frowned. "I suppose you could say that," she conceded. "He has the
garage full of stuff he's made or bought with the allowance his father
sends him. And if you come within ten feet of it without permission, you
get an electric shock right out of thin air. But that's only part of it.
It--" she gave a helpless gesture--"it's Elmer's effect on everybody.
Everybody over fifteen, that is. He sits there, a little, dark,
squinched-up kid wearing thick glasses and talking about how climatic
changes inside fifty years will flood half the world, cause the collapse
of civilization--"

"Wait a minute!" I cut in. "Scientists seem to think that's possible in
a few thousand years. Not fifty."

"Elmer says fifty," Marge stated flatly. "From the way he talks, I
suspect he's figured out a way to speed things up and is going to try it
some day just to see if it works. Meanwhile he fools around out there in
the garage, sneering about the billions of dollars spent to develop
color TV. He says his lens will turn any ordinary broadcast into color
for about twenty-five dollars. He says it's typical of the muddled
thinking of our so-called scientists--I'm quoting now--to do everything
backward and overlook fundamental principles."

"Bro-ther!" I said.

Doreen came trotting back in then, with her hat box. "I'm tired of that
game," she said, giving the TV set a bored glance. And as she said it
the tube went dark. The sound cut off.

"Damn!" I swore. "Must be a power failure!" I grabbed the phone and
jiggled the hook. No dice. The phone was dead, too.

"You're funny," Doreen giggled. "It's just the unhappy genii. See?"

She flicked over the catch on the hatbox.

And the picture came back on. The sound started up. "--swings and misses
for strike two!" The air conditioner began to hum.

Marge and I stared. Mouths open. Wide.

       *       *       *       *       *

"You did that, Doreen?" I asked it very carefully. "You made the
television stop and start again?"

"The unhappy genii did," Doreen told me. "Like this." She flicked the
catch back. The TV picture blacked out. The sound stopped in the middle
of a word. The air conditioner whispered into silence.

Then she flipped the catch the other way.

"--fouls the second ball into the screen," the announcer said. Picture
okay. Air conditioner operating. Everything normal except my pulse and
respiration.

"Doreen, sweetheart--" I took a step toward her--"what's in that box?
What _is_ an unhappy genii?"

"Not unhappy." You know how scornful an eight-year-old can be? Well, she
was. "Unhap-_pen_. It makes things unhappen. Anything that works by
electracity, it stops. Elmer calls it his unhappen genii. Just for fun."

"Oh, now I get it," I said brightly. "It makes electricity not
work--unhappen. Like television sets and air conditioners and
automobiles and bus engines."

Doreen giggled.

Marge sat bolt upright. "Doreen! _You_ caused that traffic jam? You and
that--that gadget of Elmer's?"

Doreen nodded. "It made all the automobile engines stop, just like Elmer
said. Elmer's never wrong."

Marge looked at me. I looked at Marge.

"A field of some kind," I said. "A field that prevents an electric
current from flowing. Meaning no combustion motor using an electric
spark can operate. No electric motors. No telephones. No radio or TV."

"Is that important?" Marge asked.

"Important?" I yelled. "Think of the possibilities just as a weapon! You
could blank out a whole nation's transportation, its communications, its
industry--"

I got hold of myself. I smiled my best I-love-children smile. "Doreen,"
I said, "let me look at Elmer's unhappen genii."

The kid clutched the box.

"Elmer told me not to let anybody look at it. He said he'd statuefy me
if I did. He said nobody would understand it anyway. He said he might
show it to Mr. Einstein, but not anybody else."

"That's Elmer, all right," Marge muttered.

I found myself breathing hard. I edged toward Doreen and put my hand on
the hatbox. "Just one quick look, Doreen," I said. "No one will ever
know."

She didn't answer. Just pulled the box away.

I pulled it back.

She pulled.

I pulled.

"Bill--" Marge called warningly. Too late. The lid of the hatbox came
off in my hands.

       *       *       *       *       *

There was a bright flash, the smell of insulation burning, and the
unhappen genii fell out and scattered all over the floor.

Doreen looked smug. "Now Elmer will be angry at you. Maybe he'll
disintegrate you. Or paralalize you and statuefy you. Forever."

"He might at that, Bill," Marge shuddered. "I wouldn't put anything past
him."

I wasn't listening. I was scrambling after the mess of tubes, condensers
and power packs scattered over the rug. Some of them were still wired
together, but most of them had broken loose. Elmer was certainly one
heck of a sloppy workman. Hadn't even soldered the connections. Just
twisted the wires together.

I looked at the stuff in my hands. It made as much sense as a radio run
over by a truck.

"We'll take it back to Elmer," I told Doreen, speaking very carefully.
"I'll give him lots of money to build another. He can come down here and
use our shop. We have lots of nice equipment he'd like."

Doreen tossed her head. "I don't think he'll wanta. He'll be mad at you.
Anyway, Elmer is busy working on aggravation now."

"That's for sure!" Marge said in heartfelt tones.

"Aggravation, eh?" I grinned like an idiot. "Well, well! I'll bet he's
good at it. But let's go see him right away."

"Bill!" Marge signaled me to one side. "Maybe you'd better not try to
see Elmer," she whispered. "I mean, if he can build a thing like this in
his garage, maybe he _can_ build a disintegrator or a paralysis ray or
something. There's no use taking chances."

"You read too many comics," I laughed it off. "He's only a kid, isn't
he? What do you think he is? A superman?"

"Yes," Marge said flatly.

"Look, Marge!" I said in feverish excitement. "I've got to talk to
Elmer! I've got to get the rights to that TV color lens and this
electricity interruptor and anything else he may have developed!"

Marge kept trying to protest, but I simply grabbed her and Doreen and
hustled them out to my car. Doreen lived in a wooded, hilly section a
little north of White Plains. I made it in ten minutes.

       *       *       *       *       *

Marge had said Elmer worked in the garage. I kept going up the driveway,
swung sharp around the big house--and slammed on the brakes.

Marge screamed.

We skidded to a stop with our front end hanging over what looked like a
bomb crater in the middle of the driveway.

I swallowed my heart down again, while I backed away fast.

We had almost plunged into a hole forty feet across and twenty feet deep
in the middle. The hole was perfectly round, like a half section of a
grapefruit.

"What's this?" I asked. "Where's the garage?"

"That's where the garage should be." Marge looked dazed. "But it's
gone!"

I took another look at that hole scooped out with geometrical precision,
and turned to Doreen. "What did you say Elmer was working on?"

"Agg--" she sobbed, "agg--agg--aggravation." She began to bawl in
earnest. "Now he's gone. He's mad. He won't ever come back, I betcha."

"That's a fact," I muttered. "He may not have been mad, but he certainly
was aggravated. Marge, listen! This is a mystery. We've just got to let
it stay a mystery. We don't know anything, understand? The cops will
finally decide Elmer blew himself up, and we'll leave it at that. One
thing I'm pretty sure about--he's not coming back."

       *       *       *       *       *

So that's how it was. Tom Kennedy keeps trying and trying to put Elmer's
unhappen genii back together again. And every time he fails he takes it
out on me because I didn't get to Elmer sooner. But you can see
perfectly well he's way off base, trying to make out I could have done a
thing to prevent what happened.

Is it my fault if the dumb kid didn't know enough to take the proper
precautions when he decided to develop anti-gravitation--and got shot
off, garage and all, someplace into outer space?

What do they teach kids nowadays, anyway?

                                                       --ROBERT ARTHUR




Transcriber's Note:

    This etext was produced from _Galaxy Science Fiction_ May 1955.
    Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S.
    copyright on this publication was renewed. Minor spelling and
    typographical errors have been corrected without note.





End of Project Gutenberg's The Aggravation of Elmer, by Robert Andrew Arthur