SECOND FIDDLE

“What's this doing here?”

“What—this tent? It's the carnival, Janey. There's tents all over the place.”

“Not this one. Dad and I were here just yesterday. He wanted to make sure there's nothing here that I shouldn't be seeing. This spot was completely empty.”

“Late arrival, then.” Personally I think she was making a big deal out of nothing. On the other hand, Janey's got a mind like a steel trap. Not too much gets by her, so maybe there is something to it.

“Look, Jack—let's go in.”

“What's in here, anyway?”

“Look at the sign—THE FABULOUS DIMENSIONARIUM OF PROFESSOR CROGGSTADT.”

“Looks like P.T. Barnum married the Taj Mahal.”

Inside, it looked all Arabian Nights, with fancy looking velvet cloths all draped from the ceiling. There were Persian Rugs on the floor. And I guess it was all this incense made it feel like the mysterious Far East. India, or maybe China. China, Huh?—I might be going out there soon. There's supposed to be some kind of conflict in the South China Seas. Dad already said he'd sign the papers—if I wanted to go—I am seventeen, after all. Everybody'll be pretty proud of me and all.

Janey's the only one who doesn't agree with them. I'm not like Toby McCormic—football hero. He's also First Violin in the orchestra, though she doesn't have any great opinion of him. Of course, he's first—his dad's the Director, she said.

That doesn't make me feel too great. Sure, I probably couldn't beat him in a fight, but I can still handle myself pretty well in a scrap—and one thing I've got going for me is I never back down or give up. No, I'll probably never become a great big tough soldier, and I can think of a lot of other things I'd rather be doing with my time, but there's a war going on. And sometimes that just means letting your dreams go with it.

There's one thing I've never told Janey about—I really can't breathe a word of it to anybody—Mister Foster's with the government. They've looked at my records and they're hinting Uncle Sam's might have a special place for me.

“It's all quiet in here. The calliope was really loud out there. The tent really muffles it.”

“Yeah. And you can't even hear the people. I'm glad of that. I was getting a head ache.”

“You didn't really want to come out here. But you needed a break, Jack, and you're going to be glad I dragged you out here.”

“Where is this guy, anyway? He's left his whole place deserted.”

“Not all who look for Professor Croggstadt are able to find him. But Professor Croggstadt always finds those who seek him.”

Janey and I had barely been inside the tent flap and still this Professor guy had managed to slip in behind us without our being aware of it.

“You're Professor Croggstadt?” He bowed low from the waist.

“I have that singular honor. I am Professor Croggstadt, and you have come to see my Fabulous Dimensionarium.”

“Yeah.” I admit I was a little riled about being taken by surprise like that. The Professor was a strange and unsettling figure. He was dressed in a long, purple robe, and some kind of turban on his head with a bunch of peacock feathers. Maybe it was the candlelight in this tent but I couldn't recognize exactly what he was. Could have been Egyptian. Could have been Russian. Could have been Mongolian. I couldn't tell. Moreover, I couldn't seem to pull myself away, either. Luckily, Janey broke the spell.

“Yes. Do show us that. It sounds fascinating. What does it do?”

He moved toward the back of the tent and with a sudden gesture swept aside the curtain. We followed him into the tent's rear compartment and there they stood.

The 'Dimensionarium' was two large cabinets, about eight feet high and five feet wide. They looked like some of the machinery I'd seen at the College Science Institute, when I'd met with Mister Foster.

“Just what is this? With that eastern get-up I thought you were going to be one of those Indian swamis, or something.”

“This—is my Fabulous Dimensionarium and Chronostatic Defragmentizer. That which has been broken in fragments is healed by my device—the fragments are brought back together as if they were never torn asunder. Are you being torn away from your dreams? If you would rescue those dreams before they are robbed from you forever, enter here.”

I'd heard about people like this. They talked a good talk, but it just sounded too good. Still, I wasn't sure. That machine looked a little more real than the props you' see in a Buck Rogers serial.

“What's it going to cost us, Professor, to get into your machine, I mean.”

“Perhaps more than either of you can afford.”

“What's that supposed to mean?” Not sure I liked the sound of his voice right then.”

“I meant nothing by it, lad. Only it may cost you your courage.”

“Hey! I'm not chicken! I'm going to enlist. There's a war on, y'know.”

“Don't listen to him, Professor. You say that machine reveals your dreams?”

“More than that—it reveals your very self. Give up your dreams, you give up yourself. Do you have courage, boy?”

“I'm going to war, aren't I? I've never backed down from a fight in my life.”

“But this is the hardest fight of all. Many who think they are brave run away in fear when they fight the biggest foe of all. Not ten minutes before you got here I had another young man run away in tears because he met an enemy that was too strong for him.”

“Who was that?”

“The most terrible enemy of all—himself!”

“That makes no sense! How can you fight yourself?”

“Not all can. Are you one of the few who can? Do you have the courage—to face yourself?”

I didn't know what to make of all that. I looked at Janey, and I couldn't read what was in her eyes. I made up my mind. I didn't care what this geek thought of me, but what Janey thought—that meant something to me. I sure as heck wasn't going to have her thinking I was chicken.

“Just show me the way.”

The Professor led me to the left-hand cabinet. He slid the curtain aside and I got in.

And that's when thing's started getting real strange.

I had a bow in my hand...and a violin in the other. I was playing the violin parts of the concerto I'd composed—The Valkyrie. Guess I kind of wrote it for Janey. I'd played parts of it for her before. She really liked it. I guess that gave me the courage to finish it.

But I was playing it now for McCormic.

“It's too different. Too avant-garde. All the musical forms have already been established. We don't need anything new—especially like that! Why it's just the kind of music you might hear barbarians play—or the jazz the negroes play in Harlem.

“You should be more like my son, Jack. That's why he's First Violin, and you're not. That's why he'll stay here and pursue his musical career, while you're off fighting Hitler—although he probably would have liked your type of music.”

Toby listened too, but didn't say anything. He didn't have to. That smirk said it all.

“Conformity is the wave of the future, Jack. Learn that lesson well...”

“So—your music teacher doesn't approve of your music? That should tell you something—that you're just not cut out for a career as a musician.”

“But Mister Foster—this is something I really enjoy. Can't there be a place for it...?

“That's a pretty selfish way of looking at things, don't you think? Sure, there's nothing wrong with music—but we're at war now. You think the Axis is going to just rest, while you fiddle with your bow? You want to be like Emperor Nero? You want to fiddle while America burns?

“General Groves and Mister Oppenheimer are really interested in your ideas. They want you on board full time. I'm telling you the truth—we're caught in a race against time. If the Nazis get a bomb made before we do, they'll bomb our major cities. There go Washington D.C., New York, Chicago, San Francisco. We've got to beat them to it.

“We're almost on the verge of creating the first fission bomb. You know how that works...”

“Yes...splits apart the atom.”

“That's right. Releases all that power. But you're thinking of something else entirely...”

“Yes—if we can harness the power of nuclear fusion, instead—your bomb would be so much more powerful.”

“Hundreds of times, is that right?”

“Not hundreds—thousands!”

“That's why you've got to come work for us, Jack. Your country needs you.”

“But I'll still be able to work on my music, won't I?”

“Jack—America's involved in a life or death struggle. The Japs, the Nazis, the Fascists—they all hate our freedoms. The Reds are on our side for now, but that isn't going to last. There's people in the Soviet Union who love music as much as you do, but they don't have your freedom. What are you going to say to them? Your freedoms are built on the sufferings of others. You owe them. And I know you're going to make the right choice...”

He shook his head. His long hair flapped in his face. But why? His hair wasn't that long. He looked like some Eighteenth Century composer—like Liszt, or Beethoven.

“Why r'you lookin' in the mirror like that, Fiddler? We got work to do.”

“Ah, leave him be, Ragdoll. He'll do his part when the time comes.”

“Who asked you, Scarecrow? Nobody's afraid of you. You don't dare use any of those hallucinogens on the rest of us.”

That was Ragdoll! I'd seen him in issues of The Flash. A kids' comic book. Committed his crimes dressed as a rag doll. Could twist his body in impossible shapes. Triple-jointed. That never bothered me when I looked at the funny books before, but seeing it in real life...! I felt sick seeing it. I imagined what it would feel like if my body twisted around like that.

And the reflection in the mirror wasn't me, but some stranger. I gasped suddenly. They called me the Fiddler—that was another comic book villain.

I looked around. There were seven others besides me. A few moments reflection and I recognized all but the one dressed in a military uniform I'd never seen before.

The one in the corner—that wasn't armor he was wearing—it was his living skin. Metalo. He fought Superman.

Scarecrow. He was Batman's foe.

The Shade, and the Thinker. Darkness seethed from the first. I could literally feel electricity sparking from that metal cap with all the electrodes the second wore. Enemies of the Flash.

That one against the wall. His head was too large for his neck. Brainwave. He fought the whole Justice Society. He was looking my way. I thought I could feel the probing tendrils of his thoughts snaking into my brain, seeking a weak spot or unguarded door.

But it was the caveman that headed the table, the obvious leader of this cabal that scared me the most. I mean 'caveman'—literally. He had the overhanging, beetling brow of a gorilla. It was the eyes that lay beneath that brow that froze me where I stood. They blazed with an unholy fire. According to the comics he was over fifty thousand years old, immortal. I had no doubt if he got it into his head, he could tear me apart limb from limb—literally. This was Vandal Savage, and like Brainwave he had fought the entire Justice Society of America.

What had I stumbled on? These were comic book characters. They weren't real. They appeared in stories I still liked—despite people telling me they were just for kids and it was time to grow up. Were they right? Was I...was I going crazy? Was this the final result of being different?

None of this was real. But it sure felt real. The first thing, with Mister McCormic and Toby, that was a memory.

So was my talk with Mister Fisher.

But not this thing here! What had Professor Croggsgtadt said—the Dimsionarium shows you your real self. It reconnects you with your dreams.

But it wasn't my dream to just be Second Fiddle. And it certainly wasn't my dream to give up music entirely—even if it could save America, and I wasn't so sure it would, at that.

But...it seemed that it was the dream of Mister McCormic and his son, and Mister Foster.

But robbing people by pretending to be a blind man and playing hypnotic music, that wasn't my dream either. Why was the Dimensionarium showing me this?

“I think you gentlemen should see this, if we're going to be working together.”

It was the guy in the unknown military uniform. I'd never seen him in any comic before. He had a big, scarlet letter 'D' on his chest.

“So—what have you got to bring to the table, it's Degaton, isn't it?”

“Yes. Per Degaton. You and I are a lot alike, Vandal Savage.”

“Don't try my patience, little man. I've torn apart—and eaten—men three times my size—so don't fuck with me!”

“I meant no offense, Savage. You have traveled through fifty thousand years of time. So have I, just more quickly than you. For all your power—and I include all of you—you have, none of you, ever been able to vanquish your foes. But I can give you the weapons that will enable you to do so. For I have traveled to the future, where they have weapons undreamed, and I have brought them back with me. Behind me is a television screen.” The thing covered the entire wall behind him. He clicked a button and the device came to life.

“Impossible.” said the Thinker, “we don't have anything that big.”

“You don't—but they do. Watch. See your old enemies, the Justice Society. They've been warned to watch a bomb going off in the Atlantic. They're not too concerned. How big a bomb could it be? You and they are about to find out.”

He held a small control in his hand, jerked a button down savagely.

The entire horizon exploded in a blinding flash.

“That was the isle of Nantucket. It lies over two hundred miles away from New York City. Boston and the entirety of Rhode Island are obliterated. This is what the future is capable of!”

These criminals' hideout must have been nearby, for I could feel the shaking of the Earth beneath my feet. Nothing could stand against a power, a nation that had such a weapon. Boston? Rhode Island? How many...millions of people had just died?

I stumbled out of the cabinet. I would realize much later it was the right hand cabinet, not the one I had entered. I had somehow crossed the intervening space of fifteen feet. Janey looked at me as if I had seen a ghost—and maybe I had. The ghosts of millions of people. Millions!

“It wasn't real, was it? It's just comics. They couldn't be that bad!”

“Do you really think it was about nothing more than the evils of comic books?”

Croggstadt looked at me earnestly. He almost looked disappointed in me.

“What did you see in there, Jack?” Janey's hand lay on my shoulder.

“I...I saw the future. If I help Mister Foster with what he wants me to do. No—it's too terrible. That one bomb could do all that. No—even if I have to die fighting the Nazis, I won't do that. To hell with his deferment!”

Janey clasped my hand. “I'm so glad. I knew that was the wrong course for you to take—I never trusted Foster. But I don't think you need to go off to war, either. There may be another door we can open. I think my dad will help us there. Your work—your composing is important. You still don't really know how much The Valkyrie moved me. It will move others, too.”

I was still pretty shaken. I barely said goodbye and thanks to the Professor. I had a funny feeling the space filled by his tent was going to be empty tomorrow, though I couldn't tell you exactly why. Still, all things considered, I was beginning to feel the slightest bit hopeful, and I hadn't felt that way in a long time.

“Jack—I want to talk with you.” And there went that tiny glimmer of hope. Janey stiffened next to me.

“What do you want, Toby?” I braced for trouble.

“I want to say I'm sorry.”

“Sorry for the way I've always treated you. I see you just got out of that Croggstadt's tent. Somehow I knew I'd find you here. I was in there earlier. He showed me...” I could hardly believe my eyes—there was a tear forming in Toby's eye, a tear he struggled to hide, but then shook his head and blurted it out.

“He showed me I've been nothing but bully. All these years. And I never saw it. I don't want to be like that. So I'm sorry. Can you forgive me...for being such a jerk?” Poor guy was biting his lip. He held out his hand.

“Yeah. Of course.” I took the offered hand and I guess the three of us just smiled then.

Things were starting to look up, after all.