Now Stu caught Glen's eyes again, and could almost read Glen's thought in the cynical look there, the slight tuck in the corner of Glen's mouth: Maybe we could use Harold to stack this one, too.
A word that Nixon had used a lot suddenly floated into Stu's mind, and as he grasped it, he suddenly understood the source of his despair and feeling of disorientation. The word was "mandate." Their mandate had disappeared. It had gone up two nights ago in a flash and a roar.
He said, "You may know who you want, Sheldon, but I imagine some of the other folks would like to have time to think it over. Let's call the question. Those of you who want to elect two new reps tonight say aye."
Quite a few ayes were shouted out.
"Those of you who'd like a week or so to think it over, say nay."
The nays were louder, but not by a whole lot. A great many people had abstained altogether, as if the topic had no interest for them.
"Okay," Stu said. "We'll plan to meet here in Munzinger Auditorium a week from today, September eleventh, to nominate and vote on candidates for the two empty slots on the committee."
Pretty crappy epitaph, Nick. I'm sorry.
"Dr. Richardson is here to talk to you about Mother Abagail and about those folks that were injured in the explosion. Doc?"
Richardson got a solid blast of applause as he stepped forward, polishing his eyeglasses. He told them that there were nine dead as a result of the explosion, three people still in critical condition, two in serious condition, eight in satisfactory condition.
"Considering the force of the blast, I think that fortune was with us. Now, concerning Mother Abagail."
They leaned forward.
"I think a very short statement and a brief bit of elaboration should suffice. The statement is this: I can do nothing for her."
A mutter ran through the crowd and stilled. Stu saw unhappiness but no real surprise.
"I am told by members of the Zone who were here before she left that the lady claimed one hundred and eight years. I can't vouch for that, but I can say she is the oldest human being I myself have ever seen and treated. I'm told she has been gone for two weeks, and my estimation - no, my guess - is that her diet during that period contained no prepared foods at all. She seems to have lived on roots, herbs, grass, and other things of a similar nature." He paused. "She bas had one small bowel movement since she returned. It contained a number of small sticks and twigs."
"My God," someone muttered, and it was impossible to tell if the voice belonged to a man or a woman.
"One arm is covered with poison ivy. Her legs are covered with ulcerations which would be running if her condition were not so - "
"Hey, can't you stop it?" Jack Jackson hollered, standing up. His face was white, furious, miserable. "Don't you have any damn decency?"
"Decency is not my concern, Jack. I'm only reporting her condition as it is. She's comatose, malnourished, and most of all, she's very, very old. I think she's going to die. If she was anyone else, I would state that as a certainty. But... like all of you, I dreamed of her. Her and one other."
The low mutter again, like a passing breeze, and Stu felt the hackles on the nape of his neck first stir and then come to attention.
"To me, dreams of such opposing configurations seem mystical," George said. "The fact that we all shared them seems to indicate a telepathic ability at the very least. But I pass on parapsychology and theology just as I pass on decency, and for the same reason: neither of them is my field. If the woman is from God, He may choose to heal her. I cannot. I will tell you that the fact that she is still alive at all seems a miracle of sorts to me. That is my statement. Are there any questions?"
There weren't. They looked at him, stunned, some of them openly weeping.
"Thank you," George said, and returned to his seat in a dead sea of silence.
"All right," Stu whispered to Glen. "You're on."
Glen approached the podium without introduction and gripped it familiarly. "We've discussed everything but the dark man," he said.