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In an hour's time the porkchop bush was the size of a big spirea, and the fritter tree was eight feet tall. The bush had shiny reddish leaves and fat little white flowers. Bees buzzed from blossom to blossom. Now the petals dropped, and the fruits began to grow.
In another half-hour it was harvest time. I reached up and plucked the fritters, big and bright as oranges. The children gathered around for the treat, and Nancy showed them how to snap the porkchops off the bush.
"Be sure to save the seeds," I cautioned. "You can give them to your cousins."
As soon as the plants had been picked clean, they started to bloom again. There seemed to be no end to their productivity.
"Cardo," Mrs. Johnson called, "go get Emmylou and the Curtises, too. Tell them we're having a picnic."
Cardo ran off down the road, yelling with high spirits. By the time the next crop of fruit had appeared, there were twice as many people milling around the dirt yard. Someone had thought to bring Kool-Aid; I took a long drink.
A number of the kids had dropped seeds on the ground, and these were shooting up too. The more we ate, the more plants we started. And the more food there was, the more mouths there were to eat it. Pickups and big battered sedans lined both sides of the road. Nancy and Serena and I were the only white people there, but no one seemed to mind. Mrs. Johnson kept telling everyone that we'd invented the magic seeds.
"I think we can move on now, Joey," said Nancy. "It's off to a good start here."
"Okay. Can I try driving?"
"Sure."
Over the course of the next week we handed out seeds all over central Jersey. Sometimes we ventured into the towns, but mostly we stuck to the back roads. You'd be surprised how rural New Jersey can be. What with the new depression, there were plenty of folks out there who didn't have enough to eat.
After a few days they started talking about us on the radio. Some people thought the new plants had something to do with the invasion of the Gary-brains. Others thought we must be communists. The authorities in general didn't like the idea of free food. Extensive tests were conducted on our plants, but the fritters and porkchops were just what they seemed: good, wholesome food. What with people passing the seeds around, the plants had pretty well covered the state before long. The Department of Agriculture obtained a court order for our arrest. But nobody wanted to tell them where we were.
15. Welcome, Joseph Fletcher
"Nancy, I've got to go back and see about Harry." We were slowly cruising downtown Trenton, looking for people to give our seeds to. It was dusk and there was an autumn crackle in the air.
"Wait, there's an old bum." Nancy pulled over next to a man lying on a park bench. I bounced Serena on my lap while Nancy showed the man two seeds and put them in the ground next to his bench. He seemed more interested in her breasts than in the prospect of free food.
"He's heard of us," said Nancy, getting back behind the wheel. "He said some of his friends already had the seeds."
"Face it, honey, everyone in the state's going to have our seeds before long. And it's spreading to New York and Pe
"Then we should drive down south before winter sets in. Mexico's where they really need food."
"Can't you just mail some of the seeds to your do-gooder friends? I want to get back up to New Brunswick and see how Harry's doing. Those Garybrains may not be spreading, but who knows? Maybe they're getting ready for a big assault." The setting sun gleamed coldly on the state capitol's gold dome. Winter was just around the corner.
"Oh, all right, Joe. I'll take you up there and drop you off. Do you think it's safe to go home yet?"
"No. They're after me for helping Harry, and they're after you for the seeds. You shouldn't have told so many people your name."
"Well, I like to get a little credit, too. And they aren't really after us. They just want to ask us questions. I wouldn't mind answering some questions — in the proper setting."
"You mean you'd like to get on TV."
"Well, I don't see why I shouldn't. I could be on the cover of Time magazine, Joe. I've found the solution to world hunger."
"Can't argue with that."
We powered out of Trenton and onto the Jersey Turnpike. "I'll drop you off in New Brunswick," said Nancy, "and then I'll mail seeds to hunger contacts all over the world. And tomorrow I'll show up at the ABC studios in Manhattan."
"Fine. Meanwhile, do you think we could stop for some supper?"
"At one of those crummy turnpike restaurants?"
"Ah, why not. I'm kind of sick of porkchops and fritters."
We stopped at a Savarin. Not surprisingly, the day's special was — porkchops and fritters. Even the merchants were getting hold of our plants now. I had soup and a salad instead. According to the radio, our fritters contained every vitamin known to man, but I still felt the lack of green veggies. Serena ordered ice cream.
As we got closer to New Brunswick, the turnpike became more and more congested. There were numerous army trucks, but what was more surprising, there were lots and lots of school buses, most of them with crosses on them. "Killeville Christian Children's Crusade," read one. "Shiloh Baptist Old Folks Home," read another. "Shekinah Glory Gospel Fellowship,"
"Sunshine Open Bible Network,"
"Women's Hope-a-Glow Ministries."
"What are all these nuts doing here?" I wondered. We reached the New Brunswick exit and crawled off amidst troop trucks and buses. The actual road into town was barricaded. An unsteady sergeant with two flares waved us toward a parking area.
"It must be that stuff about God's Laws," remarked Nancy. "People are so into religion these days."
"I can hardly believe it. They didn't say anything about this on the radio." A big light-blue bus lumbered into the space next to us. Elderly seekers began swarming out.
"I'm going to leave before someone baptizes me or something," said Nancy. "Look out for the brains, Joe. Get yourself some whiskey."
"All right, baby. And be sure to hire a good lawyer before you go on television. Just in case. There's still a lot of money in the trunk. This week has been fun, hasn't it?"
"It has. It's been like a honeymoon."
"A frittermoon. I love you, Nancy."
"I love you, Joe. Say bye to Daddy, Serena."
"Bye."
I kissed my two girls and then they drove off. I walked back to the parking-lot entrance and asked the sergeant where I could get some booze. He was a swarthy kid in his early twenties.
"There's a liquor-store someplace out that way," he said, waving one of his flares vaguely. He seemed quite drunk.
"Can I just buy some from you? I don't have a car, but I've got lots of money."
The sergeant glanced around, looking for officers. "You ain't a looter, are you?"
"No, man, I'm a tourist. Here's fifty bucks."
The sergeant pocketed my bill and handed me the flares. "I'll just be a minute."
I directed another bus into the parking area, and then the sergeant was back with a canteen full of grain alcohol.
"Government issue," he said, smiling broadly. I took a swig, retched a little, then took another.
"Thanks, sarge. This stuff keeps the brains off?"
"For sure. Gary don't like it."
"What are all these groovers doing here?" I jerked my head at a group of flower-print ladies doddering past.
"They started coming in a few days ago. The evangelicals got some idea that Gary is the new Messiah. We can't stop 'em from going in, and so far none of them has tried to get back out."
"Weird."
"You know it, brother."
I handed him back his flares and joined the throng marching toward New Brunswick. I fell into step with a pale-faced little man in a red windbreaker. It said "Virginia Beach Rescue Squad" on the back.