see.”
“The companies have always been around here lookin’ for oil. Everybody gets their hopes up. The companies always show the same maps and tell everybody Ada oil just isn’t worth drilling for.”
“But oil companies are able and willing to drill deeper now, aren’t they? Aren’t they willing to spend more money for less oil?”
“They’re still not willin’ to spend a billion dollars for a teaspoonful, Mister Flynn.”
“Answer me this, then: to the best of your knowledge has anyone been around these parts lately doing new surveys, or drilling new exploratory holes?”
“Not for years.”
“Years?”
“Years and years. Not since—let’s see, I was in the seventh grade. What’s that, nearly twenty years ago?”
“Do you think anyone could have been looking for oil around here without your knowing about it?”
“Mister Flynn, if anyone ever comes into any area of Texas—especially Ada—with even a divining rod, I can tell you the news would travel like wildfire. The ranchers would be all over him.”
“Right,” said Flynn. “Next question: have you ever heard of a radioactive-materials dump?”
“What is that?”
“I know,” said the minister. He did not explain. He burped.
Finally, Flynn said, “Thermonuclear plants produce a certain amount of waste material that is radioactive.”
“Oh,” she said.
“The powers-that-be aren’t sure what to do with this waste,” Flynn said.
“Why don’t they turn it into something useful?” she asked.
“I’ll suggest it. Their best idea at the moment is to bury it deep in the ground—especially in a salt deposit.”
“Salt?”
“Yes.”
“Why, wouldn’t that just ruin the salt, too?”
“I guess it would. Anyway,” Flynn continued, “the one or two areas chosen to bury this waste—areas I expect are somewhat like Ada—the people have risen up on their hind legs and yelled
no
.”
“I don’t understand you, Mister Flynn.”
“Has anyone ever mentioned to you or any of your friends, as far as you know, that Ada might be used as a place to bury radioactive wastes?”
“Why, no. Whoever heard of such a thing?”
“The devil,” said the minister. “The devil did.”
He began to giggle and cry.
“The people can’t protest,” said Flynn, “if they’re not here to do it.”
“No such thing,” said Marge Fraiman.
“There haven’t been any men around here diggin’ any holes in the ground the last year or two?”
“Surely not. If there were they’d be taken as oil surveyors and we all would have been over them quicker than flies go to a dead man’s eyes.”
“Beguiling expression, that,” said Flynn. “I must remember to use it myself, one day. When it’s appropriate. One other wee question: has any born and bred citizen of Ada, Texas, struck out in the world and done especially well?”
“Well, there was young Dale Hainsfather. Last year, why he had more Boy Scout badges and awards than anybody in Texas. He got a special trip to Dallas for it. All paid for.”
“Mrs. Fraiman, I guess when I say anyone who has ‘done especially well,’ I mean become rich.”
“Rich?”
“Very rich.”
“Why, of course.”
“Who?”
“Tommy Jackson, of course.”
“Who?”
“Why, surely, Mister Flynn, you know who Tommy Jackson is, don’t you?”
“If I do know,” Flynn said, “I forget. If you would refresh my memory?”
“He played for Texas.”
“Played what?”
“Football. Quarterback for Texas. Of course, that was ten, twelve years ago.”
“That Tommy Jackson.”
“Sure. I was sure you’d know. His family moved from here to Austin when he was about twelve years old, but he’s always said that Ada’s his hometown.”
“Did he become rich?”
“Why, he sure did. Even while he was in college, they were givin’ him cars. They gave him a Bonanza. A yellow Bonanza. It was in all the papers, at the time.”
“But did he become rich?”
“He made a lot of money playing
“The companies have always been around here lookin’ for oil. Everybody gets their hopes up. The companies always show the same maps and tell everybody Ada oil just isn’t worth drilling for.”
“But oil companies are able and willing to drill deeper now, aren’t they? Aren’t they willing to spend more money for less oil?”
“They’re still not willin’ to spend a billion dollars for a teaspoonful, Mister Flynn.”
“Answer me this, then: to the best of your knowledge has anyone been around these parts lately doing new surveys, or drilling new exploratory holes?”
“Not for years.”
“Years?”
“Years and years. Not since—let’s see, I was in the seventh grade. What’s that, nearly twenty years ago?”
“Do you think anyone could have been looking for oil around here without your knowing about it?”
“Mister Flynn, if anyone ever comes into any area of Texas—especially Ada—with even a divining rod, I can tell you the news would travel like wildfire. The ranchers would be all over him.”
“Right,” said Flynn. “Next question: have you ever heard of a radioactive-materials dump?”
“What is that?”
“I know,” said the minister. He did not explain. He burped.
Finally, Flynn said, “Thermonuclear plants produce a certain amount of waste material that is radioactive.”
“Oh,” she said.
“The powers-that-be aren’t sure what to do with this waste,” Flynn said.
“Why don’t they turn it into something useful?” she asked.
“I’ll suggest it. Their best idea at the moment is to bury it deep in the ground—especially in a salt deposit.”
“Salt?”
“Yes.”
“Why, wouldn’t that just ruin the salt, too?”
“I guess it would. Anyway,” Flynn continued, “the one or two areas chosen to bury this waste—areas I expect are somewhat like Ada—the people have risen up on their hind legs and yelled
no
.”
“I don’t understand you, Mister Flynn.”
“Has anyone ever mentioned to you or any of your friends, as far as you know, that Ada might be used as a place to bury radioactive wastes?”
“Why, no. Whoever heard of such a thing?”
“The devil,” said the minister. “The devil did.”
He began to giggle and cry.
“The people can’t protest,” said Flynn, “if they’re not here to do it.”
“No such thing,” said Marge Fraiman.
“There haven’t been any men around here diggin’ any holes in the ground the last year or two?”
“Surely not. If there were they’d be taken as oil surveyors and we all would have been over them quicker than flies go to a dead man’s eyes.”
“Beguiling expression, that,” said Flynn. “I must remember to use it myself, one day. When it’s appropriate. One other wee question: has any born and bred citizen of Ada, Texas, struck out in the world and done especially well?”
“Well, there was young Dale Hainsfather. Last year, why he had more Boy Scout badges and awards than anybody in Texas. He got a special trip to Dallas for it. All paid for.”
“Mrs. Fraiman, I guess when I say anyone who has ‘done especially well,’ I mean become rich.”
“Rich?”
“Very rich.”
“Why, of course.”
“Who?”
“Tommy Jackson, of course.”
“Who?”
“Why, surely, Mister Flynn, you know who Tommy Jackson is, don’t you?”
“If I do know,” Flynn said, “I forget. If you would refresh my memory?”
“He played for Texas.”
“Played what?”
“Football. Quarterback for Texas. Of course, that was ten, twelve years ago.”
“That Tommy Jackson.”
“Sure. I was sure you’d know. His family moved from here to Austin when he was about twelve years old, but he’s always said that Ada’s his hometown.”
“Did he become rich?”
“Why, he sure did. Even while he was in college, they were givin’ him cars. They gave him a Bonanza. A yellow Bonanza. It was in all the papers, at the time.”
“But did he become rich?”
“He made a lot of money playing
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