Thirteen respectable spinstersOf the respectable town of Murch,Gave a very respectable partyFor their eminent orthodox church.On a green and grassy pastureBy the side of the River RunchThey sat with the Reverend QuondamAnd partook of a dainty lunch.None could have said they were pretty,Not even those in the "know,"Yet no one denied in the cityThat their names were as white as the snow.And just at the moment of eatingThe breast of a tender chicken,The Reverend Quondam observedThe grey skies overhead thicken.Within a neighboring farmhouseHe betook his respectable form,Accompanied by all of the ladiesIn deadly fear of the storm.Then lightning came and the thunderLike the crashing of seventeen earths,And in that respectable partyOccurred three premature births.
Thirteen respectable spinstersOf the respectable town of Murch,Gave a very respectable partyFor their eminent orthodox church.
On a green and grassy pastureBy the side of the River RunchThey sat with the Reverend QuondamAnd partook of a dainty lunch.
None could have said they were pretty,Not even those in the "know,"Yet no one denied in the cityThat their names were as white as the snow.
And just at the moment of eatingThe breast of a tender chicken,The Reverend Quondam observedThe grey skies overhead thicken.
Within a neighboring farmhouseHe betook his respectable form,Accompanied by all of the ladiesIn deadly fear of the storm.
Then lightning came and the thunderLike the crashing of seventeen earths,And in that respectable partyOccurred three premature births.
The next morning when the Underdog awoke he had an imagination that a fly had alighted on the ear which Gud had cut off. The Underdog grieved because he could not flop the ear which he no longer possessed and so dislodge the fly that he imagined had alighted thereon.
This made bad blood at the breakfast table so that the Underdog growled ungratefully over the bone of contention which Gud threw him.
All that day they walked with their eyes averted and said nothing until they came to the place where the birds of faith roosted on the waves of the wireless; and then they both rejoiced, for here was good game, easily ensnared because it had faith and trust.
So Gud spoke comradely to the Underdog and the Underdog wagged cordially. Gud built a snare out of weeping willow twigs, and the Underdog ran round the birds and barked the birches. Presently an old bird that was steadfast in the faith walked into the snare and Gud reached out his hand and took the bird, and it perched upon his shoulder and told him why love grows cold. This made Gud very happy, for he had always wanted to know.
The mists that whirl in greater mistsAround the cliffs of spaceLeave little drops of glistening waterUpon His wrinkled face.Have you heard Him, as walking throughThe valleys of the nightHe paces ever back and forth,Silent, old and white?Upon some jagged piece of dustAs high as night is highHe watches all the tiny worldsGo spinning down the sky.Around Him are the burning starsThat toss like little shipsAnd winds blow out of dim unknownsAcross His very lips.Have you heard Him amid the silence,Vast as a silken cloud,Lifting His arms with jewelled pendants,Cloaked in a heavy shroud?
The mists that whirl in greater mistsAround the cliffs of spaceLeave little drops of glistening waterUpon His wrinkled face.
Have you heard Him, as walking throughThe valleys of the nightHe paces ever back and forth,Silent, old and white?
Upon some jagged piece of dustAs high as night is highHe watches all the tiny worldsGo spinning down the sky.
Around Him are the burning starsThat toss like little shipsAnd winds blow out of dim unknownsAcross His very lips.
Have you heard Him amid the silence,Vast as a silken cloud,Lifting His arms with jewelled pendants,Cloaked in a heavy shroud?
As Gud and Fidu journeyed on they came to a rippling rivulet and saw two women who were bathing in the laughing water. Gud was not astonished at what he saw because Gud sees all things, and familiarity breeds contempt. Neither were the women alarmed, because they were busy talking and did not see Gud.
"I am sick of love," one woman said.
Whereupon the other woman said: "My husband understands me."
Just then the Underdog came up panting and athirst and started to lap of the laughing waters of the rippling rivulet. Gud thrust his hand out and jerked the poor beast away. Alas, too late! Fidu had drunk of the bewitched water and when the moon changed its name and a meteor fell into a fit of despondency; the Underdog went mad and frothed at the mouth and bit the hand that fed him, which was the right hand of Gud.
Gud made a tourniquet out of a miser's heart-strings, so that the infection did not pass above the elbow; and he applied leeches to the wound and also an ointment of soothing words so that the pain abated. But the poison of falsehood was so potent that Gud found his right hand had become a deceitful hand and could not write the truth. So Gud exchanged his right hand for his left hand, which was very easy to do since he was in the Nth dimension and outside the limitations of three-dimensional space.
When Fidu, the Underdog, went mad he lost his reason. Gud did not note this at the time because of his own affliction. But after his wound had healed so that it ceased to hurt anything but his conscience, Gud observed, as they walked along, that Fidu had lost his reason. The poor dog walking along there without his reason looked so unreasonable that Gud's heart was touched with compassion and he said: "Fidu, it grieves me to see you without a reason. Here, take mine."
Fidu looked up gratefully out of his sad, mad eyes as Gud handed him his reason. Glad to have a reason again Fidu seized it in his mouth and ran off, frisking and twisting and wanting to bark, which he could not do because he was carrying Gud's reason in his mouth. So he ran ahead and came to a place where the curve crossed over a deep, dark stream. Glancing down into the mirror-like surface of the water, the Underdog saw his reflection. He did not think the reflection was another dog with another reason in his mouth—for Fidu had his reason in his mouth and was still mad in his eyes. When he saw his reflection in the water, he thought it was a porcupine or a civet cat or some other unapproachable creature, and so he barked; and in doing so he let Gud's reason fall into the water. Down, down sank the reason of Gud into the dark, deep water, for it was a very weighty reason.
Fidu did not attempt to dive after it, but the poor, mad dog just stood there and let it sink out of sight into the deep dark water.
When Gud came up he, too, was without his reason and he thought Fidu, standing forlornly on the bridge, was an evil genius. When the mad dog ran on into the gloomy wilderness that was beyond the stream, the mad Gud followed after him and became lost in the wildness of the wilderness.
As Gud wandered on amid the gloomy shadows, the void in his mind, where his reason had been, became filled with many strange illusions, and he discovered that he could now believe many things that he had not previously been able to believe because they had been unreasonable. Faith in things unseen grew within him. The fourth dimension and the squared circle no longer annoyed him. He found that chimeras were very real and also wyverns, and that metaphysical hypotheses were as solid substance and as proven facts.
Gud now understood for the first time in his life that he was Gud and at the same time he was a holy ghost, and that he was also his own father. This last bit of unreasonable comprehension especially relieved Gud. He was sorry he had not accepted it sooner, for because of it he had never really written his autobiography. When he had started to write, he began by describing his father as being in existence before his own birth, and yet Gud had realized that such could not be, as he and his father were one and the same being. The situation had confused Gud's reason, but now with his reason gone it was all very clear.
There were also many other things which Gud had been unable to accept with his reason, but which now, with no appeal to reason, he gladly embraced, and so reveled joyously in his growing faith. The transfiguration of souls particularly entranced him, and he spent many happy hours, as he walked along amid the gloomy shadows of the wildness of the wilderness, in picking out favorite animals to have been and to be. He rather favored having been a quacking ornithorhynchus and going to be a ring-straked giraffe; and yet the claims of the groundhog, which sleeps half its life away, also appealed to Gud, because he had a long time to live. Having considered these and many others, Gud decided to have been all the unattractive animals in the past and to be all the nice ones in the future. After all, he had plenty of past and future and there was no occasion for abbreviating the list.
With his reason gone Gud also accepted polytheism as being quite compatible with monotheism. He no longer found it objectionable to be the only god and yet have a lot of assistant gods, for he saw that this would relieve him of a great deal of labor.
And thus it came about that through the loss of his reason many irrational things which he had previously disputed and disbelieved were now lucid and believable. So gratified was Gud as he realized the magnitude of his growing faith that he gave a great shout of joy.
The shout echoed through the wildness of the wilderness, and the echo came back to Gud; and Gud thought it was a lion's roar.
The mad Underdog also heard Gud's shout and the echo of Gud's shout, and he thought the shout was the blast of a war trumpet, and that the echo was the noise of the celebration of peace.
But Gud did not know what Fidu thought, for Gud was mad. If Gud could only have looked sanely into Fidu's insane eyes, a deal of trouble might have been avoided. But he could not; and Gud thought the echo of his shout was the roar of a mighty, wicked lion, and he thought Fidu thought so, too. And maybe he did.
Then the lion's roar roared again. But Gud was not afraid, for he had no reason to be afraid. Filled with unreasonable faith and valor, Gud seized his staff and charged into the jungle after the lion's roar. And Fidu, the Underdog, followed after Gud, for why shouldn't a mad dog follow a mad master?
The lion's roar roared yet again. The hair on the mad Underdog's back bristled. The dark, dank jungle trembled with the lion's roar. The monkeys in the tree tops chattered with excitement, for it looked to them as if there was going to be a fight.
Gud charged through the underbrush brandishing his staff and came face to face with the lion's roar. And Gud struck viciously and valorously at the lion's roar. But it was only the illusion of a lion's roar and Gud's staff went through the incorporeal stuff like a whip lash through mercy.
Then the lion's roar roared once again, and this time so mightily that Gud died of fright.
When the Underdog came upon the scene, the roar, ashamed of its unreality, had slunk off into the wilderness, and all was quiet in the gloom and the shadow of death.
Fidu sniffed pathetically at his dead master, and then, filled with remorse, he whined piteously, for now that his master was dead the poor mad dog regretted that he had lost Gud's reason.
For a long time Fidu sat in silent vigil by his dead master's side, grieving as hard as a poor mad dog could. But at last he arose and licked the right hand of Gud, which he had bitten in his madness, and gazed again into his dead master's face.
Then, mad though he was, Fidu turned and trotted with unerring canine instinct back to the bridge across the stream. Reaching the bridge he faltered not but dove off bravely into the deep, dark water and retrieved Gud's reason.
All wet and cold, he came back to his poor master's side and laid Gud's reason down beside Gud's head and then barked loudly.
But Gud did not hear the bark of the Underdog, for Gud was dead. So it must be that the hero of this tale, in what shall come hereafter, is only the Ghost of Gud.
The mists that whirl in greater mistsAround the cliffs of spaceLeave little drops of waterUpon his wrinkled face.Have you heard Him, as walking throughThe valleys of the nightHe paces ever back and forth,Silent, old and white?Upon some jagged piece of dustAs high as night is high,He watches all the tiny worldsGo spinning down the sky.Around Him are the burning starsThat toss like little ships,The winds blow out of dim unknownsAcross his very lips.Have you seen Him amid the silence,Vast as a silken cloud,Lifting His arms with jeweled pendantsCloaked in a heavy shroud?When sweeping through the open nightGreat pinions touch the face;Vast wings that fold the face of GodAgainst the breast of space;We hear the hills that all one's lifeWere silent as the sun,Break forth in songs that waited thereSince life had first begun.We reach out for the fluttering handAnd finding it is gone,We know the stars that shake the skyAre only old and wan.We stand and listen and we knowThat rising through the nightPass all the hosts of all the yearsDeath ever hides from sight.So much and yet so little thenWith thrust that follows thrust....The paltry things of paltry lifeShrink swiftly into dust.We lift our hungry hands to HeavenFor pity and in painThe only answer ever givenIs that fancy and faith remain.Wars we wage that One might rule....Proud and jealous is He.With fire and sword we crush the foolWho does not bend the knee.Temple and palace, hovel and hut,Dreamer and doer of deeds,At least one door is never shut,God answers all our needs.He walks the crest of some far hillAgainst the setting sun,The presence of a mighty willWhose journey is never done.Into the night and over the dawnAll the things that areThrough empty voids go plunging on....Planet and sun and star.Yet He we worship died years agoLike some poor human clod,And that which wanders to and froIs only the ghost of God!
The mists that whirl in greater mistsAround the cliffs of spaceLeave little drops of waterUpon his wrinkled face.
Have you heard Him, as walking throughThe valleys of the nightHe paces ever back and forth,Silent, old and white?
Upon some jagged piece of dustAs high as night is high,He watches all the tiny worldsGo spinning down the sky.
Around Him are the burning starsThat toss like little ships,The winds blow out of dim unknownsAcross his very lips.
Have you seen Him amid the silence,Vast as a silken cloud,Lifting His arms with jeweled pendantsCloaked in a heavy shroud?
When sweeping through the open nightGreat pinions touch the face;Vast wings that fold the face of GodAgainst the breast of space;
We hear the hills that all one's lifeWere silent as the sun,Break forth in songs that waited thereSince life had first begun.
We reach out for the fluttering handAnd finding it is gone,We know the stars that shake the skyAre only old and wan.
We stand and listen and we knowThat rising through the nightPass all the hosts of all the yearsDeath ever hides from sight.
So much and yet so little thenWith thrust that follows thrust....The paltry things of paltry lifeShrink swiftly into dust.
We lift our hungry hands to HeavenFor pity and in painThe only answer ever givenIs that fancy and faith remain.
Wars we wage that One might rule....Proud and jealous is He.With fire and sword we crush the foolWho does not bend the knee.
Temple and palace, hovel and hut,Dreamer and doer of deeds,At least one door is never shut,God answers all our needs.
He walks the crest of some far hillAgainst the setting sun,The presence of a mighty willWhose journey is never done.
Into the night and over the dawnAll the things that areThrough empty voids go plunging on....Planet and sun and star.
Yet He we worship died years agoLike some poor human clod,And that which wanders to and froIs only the ghost of God!
"A bear went over the mountain," sang the child (Gud stopped to listen, for the child had had its voice cultivated prenatally) "to see what he could see. A row of hanging skeletons, a swinging in the wind, was all the bear could see in front, and he could not see behind."
"See here," interrupted Gud, "you have the song mixed—what the bear saw was the other side of the mountain."
"Awh, I know," replied the child, "that was what the preteristic old bear saw, but I sing of the futuristic young bear."
Gud shook his head sadly. It made him feel archaic to come thus face to face with the younger generation in art and literature. Somehow he felt that there was something amiss in this new universe that seemed to have arisen Phoenixlike out of the ashes of nothing.
Gud turned from the child with the prenatally cultivated mind and went on his way sorrowfully. And as he walked he hummed softly to himself—"The old-time creation, the old-time creation, It was good for Unph and Godumph ... and it's good enough for me...."
"Come, come," monologued Gud—"I must not get retrospective—I destroyed it all—ashes to ashes and dust to dust."
As Gud trudged on, trying to shake this mood of a sentimental retrospection from him, he found the light waning and the ether about him turning grey and grim and gruesome.
Then like an avalanche of dead ravens, sable darkness came tumbling down upon him. But there were whitish outlines in the darkness, moving and swaying, and there were rattlings and clanking sounds, and eery whistlings.
Rachitic with fear Gud's knees bent beneath him and he sank down in the blackness and shuddered in his soul.
Before him, like a great grey army marching, the skeletons of all the mortal dead, of all the worlds and all the ages that had ever been, were filing by.
In measured time they marched, their gaunt legbones swinging in great sweeping strides, their backbones bending and creaking as they marched; while the winds between the worlds whipped through empty eyes and hollow skulls and made eery whistling sounds—and all the dry bones rattled.
So the material dead, in the empty mockery of marching, passed by Gud in vain review.
And Gud sat shuddering and alone and watched them—for eons and epochs, and epochs piled on eons of unmarked time.
After all the countless and infinitely innumerable swinging, swaying, clanking, dry-boned skeletons had marched by Gud, they started around again.
Gud knew that they were going around a second time, because he saw one pass, bearing before his bleached and grinning fact the glow of a good cigar.
There could be no mistake about it, for these were the bones of the only smoker who had ever believed that tobacco was as injurious as the non-smokers said it was!
Thus made aware that the show was being repeated on him, Gud realized that even the most gruesome and ghoulish sights and sounds became commonplace with repetition; and he became bored, and his fear died within him. So he arose and walked right through the marching mass of swinging, swaying, rattling, whistling, dry-boned skeletons, and out into the sunlight of a new day where he found Fidu digging up a freshly planted lawn in search of a bone he had buried on a golf course countless eons before.
"Come, come," said Gud, "let the dead bones stay buried—the future of eternal life is long enough without digging up the past."
Having dissuaded Fidu from his search for provender Gud offered him a portion of his own lunch.
"Do you remember," remarked Gud to the Underdog, as they sat munching their sandwiches, "the time I was on that little world back there—"
"Which one?" asked Fidu.
"The one I am talking about, silly—I ran into an earthquake. It shook things up rather badly and toppled over about half the houses, killing and maiming millions of mortals."
"What caused it?"
"I don't know, probably it was accidental—but that isn't important. What interested me was what those poor mortals thought caused it. As I was strolling through a town watching the relief committee at work, I happened to see people going into a steep roofed building, which being well constructed, had not fallen down. I joined the crowd and went in. One of their kind was standing on a box at the far end of the building and talking. I sat down with the others and listened to him.
"He was talking about the 'divine visitation.' For a moment I became self-conscious, thinking my incognito had been discovered. But I soon realized that he referred to the earthquake.
"His theory was interesting. He thought their silly little world had been shaken up by their divinity. I knew that he was mistaken, for I knew the chap who had that world in charge; he is a weak little god who could not shake up a good-sized island."
"For what reason did the mortals think your friend shook them up?" asked Fidu.
"The one who was talking had two theories about it. You see they had two kinds of folks in that world—one bunch was called 'sinners' and one was called 'righteous.' Plenty of both bunches were killed by the quake. But it seemed that the fellow who was talking, wanted the sinners killed and he was praising my friend for doing it. But his difficulty was in explaining the death of the righteous, whom I gathered were friends of his that had been in the habit of paying him to talk to them. There were a good many empty stalls in the room with black cloths on them, and some of the women in the crowd were weeping.
"Well, after the talker got through explaining that their deity had caused the earthquake for the purpose of killing the sinners, he had to admit that it also got a few of the righteous. He said that this was due to the 'mysterious working of the divine purpose' or some such vagary."
"Well, what of it?" asked Fidu.
"Nothing in particular, only it struck me as funny."
"Is that all?"
"About," said Gud—"but as I left that world, I took hold of its axis and gave it another shake."
"Did you know," said Fidu, "that the Copycat had been visiting?"
"What makes you think so?"
"Because there are five little copy kittens."
After which they journeyed on until they came to a wall. In this wall were two doors. Before the wall stood a great multitude and they stared at the two doors with fixed glassy eyes.
Gud turned and spoke to the multitude and said: "Why stare ye at the doors in the wall and durst not enter?"
"Alas, Great Gud," cried the multitude, as with one voice, "we wish not to enter the doors, but would only know which door the man entered."
"That I will find out for you," said Gud, and he stepped up and examined the knobs of the doors. Then he turned and bowed to the multitude, and turned yet again, and seizing the knob of one of the doors he swung it boldly open.
And behold, there stood a man-eating tiger, contentedly licking his chops, his belly with fat lover lined.
And Gud beckoned to the tiger which came out through the door and faced the multitude, and on the tiger's face there was a faint fragrance of a smile.
And the tiger bowed to the multitude, and Gud also bowed with the tiger.
And from the eyes of the multitude the glassy stare faded, and they turned and walked away, and some spoke exultant words to the others.
"But," asked Fidu of Gud, as they again went on their journey, "how did you know which door to open—did you smell the blood?"
"No, you hundopomorphic canine fool, I looked for finger prints on the knobs of the doors."
Gud, sauntering through the Market of Knowledge, came to a stall of a prophet and passed the time of day with him.
"Business is terrible," lamented the prophet.
"What is the trouble?" asked Gud sympathetically.
"Unfair competition," replied the prophet. "Those up-start scientists across the way have berated my goods and stolen my customers until I have none left save a few old ladies. Indeed, I fear me we shall never again see those good old days when even young men believed there was magic in the stars."
"But," said Gud, as he glanced about, "your goods look shelf-worn."
"Shelf-worn you say? And why not? I have rare antiques here. See, here is the Golden Fleece and there is the Philosopher's Stone. That box in the corner is the Hope Chest of Venus. And there in the window is the Fountain of Youth. That puzzle beside it is the Riddle of the Universe. And this vial here contains the Evil Eye preserved in spirits of mocking wine."
"All very fine antiques," agreed Gud, "but in this age a merchant must keep up-to-date; you need new goods on your shelves."
"And new goods, I have had in time and again," declared the prophet. "But they have stolen them from me. Did I not once make good money auguring from the entrails of animals, till these scientists found that they were useful for sausage casings? And when the stars paled in popularity because the scientists turned their spy-tubes upon them, did I not sit over a wall of gas and make myself drunk with its stinking fumes, while my wife sold my insane babblings for wisdom, until those scientists stole the gas and ran it through pipes to the houses to make fuel for pots to boil? And did not I read the cracks in fools' palms, until the scientists made fingerprints to identify criminals, and then the people durst not give me their hands to read lest I be a spy in the employ of the state searching out their crimes? And did I not call messages out of the air from distant lands, until the scientists trained the lightning to bring messages and harnessed it to vehicles so that the people could go and see for themselves that the lightning had not lied?"
"Did you ever try interpreting dreams?" asked Gud.
"Bah!" said the prophet. "That was the idea with which I began business when this world was young. But they have spoiled that also and taught the people that dreams were merely neurotic emanations of a bad bellyful of beef and beans. I tell you, my friend, they have left me nothing, nothing of mystery and magic to sell the people; and here I am, a prophet, wise in all the ways of prophecy, and sitting in an empty shop full of musty bones!"
Taking leave of this disgruntled prophet, Gud strolled through the Market of Knowledge to see for himself how it was that these scientists had ruined the honorable business of prophecy. And Gud saw many wonders and much business going on. In one stall he saw a chemist with tubes and retorts brewing pretty smells to scent ill-favored women. In another he saw a doctor with a microscope studying the germs of disease and making poisons to kill them. And in another was a chemist analyzing foods to see how much fatness or leanness they contained, so that he could sell recipes that would make the waists of his customers of a girth suited to the length of their lovers' arms.
And in all the shops of the scientists, Gud discovered that young men were busy analyzing things and dissecting and dismembering them and finding out of what they were made, so that they could prepare some recipe or medicine or knowledge and sell it and get gain. And Gud wondered what was left that his old friend, the prophet, could dissect and analyze and sell as a scientific product and so get gain.
As Gud pondered this he chanced to stroll into the shop of a psychologist whose secretary had the nose bleed so that she fainted, and Gud asked: "What is the matter with her?"
"She is unconscious," replied the psychologist, "her mind has lost its awareness."
"Is her mind dead?"
"No, no," retorted the psychologist.
"Then why does she not talk?"
"Because her mind is unconscious and she cannot use it to talk with."
"But, what is she doing with it?"
"Dreaming, most likely," replied the psychologist.
"Why do you not dissect her unconscious mind and see of what her dreams are made?"
"Get out!" cried the psychologist, "I am a married man and I do not want to know of what her dreams are made."
When Gud left the shop of the psychologist it was growing dark in the Market of Knowledge. So he waited until the lights in the houses were being extinguished and the people were falling asleep.
The next morning when Gud entered the shop of his old friend, the prophet, he carried a sack, the contents of which he dumped on the table.
"What are these things?" demanded the prophet.
"They are unconscious minds," said Gud, "and they are full of dreams. I want you to dissect them and analyze them and see how the dreams are made and what are the elements of them. Thus you shall make a science of dreams to sell to the people and get gain."
So saying, Gud left the shop and walked up the side of a grassy mountain where all the birds were singing and all the ewes were lambing and the little toadstools were pushing up great rocks with the power of the life that was in them. And Gud lay down upon the new-grown grass and fell asleep, and slept till winter came. When the snow began to fall upon the feet of Gud, he dreamed a dream.
Upon awakening, Gud wondered what the meaning of the dream might be; and thus he recalled the Market of Knowledge, and went straightway to the shop of the prophet to have his dream interpreted. As he approached the shop he saw a line of people on the sidewalk, and took his place in the line. As the line moved through the door each one handed the doorkeeper a sum of money. But Gud said he was a friend of the prophet and was permitted to enter so that he could hear the dreams being interpreted.
A man said: "I dreamed that I once misspelled a word by omitting the letter 'M.'
"That means," answered the prophet, "that you once knew a girl whose name began with 'M.' Probably her name was Mary."
A young woman said: "I dreamed I was an old maid and yet I was going to hell."
"That means," said the prophet, "that virtue is its own reward."
"I dreamed," said a man, "that I was dead and in my grave, and that I could hear the clods dropping on my coffin."
"That means," interpreted the prophet, "that you are a pessimist, and that you have that same infernal tin roofing on your house that I have on mine—I heard it raining last night myself."
"I dreamed," a young girl related, "that I was being run over by a steam roller, and I am anxious to have the dream interpreted because I am sure it is very significant."
"No, you are mistaken," explained the prophet. "And you ought not to be reading those uncensored books on psychoanalysis, for they are very suggestive. What your dream really means is that you have something between your teeth and need a toothpick. The analysis is simple. A toothpick was formerly a goose quill—a quill is part of a feather—feathers help birds to fly—airplanes also fly and have engines—so do steam rollers, the reason steam rollers do not fly is because they roll."
Said a man: "I dreamed that the woman I married and whom I love very dearly had eloped with the janitor. Then I woke up and found that she had, and I want to know what it all means."
"It means," replied the prophet who was very strong on professional ethics, "that your dream has come true and doesn't need interpreting; ask the doorkeeper to give you your money back."
"I dreamed," related another man, "that I had been captured by cannibals; the fire was roaring; the pot boiling; I was led forth, my head laid on the chopping block, the battle ax was lifted—and then the cannibal chief's daughter rushed forward with a joyous cry and flung herself upon my neck in place of the ax and so I was saved."
"That means," replied the prophet, "that the sex instinct is stronger than the nutritional instinct."
"I dreamed," stated another man, who was just in front of Gud, "that I was in love with my brother."
"That means nothing indecent," expounded the prophet, "because dreams are the voices of the unconscious mind which we inherited from an earlier period of our evolution. Homo-sexual dreams merely hark back to the time when we were all asexual creatures, hence they are entirely proper. By similar psychic law we whitewash dreams of incest, murder, torture, rape, arson, cannibalism, and political graft. All such dreams are perfectly respectable and may be told with pride to your wife, your mother, or your pastor, because they indicate that the unconscious mind is perfectly natural. But there is one dream that should not be told to your wife. To wit: a dream of polygamy—it is too damned natural."
Now Gud had supposed that his friend would recognize him. But the prophet was busy with some figures in a small book and he merely called, "Next." So Gud told this dream:
"I dreamed," replied Gud, "that I heard a most wonderful melody. But when I woke up I found that I was sleeping near a strawstack and was listening to the braying of a jackass."
"That means," replied the prophet, "that you are one too. Five dollars please, and what did you come in here for? When I was dealing in black magic and making prophecies by poking into the steaming entrails of virgin goats, I at least had my self-respect. And now you get out of here before I call the Centurian and have you arrested for stealing the subconscious mind of the President of our Academy of Science."
Ingratitude is sharper than a woman's tongue; and when Gud heard what the prophet said, he whipped out a ram's horn and blew a withering blast. When the ground trembled with the echo thereof, all the shops in the Market of Knowledge fell down and a great tidal wave swept in from the Sea of Trouble.
After everyone else had drowned, Gud came up for air. He lit a cigarette and blew a smoke ring and tossed it on the water to see if it would float. It did and so Gud climbed upon it and sat there cross-legged to wait for his robe to dry.
Presently he saw a man coming toward him running on the water and carrying a package under one arm and a half-finished manuscript under the other. The man came up panting and out of breath and cried: "Save me!"
"Perhaps," said Gud. "But what have you in the package?"
At this the man hurled the package at Gud and sank into the depths with bubbling groan.
Gud unwrapped the package and found that it contained three mountains. These Gud tossed upon the water where they floated equidistant on the surface of the sea. On the first mountain was a man in dire agony of soul. On the second mountain was a beautiful woman about to plunge a dagger into her heart because of her love for the man. On the third mountain was another woman no less beautiful, and she was about to cast herself into the sea because of her hate of the woman who loved the man. But Gud, who knew all things, was not interested in what would happen next; and, his robe being dry, he arose and walked leisurely away on the water and did not once look back.
Tiring of walking on the water Gud looked about for a conveyance. Just then a deep-sea fish came to the surface and winked at Gud with his glassy eye.
"I came up to see if I could find out," said the fish, "who that fellow was who came tumbling down into my depths a little while ago."
"Why do you wish to know?" asked Gud.
"Because," replied the fish, "I feel as if I had swallowed a theological discussion and it is giving me indigestion."
"Suppose you turn over and let the sun shine on your belly," suggested Gud. "Sunlight is very healing."
"Thanks, but my belly is white and I do not wish to have it sunburned—but who do you suppose is coming in yonder boat?"
When the boat came nearer Gud and the fish saw that the boat also contained a man and two women. The man was talking. "Suppose," said he, "that the boat should upset: neither of you can swim, and what would I do? For I could not save you both. I could not let my dear old mother drown and yet how could I let my beautiful wife drown? If I had realized how I was going to worry about it, I should have insisted on going to the mountains for our vacation."
Upon hearing the man's words the two women set up a great weeping.
"I wonder," said Gud, "which one he would save!"
"Let's find out," laughed the fish; and without further ado he dived beneath the boat and upset it with a mighty stroke of his great scaly tail.
"Help!" screamed the mother.
"Help!" gurgled the young wife.
"Now I am in a devil of a fix," groaned the man, "which ever one I save, the neighbors will say I should have saved the other one." And he started off alone swimming rapidly toward the shore.
Then the fish remembered that the young wife was quite plump—even if she wasn't beautiful as her husband had said she was, so he dived deep into the sea and left Gud standing there on the water without a blessed thing to do and nothing to think about.
And now a wind came sighing over the deep blue sea, and little ripples stirred upon the surface of the water, and then the wind came soughing over the roughened sea, and larger wavelets raced and ran atop the cold, damp water. And soon the wind began to howl and tear the wild, wet sea, and mighty waves began to break and toss and splatter—and it made Gud seasick.
So he began to wonder why the waves kept going on and leaving him behind. The more he thought about it, the more it worried him; and finally it occurred to Gud that he was opposing the waves subconsciously. So he sublimated his subconscious conflict and harmonized his ego with the spirit of the waves, and when the next wave hit him he rode atop it like a cat on the ridgepole of a cabin going down the river in a June rise.
As the wave struck the shore, it began to break and make breakers. As soon as it was broke, Gud dismounted and strolled along the beach looking for flotsam and jetsam.
He didn't find any, so he picked up a jeweled casket and started to wonder with a great curiosity what it contained. Then suddenly, he tossed the jeweled casket aside without even examining the padlock, for he had remembered that he knew all things and hence could not wonder nor possess curiosity. But upon further consideration he realized that lack of wonder and curiosity on his part would kill all the suspense in his story, so he began to wonder what the wild waves were saying, and why sea shells are pink inside, and what the ink-fish was writing on the sands of time.
Gud pondered these things as he walked along the beach until he saw before him a series of shallow depressions. At first he thought they were ordinary soul tracks. Then he looked again and gave forth a low whistle of surprise and amazement and bent low to examine the footprints—and shrank back in horror, for they were stained a deep crimson.
Cautiously Gud touched his finger to the stain and examined it critically. "'Tis blood!" he cried.
Gud began to trail the stained footprints along the beach and followed them until they turned and led into the sea. At the edge of the water he paused and sighed, for his robe was now nicely dehydrated. But curiosity is a compelling instinct and wonder a powerful emotion; and so Gud followed the trail as it led down the sloping beach and on down along the bottom of the sea.
At last the trail led to a rocky cavern where phosphorescent eyes stared out of opalescent water. Here the trail came finally to an end as it entered a door in the side of a barnacle-covered hull of an ancient galley.
"And what is this place?" asked Gud of a mermaid, who was sitting on one of the ship's knees: "and what bold criminal with a blood-stained trail has entered here?"
"Can't you read?" retorted the mermaid. "The sign tells you plainly enough that this is our Deep-Sea Butcher Shop, and he who just now entered was the butcher's boy, who had been up on the shore to get some red-blooded meat. We tire dreadfully down here of having seven Fridays in a week. And now if you will quit being silly and playing at amateur detective I will sing you a song." And so she sang:
It was a soulful song he sung,A doleful song sang he,For in the sun her body swungHigh on the gallows' tree.The loathsome vultures swooped amongThe shadows hungrily,As though awaiting for the dungThat swayed there horribly.Then as a distant church bell rungSlowly, peacefully,Out through the night a mad cry flungRed echoes suddenly.A mad cry, then the silence clungO'er sky and shore and sea;He dead below, and she that hungHigh on the gallows' tree.
It was a soulful song he sung,A doleful song sang he,For in the sun her body swungHigh on the gallows' tree.
The loathsome vultures swooped amongThe shadows hungrily,As though awaiting for the dungThat swayed there horribly.
Then as a distant church bell rungSlowly, peacefully,Out through the night a mad cry flungRed echoes suddenly.
A mad cry, then the silence clungO'er sky and shore and sea;He dead below, and she that hungHigh on the gallows' tree.
"Oh, listen to the mocking bird!" cried the crustacean.
"Ha, ha!" laughed the crinoid, "that is only a mock turtle."
"Oh H2O!" snorted the good red herring, "you talk like a fish out of water."
"She has a necklace of shark's teeth," whispered the jealous water baby.
"And a pearl without a price," piped the sea lady.
"But why do mermaids have fish tales to tell?" demanded Gud.
"I don't know," answered the deep sea diver, who was looking for the treasure. "But they call 'Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea' prophetic fiction, but you can't shoot a rifle under water without blowing your head off."
Just then the Underdog barked at the copycat and Gud woke up and realized that all this marine stuff was just the subconscious yearning of a writer born in the short grass country to imitate Conrad, and that he, Gud, was still lying in the pasture, and that the snow had changed to rain and his feet were wet.