Fletcher Pratt (19 page)

He was announced by television-phone as the emissary of the Scientific Board, and I made ready to receive him with something like trepidation.

He turned out to be a tall, thin individual whose pinched-up nose gave him an air of superciliousness and who had the carefully studied precision of gesture and speech of an actor. He glanced about the room for approval after every statement. I discovered the reason for this later when it was explained to me that the leading philosophers are in the custom of giving to whoever wishes to tune in on their consultations the benefit of what they are saying to the individual, and that it is quite the custom to connect one's television set with a private home in which a philosopher is talking to pick up the pearls of wisdom that fall from his lips.

He bent his knees in greeting and addressed me in Murasheman. "Man from another world," he said, "you have come across the years to us, freighted with precious gifts of art. Therefore the Scientific Board has decided to permit you to become a free member of the community of Murashema, although you have a low intelligence rating. Accept my congratulations."

I murmured my appreciation of the honor.

"You have been assigned to the ranks of the Thutiya Volva. (The artist of sound,
i.e.,
musicians.) The rights and privileges of this class are yours."

"Just what are they? What do I have to do?"

"Make further those exquisite sounds with which you delighted the ears of the Scientific Board."

"Oh. (I had given them almost my entire stock of poetry.)

"You understand, of course, that the Thutiya Volva are under primitive organization."

"Just what does that mean?"

"All workers, whether Biyamo, Davex, Hetheleg or Bodrog, are under direction of our glorious commonwealth and do what work is asked by their superiors in the state. In return to them the state guarantees food and clothing and living quarters and recreation. Above this the workers must purchase recreation for themselves with labor tickets."

"But not the artists?" (What an autocracy, I thought.) "Our scientists have long known that artists are individualists—you, no less than the rest. Individualists are of primitive mold of mind and are therefore subjected to primitive conditions. All arts are classified as amusement and are paid for in labor tickets by those who enjoy them. Artists are not furnished with food and clothes by our glorious commonwealth. They must pay for everything in the labor tickets obtained from those who enjoy their arts." "Isn't that a bit hard on the artists? It seems unfair."

A theatrically adequate expression of horror spread slowly over the face of the philosopher and he lifted his hands before his face. (I noted that the fingers were painted, a form of vanity I found quite prevalent among Murashemans of the upper classes.)

"Are you so steeped in ignorance then that you do not know that the wise scientists who control our great commonwealth are never unfair? They know that if the state furnished livings to artists many persons disinclined to labor would claim to be artists in order to obtain the benefits of idleness. We hold rightly that a genuine artist will be appreciated by other people who will show their appreciation by maintaining him. This method automatically starves out false artists and forces them to enter work."

"But aren't there any artists who are genuinely good but are so far ahead of their times that they are not appreciated? We have them where I come from."

"Child of another age, do you not know that under a true civilization such as that we have achieved all people are equal in artistic appreciation? If an artist is unable to earn his living by pleasing people, a poor artist he must be. I tell you this for your own good as well. You must please people. The future has no arts as distinct from the present."

(What an ass, I thought. And this was a specimen of the Murasheman philosopher! ... And no wonder a people who regulated things in this way had no poetry. I wondered what their other arts were like.)

"I see ..." I said, making a show of agreement. "How am I to get in touch with possible clients for my art?"

"They will search you out," said the philosopher. "It is my recommendation that you give one or two performances at gatherings to spread the news of your arrival. I bid you farewell."

And rising, he curtsied to me again with the stiff sweep .of a marionette and left. Half an hour later the television-phone announced that new clothes bearing my emblem were being sent to me, and the dumbwaiter, when opened, revealed them as exact duplicates of those I had been wearing, save that a series of concentric rings replaced the star on the shoulder.

It was while Ashembe was giving me my lesson in Murasheman that evening that the first request for my artistic talents came. The television-phone gave a warning shout, and the panel slid back to show a circle of people seated in a room not unlike my own, one of whom I recognized as a member of the Scientific Board that had conducted my examination.

I gave them some limericks and what I could remember of "Jabberwocky," remembering in time that the tensal Helmets the members of the board had worn caused them to memorize the other selections they had heard. As the panel slid into place before the picture of the curtseying group I turned to my friend:

"I'm afraid I'm going to have difficulty if this keeps up," I told him. "I don't know so very much poetry, and they
will
use those tensals."

A curious expression of surprise and horror spread over his face. "What's the matter?" I cried.

"You are not then—inventing these poetry?"

"Why, of course not. All I've done is recite some of the best poetry I knew."

He placed his hands on my shoulders and looked at me gravely. "It is contrary to the regulations," he said, "but I am your friend and will say no more of this. I implore you not to reveal it to others."

"Of course not if you think best. But why?"

He glanced around as though somebody might overhear us and then shut off the television-phone before replying.

"Those who create no new art themselves but use the arts others produce are not of the Thutiya Volva."

"What are they then?"

"Has none told you of the Thutiya Bunyo? They are the imitative artists who give nothing themselves to the world but only pass on what others have given them. They are of the lowest rank, below even the Biyamo, and their time is mostly devoted to ... despicable duties. If it were found out you had concealed that you were reciting the works of others, you would be sent to the farms." He shuddered. Then, after a moment, "Attempt to make new poetry—in Murasheman, if you can."

I did try it, but without any great amount of success. Murasheman would be the easiest of languages for a good poet; it lacks in the harsh s and z sounds of English, replacing them with a vast number of labials. It is entirely-monosyllabic. Where a longer word appears it is due to the welding together of a number of monosyllables. "Ashembe," for instance, meaning "Glory of the time spirit," "ashem" being a compound word signifying "exaltation" (ash) "of heart," "em" and "be" being the word for "time spirit."

Speaking of "be" reminds me of the type of philosophy that passes for a religion in Murashema. They appear to hold (that is, the Bodrog, Davex and Acle do) a belief in an amorphous entity they call "Beyarya," which may be rendered as "the first cause" or the "indestructible spirit of time" in the sense of a spirit of progress. Beyarya is not conceived of as having any interest in mortal affairs. The principal article in the Murasheman ethical code is that one must always tell the truth. They hold that all misconduct flows out of lies, either of omission or commission.

Beyarya's part in the making of the universe is limited, in Murasheman thought, to having set in motion the chain of events which resulted in the formation of the Murashema and other solar systems. The Murashemans believe that all such systems are governed by a single set of physical laws which are unchanging throughout the universe.

They believe that the thoughts and actions of men and animals (they deny the existence of a soul and hence make no difference between men and animals) are controlled by these laws, thus touching on the extreme mechanistic point of view.

This is the Murasheman religion or philosophy in its purest and highest form. Naturally their conception of Beyarya as an impersonal and disinterested force precludes any religious worship or any ministers of religion. In the lower ranks of the people and particularly among the Biyamo and Thutiya Bunyo this religion is incrusted with a certain amount of anthropomorphism. There are numerous superstitions and a tendency to elevate certain heroes of the past to the rank of demigods or intercessors with the divine Beyarya, whom they regard as having a more personal interest in the doings of the individual.

This philosophy, as I have said, underlies all Murasheman thought. Nevertheless they have philosophers who belong to the Davex class (intellectual workers) and who elaborate on the fundamental idea and apply its tenets in detail to the problems of the individual. The philosophers are very numerous; they are consulted on all knotty ethical points, and the more fashionable ones receive high prices in labor tickets above the fee the state pays them, though this practice is frowned upon by the scientific boards.

Besides being philosophers, these professional philosophers are acute psychologists. Their mission is not merely to solve the ethical problems of the individual but his business problems as well; in fact, to furnish advice at every turn of his life. Every man and woman is compelled to consult them every so often, and if the records, which are kept in great detail, show that an individual has not had his regular philosophic (or rather psychological) examination, the Scientific Board sends one around.