The Wit and Humor of America
Chapter 105 : "Then how am I to brighten others' lives?" I asked, more than a little

"Then how am I to brighten others' lives?" I asked, more than a little disappointed, for several humans hurrying past had turned upon me looks indicating moods receptive of all the brightening I could give.

I might have amused myself indefinitely, studying the rapid succession of varying faces, had not Bloomer cautioned me not to stare. She said people would think me from the country, which is considered discreditable, and as this reminded me that I had as yet seen nothing growing, I asked to be shown the gardens and groves.

"There is one," she said, indicating an open s.p.a.ce not far away, where sure enough there stood some wretched looking trees which I had not recognized before, forgetting that, of course, leaves here must be green. I saw no flowers growing, but presently we came upon some in a sort of crystal bower guarded by a powerful black person. I wanted so to ask him how he came to be black, but the memory of my last attempt at information deterred me. Instead, I inquired if I might have some roses.

"Walk in, Miss," he replied most civilly, and in I walked through the door, past the sweetest little embryonic, who wore the vesture of a young policeman.

"Boy," I said, "have you begun to realize your soul?"

"Nope," he replied. "I ain't in fractions yet."

--Some stage of earthly progress, I suppose, though I did not like a certain movement of his eyelid, and one never can tell, you know, how hard embryonics are really striving. So I made haste to gather all the roses I could carry, and was about to hurry after Ooma, when a person barred my way.

"Hold on!" he cried. "Ain't you forgetting something? Why don't you take the whole lot?"

"Because I have all I want for the present," I answered, rather frightened, perceiving that his aura had grown livid, and I don't know how I could have soothed him had not Ooma once more come to my relief. I could see that she was annoyed with me, but she controlled herself and placed some token in the being's hand which acted on his agitation like a charm.

As I told you, Bloomer had given me with the other things, a crown of artificial roses which, now that I had real flowers to wear, I wanted to throw away, but this she would not permit, insisting that such a proceeding would make the humans laugh at me--though to look into their serious faces one would not believe this possible. The thoughts of those about me, as I divined them, seemed anything but jocular. They came to me incoherent and inconsecutive, a jumble of conditional premises leading to approximate conclusions expressed in symbols having no intrinsic meaning.--Of course, it is unfair to judge too soon, but I have already begun to doubt the existence of direct perception among them.--What did you say, dear?--Bother direct perception?--Well, I wonder how _we_ should like to apprehend nothing that could not be put into words? You, I'm sure, would have the most confused ideas about Earthly conditions if you depended entirely upon my remarks.--Now concentrate, and you shall hear something really interesting.

--No, not the One yet.--He comes later.--

We had not gone far, I carrying my roses, and Bloomer not too well pleased, as I fancied, because so many people turned to look at us (Bloomer has retrograded physically until she is at times almost Uranian, probably as the result of wearing black, which appears to be the chromatic equivalent of respectability), when suddenly I became sensible of a familiar influence, which was quite startling because so unexpected. Looking everywhere, I caught sight of--who do you suppose?

Our old friend Tuk.--Mr. Tuck, T-u-c-k here, if you please. He was about to enter a--a means of transportation, and though his back was towards me, I recognized that drab aura of his at once, and projected a reactionary impulse which was most effective.

In his surprise he was for the moment in danger of being trampled upon by a rapidly moving animal.--Yes, dear, I said "animal."--I don't know and I don't consider it at all important. I do not pretend to be familiar with mundane zoology.--Tuck declared himself delighted to see me, and so I believe he was, though he controlled his radiations in the supercilious way he always had. But upon one point he did not leave me long in doubt. Externally, at least, my Earthly Ego is a--

(NOTE: _The word which signifies a species of peach or nectarine peculiar to the planet Mercury is doubtless used here in a symbolic sense._)

--I caught on to that most interesting fact the moment his eyes rested on me.

"By all that's fair to look upon!" he cried, jumping about in a manner human people think eccentric, "are you astral or actualized?"

"See for yourself," I said, holding out my hand, which it took him rather longer than necessary to make sure of.

"Well, what on Earth brings you here? Come down to paint another planet red?" he rattled on, believing himself amusing.

"Now haven't I as much right to light on Earth as on any other bit of cosmic dust?" I asked, laughing and forgetting how much snubbing he requires in the delight of seeing any one I knew.

Then he insisted that I had a "date" with him.--A date, as I discovered later, means something nice to eat--and hinted very broadly that Bloomer need not wait if she had more important matters to attend to. I must confess she did not seem at all sorry to have me taken off her hands, for after cautioning me to beware of a number of things I did not so much as know by name, she shot off like a respectable old aerolite with a black trail streaming out behind. If she remains here much longer she will be coming back upon a mission to reform _us_. As for Tuck, he became insufferably patronizing at once.

"Well, how do you like the Only Planet? and how do you like the Only Town? and how do you like the Only Street?" he began, waving his hands and looking about him as though there were anything here that one of _us_ could admire. But, of course, I refused to gratify him with my crude impressions. I simply said:

"You appear very well pleased with them yourself."

"And so will you be," he replied, "when you have realized their possibilities. Remark that elderly ent.i.ty across the street. I have to but exert my will that he shall sneeze and drop his eyegla.s.ses, and behold, there they go."--Yes, my dear, eyegla.s.ses. They are worn on the nose by people who imagine they can not see very well.

"I consider such actions cruel and unkind," I said, at the same time willing an embryonic girl to pick the gla.s.ses up, and though the child was rather beyond my normal circle, I was delighted to see her obey. But I have an idea Tuck regretted an experiment which taught me something I might not have found out, at least for a while.

I had now been on Earth several hours, and change of atmosphere gives one a ravenous appet.i.te. You see, I had forgotten to ask Ooma how, and how often, humans ate, so when Tuck suggested breakfast as a form of entertainment I put myself in sympathy with the idea at once. Besides it is most important to know just where to find the things you want, and you may be sure I made a lot of mental notes when we came, as presently we did, to a tower called Astoria.

I understand that the upper portions of the edifice are used for study of the Stars, but we were made welcome on the lower story by a stately being, who conducted us to honorable seats in an inner court. There were small trees growing here, green, of course, but rather pretty for all that; the people, gathered under their shade in little groups, were much more cheerful and sustaining than any I had seen so far, and an elemental intelligence detailed to minister to our wants seemed well-trained and docile.

"Here you have a glimpse of High Life," announced Tuck, when he had written something on a paper.

"The Higher Life?" I inquired, eagerly, and I did not like the flippant tone in which he answered:

"No, not quite--just high enough."

I was beginning to be so bored by his conceit and self-complacency that I cast my eyes about and smiled at several pleasant-looking persons, who returned the smile and nodded in a friendly fas.h.i.+on, till I could perceive Tuck's aura bristle and turn greenish-brown.

"You can't possibly see any one you know here," he protested, crossly.

"All the better reason why I should reach out in search of affinities,"

I retorted. But after that, though I was careful to keep my eyes lowered most of the time, I resolved to come some day to the Astoria alone and smile at every one I liked. I don't believe I should ever know a human if Tuck could have his way.

Presently the elemental brought us delicious things, and while we ate them Tuck talked about himself. It appears he has produced an opera here which is a success. People throng to hear it and consider him a great composer. At all of which, you may believe, I was astonished--just fancy our Tuk posing as a genius!--but presently when he became elated by the theme and hummed a bar or two, I understood. The wretch had simply actualized a few essential harmonies--and done it very badly. I see now why he likes so much being here, and understand why his a.s.sociates are almost altogether human. I don't remember ever meeting with such deceit and effrontery before. I was so indignant that I could feel my astral fingers tremble. I could not bear to look at him, and as by that time I had eaten all I could, I rose and walked directly from the court without another word. I am sure he would have pursued me had not the elemental, divining my wish to escape, detained him forcibly.

Once in the street again, I immediately hypnotized an old lady, willing her to go direct to Bloomer's Boarding-House while I followed behind. It may not have been convenient for her, I am afraid, but I knew of no other way to get back.--Dear me, the light is growing dim, and I must be dressing for the evening. Good-by!--By the way, I forgot to tell you something else that happened--remind me of it next time!

THE THIRD RECORD

--Yes, I remember, and you shall hear all about it before I describe an evening at the Settlement, but it don't amount to much.--I told you how cross and over-bearing Tuck was at the Astoria tower, and of the mean way in which he restricted my observations. Well, of all the people in the grove that day there was only one whom I could see without being criticized, and he sat all alone and facing me, just behind Tuck's back.

Some green leaves hung between us, and whenever I moved my head to note what he was doing he moved his, too, to look at me. He seemed so lonely that I was sorry for him, but his atmosphere showed him to be neither sullen nor Uranian, and I could not help it if I was just a little bit responsive. Besides, Tuck, once on the subject of his opera, grew so self-engrossed and dominant that one had either to a.s.sert one's own mentality or become subjective.

--No, dear, that is not the _only_ reason. There may be such a thing as an isolated reason, but I have never met one--they always go in packs. I confess to a feeling of interest in the stranger. n.o.body can look at you with round blue eyes for half an hour steadily without exercising some attraction, either positive or negative, and I felt, too, that he was trying to tell me something which would have been a great deal more interesting than Tuck's opera, and I believe had I remained a little longer we could have understood each other between the trees just as you and I can understand each other across the intervals of s.p.a.ce. But then it is so easy to be mistaken.--I had to pa.s.s quite close to him in going out, and I am not sure I did not drop a rose.

--There may be just a weenie little bit more about the Astorian, but that will come in its proper place. Now I must get on to the evening.--It was not much of an occasion, merely the usual gathering of our crowd, or rather of those of us who have no special a.s.signment for the time in the large Council Room I have described to you.

The President of the Board of Control at present is Marlow, Marlow the Great, as he is called, the painter whose pictures did so much to elevate the Patagonians.--No, dear, I never heard of Patagonia before, but I'm almost sure it's not a planet.--With Marlow came a Mrs. Mopes, who is engaged in creating schools of fiction by writing stories under different names and then reviewing them in her own seven magazines.

Next, taking the guests at random, was Baxter, a deadly person in his human incarnation, whose business it is to make stocks fly up or tumble down.--I don't know what stocks are, but they must be something very easily frightened.--Then there was a Mr. Waller, nicknamed the Reverend, whom the Council allows to speak the truth occasionally, while the rest of the time he tells people anything they want to hear to win their confidence. And the two Miss Dooleys who sing so badly that thousands who can not sing at all leave off singing altogether when they once hear them. And Mr. Flick, who misbehaves at funerals to distract mourners from their grief, and a Mr. O'Brien, whose duty it is to fly into violent pa.s.sions in public places just to show how unbecoming temper is.

There were many others, so many I can not begin to enumerate them. Some had written books and were known all over the planet, and some who were not known at all had done things because there was n.o.body else to do them. And some were singers and some were actors, and some were rich and some were poor to the outside world, but in the Council Room they met and laughed and matched experiences and made jokes; from the one who had built a battle s.h.i.+p so terrible that all the other s.h.i.+ps were burnt on condition that his should be also, to the ordinary helpers who applaud stupid plays till intelligent human beings become thoroughly disgusted with bad art.

In the world, of course, they are all serious enough, and often know each other only by secret signs, while every day and night and minute our poor earth-brothers come a little nearer the light--pushed toward it, pulled toward it, wheedled and trickled and bullied and coaxed, and thinking all the while how immensely clever they are, and what a wonderful progressive, glorious age they have brought about for themselves.--At all events, this is the rather vague composite impression I have received of the plans and purposes of the Board of Directors, and doubtless it is wrong.

I suppose with a little trouble I might have recognized nearly every one, but the fancy took me to suspend intuition just to see how Earth girls feel, and you know when one is hearing a lot of pleasant things one does not much care who happens to be saying them.

I fancy Marlow thought less of me when I confessed that I am here only for the lark, and really do not care a meteor whether the planet is ever elevated or not. But he is a charming old fellow all the same, and the only one of the lot who has not grown the least bit smudgy.

Marlow announced that the evening would be spent in harmony with the vibrations of Orion, and set us all at work to get in touch. I love Orion light myself, for none other suits my aura quite so well, and I was glad to find they had not taken up the Vega fad.--The light here? My dear, it is not even filtered.--Some of us, no doubt for want of practice, were rather slow about perfecting, but finally we all caught on, and when O'Brien, no longer fat and florid, and the elder Miss Dooley, no longer scrawny, moved out to start the dance, there was only one who had not a.s.sumed an astral personality. Poor fellow, though I pitied him, I did admire his s.p.u.n.k in holding back. It seems that as an editor he took to telling falsehoods on his own account so often that the Syndicate is packing him off as Special Correspondent to a tailless comet.

Tuck never came at all; either he realizes how honest people must regard him and his opera, or else the elementals at the Astoria are still detaining him.

We had a lovely dance, and while we rested Marlow called on some of us for specialties. Mrs. Mopes did a paragraph by a man named Henry James, translated into action, which seemed quite difficult, and then a person called Parker externalized a violin and gave the Laoc.o.o.n in terms of sound. To me his rendering of marble resembled terra-cotta until I learned that the copy of the statue here is awfully weatherstained.

After this three pretty girls gave the Aurora Borealis by telepathic suggestion rather well, and then I sang "Love Lives Everywhere"--just plain so.

--I know this must all sound dreadfully flat to you, quite like "Pastimes for the Rainy Season in Neptune," but Bloomer says she doesn't know what would happen if we should ever give a really characteristic jolly party.