To return for a moment to the theory of catastrophe, and the “pointed wounds” of Bes Nef. In the Valley of the Sun there have been unearthed many bronze, and tin, and even stone figures of what would seem to be a kind of huge praying mantis. There are many groups of such figures, usually including male and female, and sometimes with young; it is curious that in every case the male figure is larger and more powerful than the female, which we know to be untrue in the case of the actual praying mantis. These figures nevertheless have the small, cruel head, the long savage arms, the spindly legs, and the attenuated bodies of the mantis. Is it possible that a civilization of men and women, more or less like ourselves, might have been overwhelmed by an invasion of mantis-like insects? Where could they have come from? and where did they go? The conjecture is, of course, fascinating; but no mantis skeletons or remains of any kind have been found, except the above-mentioned statues.
Pound-Laundry is in itself the richest of the diggings. It is believed that at one time this city (for recent excavations indicate “the laundry,” as we call it, to have been a city of considerable culture) may at one time have been, in fact, the capital of We, or at least to have had some political or historic importance. Obelgerst-Levy translates the first word of the name as “washing”; the second is obviously the sign for “weight.” It is not known what—if anything—was washed there.
In the middle mound, or Cha’ago, near the Lakes, there have been unearthed several paintings; badly discolored, they yet show enough to prove that the inhabitants of Cha’ago were not entirely without visual art. However, they show almost nothing else. They portray squares, lines, lozenges, and mathematical figures; perhaps they were used in some way by the astrologers of the period. One finds no recognizable human face or figure. We cannot be sure what the Weans of Cha’ago looked like.
(In this relation, it is interesting to note that among the artifacts unearthed at Cha’ago were some unbroken jars and other ceramic objects; also statues of what appear to be eggs, and certain nightmare shapes in stone, iron, and bronze. One is allowed to wonder if there was not some correspondence between these art objects and the praying mantises who may have taken over the country. It is also believed that the Weans had music, but so far at least only a few brass instruments and some drums and cymbals have been found; no sounds have come down to us from those faraway people except a high rasping cry from a slender horn-like object found in Oleens.)
To return again to the matter of what the Weans may have looked like; no human bones have been found. Although we have turned up many artifacts of the period, we have nothing for the anthropologists to work on. It is probable that the bones of these people were brittle, and turned to chalk soon after interment.
The greatest difficulty in reconstructing the life of the Weans has not been the deciphering of the inscriptions and the scrolls—due to the brilliant work of Professors Bollek and Shui—but the fact that the Weans, unlike the true ancients, used little gold, preferring to build everything of steel or other metal, and of some curious substance which Bes Nef translates as “gastric,” or “plastric.” As a result, little is left for the archaeologist. Stone was used mainly for monuments, as was bronze, but those which have been uncovered are too heavily encrusted with bird-droppings to be easily recognizable. One theory is that the Weans collected guano; but it is not known what they did with it.
It is here, for the first time, that I must take issue with my esteemed colleague, Professor Kowly of the Institute for Ancient Arts and Letters, who has discovered in one of the scrolls at Pound-Laundry a glyph of what he believes to be a bird-man. Professor Kowly sees in this some correspondence to the djinn of the even more ancient civilizations of Akad and Sumer. While agreeing in the translation of the glyph, I must dispute its meaning: I believe it to have a purely domestic significance, and not religious at all. For one thing, it is often found along with the glyph of a woman, and the sign of a host, or hosts; there seems to be another letter between the final t and the s, possibly an a or an e, which would make it hostas or hostes. I cannot help but see this as a picture of an ordinary family, the man in winged splendor, as befits a husband, the woman merely one of a number, or host (or hostes).
In this relation, it is interesting to note that the Hittite plural, in the feminine gender, often adds the e. I am not one of those who hold that these unknown Weans were actually Hittites, although I admit to some strange correspondences. In any case, a Sumerian djinn would never be found accompanied by a woman, unless she were a sorceress. There is no suggestion that the woman-hostes was in fact a witch or sorceress, which I believe effectively disposes of Kowly’s untenable hypothesis.
Apropos of the mounds or tumuli of the Weans, each one of which appears to contain and cover the ruins of a city or congregation of habitations, an expedition under Hulay-Beneker has been for several seasons in the field in search of a mound thought to cover the most extensive congregation of all. The name of this lost city, or congregation, which is believed to have been more influential in Wean affairs than Pound-Laundry itself, was—as deciphered by both Eretebbe and Bes Nef—Mil Town. So far no trace of it has been found.
All that we have been able to learn of Wean manners and customs we have been obliged to decipher from the copper and silver tablets found in the mounds, and in the Valley of the Sun in the southwestern part of the country. As a matter of fact, it would appear that a considerable civilization flourished in the southwest, not in any way inferior to the middle mound at Cha’ago, or to the eastern tumuli such as n.yok. Here, in transcription, is Bes Nef’s account of a religious occasion, translated from scrolls found in the Valley:
“[for that] he did cause them . . . [by] rock and roll . . . to [give out] cries and screams . . . loudly . . . and ... in the corridors [”Columns”—Bollek. “Aisles”—Obelgerst-Levy.]... in syncope [Syncopation”—Obelgerst-Levy. But this makes no sense, apparently.]. . .”
The word “roll” or “rolls” suggest a feast, possibly a feast of communion on a grand scale. So far no one has been able to explain the presence of the word “rock.”
However, it is apparent that the people came together, and were seized by an ecstasy of some sort in which they lost reason and decorum. This belief is further strengthened by another scroll found in the same tumulus, in which the scribe reports: “and the spirit came down.”
So the evidence points to the fact that the Weans were a religious people. There is additional witness in a silver coin dug up in one of the smaller mounds, which carries the inscription “In God We Trust”—or ‘Trusted.” The translation is by the Bantu scholar, Eretebbe; the tense of the verb “to trust” is obscure.
Neither Eretebbe nor any other member of the Academy has as yet been able to discover what god was meant. It is extremely unlikely that these ancient people had only one; inscriptions found among the ruins of Pound-Laundry suggest, in fact, a number of religious differences among them. There are definite traces of Hebrew culture in the ruins of n.yok; and although nothing has so far been found at Pound-Laundry to suggest Babylonian or early Egyptian influences, there are hints here and there of the Cyprian cult of Antinous, particularly among the arts.
It is probable, too, that the Weans worshiped, among others, a sort of horse-god or centaur. Professor Rass points out that the fragment unearthed at s.nita, and known as the Rass fragment, contains the unmistakable glyph for “horse,” and the simple statement: “Schwaps [schnaps?] was first.” Yet another glyph, found not far from s.nita, is that of a bearded god; it, too, states that “Schwepps [schwaps?] was first.”
In this regard, it is interesting to note that in a fragment unearthed at Oleens, and known as the Oleens fragment, the word “schnaps” is written: “cocacola,” which was the name of an Aztec root-deity.
In politics we are on surer ground. It is possible to say with absolute certainty, from scrolls unearthed at Pound-Laundry, and also from the ancient city of Boxton, or Bosstin, known to archaeologists as mound x-5, t
hat the Weans were divided into hegemonies or states, each ruled by a theocrat or autocrat, and all loosely joined in a confederacy under one ruler (who, however, was not a theocrat) whose duty it was to retire after an interval varying in length from four to twelve years, and to issue warnings and oracles. These groups, or states, were in turn divided into counties, which were in turn divided into wards. As for the system of government itself, it appears to have been conducted by means of barter, each county or state getting what it could for itself in exchange for helping its neighbor to do the same.
Public servants, we know, were paid little; they were expected to enrich themselves as best they could in private. When this enrichment, which was illegal, was discovered, they were beheaded. This curious fact did not keep the majority of Weans from seeking public office; but one is forced to conclude, from inscriptions found at Nassaw, that the most admired citizens lived in actual poverty, and rarely spoke at all, except in musical sounds or mathematical formulae. As we have already seen, no musical sounds have come down to us, which is unfortunate.
It is true that two scrolls, bound each in oblong form, were found by the team of Haph-Bukong and Sumer, digging one winter among the ruins of what may once have been some sort of library. That it may have been a repository of many such scrolls—or as we should say “books”—is suggested by the remains of metal shelves which may have held the scrolls (or else jellies, but informed opinion veers toward the scrolls).
Unfortunately, both scrolls, though easily legible, due to the brilliant work of the scholars Bes Nef and Obelgerst-Levy, are unintelligible; that is to say, the words, although translatable, make no sense when put together. One of these scrolls appears to be an account of a god or hero named Finigan, or Finnegan; the size of the scroll and its rare state of preservation attest to its importance as a religious or historical document, but it is impossible to make out what happens to him. The second scroll is in what appears to be a metrical, or verse form; nothing can be gathered from it at all.
A tablet unearthed at n.yok gives us a welcome glimpse into business transactions in We. “[Having] borrowed a million,” it reads in the transcription of B’Han Bollek, “[I acquired] thereby credit to twice that amount.” This suggests an economy not unlike our own: one thinks of the motto of our Treasury Department: ‘To the Borrower, All.”
Throughout history there has never been anything more useful than credit, to establish credit. Without a debt, there is nothing.
As for the history of these interesting and almost unknown ancestors [Nat Obelgerst-Levy denies that the Wean were ancestors of ours.] of ours, no more is known than is known of the Romans, and later the Brythons: they established themselves in the land by killing off the native tribes already there, and built their empire by the sword; when the sword rusted, they perished, along with Egypt, Babylon, and Greece, leaving behind them only these curious mounds, some scrolls, monuments, and glyphs, a few statues of eggs and mantises, and no music.
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* * * *
TAKE A DEEP BREATH
by Roger Thorne
It has become axiomatic, though none the less true, that advances in the technology of communication can be a double-edged sword: bringing individuals closer together and increasing their understanding of each other; or imposing a kind of mass subservience to the spoken (or written) word, producing a herd man, unthinking, who understands nothing except what he is told.
* * * *
Sit down . . . make yourself comfortable . . . relax . . . that’s the idea . . . take a deep breath . . . go ahead ... a real deep breath . . . hold it just for a second . . . now . .. very very slowly . . . let it out. .. slowly, mind! . .. There! . . . Feel better, don’t you? . . . Feel relaxed .. . at ease . . . at peace with the world . . . and it’s a wonderful feeling, isn’t it? . . . Feel a little sleepy, maybe? ... Go ahead and yawn, you’re among friends ... a big yawn . . . feels good, doesn’t it? . . . Close your eyes if you feel like it... why not? ... Steal a little cat nap ... nobody will mind . .. just take another deep breath . .. . . . close your eyes . . . let it out slowly . . . and while you do . . . let your mind drift.. . drift on the calm sea ... drift on the clouds ... drift... drift... drift like the subtle scent of Oriental tobaccos ... blended by masters .. . to please your restful hour ... to fulfill your deepest drifting desires . . . drifting . . . drifting . . . drifting desires ... and where ... in what cigarette ... can this fulfillment be found? ... In Navigator . . . Navigator . . . Navigator and no other . . . ask for it alone . . . it and no other . . . Navigator alone and no other . . . Navigator . . .
It began like that: a smooth-voiced announcer speaking gently but authoritatively against a background of soporific music. Next to him, centered on the TV screen, a gyroscope—the Navigator trademark—spinning slowly, evenly.
Restful it was: a pleasant change, a novelty, the first time you encountered a Navigator commercial. Refreshing, after a spate of hysterical barkers, hopped-up jingles, neurotic cartoons, the endless frantic urges to buy, buy, buy.
And the public appreciated the new approach. I know. I wrote a column for a TV magazine at the time, and my mail was full of letters from viewers “in all walks of life,” as they say. Stuff like: “It is certainly a relief to be treated like an adult for once. The Navigator cigarette people ought to be commended . . .” (impeccably typed under a lawyer’s letterhead). Or: “Them adds for Navigator are the best ever out they sure do sound nice & they are not so loud like most...” (hard lead pencil on ruled paper).
I welcomed the letters. They filled a lot of space in my column. I printed some of the most typical, and prefaced them with: “Navigator will be glad to know their relaxed, mesmeric commercials are making a hit with the public. Here’s what a few viewers have to say.” It was an easy column to write—just two sentences—but it elicited an inquiry from the Beaumont Agency, asking if I would be interested in working for them.
When their letter came, I wondered how they happened to have picked me. I did a little research on the telephone and found out that one of their clients was Navigator. That was the connection, obviously, but why? I was familiar enough with my column to know that its style was not likely to seduce lucrative offers from ad agencies.
What could I lose? I made an appointment with Mr. Beaumont himself and saw him the next day.
It was a small agency. Beaumont was in his mid-fifties: short, compact, with vaguely saurian features. His iron gray hair was clipped short and white at the temples and his ears were set flush against his bullet head.
“Hi. I’m Ted Beaumont. Pull up a chair.” That, in a gravel voice, and a quick handshake started the interview. Forty-five minutes later, I was shaking his hand again and he was saying, “See you next month.”
I got the job, at a figure so high I had to stifle an involuntary gasp when he named it. As I rode down to solid earth in the elevator, I realized that I still didn’t know exactly why he had wanted to hire me in the first place.
“We’re a new agency,” Beaumont had told me. “Ideas are welcome here. New ideas, screwy ideas, any ideas. Don’t be afraid to suggest it, no matter how different it may be.” Before the interview, I had caught another Navigator commercial and had written one along the same lines. Beaumont slipped on a pair of black-rimmed glasses and read it. “You’ll do,” he said, with a quick alligator grin.
And so, after giving the TV magazine a resignation notice of decent length, I went to work for Beaumont. I submitted several brilliant ideas, but most of them bounced. Despite Beaumont’s talk about “new ideas,” his policy was as fixed and strict as a Blue Law. Every piece of copy followed the same pattern. “Our formula can be stated in four words,” he told me. “Prestige (we always use one of those Rock of Gibraltar announcers, never the folksy or casual types), attention (the gyroscope, for example), relaxation (our copy encourages the listener to loosen up, even sleep), and—most important—repetition. Listen to this.”
He snapped on a tape rec
order and I heard an old commercial: “... In Navigator ... Navigator ... Navigator and no other ...”
Pretty soon I got the hang of it and turned out yards of that formless, free-association stuff. Went for weeks without once typing a period or a comma: just hundreds of sets of those spineless three little dots ...
I handled Navigator exclusively. Wrote all the radio and TV commercials, all the magazine and newspaper ads. The printed stuff Beaumont let go by without much comment: it was the broadcast copy he went over with a fine-toothed comb. We watched Navigator sales anxiously. They were steadily climbing. I felt good about it.
One day, feeling that a writer should be close to his subject, I bought a pack of Navigators and lit one. It was lousy. Tasted like one of those weird off-brands that cropped up during the war years. I went back to my original brand and kept the pack of Navigators strictly for cadgers.
I didn’t think much about it then. After a brief philosophic moment while I pondered the potency of the 20th century adman and flattered myself that a cruddy cigarette was selling great guns only because of my rich beautiful prose, I forgot the incident.
My status grew steadily with the Beaumont Agency. Next to Mr. B. himself, I was the biggest man in the place—because Navigator was our biggest and most important account. Salary hikes came along periodically without my asking: Beaumont seemed determined to keep me happy. One of them was so substantial that I wondered who I was required to do in. “You’re going to write the entire TV show for Navigator,” Beaumont told me abruptly.
The Year's Greatest Science Fiction & Fantasy 2 - [Anthology] Page 20
