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.