I Swallow the Oath
It was on the following day that Professor Tan Trum, true to his
promise, took me to visit the Commissioner of Public Thought. Or,
rather, it was on the following "wake"; for the chalk-faces, not having
the guidance of the sun, divide time into periods of about twelve hours
each, which are known alternately as "sleeps" and "wakes."
As this was the first time I had been out of the Professor's house for
months, except for occasional visits to back galleries for exercise,
I strode along at his side with great glee as he led me through
the winding thoroughfares toward the office of the Commissioner.
Several times, in my joy at being out, I walked carelessly ahead of
my companion, and narrowly missed being felled by one of the small
coaster-like vehicles, or "scootscoots," as they were called; but
despite such near-mishaps, I kept up my good spirits until we had
reached our destination, a long gloomy chamber where fifty chalk-faces
were already waiting in line.
"The Commissioner's Headquarters are always crowded," stated the
Professor, as we took our places at the foot of the procession. "You
see, all Second and Third Class citizens are required to swallow the
Oath of Fidelity twice a year."
"What's the purpose of that?" I inquired; but the Professor merely
shook his head and did not deign to answer. However, I saw how the
first in line, having finished his business, passed out a gleaming bit
of silver, which was promptly rung up on a cash register by a little
chalk-face seated at a table; and later I observed how each successive
person, before leaving the room, similarly disposed of a bit of silver,
which likewise was rung up on the cash register.
For over an hour we remained standing in line; and, to amuse himself
during the interval, Tan Trum read out to me in loud tones the various
signs and placards that hung about the room--signs and placards which I
was not yet able to decipher unaided.
"Lower class citizens should be seen and not heard!" read the
Professor, sonorously. "And the less seen the better!" Then, turning to
me, he commented, "That is a good old maxim dating back thousands of
years to Tit Wit, our greatest lawgiver.
"A little thought is a dangerous thing," continued Tan Trum, turning
back to the signs, "and much thought is impossible. Therefore the ideal
citizen will live in a state of sublime thoughtlessness.
"That is a rule we always do our best to follow," he remarked, turning
to me with a boastful smile. "It is the first of the Silver Rules of
Conduct--silver being our most valued metal, you know.
"But I suppose it's useless to try to drill such high principles into
the barbarian mind," he meditated. "However, here's the second Silver
Rule.
"Thoughtlessness is the best policy," he read. "It ensures one the
respect of one's superiors, the confidence of one's equals, and a
successful career in business or politics."
Seeing that I had no comment to make, my guide proceeded to the third
Silver Rule.
"Thoughtlessness is next to godliness. A thoughtless mind and soul are
the purest creation of the divine. He who thinks not will be content.
He who thinks not will not spend time on vain revolts. He who thinks
not will never suffer from headaches."
There were eleven other Silver Rules, all of which the Professor read
with gusto; but my attention had wandered and I scarcely heard what he
said. My mind was far away; I was thinking of Clay and asking myself
where he was, if indeed he were alive at all; I was picturing my
friends in the Overworld, and wishing I might see them once more, and
wondering, as I had wondered so often, whether there were not some way
to climb back through the maze of caverns toward the sunlight and blue
skies....
I was awakened from my reveries by hearing a voice snap, "Next!" and
feeling the Professor grab my sleeve and thrust me forward. To my
surprise, I saw that I was now first in line.
Before me sat a scowling little individual at a stone table, with a
cash register as tall as a grandmother's clock towering above him.
"Well? What is it?" he barked.
"This is my protégé," explained the Professor, coming forward. "Being a
barbarian, he knows little of our laws, and I therefore thought it best
to give him the Oath of Fidelity before it is too late."
"That's all very well," snarled the official, "but who's going to pay?"
"I'll attend to that," agreed Tan Trum. "As a member of the teaching
profession, I'm allowed a ten per cent discount."
"Very well!" the other consented. "All accounts strictly cash!" And
then, while the Professor muttered something about "Fidelity oaths come
high this year," the official reached for a long roll of paper printed
with minute characters, which he read aloud from across the room by
means of binoculars, proceeding at such speed and in such mumbling
tones that I could not distinguish a word he said!
Having finished, he thrust the paper forward, pushed a pen into my
hand, and directed, "Sign here!"
Although not well versed in the native handwriting, I was able to make
a mark that passed as my signature.
* * * * *
With a sigh of relief, I turned away, when I heard the official's voice
ringing out behind me, "Wait a minute! You've forgotten to swallow the
Oath!"
Unable to imagine what he meant, I wheeled about, and saw that the
paper I had just signed was being rolled into a little pellet in the
official's hands.
"Here! Swallow this!" he ordered, tossing it to me after it had been
reduced to the size and shape of a marble.
"Swallow it?" I echoed. "What for?"
I was aware that several persons behind me in line were tittering; but
I was still unable to take the command literally.
"Do as the man says!" I heard the Professor's irritated voice shrilling
in my ear. "What use is the Oath of Fidelity if you don't swallow
it--and swallow it whole?"
I reached for the pellet and regarded it suspiciously. It was hard and
unappetizing, and I would about as soon have swallowed a stone.
"What are you waiting for?" demanded the official, his pinkish eyes
aflame with anger. "Don't you want to swallow it after all? Or will we
have to call the police and force it down your throat?"
Realizing that he was in deadly earnest, I could no longer hesitate,
but slowly lifted the pellet toward my lips.
As I did so, I noticed that it had a bad odor, suggestive of decay;
hence I was more reluctant than ever to swallow it.
But alas!--there was no hope! "I suppose we'll have to force it down
your throat after all!" threatened the one-eyed one--at which, in sheer
desperation, I thrust the oath into my mouth....
But not so easily could I gulp it down. The seconds that followed were
among the most miserable of my existence. Have you ever, dear reader,
experienced the sensation of choking? Have you ever felt a piece of
foreign matter stuck in your throat, cutting off your breath? This was
exactly my plight, for the Oath of Fidelity got caught, and would not
go either up or down.
They tell me that my face went blue in the ensuing struggle, and that I
sank down and almost fainted. I was aware that Tan Trum, half beside
himself with excitement, was pounding vigorous blows on my back; I was
aware that some one had snatched a tool like a pair of pliers, and was
forcing it down my throat; but I knew little besides this, except the
desperate craving for air, and the furious wish not to die, not to die
just yet....
But at last, thanks to heroic efforts, the refractory Oath went down
the passageway after all, and the reviving air entered my lungs. A
minute longer, and the Oath would have killed me....
As I gradually regained my senses, I saw the Professor passing out a
bright piece of silver, and heard the ringing of the cash register.
"Congratulations, young man!" exclaimed Tan Trum, heartily, as he led
me away. "The Oath of Fidelity pretty nearly didn't take--but I'm glad
you swallowed it after all. Now you're a full-fledged citizen of Wu!"
"Full-fledged citizen? And what does that mean?"
"It means you've promised to obey all the laws of the land. It means
you've pledged allegiance to Dictator Thuno Flâtum, promised to honor
him, to obey all his orders unquestioningly and never to utter a word
against him. It means you've vowed to lead a life of one hundred per
cent thoughtlessness. It means, finally, that you guarantee to live in
Wu the rest of your days, and never to attempt to leave, under penalty
of death."
"But I didn't guarantee anything of the kind!" I protested, perceiving
that new and unexpected obstacles were being placed between me and
escape.
"Indeed you did!" he denied. "Didn't you sign the Oath?"
"Yes, but I didn't understand what it said."
"That doesn't matter. No one is supposed to understand. Understanding
is a sign of thought, and thought is a sign of disloyalty. But you did
swallow the Oath, didn't you? That's what makes it legal!"
Not yet did I realize that this was but one of many unpleasant things I
should have to swallow during my stay in Wu!