In the days of Father Noah life was sweet--life was sweet.
He played the soft majubal every day.
And for centuries and centuries he never crossed the street,
Much less supposed he'd ever move away.
But times grew bad and men grew bad, all up and down the land,
And the soft majubal got all out of key;
And when the weather changed, besides, 'twas more than he could stand.
So Father Noah he packed and put to sea.
And "Yo-ho-ho," with a mournful howl, said the poor old boy to Ham;
And "Yo-ho-ho," sang Japhet, and a pink but tuneful clam;
And "Yo-ho-ho," cried the sheep, and Shem, and a pair of protozoa:
"We're a-going to roam till we find a home that will suit old Father Noah."
There used to be rumors of a country that men called Atlantis. It was
said to lie far out at sea. A magnificent country. The people there were
happier and freer than anywhere else. It was also a land where it was no
trouble at all to be rich, and where strangers were treated as equals
and welcomed as friends. Until it disappeared so mysteriously it was
like an America, a land to which the people of those ancient times
longed to go.
I dreamed once that it had not disappeared, after all, but that it was
still to be found if you took a long voyage, and that it was happier and
freer and finer than ever. And I wanted to go there. I dreamed that
America had got itself in such trouble that thousands of people were
leaving to live in Atlantis. This part of my dream was a nightmare, and
not at all clear, but my recollection is that we'd elected Amy Lowell as
President. And she said her understanding was that she'd been elected
for life; and when any one disagreed with her, she sent a porter around
to cut off his head. And decade after decade passed by, and she danced
with the Senate, and made us sing to her at sunrise on the steps of the
White House. And she wrote all the hymns. So we wanted to move to
Atlantis.
But it wasn't at all easy to emigrate and give up America. In spite of
the way that Amy beheaded us, we were fond of our country. And we knew
if we went to another we mightn't come back. You can imagine how it
would feel, perhaps, if you yourself were leaving America, and looking
for the last time at all the little things in your room, and walking for
the last time in the streets or the fields you knew best. And the day
before sailing you would go around seeing your friends, and saying
good-by to them, knowing you wouldn't see them again. And then on the
last day you'd sit for a while with your mother, and she would talk of
your plans and your comforts, and you'd both be quite calm. And the hour
to go would come; and you'd kiss her. And she'd suddenly cling to
you....
[Illustration: A porter was sent around to cut off his head]
Then the ship, and the steam-whistles calling, and the gray, endless
sea. And you up on deck, day by day, staring out at the waters; and
seeing not them but your loved ones, or bits of your home: wondering if
you'd been courageous to leave it, or cold, and a fool.
But the sunsets and dawns, and the winds--strong and clean--would bring
peace. You would think of the new world you were sailing to, and of how
good it would be there, and of how you would prosper, and the long,
happy life you would lead.... And the voyage would come to an end, and
you'd sail up the harbor.
[Illustration: "Okkabab! See them clothes!"]
Then at the dock, men in strange clothing would shout orders at you;
"Peely wush, okka Hoogs! Peely wush! Okkabab!" and you would discover
that peely wush meant hurry up, and that okka was a swear word and that
when they said Hoog they meant you. It would be a comic nickname, you
know: as we say Chinks for Chinamen. And they'd hustle you Hoogs off the
ship, and shove you around on the pier, and examine your eyes and your
pocket-books, and at last set you free.
And there you would be, in Atlantis, where people were happy.
But you'd find at the start that Atlantis was busy and rough; and parts
of the city would be dirty and have a bad smell. And then you would find
that the Hoogs mostly lived in those parts, and had to work at pretty
nearly anything to pay for their lodging. You'd see Americans that you
knew; Senator Smoot, perhaps, sewing shirts; and the Rev. Samuel Drury
would be standing in the street peddling shoestrings. The reason for
this would be that until they knew what okkabab meant, and could read
and write the language of Atlantis, and spell its odd spellings, and
pronounce it without too much of an American accent, they couldn't get
any but unskilled and underpaid jobs. Meantime they would look to a
native like cheap, outlandish peddlers. Even their own fellow-immigrants
would try to exploit them. And instead of their finding it easy to get
rich, as they'd hoped, they would be so hard up that they'd have to
fight like wolves for each nickel.
Your American clothes would be another difficulty, because they'd be
laughed at. You'd have to buy and learn to wear the kind of things they
wore in Atlantis. And your most polite ways would seem rude in Atlantis,
or silly; so you'd have to learn _their_ rules of politeness, which
would strike _you_ as silly. And you'd have to learn habits of living
which would often amaze you; and if you were slow to adopt them, they'd
class you as queer. Their ideas of joking would also be different from
yours; and you'd slowly and awkwardly discover what was fun in Atlantis.
You'd have to change yourself in so many ways, your old friends wouldn't
know you. Pretty soon you wouldn't be an American at all any longer. And
yet you would never feel wholly an Atlantisan either. Your children
would look down on you as a greenhorn, and laugh at your slips. They
would seem unsympathetic, or different,--not quite your own children.
The natives of Atlantis would help you along, once in a while, by giving
you lectures and telling you not to read your home paper. But you, who
had felt so adventurous and bold, when you started, would have to get
used to their regarding you as a comic inferior. Not even your children
would know what you had had to contend with. Not one of the natives
would try to put himself in your place.
Yet how could they? How could any one who hadn't gone through the
experience? It is a complicated matter to learn to belong to a strange
country, when the process includes making yourself over to fit other
men's notions.
It was easy for Noah: all he had to get used to was Ararat.