A Tale of Dissent

( The author studied English at Iowa and now lives in Boston. )

ONCE there was a University, in the Midwest, so well organized, smoothly operated and rigidly controlled, that the Authorized National Academic Limelighter on Campus, "The Scribbler's Club," was unable to find a Fault for correction or a Correction to Fault. Club Members, though deeply shamed by the notorious Obscurity of their staid University, were helpless to bring Fame.

Great Obscurity was a mere By product of a wonderful, computer regulated System of Organization whose construction had been superintended by Pallas, Goddess of Wisdom. She wished especially to favor the Wise Teachers who ruled here. And they, to honour Her, named the System "Crystal." Crystal, because it looked after time-wasting administrative Functions, left the Wise Teachers free to advise scholarly Publications of student Problems. Advising Students was a Problem for the Computer.

Programmed by Pallas with special Formulae, Crystal resolved even the most Delicate and Naive from among student Life's many Complications. A Compassion Formula, for example, pulled Variants of the Word "sorry" from an international Thesaurus, compared them with Extracts from the University's Book of Rules, and, depending on particular Circumstance, computed a proper Consolation.

The Same was achieved for the Word "discipline."

When all the Distresses of student Life had been successfully reduced to Variants of these two Words, a new program Card was introduced. Depending which End of this Card, punched to outline the Shape of a Crocodile with a Bludgeon Tail, fed first into the Computer, an answer hummed back appropriate to the desired Response. Organization was thus considerably further streamlined.

Had not a Quarrel arisen between Pallas, and Jove, respecting the Force of a particular. One of his mighty Thunderbolts, the University might have continued Obscure Forever. BUT the angered Jove seized-up the disputed Bolt and hurled it with great Spite into the University's Computer Central, causing a vast Short-circuit.

The Scribbler's Club voted in a Flash to become outraged Supporters of smooth Operations, modern Systems, and rigid Control. They loudly protested a perfidious and entirely unjustified Stroke of Nature. They ranted, they raved, they marched and they sat until the once Obscure became so Prominent the Wise Teachers were hard pressed to disregard completely the voluble Protestations raining down from every Side and Top and Bottom.

JUST at this critical Point, the Mentor and Chief Ally of the Scribbler's Club, identifying Label sewn over the bright yellow Lining of his turned Coat of Office, conferred with the Membership. The Mentor advised, his suggestive little Beard jiggling, seizure of the Domed Citadel, residence in the City named like the State of the Wise Teachers. From the Crest of Campus Hill, it overlooked a surrounding Plain. And here! exalted this Junior Professor, his little Beard suggesting, here! was a glorious Symbol for their ever-burgeoning Protest and loud Remonstration.

BANZAI! agreed seventy-three lusty voices. They started at once to storm up the wide-sloping Lawn fronting the Citadel.

"Halten Sie! young Clowns!" the Mentor loudly advised, bringing the Group to a speedy stop. "Let us not," he went on, waving an Arm at the Top of the Hill, "storm this Symbol of our noble Cause like so many Son's of Whores and a d-mned Rabble!, We," he continued, puffing out his Label, little Beard suggesting, "can do this thing in the grand Style. Don't storm on Foot! I'll supply a thundering Herd of wide-winged Pegesi upon which we can fly against the Citadel like an avenging Horde! And my way, at the least," he added for emphasis to the stunned Membership, "if we get no Cause in our Bag, we'll be left some Feathers in our Caps!"

Loud Roars of Opprobrium concluded the Mentor's Counsel and the Group quickly voted to follow after him to where the promised mounts were stabled.

It should be explained of the Mounts in question that a Colony world-renowned for its agricultural Expertise resided in this Sector of the Country. In fulfillment of its Passion for Novelty, Change, and Variation in Produce and Animal Husbandry, this Colony had brought Nature to her Knees. Kneeling Nature was forced by cruel and often desperate Means continually to conceive new, and yet more bizarre Progeny: Nectarines or Peas without Pods, seedless Watermelons or Corns without Cobs, fatter Cows and Porkier Pigs, plumper Chickens and more caged Cocks...

Farmer Diskord, the Richest and most Influential of the Agriculturalists, consented, after much urging, to loan his best Stud, Hybrid, to the Colony's Central Experimental Station. Hybrid was First, Foremost, the most prized of all the Colony's prize Studs. His special Characteristic was that he was never the exact same Creature on two successive Days. But was found always to be a Variation, or a Departure, from the Day just preceding.

Hybrid, on the Day he arrived at the Experimental Station, though filled with a gust of evolutionary Passion, and a Dose of Spanish Fly: was blind, like a Bat, and clumsy as an Ox. But so was he let into the Bower of ever-kneeling Nature. And so came Nature to pass - pushing away Hybrid with a Rumble of Discontent - a fullgrown Flarb into the Hands of the astounded Agriculturalists.

THE CURIOUS Beast might have been a Chimera, Except that the Head and skinny Neck, and great, drooping Tail of a Cock, were affixed to the Body of an Ass. Flopping at either Flank was a huge, Sludge-colored Wing, from the Tip of each of which grew a small Talon, causing great Mystery. Each hoof was a giant Talon grappling the Floor.

The Colony was dismayed when the small Head brayed full-loud as an Ass. Then painfully shocked when the Flarb, as by instinct, cut and viciously slashed at those standing in its Perimeter. Once cut of its Perimeter the Colony heatedly debated a Question of great Moment: Where would they sell a furred and feathered Ass which cut and viciously slashed at those standing in its Perimeter?

While they argued, the redoubtable Creature dropped a large Egg to the Floor, from which sprang yet another full-grown Flarb. Debate doubled. The Flarbs increasing with the Argument, an Attempt was made to move them from the crowded Station to Pasture. They loudly protested. One of them ripped a County Fair Poster from the hands of an unwary Bystander with a talloned Wing-tip and flapped it wildly on high. The Mystery of the tiny Talon was solved. The Colony was scraped from the Experimental Station into the Farmyard.

The Flarbs could not be budged from the occupied Building, though all Members of the Colony were experienced Shepherds. Our Mentor, coincidentally, had happened upon the scene at this critical Point, searching a part-time Job. He succeeded, using a Danny-the-Red Button tied to a Stick, in leading the Flarbs unprotesting out to Pasture, and was hired at once for their Shepherd.

In this Capacity, the Mentor, now leading another Flock across the Fields to the Stable of Farmer Diskord, became first acquainted with the perverse Pegesi upon which the Scribbler's Club was to fly in an avenging Horde against the Domed Citadel.

By the Return to the Base of Campus Hill the Flarbs were completely tamed. Unmistakable Signs of Love, blind Devotion and unflagging Constancy had so impressed them, that they could now be trusted not to inflict a single Cut, or Slash, while the Riders voted to begin their awful Charge. Indeed, when the Membership dismounted, wingy Talons flapped out to eagerly clutch the sticks to which they'd nailed their gawdy Posters. A joyful Cry went up on revelation of this new Feature of Convenience. The Vote was considered taken. They remounted for the Assault.

The Mentor flapped and scraped around to the Front at full Slash. He silenced the Group by raising his Standard: a two-ended Sword with a Handle at the Middle.

"Remember," he thundered, with a shake of the Standard, "they're wrong! who cry that what seventy-four do here Today is: senseless Destruction, unnecessary Violence, pernicious Nihilism! The TRUTH of the Matter [ Fault in MS. ]

Loud Roars of Opprobrium concluded the Mentor's Speech. Turning to face up at the Citadel, he lowered his Standard to begin the Wingy Charge.

With O what a monstrous Uproar! did seventy-four Flarbs rip and tear, cut, slash, gouge and madly flap their Way up the Hill. Grating with the loud Rustle of eighty-six fiercely shaking, Bile-colored Posters were the shrill Brayings of one-hundred-forty-eight Asses, somewhat flat in Tone, without surrounding Hills to echo and re-echo their challenging Call! Hurling great Clumps of slimy Muck before them and behind them and to their Left and to their Right they gashed beyond all immediate Repair the once neatly trimmed Lawn and closed withunimaginable Petulance and noisy Spite on the front Steps in a Braying Horde! Victory seemed but a Scrape away!

Suddenly, B-wen! Champion of the Wise Teachers, strode onto the stony front Porch of the Citadel, protected by a gleaming Suit of Armor. Blazing in large gold Letters from the great Shield slung across his shoulders was the Motto: "Self Interest is Best for the Common Interest in a Free Economy."

Perhaps the Interest was Common, but this could not be said of the Armor he wore! First handed by the Warrior Achilles-in deference to a Christian Character, Pagan Emblems removed-to Reagan the Pure of the Western Coast; it had passed thence to Hayakawa, the Bold. Now, triple tempted and tested on the Forges at Berkeley, it had descended to B-wen, the Righteous!

In his left Hand was a Crocodile-bound Edition of Adam Smith's Wealth of Nations. Dropping from his Right was a golden Sling, in whose Pouch rested a Bronze-studded, Morocco-bound Copy of Samuelson's Economics. Gazing down with Compassion at the charging, wildly braying, thundering Hordes, a Talon grazed near!

"Thus long!" wailed the compassionate B-wen, "thus long have I, by native Mercy swayed, my Wrongs dissembled, my Revenge delayed!"

xMAMMON, God of Riches, following Dryden's Eye and sighting the bright gold Lettering of the Shield, rushed as if called by a Secret Code to the Side of the Righteous B-wen.

Sing, glorious Mews!, with what studied Ease B-wen swirled the Samnelson's three Times round his Head. Sing, Mews! How, when the Sling slung-out at the wildly braying Masses, the added Impetus lent by the powerful Mammon sped the Tome through the Air with such incredible Speed: seventy-five pages ripped from the Binding. Sing! How, as when Tornado Winds, ripping and howling, some fragile Straw some thick wood Plank drive through: So drove these seventy-five Pages, like the Edges of as many Blades: So were seventy-four Flarbs decapitated. Unfortunately, the seventy-fifth Page decapitated the Mentor. But lo! Half-a-head sprang-up to replace the one that fell.

The Flarbs instantly reverting upon decapitation to Excrement, dismounting was unnecessary. The increased Shrillness of those who remained on the Field compensated any Decrease in Volume occasioned by the Loss of seventy-four-and-a-half Brayers. The shrill Cry flew up to the Heart of Momus, God of Faultfinding. He rushed, though but wrapped in a flimsy Petition, straight to the Side of the Mentor. Shrillest of the Group.

So great was this God's Admiration for the Half-headed Mortal who could bray twice-shrill as an Ass, that he disrobed, exposing a great Fault to the Membership. And circled his flimsy Petition around the Standard. Listed thereon were nine-hundred and eighty-six Demands to be immediately Met by the Wise Teachers, before the Scribbler's Club would Permit re-landscaping of the Lawn, or removal of the dead Flarbs.

The Mentor, seizing back his Standard, and aided by the Force of Momus, hurled it at the unsuspecting B-wen with such savage Impudence that, surely, and despite the Armor of Achilles, it must have cut him in Quarters. But Mammon saw just in the Nick of Time the terrible Danger and, asking the Form of a Blade of tall Grass, interposed himself near the Crest of the Hill. He halted the deadly Missile at B-wen's Feet, suffering a slight Bruise.

Giving the Standard a Boot, B-wen called down at the shrilly braying Masses:

"With a Debate, let us now make an End of this Rebellion." He continued in a firm shriek over the non-stop Brays, "All Issues will be openly discussed! All that is required is that the Loser promise to attend the VOICE of REASON and obey to the Winner without Question."

The Membership signaled Agreement with a concerted Bray of Opprobium. The Mentor, whose Flarb had fallen closest to the Citadel, started the Debate. Half-a-beard suggested while Momus whispered in his Ear:

"Student, Black, Flower Power-Social Conscience-Confrontation-Anti-establishmentarianism-Grasses for the Masses-Suppressive Government-Love Revolution-Freedom of Speech-Make Draft Beer-Ho, ho, ho, you silly old-!"

SMILING Benevolence, born of Disdain, and Pity, the unshaken B-wen made them a conservative Reply:

"Land and Order-the Right to pursue a Course of Study without Interruption-Rational Policy and Responsible Government-Evolution, not Revolution-Aid to Impoverished Areas-Faith, Hope, and Self-determination-Non-violence. God, and the Great American Way!"

The Membership immediately ceased to bray: so struck were they by the mighty. Force of this great Eloquence and inspired Rhetoric. Yet B-wen had spoken without Aid of the shrewd Mammon, who'd been obliged to remove his slightly bruised, though otherwise hardy Nose back to sweeter smelling Olympus, so affected was it by the horrendous Stink now wafting up off the Lawn.

And Henceforth a series of new Time began. The obscure Years ran in quiet Procession. Willing Students, without or without the Crystal of Pallas, knew their Lawful Lords.