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!