The Journey of Joenes
Robert Sheckley
INTRODUCTION
Joenes’s fabulous world is more than a thousand years behind us, in the remote and misty past. We know that Joenes’s Journey began around the year 2000, and ended in the opening years of our own era. We also know that the age through which Joenes travelled was remarkable for its industrial civilizations. Twenty-first-century mechanical articulation gave rise to many strange artifacts that no present-day reader has ever encountered. Still, most of us have learned at one time or another what the ancients meant by “guided missile,” or “atom bomb.” Fragments of some of these fantastic creations can be seen in many museums.
Our knowledge is much less certain of the customs and institutions by which men lived in the twenty-first century. And to discover anything at all about their religions and ethics, we must turn to Joenes’s Journey.
Beyond a doubt, Joenes himself was an actual person; but there is no way of determining the authenticity of every story told about him. Some of the tales do not appear to be factual accounts, but rather, moral allegories. But even those that are considered allegorical are representative of the spirit and temper of the times.
Our book, then, is a collection of tales about the far-travelling Joenes and about his marvelous and tragic twenty-first century. A few of the tales are from written records. But most of them come to us through the oral tradition, handed down from storyteller to storyteller.
Aside from this book, the only written account of the Journey appears in the recently published Fijian Tales, where, for obvious reasons, Joenes’s role is rendered as secondary to that of his friend Lum. This is quite untrue to the spirit of the Journey, and false to the content of the stories themselves. Because of this, we have felt the necessity of this book, in order that the entire body of Joenes Stories may be rendered faithfully in written form, to be preserved for future generations.
This volume also contains all of the twenty-first-century writing concerning Joenes. These written records are unfortunately few and fragmentary, and comprise only two of the stories. These are: “Lum’s Meeting With Joenes,” from the Book of Fiji, Orthodox Edition, and “How Lum Joined the Army,” also from the Book of Fiji, Orthodox Edition.
All of the other stories are from the oral tradition, deriving from Joenes or his followers, and handed down from generation to generation.
The present collection puts into written form the words of the most famous present-day storytellers, without any alteration in their various viewpoints, idiosyncrasies, moralities, style, comments, and so forth. We would like to thank those storytellers for graciously allowing us to put their words upon paper. These men are:
Ma’aoa of Samoa
Maubingi of Tahiti
Paaui of Fiji
Pelui of Easter Island
Teleu of Huahine
We have used the particular tales or group of tales for which each of these men is most acclaimed. Credit is given at the beginning of each story. And we make our apologies to the many excellent storytellers we have been unable to include in this volume, and whose contributions will have to await the compilation of a Joenes Variorum.
For the reader’s convenience these stories are arranged sequentially, as continuing chapters of an unfolding narrative, with a beginning, a middle, and an end. But the reader is warned not to expect a consistent and rationally ordered story, since some parts are long and some short, some complicated and some simple, depending upon the idiosyncrasy of the individual storyteller. Your editor could, of course, have taken from or added to the various parts, making their lengths regular and imposing his own sense of order and style upon the whole. But he thought it best to leave the tales as they were, in order to give the reader the entire unexpurgated Journey. This seemed only fair to the storytellers, and the only way to tell the whole truth about Joenes, the people he met, and the strange world he travelled through.
Your editor has taken down the exact words of the storytellers, and copied the two written accounts, but he himself has invented nothing, and has added no comments of his own to the tales. His only remarks are in the last chapter of the book, where he tells of the Journey’s end.
Now, reader, we invite you to meet Joenes, and travel with him through the last years of the old world and the first years of the new.
I
JOENES BEGINS HIS JOURNEY
(As told by Maubingi of Tahiti)
In the twenty-fifth year of his life, an event occurred that was of crucial significance to the hero of this tale. To explain the significance of this event, we must first tell something of our hero; and in order to understand our hero, something must be said of the place in which he lived, and of the condition and circumstances of that place. So we will begin there, moving as quickly as we can to the central matters this tale is actually about.
Our hero, Joenes, lived upon a small island in the Pacific Ocean, an atoll that lay 200 miles east of Tahiti. This island was called Manituatua, and it was no more than two miles long by several hundred yards in width. Surrounding it was a coral reef, and beyond the reef lay the blue waters of the Pacific. To this island Joenes’s parents had come from America, to tend the equipment that supplied most of Eastern Polynesia with electrical power.
When Joenes’s mother died, his father labored alone; and when his father died, Joenes was requested by the Pacific Power Company to continue in his father’s place. And this Joenes did.
By most accounts, Joenes was a tall, strongly built young man with a pleasing face and excellent manners. He was a great reader, and took delight in his father’s extensive library. Since he was romantically inclined, his sensibilities led him towards the contemplation of truth, loyalty, love, duty, fate, chance, and other abstractions. Because of his temperament, Joenes saw virtues as mandates, and he loved to think of them in their most superlative form.
The people of Manituatua, all Polynesians from Tahiti, found it difficult to understand this sort of man. They readily admitted that virtue was good; but this did not prevent them from engaging in vice whenever necessary or convenient. Although Joenes scorned such behavior, he could not help but be impressed by the good spirits, generosity, and easy sociability of the Manituatuans. Even though they rarely gave a thought to virtue, and even more rarely practised it, they managed somehow to lead pleasant and worthy lives.
This evidence did not immediately convert Joenes, who was still of too passionate a mentality to consider moderation. But it did have a constant and ever-growing effect upon him. Some say that Joenes’s later survival was made possible only by the expediency he had learned from the Manituatuans.
But influences can only be guessed at, never truly delineated or understood. What we are leading up to is the great and singular event that came upon Joenes in his twenty-fifth year.
This event was formed in the executive office of the Pacific Power Company, situated in San Francisco, on the Western Coast of America. Here, potbellied men wearing suits, neckties, shirts, and shoes had gathered around a circular table made of gleaming teak. These Men of the Round Table, as they were called, held much of human destiny in their hands. Chairman of the Board was Arthur Pendragon, a man who had inherited his position but had been forced to wage a grim proxy fight before he could take his rightful place. Once established, Arthur Pendragon had fired the Old Board of Trustees, and appointed his own men. Present were Bill Launcelot, a man of vast financial strength; Richard Galahad, well known for his charitable works; Austin Mordred, who had political connections throughout the state; and many others.
These men, whose financial empire had been hard pressed of late, voted for a consolidation of their power and immediate disposition of all unprofitable hold
ings. This decision, simple as it seemed at the time, had far-reaching consequences.
In distant Manituatua, Joenes received word of the Board’s decision to cease operation of the Eastern Polynesian power station.
Thus Joenes was out of a job. Worse still, he had lost an entire way of life.
During the next week, Joenes gave considerable thought to his future. His Polynesian friends urged him to stay with them on Manituatua; or, if he preferred, to go to one of the larger islands such as Huahine, Bora Bora, or Tahiti.
Joenes listened to their proposals, and then went to a private place to think. He emerged from this place after three days and announced to the waiting populace his intention of going to America, his parents’ homeland, there to see with his own eyes the wonders about which he had read, to discover if his destiny lay there; and if not, to return to the people of Polynesia with a clear mind and open heart, ready to perform whatever services they required of him.
There was consternation among the people when they heard this, for the land of America was known to be more dangerous than the unpredictable ocean itself; and the Americans were reputed to be sorcerers and warlocks, who, through subtle enchantments, could change the entire way of a man’s thinking. It seemed impossible that a man could grow to dislike coral beaches, lagoons, palm trees, outrigger canoes, and the like. Yet it had happened. Other men of Polynesia had journeyed to America, and had been exposed to the enchantments there, and had never returned. One had even visited legendary Madison Avenue; but what he found there is unknown, for that man never spoke again. Nevertheless, Joenes was determined to go.
Joenes was affianced to a Manituatuan girl of golden skin, almond eyes, black hair, a figure of the greatest piquancy, and a mind wise in the ways of men. Joenes proposed to send for this girl, whose name was Tondelayo, as soon as he had established himself in America; or if fortune did not favor him, to return to her. Neither of these proposals met with Tondelayo’s approval, and she spoke to Joenes in the following fashion, and in the local dialect then prevalent:
“Hey! You foolish popaa fella want one time go Melica? For why, hey? More coconut in Melica, maybe? Bigger beach? Better fishing? No! You think maybe better chumbi-chumbi, hey? I tell you no. More better you stay alongside here me one time, my word!”
In this fashion the lovely Tondelayo reasoned with Joenes. But Joenes answered:
“My darling, do you think it pleases me to leave you, the epitome of all my dreams and the crystallization of my desires? No, my darling, no! This departure fills me with dread, for I do not know what fate awaits me in the cold world to the east. I only know a man must go, must look at fame and fortune, and if need be, at death itself. For only in an understanding of the great world of the east, which I have heard of only through my departed parents and their books, can I ever return and spend my life here in these islands.”
The lovely Tondelayo gave careful attention to these words, and pondered them long. And then the island girl spoke to Joenes the words of simple philosophy that had been passed down from mother to daughter from time immemorial:
“Hey, you fella white men all alike, I think. You chumbi-chumbi allatime little wahine okay, then you want walk-around look for chumbi-chumbi alongside popaa white woman American, I think. My word! And yet, the palm grows, the coral spreads, but man must die.”
Joenes could only bow his head to the ancestral wisdom of the island girl. But his decision was not shaken. Joenes knew that it was his destiny to see the land of America from which his parents had come; there to accept whatever danger offered or danger proffered, and to come to terms with the unknowable fate that lies in ambush for all men. He kissed Tondelayo, who began crying when she saw that her words had no power to move this man.
The neighboring chiefs gave a farewell feast for Joenes, at which they served island delicacies such as canned beef and canned pineapple. When the trading schooner touched at the island with the weekly supply of rum, they sadly bade their beloved Joenes farewell.
So it was that Joenes, with the melody of the islands ringing in his ears, made his way past Huahine and Bora Bora, past Tahiti and Hawaii, finally to arrive in the city of San Francisco upon the Western Coast of America.
II
LUM’S MEETING WITH JOENES
(Lum’s own words, as recorded in the Book of Fiji, Orthodox Edition)
Well I mean, you know how it is. It’s like Hemingway said; the booze goes bad and the chick goes bad and where are you? So I was down at the docks waiting on the weekly shipment of peyote and I wasn’t really doing anything, I was just standing around and digging it all—the people, the big ships, the Golden Gate, you know. I had just finished a sandwich made of Italian salami on real black pumpernickel bread, and what with the peyote coming, I wasn’t feeling so bad. I mean sometimes you don’t feel so bad, you’re out there digging it, even if the chick has gone bad.
This boat came in from one of those places and this guy got off. He was a tall, lean sort of guy with a real-looking tan, a big set of shoulders on him, and he was wearing a shirt made of canvas and a pair of beat-up pants and no shoes at all. So naturally I thought he was O.K. I mean he looked O.K. So I came up to him and asked him if this was the boat the stuff had come in on.
This character looked at me, and he said, “My name’s Joenes, I’m a stranger here.”
So I knew at once he wasn’t with it, and I just sort of stared away.
He said, “Do you know where I could find a job? I’m new in America, and I want to find out about it, and learn what America has for me, and what I have for America.”
I started looking at him again because now I didn’t know; I mean it didn’t look like he was with it, but not everyone is a hipster these days and sometimes the simple approach if you can make it work will take you all the way to the big Teahouse in the Sky run by the Biggest pusher of Them All. I mean maybe he was playing it Zen with this what looked like cornball. Jesus was cornball, but he was with it, and all of us would be for him if only the squares would leave him alone. So I said to this Joenes, “You want a job? There anything you can do?”
Joenes said to me, “I can operate an electrical transformer.”
“Goody for you,” I told him.
“And play the guitar,” he said.
“Well man,” I said, “why didn’t you say so in the first place instead of coming on so heavy with the electricity bit? I know a cappuccino place you can play, maybe get some tips from the squares. You got any bread, man?”
This Joenes barely spoke English, so I had to explain it all to him like I was drawing a blueprint. But he caught on pretty fast, about the guitar scene and the squares, and I offered him he could bunk for a while in my pad. I mean with my chick gone bad, why not? And this Joenes, he flashed me a smile and said sure, he’d go for that. And he asked me what the situation was locally, and aside from that, what we did for kicks. He sounded O.K. even if he was a foreigner, so I told him that chicks could be found, and that for kicks he’d better stick with me and look-see. He dug this so we went to the pad, where I gave him a sandwich of that real rye bread with the little seeds and a slab of Swiss cheese from Switzerland, not Wisconsin. Joenes was so far down I had to loan him my axe, on account he had left his own guitar in the islands, wherever the islands were. And that night we made the coffeehouse scene.
Well, Joenes came on big that night with the guitar and songs, because he sang in a language no one understood, which was just as well because the tunes were a little square. The tourists lapped it up like it was A.T. & T., and Joenes collected $8.30, which was enough for a nice loaf of Russian rye and don’t give me that unpatriotic bit, and some other stuff besides. And this little chick no more than 5´1˝ latched on to him, because Joenes was that sort. I mean he was big and tall and he had shoulders like granddaddy’s old ox yoke, and a big sweep of blond hair that was sun-streaked. A guy like me has more trouble, because even though I got a beard I’m built short and thick and sometimes it takes a while.
But Joenes he was like magnetic. He even attracted the sunglasses, who asked him if he’d ever joypopped, but I pulled him off that, because the peyote had come and why trade a headache for an upset stomach?
So Joenes and this chick, who was named Deirdre Feinstein, and another chick she got for me, we all went back to the pad. I showed Joenes how you take the peyote buds and mash them down and so forth, and we all took it and we came on. I mean we came on, but Joenes lit up like a 1000-watt Mazda bulb and even though I warned him about the fuzz who are patrolling the streets and alleys of San Francisco these days looking for anybody who’s on anything so they can use those beautiful new California jails of theirs, Joenes insisted on standing on the bed and making a speech. It was a pretty nice speech, because this big-shouldered laughing boy from the faraway hills was really turned on for the first time, and he put down The Word as follows:
“My friends, I have come to you from a faraway land of sand and palm upon a voyage of discovery, and I count myself fortunate above all men, for upon this my first night in your land I have been taken to your leader, King Peyote, and have been raised up instead of put down, and have been shown the wonders of the world which are presently turning red before me and falling like a waterfall. To my dear comrade, Lum, I can only praise without sufficiency this act of beatitude. To my new sweetheart, the luscious Deirdre Feinstein, let me fell you that I see a great flame growing within, and a high wind blowing without. To Lum’s girl, whose name I unfortunately didn’t catch, I say that I love you like a brother, incestuously, and yet with an innocence born of self-born innocence self-born innocence. And further—”
Well, this Joenes didn’t have exactly a small voice. As a matter of fact, he sounded like a sea lion in rutting season, which is a sound none of you out there should miss. But it was too much for the pad, because the neighbors upstairs, who are square types that get up at 8:00 in the morning to do the bit, pounded on the ceiling and informed us this was one party too much and that they had informed the cops, by which they meant the fuzz.
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