But the best part was that Konigswasser didn’t have to sleep any more, just because it had to sleep; or be afraid any more, just because it thought it might get hurt; or go looking for things it seemed to think it had to have. And, when it didn’t feel well, Konigswasser kept out of it until it felt better, and he didn’t have to spend a fortune keeping the thing comfortable.
When he got his body out of the closet to write, he did a book on how to get out of one’s own body, which was rejected without comment by twenty-three publishers. The twenty-fourth sold two million copies, and the book changed human life more than the invention of fire, numbers, the alphabet, agriculture, or the wheel. When somebody told Konigswasser that, he snorted that they were damning his book with faint praise. I’d say he had a point there.
By following the instructions in Konigswasser’s book for about two years, almost anybody could get out of his body whenever he wanted to. The first step was to understand what a parasite and dictator the body was most of the time, then to separate what the body wanted or didn’t want from what you yourself—your psyche—wanted or didn’t want. Then, by concentrating on what you wanted, and ignoring as much as possible what the body wanted beyond plain maintenance, you made your psyche demand its rights and become self-sufficient.
That’s what Konigswasser had done without realizing it, until he and his body had parted company in the park, with his psyche going to watch the lions eat, and with his body wandering out of control into the lagoon.
The final trick of separation, once your psyche grew independent enough, was to start your body walking in some direction and suddenly take your psyche off in another direction. You couldn’t do it standing still, for some reason—you had to walk.
At first, Madge’s and my psyches were clumsy at getting along outside our bodies, like the first sea animals that got stranded on land millions of years ago, and who could just waddle and squirm and gasp in the mud. But we became better at it with time, because the psyche can naturally adapt so much faster than the body.
· · ·
Madge and I had good reason for wanting to get out. Everybody who was crazy enough to try to get out at the first had good reasons. Madge’s body was sick and wasn’t going to last a lot longer. With her going in a little while, I couldn’t work up enthusiasm for sticking around much longer myself. So we studied Konigswasser’s book and tried to get Madge out of her body before it died. I went along with her, to keep either one of us from getting lonely. And we just barely made it—six weeks before her body went all to pieces.
· · ·
That’s why we get to march every year in the Pioneers’ Day Parade. Not everybody does—only the first five thousand of us who turned amphibious. We were guinea pigs, without much to lose one way or another, and we were the ones who proved to the rest how pleasant and safe it was—a heck of a lot safer than taking chances in a body year in and year out.
Sooner or later, almost everybody had a good reason for giving it a try. There got to be millions and finally more than a billion of us—invisible, insubstantial, indestructible, and, by golly, true to ourselves, no trouble to anybody, and not afraid of anything.
When we’re not in bodies, the Amphibious Pioneers can meet on the head of a pin. When we get into bodies for the Pioneers’ Day Parade, we take up over fifty thousand square feet, have to gobble more than three tons of food to get enough energy to march; and lots of us catch colds or worse, and get sore because somebody’s body accidentally steps on the heel of somebody else’s body, and get jealous because some bodies get to lead and others have to stay in ranks, and—oh, hell, I don’t know what all.
I’m not crazy about the parade. With all of us there, close together in bodies—well, it brings out the worst in us, no matter how good our psyches are. Last year, for instance, Pioneers’ Day was a scorcher. People couldn’t help being out of sorts, stuck in sweltering, thirsty bodies for hours.
Well, one thing led to another, and the Parade Marshal offered to beat the daylights out of my body with his body, if my body got out of step again. Naturally, being Parade Marshal, he had the best body that year, except for Konigswasser’s cowboy, but I told him to soak his fat head, anyway. He swung, and I ditched my body right there, and didn’t even stick around long enough to find out if he connected. He had to haul my body back to the storage center himself.
I stopped being mad at him the minute I got out of the body. I understood, you see. Nobody but a saint could be really sympathetic or intelligent for more than a few minutes at a time in a body—or happy, either, except in short spurts. I haven’t met an amphibian yet who wasn’t easy to get along with, and cheerful and interesting—as long as he was outside a body. And I haven’t met one yet who didn’t turn a little sour when he got into one.
The minute you get in, chemistry takes over—glands making you excitable or ready to fight or hungry or mad or affectionate, or—well, you never know what’s going to happen next.
That’s why I can’t get sore at the enemy, the people who are against the amphibians. They never get out of their bodies and won’t try to learn. They don’t want anybody else to do it, either, and they’d like to make the amphibians get back into bodies and stay in them.
After the tussle I had with the Parade Marshal, Madge got wind of it and left her body right in the middle of the Ladies’ Auxiliary. And the two of us, feeling full of devilment after getting shed of the bodies and the parade, went over to have a look at the enemy.
I’m never keen on going over to look at them. Madge likes to see what the women are wearing. Stuck with their bodies all the time, the enemy women change their clothes and hair and cosmetic styles a lot oftener than we do on the women’s bodies in the storage centers.
I don’t get much of a kick out of the fashions, and almost everything else you see and hear in enemy territory would bore a plaster statue into moving away.
Usually, the enemy is talking about old-style reproduction, which is the clumsiest, most comical, most inconvenient thing anyone could imagine, compared with what the amphibians have in that line. If they aren’t talking about that, then they’re talking about food, the gobs of chemicals they have to stuff into their bodies. Or they’ll talk about fear, which we used to call politics—job politics, social politics, government politics.
The enemy hates that, having us able to peek in on them any time we want to, while they can’t ever see us unless we get into bodies. They seem to be scared to death of us, though being scared of amphibians makes as much sense as being scared of the sunrise. They could have the whole world, except the storage centers, for all the amphibians care. But they bunch together as though we were going to come whooping out of the sky and do something terrible to them at any moment.
They’ve got contraptions all over the place that are supposed to detect amphibians. The gadgets aren’t worth a nickel, but they seem to make the enemy feel good—like they were lined up against great forces, but keeping their nerve and doing important, clever things about it. Know-how—all the time they’re patting each other about how much know-how they’ve got, and about how we haven’t got anything by comparison. If know-how means weapons, they’re dead right.
· · ·
I guess there is a war on between them and us. But we never do anything about holding up our side of the war, except to keep our parade sites and our storage centers secret, and to get out of bodies every time there’s an air raid, or the enemy fires a rocket, or something.
That just makes the enemy madder, because the raids and rockets and all cost plenty, and blowing up things nobody needs anyway is a poor return on the taxpayer’s money. We always know what they’re going to do next, and when and where, so there isn’t any trick to keeping out of their way.
But they are pretty smart, considering they’ve got bodies to look after besides doing their thinking, so I always try to be cautious when I go over to watch them. That’s why I wanted to clear out when Madge and I saw a storage center in the
middle of one of their fields. We hadn’t talked to anybody lately about what the enemy was up to, and the center looked awfully suspicious.
Madge was optimistic, the way she’s been ever since she borrowed that burlesque queen’s body, and she said the storage center was a sure sign that the enemy had seen the light, that they were getting ready to become amphibious themselves.
Well, it looked like it. There was a brand-new center, stocked with bodies and open for business, as innocent as you please. We circled it several times, and Madge’s circles got smaller and smaller, as she tried to get a close look at what they had in the way of ladies’ ready-to-wear.
“Let’s beat it,” I said.
“I’m just looking,” said Madge. “No harm in looking.”
Then she saw what was in the main display case, and she forgot where she was or where she’d come from.
The most striking woman’s body I’d ever seen was in the case—six feet tall and built like a goddess. But that wasn’t the payoff. The body had copper-colored skin, chartreuse hair and fingernails, and a gold lamé evening gown. Beside that body was the body of a blond, male giant in a pale blue field marshal’s uniform, piped in scarlet and spangled with medals.
I think the enemy must have swiped the bodies in a raid on one of our outlying storage centers, and padded and dyed them, and dressed them up.
“Madge, come back!” I said.
The copper-colored woman with the chartreuse hair moved. A siren screamed and soldiers rushed from hiding places to grab the body Madge was in.
The center was a trap for amphibians!
The body Madge hadn’t been able to resist had its ankles tied together, so Madge couldn’t take the few steps she had to take if she was going to get out of it again.
The soldiers carted her off triumphantly as a prisoner of war. I got into the only body available, the fancy field marshal, to try to help her. It was a hopeless situation, because the field marshal was bait, too, with its ankles tied. The soldiers dragged me after Madge.
· · ·
The cocky young major in charge of the soldiers did a jig along the shoulder of the road, he was so proud. He was the first man ever to capture an amphibian, which was really something from the enemy’s point of view. They’d been at war with us for years, and spent God knows how many billions of dollars, but catching us was the first thing that made any amphibians pay much attention to them.
When we got to the town, people were leaning out of windows and waving their flags, and cheering the soldiers, and hissing Madge and me. Here were all the people who didn’t want to be amphibious, who thought it was terrible for anybody to be amphibious—people of all colors, shapes, sizes, and nationalities, joined together to fight the amphibians.
It turned out that Madge and I were going to have a big trial. After being tied up every which way in jail all night, we were taken to a courtroom, where television cameras stared at us.
Madge and I were worn to frazzles, because neither one of us had been cooped up in a body that long since I don’t know when. Just when we needed to think more than we ever had, in jail before the trial, the bodies developed hunger pains and we couldn’t get them comfortable on the cots, no matter how we tried; and, of course, the bodies just had to have their eight hours sleep.
The charge against us was a capital offense on the books of the enemy—desertion. As far as the enemy was concerned, the amphibians had all turned yellow and run out on their bodies, just when their bodies were needed to do brave and important things for humanity.
We didn’t have a hope of being acquitted. The only reason there was a trial at all was that it gave them an opportunity to sound off about why they were so right and we were so wrong. The courtroom was jammed with their big brass, all looking angry and brave and noble.
“Mr. Amphibian,” said the prosecutor, “you are old enough, aren’t you, to remember when all men had to face up to life in their bodies, and work and fight for what they believed in?”
“I remember when the bodies were always getting into fights, and nobody seemed to know why, or how to stop it,” I said politely. “The only thing everybody seemed to believe in was that they didn’t like to fight.”
“What would you say of a soldier who ran away in the face of fire?” he wanted to know.
“I’d say he was scared silly.”
“He was helping to lose the battle, wasn’t he?”
“Oh, sure.” There wasn’t any argument on that one.
“Isn’t that what the amphibians have done—run out on the human race in the face of the battle of life?”
“Most of us are still alive, if that’s what you mean,” I said.
· · ·
It was true. We hadn’t licked death, and weren’t sure we wanted to, but we’d certainly lengthened life something amazing, compared to the span you could expect in a body.
“You ran out on your responsibilities!” he said.
“Like you’d run out of a burning building, sir,” I said.
“Leaving everyone else to struggle on alone!”
“They can all get out the same door that we got out of. You can all get out any time you want to. All you do is figure out what you want and what your body wants, and concentrate on—”
The judge banged his gavel until I thought he’d split it. Here they’d burned every copy of Konigswasser’s book they could find, and there I was giving a course in how to get out of a body over a whole television network.
“If you amphibians had your way,” said the prosecutor, “everybody would run out on his responsibilities, and let life and progress as we know them disappear completely.”
“Why, sure,” I agreed. “That’s the point.”
“Men would no longer work for what they believe in?” he challenged.
“I had a friend back in the old days who drilled holes in little square thingamajigs for seventeen years in a factory, and he never did get a very clear idea of what they were for. Another one I knew grew raisins for a glassblowing company, and the raisins weren’t for anybody to eat, and he never did find out why the company bought them. Things like that make me sick—now that I’m in a body, of course—and what I used to do for a living makes me even sicker.”
“Then you despise human beings and everything they do,” he said.
“I like them fine—better than I ever did before. I just think it’s a dirty shame what they have to do to take care of their bodies. You ought to get amphibious and see how happy people can be when they don’t have to worry about where their body’s next meal is coming from, or how to keep it from freezing in the wintertime, or what’s going to happen to them when their body wears out.”
“And that, sir, means the end of ambition, the end of greatness!”
“Oh, I don’t know about that,” I said. “We’ve got some pretty great people on our side. They’d be great in or out of bodies. It’s the end of fear is what it is.” I looked right into the lens of the nearest television camera. “And that’s the most wonderful thing that ever happened to people.”
Down came the judge’s gavel again, and the brass started to shout me down. The television men turned off their cameras, and all the spectators, except for the biggest brass, were cleared out. I knew I’d really said something. All anybody would be getting on his television set now was organ music.
When the confusion died down, the judge said the trial was over, and that Madge and I were guilty of desertion.
· · ·
Nothing I could do could get us in any worse, so I talked back.
“Now I understand you poor fish,” I said. “You couldn’t get along without fear. That’s the only skill you’ve got—how to scare yourselves and other people into doing things. That’s the only fun you’ve got, watching people jump for fear of what you’ll do to their bodies or take away from their bodies.”
Madge got in her two cents’ worth. “The only way you can get any response from anybody is to scare them.”
“Contempt of court!” said the judge.
“The only way you can scare people is if you can keep them in their bodies,” I told him.
The soldiers grabbed Madge and me and started to drag us out of the courtroom.
“This means war!” I yelled.
Everything stopped right there and the place got very quiet.
“We’re already at war,” said a general uneasily.
“Well, we’re not,” I answered, “but we will be, if you don’t untie Madge and me this instant.” I was fierce and impressive in that field marshal’s body.
“You haven’t any weapons,” said the judge, “no know-how. Outside of bodies, amphibians are nothing.”
“If you don’t cut us loose by the time I count ten,” I told him, “the amphibians will occupy the bodies of the whole kit and caboodle of you and march you right off the nearest cliff. The place is surrounded.” That was hogwash, of course. Only one person can occupy a body at a time, but the enemy couldn’t be sure of that. “One! Two! Three!”
The general swallowed, turned white, and waved his hand vaguely.
“Cut them loose,” he said weakly.
The soldiers, terrified, too, were glad to do it. Madge and I were freed.
I took a couple of steps, headed my spirit in another direction, and that beautiful field marshal, medals and all, went crashing down the staircase like a grandfather clock.
I realized that Madge wasn’t with me. She was still in that copper-colored body with the chartreuse hair and fingernails.
“What’s more,” I heard her saying, “in payment for all the trouble you’ve caused us, this body is to be addressed to me at New York, delivered in good condition no later than next Monday.”
“Yes, ma’am,” said the judge.
· · ·
When we got home, the Pioneers’ Day Parade was just breaking up at the local storage center, and the Parade Marshal got out of his body and apologized to me for acting the way he had.
Welcome to the Monkey House: The Special Edition Page 26