NetNews Usenet Archive 1993 #3/NN_1993_3.iso/spool/soc/motss/58254

Internet Message Format | 1993-01-24 | 7.6 KB

Path: sparky!uunet!zaphod.mps.ohio-state.edu!pacific.mps.ohio-state.edu!ohstpy!msp
From: [e-mail] (Michael S. Pettersen)
Newsgroups: soc.motss
Subject: Those Who Wait for the Coming of Jojo (was Re: unsafe, etc.)
Message-ID: <[e-mail]>
Date: 24 Jan 93 06:54:53 EST
References: <[e-mail]> <[e-mail]> <brsmith.727834695@duncan>
Organization: The Ohio State University, Department of Physics
Lines: 146

In article <brsmith.727834695@duncan>, [e-mail] (Brian R. Smith) writes:
>   "Those Who Wait for the Coming of Jojo"

Omaha said, "Do you hear the drums, boss?  I think the natives
are excited about something.  There may be danger if we approach
closer."

Naismith had been hearing the distant agitating sound of drumbeats
for some time, but paid it little heed.  His mind was filled instead
with visions of his triumphal presentation at the Royal Geographic
Society.  Imagine being the first white man to visit the fabled
electronic village of Sokhmotz.  Farquhar was still in London trying
to raise funding for an expedition, and as for his French rival,
la Poissoniere, he was still back in port trying to purchase equipment.
Naismith had a thousand mile lead inland on him.  He detested the vain
little Frenchman with his curled moustache.  It was so undignified,
unlike Naismith's own restrained black moustache.

"No, Omaha, we will continue in spite of the danger," said Naismith to
his faithful guide.  Omaha had claimed to be the only boy in the port
who knew how to find the village of Sokhmotz, and speak the language.
Naismith suspected that the boy exaggerated, but he nevertheless felt
lucky to have found him, for he was quite loyal, and his strong arms
were good with the machete.

It was not much later that Omaha brought him to the walls of the city.
They were immensely old, covered with jungle vines, but yet showed little
sign of decay.  The masonry of the ancient Sokhmotzi was incredible.

A stone gate was set into the wall, but it would not open to Naismith's
touch.  To one side of the door were two round stones, and
beside them lay a large, curiously carved log.  Omaha said, "To open
the door, boss, you must put the log on, and speak the password."
It took the two of them to set the log erect in the slot made for
it between the two stones.  When they had finished, Omaha intoned:
"Laillahaillajo."  The gate now swung open at the slightest push from
Naismith, as though the great pivots had been constructed only yesterday.

The village of Sokhmotz lay exposed to the dark eyes of Naismith, which
glittered fiercely with pride and the greed of knowledge.  A crowd of
natives stood in a circle at a respectful distance from the gate, obviously
waiting for the strangers to enter.

A very short man stepped forward.  He wore a hugh feathered headdress,
a grass skirt, and a lot of jewelry in silver, gold, ivory and coral,
but not very much else.  He spoke.  "Ikhnatz dikh honkh Sokhmotz,"
he said.  Omaha translated the uncouth words:  "He greets thee in the name
of Sokhmotz."

The natives appeared to be fascinated by Naismith's appearance.  At six foot
three, he stood head and shoulders above the natives, and while his hair and
eyes were dark, like theirs, his skin was the color of cream, and the
natives stared, and approached as near as they dared.

Naismith knew that he would have to gain their trust, before they would
reveal to him the secrets of their way of life.  He gave them glass beads
and his pipe, and they seemed most of all to like his silver watch fob, which
had descended to him from his great grandfather, but he gave it up in the
cause of science and the quest for knowledge.

Eventually, they told him much about their way of life, of their fabulous
ancient history (which they remembered very well through oral tradition,
though they had no writing), and how it had come to pass that through
the enmity of their neighbors (the Hetz, a tribe long since extinct), they
had built their city wall, and cut themselves off from the rest of humankind.

Naismith at last turned the conversation to their religious beliefs.
"What are your gods named?" he asked.

Ikhnatz, the chief, through Omaha, told him that they had none.

"What, no supernatural beings who rule the world?  Who makes your
food grow?  Who taught you morals, the difference between good and
evil?"

"Ah, perhaps you refer to the Jojo," said Ikhnatz.  "I was confused,
because there is only one Jojo, who resides yonder."  Ikhnatz pointed
to the hut which stood at the geometric center of the village.

Naismith grew even more excited.  The response at the Royal Geographic
Society would be universal acclaim, when he reported the discovery that
the Sokhmotzi were monotheistic.

"May I see the Jojo?" asked Naismith.  "I imagine he is some sort of
heathen idol?"

"No, no, it is impossible!" cried Ikhnatz.  The natives looked threatening.
But finally, after some delicate negotiation, the villagers agreed that
following some purification rites, the stranger might see the Jojo.  It was
the Jojo's holy day, and that was why it might be allowed.

"But you must be pure," said Ikhnatz, who seemed to have some religious
authority, as well as being the chief of the village.  "Have you ever known
woman?" he asked.

Naismith thought of Mary, with whom he lunched every Thursday at her
aunt's, when he was in England, but that was just because it was so
convenient to have his meal provided for him.  He had no time for that
sort of fooling around; his researches consumed all of his time
and interest.  Nevertheless, it was not without some trace of wistfulness
that he answered, "No."

The purification rites began.  The villagers stripped Naismith of his
shirt, revealing the breadth of his pure white shoulders, the massive
musculature of his breast, and the huge dark protruberance of his nipples.
Naismith did not wear a coat in the jungle; to bare his breast to these
heathens a thousand miles from the nearest outpost of civilization
caused him little embarrassment.

The natives lowered his jodhpurs.  Naismith's legs were immensely powerful,
like tree trunks, and covered with thick black hair, though his breast was
smooth.  The villagers seemed to place special importance on his boots and
crop, and these were placed carefully aside.

Naismith now stood tall and naked in the intense white light of the
tropical sun, looking for all the world like a god himself.  The natives
marvelled at his beauty, and Omaha thought he had never seen a white man
of such magnificence before.  Naismith appeared to be unconscious of it
all.  He thought only of discovering the mystery of the Jojo, and revealing
it to the rest of the Fellows in London.

At last the procession set forth, the boys of the village guiding Naismith
by the hand, and leaving him at the door of the hut which housed the Jojo.
Naismith entered the darkness alone.  For a moment, the whiteness of his
skin gleamed through the darkness of the portal, and then he was lost.

The villagers silently returned to their own huts, leaving only
Ikhnatz and Omaha in the street.

"It is good that you arrived today, on the Jojo's day of holies," said
Ikhnatz.

Strange noises began to emanate from the Jojo's hut, such as: "Oh my!" and
"You're going to do WHAT?" and other less articulate sounds.

"There are no virgin men left in the village," continued Ikhnatz.
"When can you bring the other person, the one called la Poissoniere?"

More grunts and noises were heard from the hut, and finally a strangled
cry that sounded like: "Jojojojojojojojo."

"It is good," said Ikhnatz.  "The Jojo has come."
--
Mike Pettersen, Ecole Normale Superieure
[e-mail]
Perfect love casteth out fear.