Friday, December 15, 1939
The DAILY NEBRASKAN
Verse
Contributions from
the student body.
Article 0T0
By Maurice Zolotow.
New generations of students
have rolled over the University of
Wisconsin campus generations
more earnest, more tangled in
ideologies, more worried about
jobs after graduation. Yet the
aroma of bohemianism that once
rose from Madison still lingers in
the national nostrils.
Th; opinion is still widely cur
rent that the climate of that town
is favorable to the growth of nuts,
queeries and originals. The per
sistence of this reputation may be
taken as a measure of the vital
ity of the bohemian life once ram
pant, the reputation of which I
can testify is not without founda
tion. What a life!
Hundreds of us who lived
through that year 1931 with those
nine high pitched months still
carry the imprint on our souls.
Extra legal drinking and sex. may
have been among the showier in
gredients of the year, but they
were gestures of higher emanci
were gestures of higher manci
pation. Legislative investigations of the
campus are perennial. Sometimes
it is called Bolshevism that is
probed. But in 1931-1932 legisla
tive investigations occupied them
selves chiefly with charges that
free love, and boozing were run
ning rampant on the campus.
And everything they said, I am
afraid, was true. Our drinking
habits in those days, considering
our youthfulness amaze me in
retrospect. We bohemians drank
copiously of bad ' wine, synthetic
gin, and revolting whisky. Many
of us got dead drunk about twice
a week prohibition made it prac
tically our social duty. Free love
on the campus was a familiar
practice as well as a popular
theory.
Four score members.
The prominence of "unconven
tionals" in the student body was
in some measure traceable to Pro
fessor Maiklejohn's Experimental
college, then in its final year.
Without set courses or lectures,
$$&lhrU Peterson
Moods indigo pink and oth
erwise with accompanying idio
syncrasies. The thing that most artists like
to draw best is their salary. I
don't blame them. The girl who
makes her own clothes will never
die of overwork. The sea of
matrimony is too expensive with
all those permanent waves.
Some people will never get cold
feet because they are always in
hot water. If life is Just a bowl
of cherries, I must be one of the
piU. Women are centipedes when
it comes to putting their foot into
it. Advke of the day: Stop, look
and less sin. A critic is a stow
away on somebody else's imagina
tion. The DAILY'S little session
yesterday might well be called
"Gripe of Wrath" with compli
ments to Eob Aldrlch. Some peo
ple drink to drown their sorrows
and themselves while they're at
it. too.
Had a date the other night with
an apparently intelligent linn so
tried to make it an intelligent eve
ning. "Do you read Shakespeare's
works?" I asked in a scholarly
fashion. The answer: "Oh. yes. as
fast as thy come out." After that
I forgot that I even went through
kindergarten. We have a fellow
In Blair who Is always being beat
by hl.i wife. He calls her his "Lat
ter half".
Night has fallen and I leave for
my frigid hovel where there is no
warming love, nothing to inspire
hope, and most of all nothing to
eat but a cruxt of bread which
the mice and I have shared for a
fortnight. Alas.
Bohemia runs rampant
How carefree 'radicals' fostered 'emancipation'
and bucked the legislature at Wisconsin U.
this college had brought together
in one spot at least four score in
tinctive bohemians from many
parts of the country. They were
a vivacious, talented, carefree
group and they infected all who
came near them with the virus of
their bnnhomme and defiance of
rules.
Of course they weren't all bo
hemians. Some came to college for
careers and others to capture a
mate. But the tone of the institu
tion was set by 200 or 300 out
of the 1,000 students. To this mi
nority college was nothing but an
adventure for the emancipated
spirit.
Their hideout.
Haywood house was a symbol
of Madison's bohemianism. A
The old lama rose from his
books and went to the window.
Across the plain the golden roofs
of the Potala Palace shimmered
in the sunset. Reverently, he
murmured his Tibetan prayer, pan
acea of all evil. "Om mani padme
hung. Om mani padme hung."
Behind him in the maroon robe
of a monk, Neil Davies, Master of
Arts, and lean faced student of
mystery, sat paging over the loose
pages of a huge Tibetan volume.
The white man shook his head
violently and muttered to himself.
His fingers drummed incessantly
on the bench as he tried painfully
to comprehend. Finally with a
groan of despair, he pushed the
book from him and dropped his
head on his arms.
The priest turned to watch him,
and waited until he locked up.
"You still find it difficult?" he
asked.
Belief is hard.
"Impossible, Kali Nyama," said
Neil's eyes. "My son," he said,
fail to understand, but I cannot
believr."
"For you, who have been steeped
in the ways of the western world,
it is hard. But you are willing,
you will yet learn our secrets."
Neil shook hia head. "I cannot
forget what I have learned in my
own schools in America, There
we have science. The laws of
chemistry and physics are a part
of me. You say that you revive
the dead, that you can make the
spirits serve you, even that you
can fly through the air. But, Kali,
you refuse to prove these things.
I cannot believe them."
Hate unbelievers.
Kali came closer to the bench
and looked sympathetically into
Neil's eyes. "My nan," he said,
"v.e do not disprove your laws.
We only divert them to our own
purposes.
"The spirits hate the unbeliever.
They resent the presence of the
skeptic. Before this we have tried
to make the skeptic believe by
proof, and there have been grave
consequences. Some have been
killed"
"I have been here seven months,
Kali. And I know that I cannot
force myself to believe. I must
have proof, though I lose my right
arm! I must have proof!"
"Yes, it Is true that you have
been here many days," said Kali.
"And we have become friends. I
cannot let you go back to your
death. Perhaps a greater lama
would try I cannot. I am sorry."
He wrapped the covering cloths
over the books and left the cell.
Greater lama helps'.
In a few moments he returned
and his face was solemn. , He
spoke very quietly with a hint of
sorrow in his voice. "Today while
we studied," he said "a gomchen
lama, one of the most famous
three story shingled hideaway in
habited by fifteen or so poverty
stricken revolutionaries, it boasted
no plumbing to speak of, and
hardly any furniture. The bath
tubs were filled with old books
and tennis rackets and the sinks
were choked with pipe cleaners
and cigarette butts.
The tenants shaved only when
the water ran which was about
twice a month. They talked in
stead of eating. They were always
thinking of a good issue that
would arouse the student body and
stimulate social consciousness, but
the authorities were too friendly
and progressive. It was there that
Louis Zukofsky planned and initi
ated that literary movement
known as "Objectivism," which
Death to the unbeliever
By Art Adams
among the naljorpas in all Tibet
came to the monastery. He knows
of your wish. You are to come to
the Temple of the Goddess of
Death tonight, at midnight. There
you will have your proof."
He placed his hand on the white
man's shoulder gently. "Neil, for
my sake try to believe. Tonight
we risk your life."
In silence Neil sat thinking a
long time; then he went to the
window where he could see the
lights of Lhasa, the Holy City of
Tibet. Monks, lighted by great
smoking torches, made their way
across the dark plain to the city.
Will learn secrets
Here for seven months he had
pounded his brain with the teach
ings of these men. He had trav
eled thousands of arduous miles to
learn the secrets of their religion.
He thought of the doctor's de
gree that awaited him in his own
land if his thesis were accepted
and of the girl who waited for him.
The learned doctors of America
would scoff at him if he returned
without gaining some new knowl
edge of this land, but she would
welcome him always.
Tonight his dream would come
true.. He would the magic of
a Tibetan naljorpa. He forced
himself to ignore the warning of
danger that had been in kalis
words.
At midnight, Nell made his way
through the dark corridors of the
monastery to the Temple of the
Death Goddess. Many priests clus
tered there, chanting a melancholy
hymn to the muffled throb of
many drums. Kali detached him
self from the shadows and came
to Neil! together they entered the
temple.
Clad in loincloth
The ancient naljorpa, seated be
fore the altar, was clad only in a
loin cloth. His grey hair fell over
his shoulders and covered his
bosom. He nodded a greeting and
motioned them to their places on
each side of his mat. They sat
thus, in a triangular three yards
apart the Jomchcn lama at the
peak, their own bodies at the an
gles of the base.
On the altar, seven butter lamps
lighted the fat, repulsive body of
the Death Goddess. Neil noticed
grimly that the polished skulls of
men served as the bases of these
lamps.
Between Kali and himself a
short wooden plank, almost two
inches thick, lay propped against
a copper-prayer bowl. And in the
center of the triangle an Intric
ately carved wooden box had been
set. Its contents were covered
with fine solk, Kali made a fur
tive gesture to him as if to tell
him to watch the box carefully.
Goes into trance
Outside the temple the chant of
the lamas fell to a mournful dirge.
It receded uitU only the sound of
thereafter attained some import
ance. And so the days burned up like
the endless cigarettes we smoked
as we talked and drank wine and
loved and talked some more. May
Day we made a festive extrava
ganza, celebrated alike by com
munist, neo-Catholic, and dadaist.
Hundreds of students gathered
outside the dorms and cheered and
shrieked and called for destruc
tion and revolution and anything
odd they could think of, such as
abolition of compulsory gym.
Pelt firemen.
When the police and firemen
arrived they were pelted from all
windows with water bombs, which
are paper bags filled with cold
water and guaranteed to give
the drums remained,, and mingled
their throbbing notes with the
beat of his heart.
The seamed face of the naljopa
took on a deathly pallor under its
deep bronze. His eyes closed and
he seemed to stop breathing,
though Neil sensed the beat of his
pulse under the taut skin of his
temple. He began to breathe heav
ily and Neil realized that the lama
bad entered a trance.
A movement in the box caught
his eye, and he watched while iri
descent silks slowly unfolded and
fell to the floor. Revealed in its
bed of gold, lay a dagger long
and thin bladed its hilt set with
rough uncut jewels. He recognized
it as a purba, one of the magic dag
gers that are weilded by the spirits
of dead men. And he remembered
with a shiver of fear running
through his body, that the deadly
purba of Lhasa was said to have
killed twelve men.
Knife strikes
His skin grew taut as the purba
floated from the box and went
with inexorable slowness until it
hovered above the plank. As
though it were being driven by
some gigantic hand it sank into
the wood. Its hilt moved up once
then down as if the hand that
held it were loosening it before
drawing it forth. It hung motion
less in the air a moment, poised
above the slab and sank deeply
into the wood again until fully
three inches of its blade had
penetrated.
With his first suspicious thought,
Neil leaned sideways so that he
could see behind the slab. The
point had emerged there, but the
little germ of doubt multiplied in
his mind, and he began uncon
sciously to analyze to observe
coolly.
The hilt traveled up and down
once more, and the knife was
drawn from the wood. Then it
floated back to its box and
paused there uncertainly. As if
making a sudden decision, it
turned and began to move toward
Neil.
Strong unseen hands seemed to
envelop him. He felt himself
pushed backwards until he lay
stretched out on his back. He
tried desperately to rise but the
power that forced the breath from
his lungs was irresistible. He could
not move. He attempted to speak,
to cry out, but he made no sound.
Fearfully, he lay and watched the
deadly purba poise above him. It
began its implacable slow move
ment toward his throat, and he
watched with fascinated staring
eyes.
With a cry of horror, Kali was
at his side. He grasped the dag
ger by its hilt and tried to divert
it from its victim. He tugged and
twihtod and fought, but the dag
ger did not move from its mur
quite a shock when they burst on
an unsuspecting head.
After that, bohemia came to
grips with a small time Dies. He
dared to come into our very camp
to expose free love and Bolshe
vism on the campus. Bohemia de
nounced the enemy to his face,
heckled him unmercifully, and
posed tricky questions. Our ans
wer to all this was to walk out
dramatically. Bohemia felt it had
decisively defeated middletown.
Considered in retrospect there
came through this seemingly
wasted days and nights of drink
ing, talking and flirting, signifi
cant pieces of knowledge and in
sight that would eventually fit
themselves into a better education
than the one received by students
who studied faithfully.
We cultivated a certain inner
integrity and mental independence
that became increasingly valuabla
in later years, when all parties
began their attempt to militariza
and enslave the mind. Certainly
no one who ever absorbed a part
of bohemia could fall prey to any
sort of totalitarianism or regi
mentation whether from right or
left.
derous course. He clutched the
blade of the purba with both
hands and struggled furiously
with it, putting all his weight
against the malevolent thing, but
it moved forward by slow inches.
Screaming hysterical prayers, Kali
stood astride Neil's body with the
devilish thing in his hands and
begged it to stop. Neil watched
the blood stream from the hands
of his teacher and felt the hot, red
liquid drip on his face. He mea
sured the inches left for the knife
to travel and gave himself up as
dead.
Something forced him to turn
away from the knife that poised
so near to his throat. He turned
his face toward the gomchen lama.
Sweat stood out on the magician's
forehead, and he seemed to strug
gle for each breath. His hands,
that had been placed before him
on his knees in the fashion of the
Buddhist, were clenched tightly in
his lap. His eyes were open now.
They drew Neil's attention burn
ing their way into his conscious
ness, making him forget the awful
danger that hovered above him.
Trying to tell him something
In desperation, he tried to get
the l a m a's message. Like the
brief flare of a match in darkness,
the thought flickered in his mind.
He realized suddenly, that his life
depended upon that thought It
flashed across his barin. "It is
best It is best to He forced
his own brain to forget everything
but that idea, to concentrate on
the lama's message. It burst in
his brain, painted in flaming let
ters. "It is best to believe what
you cannot explain."
The logic of the quotation met
and defeated the logic of his own
world. He exhalted inwardly and
tried to speak. His voice returned.
"I do believe!" he shouted.
The terrible pressure on his
chest relaxed. His arms were re
leased. He sat up as the purba
lifted and floated back to the box.
The silk folded over it, and for' a
moment only the sound of Kali's
sobbing was in the air.
He watched the gomchen lama
change from a pale spectre into a
very tired and shaken old man.
The lama rose and covered the
box. Together, they carried Kali
to his cell and bandaged his
hands. He lay on his mat and
peered hopefully into Noil's eyes.
"Nya Cyalo," he said. "The Gods
have won. You believe at last."
"Yes, Kali," said Neil. "Your
Gods have won. Tomorrow we
can begin our studies anew."
But Kali shook his old head
slowly, and held his bandaged
hands before him like two white
doves. "There is your proof," he
said. There Is nothing more for
you to learn. You must return to
your country now, and toll them
what you have een,"