From the notes of Geoffray Spasser, a Report on a meeting for the Society of Weird Utopians, February 12, 1914
As is our habit, the Weird Utopians of Solipsistic Science met in Boston to exchange findings from our sundry fields of endeavor. In attendance for the very first time was industrialist Clay Scheissgeld from Saginaw, Michigan, brought in as a guest with Philadelphia economist Windsor Kramps. Of course, founding Utopian, the Swedish philosopher and egyptologist, Henk Hermun, spoke on that night. The esteemed Victa Spiro, the physicist from Budapest, arrived safely, much to our relief. She is brilliant, but quite lost when it comes to navigating American roads. Of course, she insists on driving herself in her strange Italian automobile. "Italy shall be the greatest manufacture of mechanical chariots in the world," as she is so fond of saying. Also, causing quite a stir, were three strangers from Canada who found the meeting through some chain of reputation across the continent to their city on the western coast.
As the first presentation, the economist and industrialist shocked everyone by predicting an economic collapse, even greater than our most recent troubles, precipitated by the formation of a central bank in the United States. This was greeted with scoffs. "No one would fall for a central bank in the U.S., cooler heads will prevail," said one Utopian at the back of the room. Mr. Scheissgeld announced that even in that event, all was not lost. The fastest growing commodity would also become the most valuable. "Yes, human and animal waste shall power great turbines instead of spilled into the rivers. Efficient engines using methane gas will replace the common use of kerosene. Paradoxically, waste represents not a degeneration, but a maturation in the cascade of material process." And then suddenly he bellowed, "Shit is our great wealth!" to a standing ovation.
The next speaker, the egyptologist from Sweden, made a compelling case for using ancient methods of embalming to preserve corpses for future reanimation. Though much of his line of reasoning is oblique, he suggested that one day, people will fly through near space, in great barges, living infinitely through secrets learned by the ancient religion of Hermes Trismigestus. To which poet Rary "Wry" Kracker said, "Him is trying to jest us." A quick vote expelled Mr. Kracker until the meeting next year.
The charming Victa Spiro then took the podium, eloquently explaining the intricacies of her cosmology and physics. As well as I can relate, she began with a revelation that many, and she suspects all, planets exhibit a wobble in their orbits. Hence, it would be inaccurate to merely describe the revolutions as elliptical. "They are, in fact, three-dimensional coils, cork-screwing through space." She argued that our reduction of concepts, including such as electromagnetic waves, to two-dimensional representations would "deleteriously affect our advancement" in the sciences. "The Spiro vector theory of motion is that all bodies move along three dimensional coil." And we all silently wondered if this was why she got lost, circumnavigating the countryside in her plucky automobile.
As though it was well-rehearsed, the three folk from Canada very naturally took over. Quickly, they unpacked wooden cases, setting up what looked like a flea circus. The clever hands of a solid, Irish-looking man produced a stage, like those used in a marionette show. A woman carted forth two small animal cages, and tended to them, whispering. A fresh and fair, thin young man with an incongruously bushy moustache set up chairs behind the small stage and unpacked musical instruments.
When all was ready, the thin man stepped forward, "Hello, Utopians, my name is Harold Torpingus." he adjusted his glasses. "These are my colleagues, Madame Oussa, an expert in animal behavior, specifically those of the rodent persuasion, and Doctor Jordanis, a specialist in mechanical systems. My field is the study of experimental aesthetics, the application of scientific scrutiny to artistic endeavors, and vice versa, perhaps more so."
He adjusted his glasses and pressed down his moustache. The speaker was very fond of this absurd brush of facial hair. "We will perform several pieces of music now. In addition to scientists, we are also accomplished musicians. But we merely accompany the performers who ready themselves now."
Madame Oussa took two rodents from their respective cages. Dr. Jordanis pulled back a curtain to the stage which now resembled a Parisian street. The biologist set the rats down inside a circle at the middle of the scene. The convened members of the Weird Utopians chuckled at the absurdity of this arrangement. Jordanis set small bags near each rat which they began to instantly poke their noses into. I figured it was some food reward for the rats enduring the shenanigans so patiently or to entice them to remain.
The member of the Society became impatient, "Get on with it!" The Canadians nodded and sat down in their chairs, readying their instruments. Torpingus readied an accordion and sat before a footpump organ. Dr. Jordano held a guitar with a banjo at his feet. Mdme. Ossa picked up castanets with a drum between her knees and a tambourine beside her. The band of scientists struck up their tune. Dame Ridgly, a pharmacologist from New York recognized the tune immediately, "La Vie en Rose!" The rats emerged from their sacks wearing costume. One wore a tiny beret and striped shirt, while the other a feathery hat and slinky dress. The rat with the hat began to warble the lyrics to the tune.
"Amazing!" "Preposterously wonderful." "Ineffable." The Utopians could be barely quieted to hear the end of the tune and watch the two rodents dance and whirl lithely around miniature lampposts. And just as the song ended, the two mammals returned immediately to their former natural attitudes, looking around nervously and twitching their whiskers.
Dr. Jordanis pressed a footpedal at the back of the set and the Parisian scene disappeared. The clever stage folded behind the animals from background to foreground, revealing very briefly a construction of gears and belts. The set now revealed was the deck of a ship. Torpingus, itching at the moustache, announced that the next tune would be a sea chanty, popular in the 17th century among pirates of the East Indies, "The Giant Rat of Sumatra."
We watched fascinated as the rats sang in a strange pidgen tongue,
"Oh, escootchy me, you lubbers
dismember here the tail
of thee Giant Rat o Sumatra!
How it et a jung homme
and todo his clothes
When he landed on yonder green petra!"
And on it went to our stupefaction and joy, the little heads with their eyepatches and three-cornered hats. I was distracted by the miniature performers, but I thought I spied, from the corner of my eye, Mr. Torpingus' moustache hanging off, dangling at one corner. Strange, that when I looked up, it had righted itself without a missing note.
And I distinctly thought I saw him wink at me as he quieted the applause and announced the final song, "This final work represents the pinnacle of our research and practices. What you are about to hear is actual rat music. Yes, Madame Oussa has spent her career not only training rats how to sing and dance, but to understand their language and culture. I hear some incredulous signs of shock, but yes. It's true. The name of the piece is not utterable by human tongue, but it translates to 'Mountain of Cheese'. Cheese here is a generalization of all things edible."
What followed was the most dreadful awful noise I had ever heard, a screeching and a racket. The musicians hammered away at their instruments with no sign of malice or irony. The rats danced in a seemingly random fashion, then pointing at the audience as a gesture of defiance. The Utopians grew restless, their faces twisting with the excruciating clamor. As the rats squeaked and threw out their arms, the stage transformed, lifting them up into some transcendence. The final few moments were complete chaos, the small hall echoing with hellish sound.
It was the single most enlightening moment of Weird Utopian history. "Like having a carbuncle burned off one's foot," exclaimed one attendee. Some thought that it was the silence afterward that was the true music, but all thought it very refreshing, including a psychic medium who was "transported to Rat Heaven," and claims to have understood every phrase. I had a difficult time rising from my chair to thank the guests. The musical scientists and furry things were quickly packing, excusing themselves as they had another engagement that day.
I managed to kiss Madame Oussa on the cheek and give a firm handshake to Dr. Jordanis. Harold Torpingus merely bowed and quickly turned to leave. Later that evening, I found Mr. Torpingus' moustache on the floor where he had said his goodbyes.
We all thought it was the most enjoyable convocation yet. The Canadians have our invitation to attend again. As always, the Weird Utopians of Solipsistic Science meet once a year on St. Darwin's Day at the Blind Watchmaker's Union or the Center for the Pythagorean Arts.