the jacket (the star-rover)-第10章

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chance。〃



That　man　was　Philadelphia　Red。　　Because　of　prior　conviction　he　was

serving　fifty　years　for　highway　robbery　committed　on　the　streets　of

Alameda。　　He　had　already　served　a　dozen　of　his　years　at　the　time　he

talked　to　me　in　the　jacket；　and　that　was　seven　years　ago。　　He　was

one　of　the　forty　lifers　who　were　double…crossed　by　Cecil　Winwood。

For　that　offence　Philadelphia　Red　lost　his　credits。　　He　is　middle…

aged　now；　and　he　is　still　in　San　Quentin。　　If　he　survives　he　will　be

an　old　man　when　they　let　him　out。



I　lived　through　my　twenty…four　hours；　and　I　have　never　been　the　same

man　since。　　Oh；　I　don't　mean　physically；　although　next　morning；　when

they　unlaced　me；　I　was　semi…paralyzed　and　in　such　a　state　of

collapse　that　the　guards　had　to　kick　me　in　the　ribs　to　make　me　crawl

to　my　feet。　　But　I　was　a　changed　man　mentally；　morally。　　The　brute

physical　torture　of　it　was　humiliation　and　affront　to　my　spirit　and

to　my　sense　of　justice。　　Such　discipline　does　not　sweeten　a　man。　　I

emerged　from　that　first　jacketing　filled　with　a　bitterness　and　a

passionate　hatred　that　has　only　increased　through　the　years。　　My

Godwhen　I　think　of　the　things　men　have　done　to　me！　　Twenty…four

hours　in　the　jacket！　　Little　I　thought　that　morning　when　they　kicked

me　to　my　feet　that　the　time　would　come　when　twenty…four　hours　in　the

jacket　meant　nothing；　when　a　hundred　hours　in　the　jacket　found　me

smiling　when　they　released　me；　when　two　hundred　and　forty　hours　in

the　jacket　found　the　same　smile　on　my　lips。



Yes；　two　hundred　and　forty　hours。　　Dear　cotton…woolly　citizen；　do

you　know　what　that　means？　　It　means　ten　days　and　ten　nights　in　the

jacket。　　Of　course；　such　things　are　not　done　anywhere　in　the

Christian　world　nineteen　hundred　years　after　Christ。　　I　don't　ask

you　to　believe　me。　　I　don't　believe　it　myself。　　I　merely　know　that

it　was　done　to　me　in　San　Quentin；　and　that　I　lived　to　laugh　at　them

and　to　compel　them　to　get　rid　of　me　by　swinging　me　off　because　I

bloodied　a　guard's　nose。



I　write　these　lines　to…day　in　the　Year　of　Our　Lord　1913；　and　to…day；

in　the　Year　of　Our　Lord　1913；　men　are　lying　in　the　jacket　in　the

dungeons　of　San　Quentin。



I　shall　never　forget；　as　long　as　further　living　and　further　lives　be

vouchsafed　me；　my　parting　from　Philadelphia　Red　that　morning。　　He

had　then　been　seventy…four　hours　in　the　jacket。



〃Well；　brother；　you're　still　alive　an'　kickin'；〃　he　called　to　me；　as

I　was　totteringly　dragged　from　my　cell　into　the　corridor　of

dungeons。



〃Shut　up；　you；　Red；〃　the　sergeant　snarled　at　him。



〃Forget　it；〃　was　the　retort。



〃I'll　get　you　yet；　Red；〃　the　sergeant　threatened。



〃Think　so？〃　Philadelphia　Red　queried　sweetly；　ere　his　tones　turned

to　savageness。　　〃Why；　you　old　stiff；　you　couldn't　get　nothin'。　　You

couldn't　get　a　free　lunch；　much　less　the　job　you've　got　now；　if　it

wasn't　for　your　brother's　pull。　　An'　I　guess　we　all　ain't　mistaken

on　the　stink　of　the　place　where　your　brother's　pull　comes　from。〃



It　was　admirablethe　spirit　of　man　rising　above　its　extremity；

fearless　of　the　hurt　any　brute　of　the　system　could　inflict。



〃Well；　so　long；　brother；〃　Philadelphia　Red　next　called　to　me。　　〃So

long。　　Be　good；　an'　love　the　Warden。　　An'　if　you　see　'em；　just　tell

'em　that　you　saw　me　but　that　you　didn't　see　me　saw。〃



The　sergeant　was　red　with　rage；　and；　by　the　receipt　of　various　kicks

and　blows；　I　paid　for　Red's　pleasantry。







CHAPTER　VIII







In　solitary；　in　Cell　One；　Warden　Atherton　and　Captain　Jamie

proceeded　to　put　me　to　the　inquisition。　　As　Warden　Atherton　said　to

me：



〃Standing；　you're　going　to　come　across　with　that　dynamite；　or　I'll

kill　you　in　the　jacket。　　Harder　cases　than　you　have　come　across

before　I　got　done　with　them。　　You've　got　your　choicedynamite　or

curtains。〃



〃Then　I　guess　it　is　curtains；〃　I　answered；　〃because　I　don't　know　of

any　dynamite。〃



This　irritated　the　Warden　to　immediate　action。　　〃Lie　down；〃　he

commanded。



I　obeyed；　for　I　had　learned　the　folly　of　fighting　three　or　four

strong　men。　　They　laced　me　tightly；　and　gave　me　a　hundred　hours。

Once　each　twenty…four　hours　I　was　permitted　a　drink　of　water。　　I　had

no　desire　for　food；　nor　was　food　offered　me。　　Toward　the　end　of　the

hundred　hours　Jackson；　the　prison　doctor；　examined　my　physical

condition　several　times。



But　I　had　grown　too　used　to　the　jacket　during　my　incorrigible　days

to　let　a　single　jacketing　injure　me。　　Naturally；　it　weakened　me；

took　the　life　out　of　me；　but　I　had　learned　muscular　tricks　for

stealing　a　little　space　while　they　were　lacing　me。　　At　the　end　of

the　first　hundred　hours'　bout　I　was　worn　and　tired；　but　that　was

all。　　Another　bout　of　this　duration　they　gave　me；　after　a　day　and　a

night　to　recuperate。　　And　then　they　gave　one　hundred　and　fifty

hours。　　Much　of　this　time　I　was　physically　numb　and　mentally

delirious。　　Also；　by　an　effort　of　will；　I　managed　to　sleep　away　long

hours。



Next；　Warden　Atherton　tried　a　variation。　　I　was　given　irregular

intervals　of　jacket　and　recuperation。　　I　never　knew　when　I　was　to　go

into　the　jacket。　　Thus　I　would　have　ten　hours'　recuperation；　and　do

twenty　in　the　jacket；　or　I　would　receive　only　four　hours'　rest。　　At

the　most　unexpected　hours　of　the　night　my　door　would　clang　open　and

the　changing　guards　would　lace　me。　　Sometimes　rhythms　were

instituted。　　Thus；　for　three　days　and　nights　I　alternated　eight

hours　in　the　jacket　and　eight　hours　out。　　And　then；　just　as　I　was

growing　accustomed　to　this　rhythm；　it　was　suddenly　altered　and　I　was

given　two　days　and　nights　straight。



And　ever　the　eternal　question　was　propounded　to　me：　　Where　was　the

dynamite？　　Sometimes　Warden　Atherton　was　furious　with　me。　　On

occasion；　when　I　had　endured　an　extra　severe　jacketing；　he　almost

pleaded　with　me　to　confess。　　Once　he　even　promised　me　three　months

in　the　hospital　of　absolute　rest　and　good　food；　and　then　the　trusty

job　in　the　library。



Dr。　Jackson；　a　weak　stick　of　a　creature　with　a　smattering　of

medicine；　grew　sceptical。　　He　insisted　that　jacketing；　no　matter　how

prolonged；　could　never　kill　me；　and　his　insistence　was　a　challenge

to　the　Warden　to　continue　the　attempt。



〃These　lean　college　guys　'd　fool　the　devil；〃　he　grumbled。　　〃They're

tougher　'n　raw…hide。　　Just　the　same　we'll　wear　him　down。　　Standing；

you　hear　me。　　What　you've　got　ain't　a　caution　to　what　you're　going

to　get。　　You　might　as　well　come　across　now　and　save　trouble。　　I'm　a

man　of　my　word。　　You've　heard　me　say　dynamite　or　curtains。　　Well；

that　stands。　　Take　your　choice。〃



〃Surely　you　don't　think　I'm　holding　out　because　I　enjoy　it？〃　I

managed　to　gasp；　for　at　the　moment　Pie…Face　Jones　was　forcing　his

foot　into　my　back　in　order　to　cinch　me　tighter；　while　I　was　trying

with　my　muscle　to　steal　slack。　　〃There　is　nothing　to　confess。　　Why；

I'd　cut　off　my　right　hand　right　now　to　be　able　to　lead　you　to　any

dynamite。〃



〃Oh；　I've　seen　your　educated　kind　before；〃　he　sneered。　　〃You　get

wheels　in　your　head；　some　of　you；　that　make　you　stick　to　any　old

idea。　　You　get　baulky；　like　horses。　　Tighter；　Jones；　that　ain't　half

a　cinch。　　Standing；　if　you　don't　come　across　it's　curtains。　　I　stick

by　that。〃



One　compensation　I　learned。　　As　one　grows　weaker　one　is　less

susceptible　to　suffering。　　There　is　less　hurt　because　there　is　less

to　hurt。　　And　the　man　already　well　weakened　grows　weaker　more

slowly。　　It　is　of　common　knowledge　that　unusually　strong　men　suffer

more　severely　from　ordinary　sicknesses　than　do　women　or　invalids。

As　the　reserves　of　strength　are　consumed　there　is　less　strength　to

lose。　　After　all　superfluous　flesh　is　gone　what　is　left　is　stringy

and　resistant。　　In　fact；　that　was　what　I　becamea　sort　of　string…

like　organism　that　persisted　in　living。



Morrell　and　Oppenheimer　were　sorry　for　me；　and　rapped　me　sympathy

and　advice。　　Oppenheimer　told　me　he　had　gone　through　it；　and　worse；

and　still　lived。



〃Don't　let　them　beat　you　out；〃　he　spelled　with　his　knuckles。　　〃Don't

let　them　kill　you；　for　that　would　suit　them。　　And　don't　squeal　on

the　plant。〃



〃But　there　isn't　any　plant；〃　I　rapped　back　with　the　edge　of　the　sole

of　my　shoe　against　the　gratingI　was　in　the　jacket　at　the　time　and

so　could　talk　only　with　my　feet。　　〃I　don't　know　anything　about　the

damned　dynamite。〃



〃That's　right；〃　Oppenheimer　praised。　　〃He's　the　stuff；　ain't　he；

Ed？〃



Which　goes　to　show　what　chance　I　had　of　convincing　Warden　Atherton

of　my　ignorance　of　the　dynamite。　　His　very　persistence　in　the　quest

convinced　a　man　like　Jake　Oppenheimer；　who　could　only　admire　me　for

the　fortitude　with　which　I　kept　a　close　mouth。



During　this　first　period　of　the　jacket…inquisition　I　managed　to

sleep　a　great　deal。　　My　dreams　were　remarkable。　　Of　course　they　were

vivid　and　real；　as　most　dreams　are。　　What　made　them　remarkable　was

their　coherence　and　continuity。　　Often　I　addressed　bodies　of

scientists　on　abstruse　subjects；　reading　aloud　to　them　carefully

prepared　papers　on　my　own　researches　or　on　my　own　deductions　from

the　researches　and　experiments　of　others。　　When　I　awakened　my　voice

would　seem　still　ringing　in　my　ears；　while　my　eyes　still　could　see

typed　on　the　white　paper　whole　sentences　and　paragraphs　that　I　could

read　again　and　marvel　at　ere　the　vision　faded。　　In　passing；　I　call

attention　to　the　fact　that　at　the　time　I　noted　that　the　process　of

reasoning　employed　in　these　dream　speeches　was　invariably　deductive。



Then　there　was　a　great　farming　section；　extending　north　and　south

for　hundreds　of　miles　in　some　part　of　the　temperate　regions；　with　a

climate　and　flora　and　fauna　largely　resembling　those　of　California。

Not　once；　nor　twice；　but　thousands　of　different　times　I　journeyed

through　this　dream…region。　　The　point　I　desire　to　call　attention　to

was　that　it　was　always　the　same　region。　　No　essential　feature　of　it

ever　differed　in　the　different　dreams。　　Thus　it　was　always　an　eight…

hour　drive　behind　mountain　horses　from　the　alfalfa　meadows　（where　I

kept　many　Jersey　cows）　to　the　straggly　village　beside　the　big　dry

creek；　where　I　caught　the　little　narrow…gauge　train。　　Every　land…

mark　in　that　eight…hour　drive　in　the　mountain　buckboard；　every　tree；

every　mountain；　every　ford　and　bridge；　every　ridge　and　eroded

hillside　was　ever　the　same。



In　this　coherent；　rational　farm…region　of　my　strait…jacket　dreams

the　minor　details；　according　to　season　and　to　the　labour　of　men；　did

change。　　Thus　on　the　upland　pastures　behind　my　alfalfa　meadows　I

developed　a　new　farm　with　the　aid　of　Angora　goats。　　Here　I　marked

the　changes　with　every　dream…visit；　and　the　changes　were　in

accordance　with　the　time　that　elapsed　between　visits。



Oh；　those　brush…covered　slopes！　　How　I　can　see　them　now　just　as　when

the　goats　were　first　introduced。　　And　how　I　remembered　the

consequent　changesthe　paths　beginning　to　form　as　the　goats

literally　ate　their　way　through　the　dense　thickets；　the