the jacket (the star-rover)-第26章

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Ed　Morrell　was　eager　to　know　if　I　had　succeeded　with　the　experiment；

but　when　he　attempted　to　talk　with　me　he　was　shut　up　by　Smith；　the

guard　who　happened　to　be　on　duty　in　solitary。



〃That's　all　right；　Ed；〃　I　rapped　to　him。　　〃You　and　Jake　keep　quiet；

and　I'll　tell　you　about　it。　　Smith　can't　prevent　you　from　listening；

and　he　can't　prevent　me　from　talking。　　They　have　done　their　worst；

and　I　am　still　here。〃



〃Cut　that　out；　Standing！〃　Smith　bellowed　at　me　from　the　corridor　on

which　all　the　cells　opened。



Smith　was　a　peculiarly　saturnine　individual；　by　far　the　most　cruel

and　vindictive　of　our　guards。　　We　used　to　canvass　whether　his　wife

bullied　him　or　whether　he　had　chronic　indigestion。



I　continued　rapping　with　my　knuckles；　and　he　came　to　the　wicket　to

glare　in　at　me。



〃I　told　you　to　out　that　out；〃　he　snarled。



〃Sorry；〃　I　said　suavely。　　〃But　I　have　a　sort　of　premonition　that　I

shall　go　right　on　rapping。　　Anderexcuse　me　for　asking　a　personal

questionwhat　are　you　going　to　do　about　it？〃



〃I'll〃　he　began　explosively；　proving；　by　his　inability　to　conclude

the　remark；　that　he　thought　in　henids。



〃Yes？〃　I　encouraged。　　〃Just　what；　pray？〃



〃I'll　have　the　Warden　here；〃　he　said　lamely。



〃Do；　please。　　A　most　charming　gentleman；　to　be　sure。　　A　shining

example　of　the　refining　influences　that　are　creeping　into　our

prisons。　　Bring　him　to　me　at　once。　　I　wish　to　report　you　to　him。〃



〃Me？〃



〃Yes；　just　precisely　you；〃　I　continued。　　〃You　persist；　in　a　rude　and

boorish　manner；　in　interrupting　my　conversation　with　the　other

guests　in　this　hostelry。〃



And　Warden　Atherton　came。　　The　door　was　unlocked；　and　he　blustered

into　my　cell。　　But　oh；　I　was　so　safe！　　He　had　done　his　worst。　　I　was

beyond　his　power。



〃I'll　shut　off　your　grub；〃　he　threatened。



〃As　you　please；〃　I　answered。　　〃I'm　used　to　it。　　I　haven't　eaten　for

ten　days；　and；　do　you　know；　trying　to　begin　to　eat　again　is　a

confounded　nuisance。



〃Oh；　ho；　you're　threatening　me；　are　you？　　A　hunger　strike；　eh？〃



〃Pardon　me；〃　I　said；　my　voice　sulky　with　politeness。　　〃The

proposition　was　yours；　not　mine。　　Do　try　and　be　logical　on　occasion。

I　trust　you　will　believe　me　when　I　tell　you　that　your　illogic　is　far

more　painful　for　me　to　endure　than　all　your　tortures。〃



〃Are　you　going　to　stop　your　knuckle…talking？〃　he　demanded。



〃No；　forgive　me　for　vexing　youfor　I　feel　so　strong　a　compulsion　to

talk　with　my　knuckles　that〃



〃For　two　cents　I'll　put　you　back　in　the　jacket；〃　he　broke　in。



〃Do；　please。　　I　dote　on　the　jacket。　　I　am　the　jacket　baby。　　I　get

fat　in　the　jacket。　　Look　at　that　arm。〃　　I　pulled　up　my　sleeve　and

showed　a　biceps　so　attenuated　that　when　I　flexed　it　it　had　the

appearance　of　a　string。　　〃A　real　blacksmith's　biceps；　eh；　Warden？

Cast　your　eyes　on　my　swelling　chest。　　Sandow　had　better　look　out　for

his　laurels。　　And　my　abdomenwhy；　man；　I　am　growing　so　stout　that

my　case　will　be　a　scandal　of　prison　overfeeding。　　Watch　out；　Warden；

or　you'll　have　the　taxpayers　after　you。〃



〃Are　you　going　to　stop　knuckle…talk？〃　he　roared。



〃No；　thanking　you　for　your　kind　solicitude。　　On　mature　deliberation

I　have　decided　that　I　shall　keep　on　knuckle…talking。〃



He　stared　at　me　speechlessly　for　a　moment；　and　then；　out　of　sheer

impotency；　turned　to　go。



〃One　question；　please。〃



〃What　is　it？〃　he　demanded　over　his　shoulder。



〃What　are　you　going　to　do　about　it？〃



From　the　choleric　exhibition　he　gave　there　and　then　it　has　been　an

unceasing　wonder　with　me　to　this　day　that　he　has　not　long　since　died

of　apoplexy。



Hour　by　hour；　after　the　warden's　discomfited　departure；　I　rapped　on

and　on　the　tale　of　my　adventures。　　Not　until　that　night；　when　Pie…

Face　Jones　came　on　duty　and　proceeded　to　steal　his　customary　naps；

were　Morrell　and　Oppenheimer　able　to　do　any　talking。



〃Pipe　dreams；〃　Oppenheimer　rapped　his　verdict。



Yes；　was　my　thought；　our　experiences　ARE　the　stuff　of　our　dreams。



〃When　I　was　a　night　messenger　I　hit　the　hop　once；〃　Oppenheimer

continued。　　〃And　I　want　to　tell　you　you　haven't　anything　on　me　when

it　came　to　seeing　things。　　I　guess　that　is　what　all　the　novel…

writers　dohit　the　hop　so　as　to　throw　their　imagination　into　the

high　gear。〃



But　Ed　Morrell；　who　had　travelled　the　same　road　as　I；　although　with

different　results；　believed　my　tale。　　He　said　that　when　his　body

died　in　the　jacket；　and　he　himself　went　forth　from　prison；　he　was

never　anybody　but　Ed　Morrell。　　He　never　experienced　previous

existences。　　When　his　spirit　wandered　free；　it　wandered　always　in

the　present。　　As　he　told　us；　just　as　he　was　able　to　leave　his　body

and　gaze　upon　it　lying　in　the　jacket　on　the　cell　floor；　so　could　he

leave　the　prison；　and；　in　the　present；　revisit　San　Francisco　and　see

what　was　occurring。　　In　this　manner　he　had　visited　his　mother　twice；

both　times　finding　her　asleep。　　In　this　spirit…roving　he　said　he　had

no　power　over　material　things。　　He　could　not　open　or　close　a　door；

move　any　object；　make　a　noise；　nor　manifest　his　presence。　　On　the

other　hand；　material　things　had　no　power　over　him。　　Walls　and　doors

were　not　obstacles。　　The　entity；　or　the　real　thing　that　was　he；　was

thought；　spirit。



〃The　grocery　store　on　the　corner；　half　a　block　from　where　mother

lived；　changed　hands；〃　he　told　us。　　〃I　knew　it　by　the　different　sign

over　the　place。　　I　had　to　wait　six　months　after　that　before　I　could

write　my　first　letter；　but　when　I　did　I　asked　mother　about　it。　　And

she　said　yes；　it　had　changed。〃



〃Did　you　read　that　grocery　sign？〃　Jake　Oppenheimer　asked。



〃Sure　thing　I　did；〃　was　Morrell's　response。　　〃Or　how　could　I　have

known　it？〃



〃All　right；〃　rapped　Oppenheimer　the　unbelieving。　　〃You　can　prove　it

easy。　　Some　time；　when　they　shift　some　decent　guards　on　us　that　will

give　us　a　peep　at　a　newspaper；　you　get　yourself　thrown　into　the

jacket；　climb　out　of　your　body；　and　sashay　down　to　little　old

'Frisco。　　Slide　up　to　Third　and　Market　just　about　two　or　three　a。m。

when　they　are　running　the　morning　papers　off　the　press。　　Read　the

latest　news。　　Then　make　a　swift　sneak　for　San　Quentin；　get　here

before　the　newspaper　tug　crosses　the　bay；　and　tell　me　what　you　read。

Then　we'll　wait　and　get　a　morning　paper；　when　it　comes　in；　from　a

guard。　　Then；　if　what　you　told　me　is　in　that　paper；　I　am　with　you　to

a　fare…you…well。〃



It　was　a　good　test。　　I　could　not　but　agree　with　Oppenheimer　that

such　a　proof　would　be　absolute。　　Morrell　said　he　would　take　it　up

some　time；　but　that　he　disliked　to　such　an　extent　the　process　of

leaving　'his　body　that　he　would　not　make　the　attempt　until　such　time

that　his　suffering　in　the　jacket　became　too　extreme　to　be　borne。



〃That　is　the　way　with　all　of　themwon't　come　across　with　the

goods；〃　was　Oppenheimer's　criticism。　　〃My　mother　believed　in

spirits。　　When　I　was　a　kid　she　was　always　seeing　them　and　talking

with　them　and　getting　advice　from　them。　　But　she　never　come　across

with　any　goods　from　them。　　The　spirits　couldn't　tell　her　where　the

old　man　could　nail　a　job　or　find　a　gold…mine　or　mark　an　eight…spot

in　Chinese　lottery。　　Not　on　your　life。　　The　bunk　they　told　her　was

that　the　old　man's　uncle　had　had　a　goitre；　or　that　the　old　man's

grandfather　had　died　of　galloping　consumption；　or　that　we　were　going

to　move　house　inside　four　months；　which　last　was　dead　easy；　seeing

as　we　moved　on　an　average　of　six　times　a　year。〃



I　think；　had　Oppenheimer　had　the　opportunity　for　thorough　education；

he　would　have　made　a　Marinetti　or　a　Haeckel。　　He　was　an　earth…man　in

his　devotion　to　the　irrefragable　fact；　and　his　logic　was　admirable

though　frosty。　　〃You've　got　to　show　me；〃　was　the　ground　rule　by

which　he　considered　all　things。　　He　lacked　the　slightest　iota　of

faith。　　This　was　what　Morrell　had　pointed　out。　　Lack　of　faith　had

prevented　Oppenheimer　from　succeeding　in　achieving　the　little　death

in　the　jacket。



You　will　see；　my　reader；　that　it　was　not　all　hopelessly　bad　in

solitary。　　Given　three　minds　such　as　ours；　there　was　much　with　which

to　while　away　the　time。　　It　might　well　be　that　we　kept　one　another

from　insanity；　although　I　must　admit　that　Oppenheimer　rotted　five

years　in　solitary　entirely　by　himself；　ere　Morrell　joined　him；　and

yet　had　remained　sane。



On　the　other　hand；　do　not　make　the　mistake　of　thinking　that　life　in

solitary　was　one　wild　orgy　of　blithe　communion　and　exhilarating

psychological　research。



We　had　much　and　terrible　pain。　　Our　guards　were　brutesyour　hang…

dogs；　citizen。　　Our　surroundings　were　vile。　　Our　food　was　filthy；

monotonous；　innutritious。　　Only　men；　by　force　of　will；　could　live　on

so　unbalanced　a　ration。　　I　know　that　our　prize　cattle；　pigs；　and

sheep　on　the　University　Demonstration　Farm　at　Davis　would　have　faded

away　and　died　had　they　received　no　more　scientifically　balanced　a

ration　than　what　we　received。



We　had　no　books　to　read。　　Our　very　knuckle…talk　was　a　violation　of

the　rules。　　The　world；　so　far　as　we　were　concerned；　practically　did

not　exist。　　It　was　more　a　ghost…world。　　Oppenheimer；　for　instance；

had　never　seen　an　automobile　or　a　motor…cycle。　　News　did

occasionally　filter　inbut　such　dim；　long…after…the…event；　unreal

news。　　Oppenheimer　told　me　he　had　not　learned　of　the　Russo…Japanese

war　until　two　years　after　it　was　over。



We　were　the　buried　alive；　the　living　dead。　　Solitary　was　our　tomb；

in　which；　on　occasion；　we　talked　with　our　knuckles　like　spirits

rapping　at　a　seance。



News？　　Such　little　things　were　news　to　us。　　A　change　of　bakerswe

could　tell　it　by　our　bread。　　What　made　Pie…face　Jones　lay　off　a

week？　　Was　it　vacation　or　sickness？　　Why　was　Wilson；　on　the　night

shift　for　only　ten　days；　transferred　elsewhere？　　Where　did　Smith　get

that　black　eye？　　We　would　speculate　for　a　week　over　so　trivial　a

thing　as　the　last。



Some　convict　given　a　month　in　solitary　was　an　event。　　And　yet　we

could　learn　nothing　from　such　transient　and　ofttimes　stupid　Dantes

who　would　remain　in　our　inferno　too　short　a　time　to　learn　knuckle…

talk　ere　they　went　forth　again　into　the　bright　wide　world　of　the

living。



Still；　again；　all　was　not　so　trivial　in　our　abode　of　shadows。　　As

example；　I　taught　Oppenheimer　to　play　chess。　　Consider　how

tremendous　such　an　achievement　isto　teach　a　man；　thirteen　cells

away；　by　means　of　knuckle…raps；　to　teach　him　to　visualize　a

chessboard；　to　visualize　all　the　pieces；　pawns　and　positions；　to

know　the　various　manners　of　moving；　and　to　teach　him　it　all　so

thoroughly　that　he　and　I；　by　pure　visualization；　were　in　the　end

able　to　play　entire　games　of　chess　in　our　minds。　　In　the　end；　did　I

say？　　Another　tribute　to　the　magnificence　of　Oppenheimer's　mind：　　in

the　end　he　became　my　master　at　the　gamehe　who　had　never　seen　a

chessman　in　his　life。



What　image　of　a　bishop；　for　instance；　could　possibly　form　in　his

mind　when　I　rapped　our　code…sign　for　BISHOP？　　In　vain　and　often　I

asked　h