the jacket (the star-rover)-第7章

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first　detected　infraction　of　the　laws；　and　on　and　on　through　thefts

and　robberies　to　the　treachery　of　a　comrade　and　to　red　slayings

inside　prison　walls。



They　called　Jake　Oppenheimer　the　〃Human　Tiger。〃　　Some　cub　reporter

coined　the　phrase　that　will　long　outlive　the　man　to　whom　it　was

applied。　　And　yet　I　ever　found　in　Jake　Oppenheimer　all　the　cardinal

traits　of　right　humanness。　　He　was　faithful　and　loyal。　　I　know　of

the　times　he　has　taken　punishment　in　preference　to　informing　on　a

comrade。　　He　was　brave。　　He　was　patient。　　He　was　capable　of　self…

sacrificeI　could　tell　a　story　of　this；　but　shall　not　take　the

time。　　And　justice；　with　him；　was　a　passion。　　The　prison…killings

done　by　him　were　due　entirely　to　this　extreme　sense　of　justice。　　And

he　had　a　splendid　mind。　　A　life…time　in　prison；　ten　years　of　it　in

solitary；　had　not　dimmed　his　brain。



Morrell；　ever　a　true　comrade；　too　had　a　splendid　brain。　　In　fact；

and　I　who　am　about　to　die　have　the　right　to　say　it　without　incurring

the　charge　of　immodesty；　the　three　best　minds　in　San　Quentin　from

the　Warden　down　were　the　three　that　rotted　there　together　in

solitary。　　And　here　at　the　end　of　my　days；　reviewing　all　that　I　have

known　of　life；　I　am　compelled　to　the　conclusion　that　strong　minds

are　never　docile。　　The　stupid　men；　the　fearful　men；　the　men　ungifted

with　passionate　rightness　and　fearless　championshipthese　are　the

men　who　make　model　prisoners。　　I　thank　all　gods　that　Jake

Oppenheimer；　Ed　Morrell；　and　I　were　not　model　prisoners。







CHAPTER　VI







There　is　more　than　the　germ　of　truth　in　things　erroneous　in　the

child's　definition　of　memory　as　the　thing　one　forgets　with。　　To　be

able　to　forget　means　sanity。　　Incessantly　to　remember；　means

obsession；　lunacy。　　So　the　problem　I　faced　in　solitary；　where

incessant　remembering　strove　for　possession　of　me；　was　the　problem

of　forgetting。　　When　I　gamed　with　flies；　or　played　chess　with

myself；　or　talked　with　my　knuckles；　I　partially　forgot。　　What　I

desired　was　entirely　to　forget。



There　were　the　boyhood　memories　of　other　times　and　placesthe

〃trailing　clouds　of　glory〃　of　Wordsworth。　　If　a　boy　had　had　these

memories；　were　they　irretrievably　lost　when　he　had　grown　to　manhood？

Could　this　particular　content　of　his　boy　brain　be　utterly

eliminated？　　Or　were　these　memories　of　other　times　and　places　still

residual；　asleep；　immured　in　solitary　in　brain　cells　similarly　to

the　way　I　was　immured　in　a　cell　in　San　Quentin？



Solitary　life…prisoners　have　been　known　to　resurrect　and　look　upon

the　sun　again。　　Then　why　could　not　these　other…world　memories　of　the

boy　resurrect？



But　how？　　In　my　judgment；　by　attainment　of　complete　forgetfulness　of

present　and　of　manhood　past。



And　again；　how？　　Hypnotism　should　do　it。　　If　by　hypnotism　the

conscious　mind　were　put　to　sleep；　and　the　subconscious　mind

awakened；　then　was　the　thing　accomplished；　then　would　all　the

dungeon　doors　of　the　brain　be　thrown　wide；　then　would　the　prisoners

emerge　into　the　sunshine。



So　I　reasonedwith　what　result　you　shall　learn。　　But　first　I　must

tell　how；　as　a　boy；　I　had　had　these　other…world　memories。　　I　had

glowed　in　the　clouds　of　glory　I　trailed　from　lives　aforetime。　　Like

any　boy；　I　had　been　haunted　by　the　other　beings　I　had　been　at　other

times。　　This　had　been　during　my　process　of　becoming；　ere　the　flux　of

all　that　I　had　ever　been　had　hardened　in　the　mould　of　the　one

personality　that　was　to　be　known　by　men　for　a　few　years　as　Darrell

Standing。



Let　me　narrate　just　one　incident。　　It　was　up　in　Minnesota　on　the　old

farm。　　I　was　nearly　six　years　old。　　A　missionary　to　China；　returned

to　the　United　States　and　sent　out　by　the　Board　of　Missions　to　raise

funds　from　the　farmers；　spent　the　night　in　our　house。　　It　was　in　the

kitchen　just　after　supper；　as　my　mother　was　helping　me　undress　for

bed；　and　the　missionary　was　showing　photographs　of　the　Holy　Land。



And　what　I　am　about　to　tell　you　I　should　long　since　have　forgotten

had　I　not　heard　my　father　recite　it　to　wondering　listeners　so　many

times　during　my　childhood。



I　cried　out　at　sight　of　one　of　the　photographs　and　looked　at　it；

first　with　eagerness；　and　then　with　disappointment。　　It　had　seemed

of　a　sudden　most　familiar；　in　much　the　same　way　that　my　father's

barn　would　have　been　in　a　photograph。　　Then　it　had　seemed　altogether

strange。　　But　as　I　continued　to　look　the　haunting　sense　of

familiarity　came　back。



〃The　Tower　of　David；〃　the　missionary　said　to　my　mother。



〃No！〃　I　cried　with　great　positiveness。



〃You　mean　that　isn't　its　name？〃　the　missionary　asked。



I　nodded。



〃Then　what　is　its　name；　my　boy？〃



〃It's　name　is　。　。　。〃　I　began；　then　concluded　lamely；　〃I；　forget。〃



〃It　don't　look　the　same　now；〃　I　went　on　after　a　pause。　　〃They've　ben

fixin'　it　up　awful。〃



Here　the　missionary　handed　to　my　mother　another　photograph　he　had

sought　out。



〃I　was　there　myself　six　months　ago；　Mrs。　Standing。〃　　He　pointed　with

his　finger。　　〃That　is　the　Jaffa　Gate　where　I　walked　in　and　right　up

to　the　Tower　of　David　in　the　back　of　the　picture　where　my　finger　is

now。　　The　authorities　are　pretty　well　agreed　on　such　matters。　　El

Kul'ah；　as　it　was　known　by〃



But　here　I　broke　in　again；　pointing　to　rubbish　piles　of　ruined

masonry　on　the　left　edge　of　the　photograph



〃Over　there　somewhere；〃　I　said。　　〃That　name　you　just　spoke　was　what

the　Jews　called　it。　　But　we　called　it　something　else。　　We　called　it

。　。　。　I　forget。〃



〃Listen　to　the　youngster；〃　my　father　chuckled。　　〃You'd　think　he'd

ben　there。〃



I　nodded　my　head；　for　in　that　moment　I　knew　I　had　been　there；　though

all　seemed　strangely　different。　　My　father　laughed　the　harder；　but

the　missionary　thought　I　was　making　game　of　him。　　He　handed　me

another　photograph。　　It　was　just　a　bleak　waste　of　a　landscape；

barren　of　trees　and　vegetation；　a　shallow　canyon　with　easy…sloping

walls　of　rubble。　　In　the　middle　distance　was　a　cluster　of　wretched；

flat…roofed　hovels。



〃Now；　my　boy；　where　is　that？〃　the　missionary　quizzed。



And　the　name　came　to　me！



〃Samaria；〃　I　said　instantly。



My　father　clapped　his　hands　with　glee；　my　mother　was　perplexed　at　my

antic　conduct；　while　the　missionary　evinced　irritation。



〃The　boy　is　right；〃　he　said。　　〃It　is　a　village　in　Samaria。　　I　passed

through　it。　　That　is　why　I　bought　it。　　And　it　goes　to　show　that　the

boy　has　seen　similar　photographs　before。〃



This　my　father　and　mother　denied。



〃But　it's　different　in　the　picture；〃　I　volunteered；　while　all　the

time　my　memory　was　busy　reconstructing　the　photograph。　　The　general

trend　of　the　landscape　and　the　line　of　the　distant　hills　were　the

same。　　The　differences　I　noted　aloud　and　pointed　out　with　my　finger。



〃The　houses　was　about　right　here；　and　there　was　more　trees；　lots　of

trees；　and　lots　of　grass；　and　lots　of　goats。　　I　can　see　'em　now；　an'

two　boys　drivin'　'em。　　An'　right　here　is　a　lot　of　men　walkin'　behind

one　man。　　An'　over　there〃I　pointed　to　where　I　had　placed　my

village〃is　a　lot　of　tramps。　　They　ain't　got　nothin'　on　exceptin'

rags。　　An'　they're　sick。　　Their　faces；　an'　hands；　an'　legs　is　all

sores。〃



〃He's　heard　the　story　in　church　or　somewhereyou　remember；　the

healing　of　the　lepers　in　Luke；〃　the　missionary　said　with　a　smile　of

satisfaction。　　〃How　many　sick　tramps　are　there；　my　boy？〃



I　had　learned　to　count　to　a　hundred　when　I　was　five　years　old；　so　I

went　over　the　group　carefully　and　announced：



〃Ten　of　'em。　　They're　all　wavin'　their　arms　an'　yellin'　at　the　other

men。〃



〃But　they　don't　come　near　them？〃　was　the　query。



I　shook　my　head。　　〃They　just　stand　right　there　an'　keep　a…yellin'

like　they　was　in　trouble。〃



〃Go　on；〃　urged　the　missionary。　　〃What　next？　　What's　the　man　doing　in

the　front　of　the　other　crowd　you　said　was　walking　along？〃



〃They've　all　stopped；　an'　he's　sayin'　something　to　the　sick　men。

An'　the　boys　with　the　goats　's　stopped　to　look。　　Everybody's

lookin'。〃



〃And　then？〃



〃That's　all。　　The　sick　men　are　headin'　for　the　houses。　　They　ain't

yellin'　any　more；　an'　they　don't　look　sick　any　more。　　An'　I　just

keep　settin'　on　my　horse　a…lookin'　on。〃



At　this　all　three　of　my　listeners　broke　into　laughter。



〃An'　I'm　a　big　man！〃　I　cried　out　angrily。　　〃An'　I　got　a　big　sword！〃



〃The　ten　lepers　Christ　healed　before　he　passed　through　Jericho　on

his　way　to　Jerusalem；〃　the　missionary　explained　to　my　parents。　　〃The

boy　has　seen　slides　of　famous　paintings　in　some　magic　lantern

exhibition。〃



But　neither　father　nor　mother　could　remember　that　I　had　ever　seen　a

magic　lantern。



〃Try　him　with　another　picture；〃　father　suggested。



〃It's　all　different；〃　I　complained　as　I　studied　the　photograph　the

missionary　handed　me。　　〃Ain't　nothin'　here　except　that　hill　and　them

other　hills。　　This　ought　to　be　a　country　road　along　here。　　An'　over

there　ought　to　be　gardens；　an'　trees；　an'　houses　behind　big　stone

walls。　　An'　over　there；　on　the　other　side；　in　holes　in　the　rocks

ought　to　be　where　they　buried　dead　folks。　　You　see　this　place？they

used　to　throw　stones　at　people　there　until　they　killed　'm。　　I　never

seen　'm　do　it。　　They　just　told　me　about　it。〃



〃And　the　hill？〃　the　missionary　asked；　pointing　to　the　central　part

of　the　print；　for　which　the　photograph　seemed　to　have　been　taken。

〃Can　you　tell　us　the　name　of　the　hill？〃



I　shook　my　head。



〃Never　had　no　name。　　They　killed　folks　there。　　I've　seem　'm　more　'n

once。〃



〃This　time　he　agrees　with　the　majority　of　the　authorities；〃

announced　the　missionary　with　huge　satisfaction。　　〃The　hill　is

Golgotha；　the　Place　of　Skulls；　or；　as　you　please；　so　named　because

it　resembles　a　skull。　　Notice　the　resemblance。　　That　is　where　they

crucified〃　　He　broke　off　and　turned　to　me。　　〃Whom　did　they　crucify

there；　young　scholar？　　Tell　us　what　else　you　see。〃



Oh；　I　sawmy　father　reported　that　my　eyes　were　bulging；　but　I　shook

my　head　stubbornly　and　said：



〃I　ain't　a…goin'　to　tell　you　because　you're　laughin'　at　me。　　I　seen

lots　an'　lots　of　men　killed　there。　　They　nailed　'em　up；　an'　it　took

a　long　time。　　I　seenbut　I　ain't　a…goin'　to　tell。　　I　don't　tell

lies。　　You　ask　dad　an'　ma　if　I　tell　lies。　　He'd　whale　the　stuffin'

out　of　me　if　I　did。　　Ask　'm。〃



And　thereat　not　another　word　could　the　missionary　get　from　me；　even

though　he　baited　me　with　more　photographs　that　sent　my　head　whirling

with　a　rush　of　memory…pictures　and　that　urged　and　tickled　my　tongue

with　spates　of　speech　which　I　sullenly　resisted　and　overcame。



〃He　will　certainly　make　a　good　Bible　scholar；〃　the　missionary　told

father　and　mother　after　I　had　kissed　them　good…night　and　departed

for　bed。　　〃Or　else；　with　that　imagination；　he'll　become　a　successful

fiction…writer。〃



Which　shows　how　prophecy　can　go　agley。　　I　sit　here　in　Murderers'

Row；　writing　these　lines　in　my　last　days；　or；　rather；　in　Darrell

Standing's　last　days　ere　th