the red one- 第15部分

Anson；　make　a　fire　on　the　bank。　　And　you；　Bill；　set　up　the　Yukon

stove　in　the　boat。　　Old　dad　ain't　as　young　as　the　rest　of　us；　and

for　the　rest　of　this　voyage　he's　going　to　have　a　fire　on　board　to

sit　by。〃



All　of　which　came　to　pass；　and　the　boat；　in　the　grip　of　the

current；　like　a　river　steamer　with　smoke　rising　from　the　two　joints

of　stove…pipe；　grounded　on　shoals；　hung　up　on　split　currents；　and

charged　rapids　and　canyons；　as　it　drove　deeper　into　the　Northland

winter。　　The　Big　and　Little　Salmon　rivers　were　throwing　mush…ice

into　the　main　river　as　they　passed；　and；　below　the　riffles；　anchor…

ice　arose　from　the　river　bottom　and　coated　the　surface　with　crystal

scum。　　Night　and　day　the　rim…ice　grew；　till；　in　quiet　places；　it

extended　out　a　hundred　yards　from　shore。　　And　Old　Tarwater；　with

all　his　clothes　on；　sat　by　the　stove　and　kept　the　fire　going。

Night　and　day；　not　daring　to　stop　for　fear　of　the　imminent　freeze…

up；　they　dared　to　run；　an　increasing　mushiness　of　ice　running　with

them。



〃What　ho；　old　hearty？〃　Liverpool　would　call　out　at　times。



〃Cheer　O；〃　Old　Tarwater　had　learned　to　respond。



〃What　can　I　ever　do　for　you；　son；　in　payment？〃　Tarwater；　stoking

the　fire；　would　sometimes　ask　Liverpool；　beating　now　one　released

hand　and　now　the　other　as　he　fought　for　circulation　where　he

steered　in　the　freezing　stern…sheets。



〃Just　break　out　that　regular　song　of　yours；　old　Forty…Niner；〃　was

the　invariable　reply。



And　Tarwater　would　lift　his　voice　in　the　cackling　chant；　as　he

lifted　it　at　the　end；　when　the　boat　swung　in　through　driving　cake…

ice　and　moored　to　the　Dawson　City　bank；　and　all　waterfront　Dawson

pricked　its　ears　to　hear　the　triumphant　paean：





Like　Argus　of　the　ancient　times；

We　leave　this　modern　Greece；

Tum…tum；　tum…tum；　tum；　tum；　tum…tum；

To　shear　the　Golden　Fleece；





Charles　did　it；　but　he　did　it　so　discreetly　that　none　of　his　party；

least　of　all　the　sailor；　ever　learned　of　it。　　He　saw　two　great　open

barges　being　filled　up　with　men；　and；　on　inquiry；　learned　that

these　were　grubless　ones　being　rounded　up　and　sent　down　the　Yukon

by　the　Committee　of　Safety。　　The　barges　were　to　be　towed　by　the

last　little　steamboat　in　Dawson；　and　the　hope　was　that　Fort　Yukon；

where　lay　the　stranded　steamboats；　would　be　gained　before　the　river

froze。　　At　any　rate；　no　matter　what　happened　to　them；　Dawson　would

be　relieved　of　their　grub…consuming　presence。　　So　to　the　Committee

of　Safety　Charles　went；　privily　to　drop　a　flea　in　its　ear

concerning　Tarwater's　grubless；　moneyless；　and　aged　condition。

Tarwater　was　one　of　the　last　gathered　in；　and　when　Young　Liverpool

returned　to　the　boat；　from　the　bank　he　saw　the　barges　in　a　run　of

cake…ice；　disappearing　around　the　bend　below　Moose…hide　Mountain。



Running　in　cake…ice　all　the　way；　and　several　times　escaping　jams　in

the　Yukon　Flats；　the　barges　made　their　hundreds　of　miles　of

progress　farther　into　the　north　and　froze　up　cheek　by　jowl　with　the

grub…fleet。　　Here；　inside　the　Arctic　Circle；　Old　Tarwater　settled

down　to　pass　the　long　winter。　　Several　hours'　work　a　day；　chopping

firewood　for　the　steamboat　companies；　sufficed　to　keep　him　in　food。

For　the　rest　of　the　time　there　was　nothing　to　do　but　hibernate　in

his　log　cabin。



Warmth；　rest；　and　plenty　to　eat；　cured　his　hacking　cough　and　put

him　in　as　good　physical　condition　as　was　possible　for　his　advanced

years。　　But；　even　before　Christmas；　the　lack　of　fresh　vegetables

caused　scurvy　to　break　out；　and　disappointed　adventurer　after

disappointed　adventurer　took　to　his　bunk　in　abject　surrender　to

this　culminating　misfortune。　　Not　so　Tarwater。　　Even　before　the

first　symptoms　appeared　on　him；　he　was　putting　into　practice　his

one　prescription；　namely；　exercise。　　From　the　junk　of　the　old

trading　post　he　resurrected　a　number　of　rusty　traps；　and　from　one

of　the　steamboat　captains　he　borrowed　a　rifle。



Thus　equipped；　he　ceased　from　wood…chopping；　and　began　to　make　more

than　a　mere　living。　　Nor　was　he　downhearted　when　the　scurvy　broke

out　on　his　own　body。　　Ever　he　ran　his　trap…lines　and　sang　his

ancient　chant。　　Nor　could　the　pessimist　shake　his　surety　of　the

three　hundred　thousand　of　Alaskan　gold　he　as　going　to　shake　out　of

the　moss…roots。



〃But　this　ain't　gold…country；〃　they　told　him。



〃Gold　is　where　you　find　it；　son；　as　I　should　know　who　was　mining

before　you　was　born；　'way　back　in　Forty…Nine；〃　was　his　reply。

〃What　was　Bonanza　Creek　but　a　moose…pasture？　　No　miner'd　look　at

it；　yet　they　washed　five…hundred…dollar　pans　and　took　out　fifty

million　dollars。　　Eldorado　was　just　as　bad。　　For　all　you　know；

right　under　this　here　cabin；　or　right　over　the　next　hill；　is

millions　just　waiting　for　a　lucky　one　like　me　to　come　and　shake　it

out。〃



At　the　end　of　January　came　his　disaster。　　Some　powerful　animal　that

he　decided　was　a　bob…cat；　managing　to　get　caught　in　one　of　his

smaller　traps；　dragged　it　away。　　A　heavy　snow…fall　put　a　stop

midway　to　his　pursuit；　losing　the　trail　for　him　and　losing　himself。

There　were　but　several　hours　of　daylight　each　day　between　the

twenty　hours　of　intervening　darkness；　and　his　efforts　in　the　grey

light　and　continually　falling　snow　succeeded　only　in　losing　him

more　thoroughly。　　Fortunately；　when　winter　snow　falls　in　the

Northland　the　thermometer　invariably　rises；　so；　instead　of　the

customary　forty　and　fifty　and　even　sixty　degrees　below　zero；　the

temperature　remained　fifteen　below。　　Also；　he　was　warmly　clad　and

had　a　full　matchbox。　　Further　to　mitigate　his　predicament；　on　the

fifth　day　he　killed　a　wounded　moose　that　weighed　over　half　a　ton。

Making　his　camp　beside　it　on　a　spruce…bottom；　he　was　prepared　to

last　out　the　winter；　unless　a　searching　party　found　him　or　his

scurvy　grew　worse。



But　at　the　end　of　two　weeks　there　had　been　no　sign　of　search；　while

his　scurvy　had　undeniably　grown　worse。　　Against　his　fire；　banked

from　outer　cold　by　a　shelter…wall　of　spruce…boughs；　he　crouched

long　hours　in　sleep　and　long　hours　in　waking。　　But　the　waking　hours

grew　less；　becoming　semi…waking　or　half…dreaming　hours　as　the

process　of　hibernation　worked　their　way　with　him。　　Slowly　the

sparkle　point　of　consciousness　and　identity　that　was　John　Tarwater

sank；　deeper　and　deeper；　into　the　profounds　of　his　being　that　had

been　compounded　ere　man　was　man；　and　while　he　was　becoming　man；

when　he；　first　of　all　animals；　regarded　himself　with　an

introspective　eye　and　laid　the　beginnings　of　morality　in

foundations　of　nightmare　peopled　by　the　monsters　of　his　own　ethic…

thwarted　desires。



Like　a　man　in　fever；　waking　to　intervals　of　consciousness；　so　Old

Tarwater　awoke；　cooked　his　moose…meat；　and　fed　the　fire；　but　more

and　more　time　he　spent　in　his　torpor；　unaware　of　what　was　day…dream

and　what　was　sleep…dream　in　the　content　of　his　unconsciousness。

And　here；　in　the　unforgetable　crypts　of　man's　unwritten　history；

unthinkable　and　unrealizable；　like　passages　of　nightmare　or

impossible　adventures　of　lunacy；　he　encountered　the　monsters

created　of　man's　first　morality　that　ever　since　have　vexed　him　into

the　spinning　of　fantasies　to　elude　them　or　do　battle　with　them。



In　short；　weighted　by　his　seventy　years；　in　the　vast　and　silent

loneliness　of　the　North；　Old　Tarwater；　as　in　the　delirium　of　drug

or　anaesthetic；　recovered　within　himself；　the　infantile　mind　of　the

child…man　of　the　early　world。　　It　was　in　the　dusk　of　Death's

fluttery　wings　that　Tarwater　thus　crouched；　and；　like　his　remote

forebear；　the　child…man；　went　to　myth…making；　and　sun…heroizing；

himself　hero…maker　and　the　hero　in　quest　of　the　immemorable

treasure　difficult　of　attainment。



Either　must　he　attain　the　treasure　…　for　so　ran　the　inexorable

logic　of　the　shadow…land　of　the　unconscious　…　or　else　sink　into　the

all…devouring　sea；　the　blackness　eater　of　the　light　that　swallowed

to　extinction　the　sun　each　night　。　。　。　the　sun　that　arose　ever　in

rebirth　next　morning　in　the　east；　and　that　had　become　to　man　man's

first　symbol　of　immortality　through　rebirth。　　All　this；　in　the

deeps　of　his　unconsciousness　（the　shadowy　western　land　of

descending　light）；　was　the　near　dusk　of　Death　down　into　which　he

slowly　ebbed。



But　how　to　escape　this　monster　of　the　dark　that　from　within　him

slowly　swallowed　him？　　Too　deep…sunk　was　he　to　dream　of　escape　or

feel　the　prod　of　desire　to　escape。　　For　him　reality　had　ceased。

Nor　from　within　the　darkened　chamber　of　himself　could　reality

recrudesce。　　His　years　were　too　heavy　upon　him；　the　debility　of

disease　and　the　lethargy　and　torpor　of　the　silence　and　the　cold

were　too　profound。　　Only　from　without　could　reality　impact　upon　him

and　reawake　within　him　an　awareness　of　reality。　　Otherwise　he　would

ooze　down　through　the　shadow…realm　of　the　unconscious　into　the　all…

darkness　of　extinction。



But　it　came；　the　smash　of　reality　from　without；　crashing　upon　his

ear　drums　in　a　loud；　explosive　snort。　　For　twenty　days；　in　a

temperature　that　had　never　risen　above　fifty　below；　no　breath　of

wind　had　blown　movement；　no　slightest　sound　had　broken　the　silence。

Like　the　smoker　on　the　opium　couch　refocusing　his　eyes　from　the

spacious　walls　of　dream　to　the　narrow　confines　of　the　mean　little

room；　so　Old　Tarwater　stared　vague…eyed　before　him　across　his　dying

fire；　at　a　huge　moose　that　stared　at　him　in　startlement；　dragging　a

wounded　leg；　manifesting　all　signs　of　extreme　exhaustion；　it；　too；

had　been　straying　blindly　in　the　shadow…land；　and　had　wakened　to

reality　only　just　ere　it　stepped　into　Tarwater's　fire。



He　feebly　slipped　the　large　fur　mitten　lined　with　thickness　of　wool

from　his　right　hand。　　Upon　trial　he　found　the　trigger　finger　too

numb　for　movement。　　Carefully；　slowly；　through　long　minutes；　he

worked　the　bare　hand　inside　his　blankets；　up　under　his　fur　PARKA；

through　the　chest　openings　of　his　shirts；　and　into　the　slightly

warm　hollow　of　his　left　arm…pit。　　Long　minutes　passed　ere　the

finger　could　move；　wh