the jacket (the star-rover)- 第37部分

some　mumbled　merry　quip　of　the　Lady　Om　when　a　shadow　fell　upon　us。

It　was　the　great　litter　of　Chong　Mong…ju；　borne　by　eight　coolies；

with　outriders　before　and　behind　and　fluttering　attendants　on　either

side。



Two　emperors；　civil　war；　famine；　and　a　dozen　palace　revolutions　had

come　and　gone；　and　Chong　Mong…ju　remained；　even　then　the　great　power

at　Keijo。　　He　must　have　been　nearly　eighty　that　spring　morning　on

the　cliffs　when　he　signalled　with　palsied　hand　for　his　litter　to　be

rested　down　that　he　might　gaze　upon　us　whom　he　had　punished　for　so

long。



〃Now；　O　my　king；〃　the　Lady　Om　mumbled　low　to　me；　then　turned　to

whine　an　alms　of　Chong　Mong…ju；　whom　she　affected　not　to　recognize。



And　I　knew　what　was　her　thought。　　Had　we　not　shared　it　for　forty

years？　　And　the　moment　of　its　consummation　had　come　at　last。　　So　I；

too；　affected　not　to　recognize　my　enemy；　and；　putting　on　an　idiotic

senility；　I；　too；　crawled　in　the　dust　toward　the　litter　whining　for

mercy　and　charity。



The　attendants　would　have　driven　me　back；　but　with　age…quavering

cackles　Chong　Mong…ju　restrained　them。　　He　lifted　himself　on　a

shaking　elbow；　and　with　the　other　shaking　hand　drew　wider　apart　the

silken　curtains。　　His　withered　old　face　was　transfigured　with

delight　as　he　gloated　on　us。



〃O　my　king；〃　the　Lady　Om　whined　to　me　in　her　beggar's　chant；　and　I

knew　all　her　long…tried　love　and　faith　in　my　emprise　were　in　that

chant。



And　the　red　wrath　was　up　in　me；　ripping　and　tearing　at　my　will　to　be

free。　　Small　wonder　that　I　shook　with　the　effort　to　control。　　The

shaking；　happily；　they　took　for　the　weakness　of　age。　　I　held　up　my

brass　begging　bowl；　and　whined　more　dolefully；　and　bleared　my　eyes

to　hide　the　blue　fire　I　knew　was　in　them；　and　calculated　the

distance　and　my　strength　for　the　leap。



Then　I　was　swept　away　in　a　blaze　of　red。　　There　was　a　crashing　of

curtains　and　curtain…poles　and　a　squawking　and　squalling　of

attendants　as　my　hands　closed　on　Chong　Mong…ju's　throat。　　The　litter

over…turned；　and　I　scarce　knew　whether　I　was　heads　or　heels；　but　my

clutch　never　relaxed。



In　the　confusion　of　cushions　and　quilts　and　curtains；　at　first　few

of　the　attendants'　blows　found　me。　　But　soon　the　horsemen　were　in；

and　their　heavy　whip…butts　began　to　fall　on　my　head；　while　a

multitude　of　hands　clawed　and　tore　at　me。　　I　was　dizzy；　but　not

unconscious；　and　very　blissful　with　my　old　fingers　buried　in　that

lean　and　scraggly　old　neck　I　had　sought　for　so　long。　　The　blows

continued　to　rain　on　my　head；　and　I　had　whirling　thoughts　in　which　I

likened　myself　to　a　bulldog　with　jaws　fast…locked。　　Chong　Mong…ju

could　not　escape　me；　and　I　know　he　was　well　dead　ere　darkness；　like

that　of　an　anaesthetic；　descended　upon　me　there　on　the　cliffs　of

Fusan　by　the　Yellow　Sea。







CHAPTER　XVI







Warden　Atherton；　when　he　thinks　of　me；　must　feel　anything　but　pride。

I　have　taught　him　what　spirit　is；　humbled　him　with　my　own　spirit

that　rose　invulnerable；　triumphant；　above　all　his　tortures。　　I　sit

here　in　Folsom；　in　Murderers'　Row；　awaiting　my　execution；　Warden

Atherton　still　holds　his　political　job　and　is　king　over　San　Quentin

and　all　the　damned　within　its　walls；　and　yet；　in　his　heart　of

hearts；　he　knows　that　I　am　greater　than　he。



In　vain　Warden　Atherton　tried　to　break　my　spirit。　　And　there　were

times；　beyond　any　shadow　of　doubt；　when　he　would　have　been　glad　had

I　died　in　the　jacket。　　So　the　long　inquisition　went　on。　　As　he　had

told　me；　and　as　he　told　me　repeatedly；　it　was　dynamite　or　curtains。



Captain　Jamie　was　a　veteran　in　dungeon　horrors；　yet　the　time　came

when　he　broke　down　under　the　strain　I　put　on　him　and　on　the　rest　of

my　torturers。　　So　desperate　did　he　become　that　he　dared　words　with

the　Warden　and　washed　his　hands　of　the　affair。　　From　that　day　until

the　end　of　my　torturing　he　never　set　foot　in　solitary。



Yes；　and　the　time　came　when　Warden　Atherton　grew　afraid；　although　he

still　persisted　in　trying　to　wring　from　me　the　hiding…place　of　the

non…existent　dynamite。　　Toward　the　last　he　was　badly　shaken　by　Jake

Oppenheimer。　　Oppenheimer　was　fearless　and　outspoken。　　He　had　passed

unbroken　through　all　their　prison　hells；　and　out　of　superior　will

could　beard　them　to　their　teeth。　　Morrell　rapped　me　a　full　account

of　the　incident。　　I　was　unconscious　in　the　jacket　at　the　time。



〃Warden；〃　Oppenheimer　had　said；　〃you've　bitten　off　more　than　you　can

chew。　　It　ain't　a　case　of　killing　Standing。　　It's　a　case　of　killing

three　men；　for　as　sure　as　you　kill　him；　sooner　or　later　Morrell　and

I　will　get　the　word　out　and　what　you　have　done　will　be　known　from

one　end　of　California　to　the　other。　　You've　got　your　choice。　　You've

either　got　to　let　up　on　Standing　or　kill　all　three　of　us。

Standing's　got　your　goat。　　So　have　I。　　So　has　Morrell。　　You　are　a

stinking　coward；　and　you　haven't　got　the　back…bone　and　guts　to　carry

out　the　dirty　butcher's　work　you'd　like　to　do。〃



Oppenheimer　got　a　hundred　hours　in　the　jacket　for　it；　and；　when　he

was　unlaced；　spat　in　the　Warden's　face　and　received　a　second　hundred

hours　on　end。　　When　he　was　unlaced　this　time；　the　Warden　was　careful

not　to　be　in　solitary。　　That　he　was　shaken　by　Oppenheimer's　words

there　is　no　doubt。



But　it　was　Doctor　Jackson　who　was　the　arch…fiend。　　To　him　I　was　a

novelty；　and　he　was　ever　eager　to　see　how　much　more　I　could　stand

before　I　broke。



〃He　can　stand　twenty　days　off　the　bat；〃　he　bragged　to　the　Warden　in

my　presence。



〃You　are　conservative；〃　I　broke　in。　　〃I　can　stand　forty　days。

Pshaw！　　I　can　stand　a　hundred　when　such　as　you　administer　it。〃　　And；

remembering　my　sea…cuny's　patience　of　forty　years'　waiting　ere　I　got

my　hands　on　Chong　Mong…ju's　gullet；　I　added：　　〃You　prison　curs；　you

don't　know　what　a　man　is。　　You　think　a　man　is　made　in　your　own

cowardly　images。　　Behold；　I　am　a　man。　　You　are　feeblings。　　I　am　your

master。　　You　can't　bring　a　squeal　out　of　me。　　You　think　it

remarkable；　for　you　know　how　easily　you　would　squeal。〃



Oh；　I　abused　them；　called　them　sons　of　toads；　hell's　scullions；

slime　of　the　pit。　　For　I　was　above　them；　beyond　them。　　They　were

slaves。　　I　was　free　spirit。　　My　flesh　only　lay　pent　there　in

solitary。　　I　was　not　pent。　　I　had　mastered　the　flesh；　and　the

spaciousness　of　time　was　mine　to　wander　in；　while　my　poor　flesh；　not

even　suffering；　lay　in　the　little　death　in　the　jacket。



Much　of　my　adventures　I　rapped　to　my　two　comrades。　　Morrell

believed；　for　he　had　himself　tasted　the　little　death。　　But

Oppenheimer；　enraptured　with　my　tales；　remained　a　sceptic　to　the

end。　　His　regret　was　naive；　and　at　times　really　pathetic；　in　that　I

had　devoted　my　life　to　the　science　of　agriculture　instead　of　to

fiction　writing。



〃But；　man；〃　I　reasoned　with　him；　〃what　do　I　know　of　myself　about

this　Cho…Sen？　　I　am　able　to　identify　it　with　what　is　to…day　called

Korea；　and　that　is　about　all。　　That　is　as　far　as　my　reading　goes。

For　instance；　how　possibly；　out　of　my　present　life's　experience；

could　I　know　anything　about　kimchi？　　Yet　I　know　kimchi。　　It　is　a

sort　of　sauerkraut。　　When　it　is　spoiled　it　stinks　to　heaven。　　I　tell

you；　when　I　was　Adam　Strang；　I　ate　kimchi　thousands　of　times。　　I

know　good　kimchi；　bad　kimchi；　rotten　kimchi。　　I　know　the　best　kimchi

is　made　by　the　women　of　Wosan。　　Now　how　do　I　know　that？　　It　is　not

in　the　content　of　my　mind；　Darrell　Standing's　mind。　　It　is　in　the

content　of　Adam　Strang's　mind；　who；　through　various　births　and

deaths；　bequeathed　his　experiences　to　me；　Darrell　Standing；　along

with　the　rest　of　the　experiences　of　those　various　other　lives　that

intervened。　　Don't　you　see；　Jake？　　That　is　how　men　come　to　be；　to

grow；　how　spirit　develops。〃



〃Aw；　come　off；〃　he　rapped　back　with　the　quick　imperative　knuckles　I

knew　so　well。　　〃Listen　to　your　uncle　talk　now。　　I　am　Jake

Oppenheimer。　　I　always　have　been　Jake　Oppenheimer。　　No　other　guy　is

in　my　makings。　　What　I　know　I　know　as　Jake　Oppenheimer。　　Now　what　do

I　know？　　I'll　tell　you　one　thing。　　I　know　kimchi。　　Kimchi　is　a　sort

of　sauerkraut　made　in　a　country　that　used　to　be　called　Cho…Sen。　　The

women　of　Wosan　make　the　best　kimchi；　and　when　kimchi　is　spoiled　it

stinks　to　heaven。　　You　keep　out　of　this；　Ed。　　Wait　till　I　tie　the

professor　up。



〃Now；　professor；　how　do　I　know　all　this　stuff　about　kimchi？　　It　is

not　in　the　content　of　my　mind。〃



〃But　it　is；〃　I　exulted。　　〃I　put　it　there。〃



〃All　right；　old　boss。　　Then　who　put　it　into　your　mind？〃



〃Adam　Strang。〃



〃Not　on　your　tintype。　　Adam　Strang　is　a　pipe…dream。　　You　read　it

somewhere。〃



〃Never；〃　I　averred。　　〃The　little　I　read　of　Korea　was　the　war

correspondence　at　the　time　of　the　Japanese…Russian　War。〃



〃Do　you　remember　all　you　read？〃　Oppenheimer　queried。



〃No。〃



〃Some　you　forget？〃



〃Yes；　but〃



〃That's　all；　thank　you；〃　he　interrupted；　in　the　manner　of　a　lawyer

abruptly　concluding　a　cross…examination　after　having　extracted　a

fatal　admission　from　a　witness。



It　was　impossible　to　convince　Oppenheimer　of　my　sincerity。　　He

insisted　that　I　was　making　it　up　as　I　went　along；　although　he

applauded　what　he　called　my　〃to…be…continued…in…our…next；〃　and；　at

the　times　they　were　resting　me　up　from　the　jacket；　was　continually

begging　and　urging　me　to　run　off　a　few　more　chapters。



〃Now；　professor；　cut　out　that　high…brow　stuff；〃　he　would　interrupt

Ed　Morrell's　and　my　metaphysical　discussions；　〃and　tell　us　more

about　the　ki…sang　and　the　cunies。　　And；　say；　while　you're　about　it；

tell　us　what　happened　to　the　Lady　Om　when　that　rough…neck　husband　of

hers　choked　the　old　geezer　and　croaked。〃



How　often　have　I　said　that　form　perishes。　　Let　me　repeat。　　Form

perishes。　　Matter　has　no　memory。　　Spirit　only　remembers；　as　here；　in

prison　cells；　after　the　centuries；　knowledge　of　the　Lady　Om　and

Chong　Mong…ju　persisted　in　my　mind；　was　conveyed　by　me　into　Jake

Oppenheimer's　mind；　and　by　him　was　reconveyed　into　my　mind　in　the