the jacket (the star-rover)- 第8部分

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　they　take　him　out　and　try　to　thrust　him

into　the　dark　at　the　end　of　a　rope；　and　I　smile　to　myself。　　I　became

neither　Bible　scholar　nor　novelist。　　On　the　contrary；　until　they

buried　me　in　the　cells　of　silence　for　half　a　decade；　I　was

everything　that　the　missionary　forecasted　notan　agricultural

expert；　a　professor　of　agronomy；　a　specialist　in　the　science　of　the

elimination　of　waste　motion；　a　master　of　farm　efficiency；　a　precise

laboratory　scientist　where　precision　and　adherence　to　microscopic

fact　are　absolute　requirements。



And　I　sit　here　in　the　warm　afternoon；　in　Murderers'　Row；　and　cease

from　the　writing　of　my　memoirs　to　listen　to　the　soothing　buzz　of

flies　in　the　drowsy　air；　and　catch　phrases　of　a　low…voiced

conversation　between　Josephus　Jackson；　the　negro　murderer　on　my

right；　and　Bambeccio；　the　Italian　murderer　on　my　left；　who　are

discussing；　through　grated　door　to　grated　door；　back　and　forth　past

my　grated　door；　the　antiseptic　virtues　and　excellences　of　chewing

tobacco　for　flesh　wounds。



And　in　my　suspended　hand　I　hold　my　fountain　pen；　and　as　I　remember

that　other　hands　of　me；　in　long　gone　ages；　wielded　ink…brush；　and

quill；　and　stylus；　I　also　find　thought…space　in　time　to　wonder　if

that　missionary；　when　he　was　a　little　lad；　ever　trailed　clouds　of

glory　and　glimpsed　the　brightness　of　old　star…roving　days。



Well；　back　to　solitary；　after　I　had　learned　the　code　of　knuckle…talk

and　still　found　the　hours　of　consciousness　too　long　to　endure。　　By

self…hypnosis；　which　I　began　successfully　to　practise；　I　became　able

to　put　my　conscious　mind　to　sleep　and　to　awaken　and　loose　my

subconscious　mind。　　But　the　latter　was　an　undisciplined　and　lawless

thing。　　It　wandered　through　all　nightmarish　madness；　without

coherence；　without　continuity　of　scene；　event；　or　person。



My　method　of　mechanical　hypnosis　was　the　soul　of　simplicity。

Sitting　with　folded　legs　on　my　straw…mattress；　I　gazed　fixedly　at　a

fragment　of　bright　straw　which　I　had　attached　to　the　wall　of　my　cell

near　the　door　where　the　most　light　was。　　I　gazed　at　the　bright

point；　with　my　eyes　close　to　it；　and　tilted　upward　till　they

strained　to　see。　　At　the　same　time　I　relaxed　all　the　will　of　me　and

gave　myself　to　the　swaying　dizziness　that　always　eventually　came　to

me。　　And　when　I　felt　myself　sway　out　of　balance　backward；　I　closed

my　eyes　and　permitted　myself　to　fall　supine　and　unconscious　on　the

mattress。



And　then；　for　half…an…hour；　ten　minutes；　or　as　long　as　an　hour　or

so；　I　would　wander　erratically　and　foolishly　through　the　stored

memories　of　my　eternal　recurrence　on　earth。　　But　times　and　places

shifted　too　swiftly。　　I　knew　afterward；　when　I　awoke；　that　I；

Darrell　Standing；　was　the　linking　personality　that　connected　all

bizarreness　and　grotesqueness。　　But　that　was　all。　　I　could　never

live　out　completely　one　full　experience；　one　point　of　consciousness

in　time　and　space。　　My　dreams；　if　dreams　they　may　be　call