the jacket (the star-rover)-第12章

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light　into　solitary；　I　failed　to　achieve　any　such　definiteness　of

previous　personality。　　I　became　convinced；　through　the　failure　of　my

experiments；　that　only　through　death　could　I　clearly　and　coherently

resurrect　the　memories　of　my　previous　selves。



But　the　tides　of　life　ran　strong　in　me。　　I；　Darrell　Standing；　was　so

strongly　disinclined　to　die　that　I　refused　to　let　Warden　Atherton

and　Captain　Jamie　kill　me。　　I　was　always　so　innately　urged　to　live

that　sometimes　I　think　that　is　why　I　am　still　here；　eating　and

sleeping；　thinking　and　dreaming；　writing　this　narrative　of　my

various　me's；　and　awaiting　the　incontestable　rope　that　will　put　an

ephemeral　period　in　my　long…linked　existence。



And　then　came　death　in　life。　　I　learned　the　trick；　Ed　Morrell　taught

it　me；　as　you　shall　see。　　It　began　through　Warden　Atherton　and

Captain　Jamie。　　They　must　have　experienced　a　recrudescence　of　panic

at　thought　of　the　dynamite　they　believed　hidden。　　They　came　to　me　in

my　dark　cell；　and　they　told　me　plainly　that　they　would　jacket　me　to

death　if　I　did　not　confess　where　the　dynamite　was　hidden。　　And　they

assured　me　that　they　would　do　it　officially　without　any　hurt　to

their　own　official　skins。　　My　death　would　appear　on　the　prison

register　as　due　to　natural　causes。



Oh；　dear；　cotton…wool　citizen；　please　believe　me　when　I　tell　you

that　men　are　killed　in　prisons　to…day　as　they　have　always　been

killed　since　the　first　prisons　were　built　by　men。



I　well　knew　the　terror；　the　agony；　and　the　danger　of　the　jacket。

Oh；　the　men　spirit…broken　by　the　jacket！　　I　have　seen　them。　　And　I

have　seen　men　crippled　for　life　by　the　jacket。　　I　have　seen　men；

strong　men；　men　so　strong　that　their　physical　stamina　resisted　all

attacks　of　prison　tuberculosis；　after　a　prolonged　bout　with　the

jacket；　their　resistance　broken　down；　fade　away；　and　die　of

tuberculosis　within　six　months。　　There　was　Slant…Eyed　Wilson；　with

an　unguessed　weak　heart　of　fear；　who　died　in　the　jacket　within　the

first　hour　while　the　unconvinced　inefficient　of　a　prison　doctor

looked　on　and　smiled。　　And　I　have　seen　a　man　confess；　after　half　an

hour　in　the　jacket；　truths　and　fictions　that　cost　him　years　of

credits。



I　had　had　my　own　experiences。　　At　the　present　moment　half　a　thousand

scars　mark　my　body。　　They　go　to　the　scaffold　with　me。　　Did　I　live　a

hundred　years　to　come　those　same　scars　in　the　end　would　go　to　the

grave　with　me。



Perhaps；　dear　citizen　who　permits　and　pays　his　hang…dogs　to　lace　the

jacket　for　youperhaps　you　are　unacquainted　with　the　jacket。　　Let

me　describe；　it；　so　that　you　will　understand　the　method　by　which　I

achieved　death　in　life；　became　a　temporary　master　of　time　and　space；

and　vaulted　the　prison　walls　to　rove　among　the　stars。



Have　you　ever　seen　canvas　tarpaulins　or　rubber　blankets　with　brass

eyelets　set　in　along　the　edges？　　Then　imagine　a　piece　of　stout

canvas；　some　four　and　one…half　feet　in　length；　with　large　and　heavy

brass　eyelets　running　down　both　edges。　　The　width　of　this　canvas　is

never　the　full　girth　of　the　human　body　it　is　to　surround。　　The　width

is　also　irregularbroadest　at　the　shoulders；　next　broadest　at　the

hips；　and　narrowest　at　the　waist。



The　jacket　is　spread　on　the　floor。　　The　man　who　is　to　be　punished；

or　who　is　to　be　tortured　for　confession；　is　told　to　lie　face…

downward　on　the　flat　canvas。　　If　he　refuses；　he　is　man…handled。

After　that　he　lays　himself　down　with　a　will；　which　is　the　will　of

the　hang…dogs；　which　is　your　will；　dear　citizen；　who　feeds　and　fees

the　hang…dogs　for　doing　this　thing　for　you。



The　man　lies　face…downward。　　The　edges　of　the　jacket　are　brought　as

nearly　together　as　possible　along　the　centre　of　the　man's　back。

Then　a　rope；　on　the　principle　of　a　shoe…lace；　is　run　through　the

eyelets；　and　on　the　principle　of　a　shoe…lacing　the　man　is　laced　in

the　canvas。　　Only　he　is　laced　more　severely　than　any　person　ever

laces　his　shoe。　　They　call　it　〃cinching〃　in　prison　lingo。　　On

occasion；　when　the　guards　are　cruel　and　vindictive；　or　when　the

command　has　come　down　from　above；　in　order　to　insure　the　severity　of

the　lacing　the　guards　press　with　their　feet　into　the　man's　back　as

they　draw　the　lacing　tight。



Have　you　ever　laced　your　shoe　too　tightly；　and；　after　half　an　hour；

experienced　that　excruciating　pain　across　the　instep　of　the

obstructed　circulation？　　And　do　you　remember　that　after　a　few

minutes　of　such　pain　you　simply　could　not　walk　another　step　and　had

to　untie　the　shoe…lace　and　ease　the　pressure？　　Very　well。　　Then　try

to　imagine　your　whole　body　so　laced；　only　much　more　tightly；　and

that　the　squeeze；　instead　of　being　merely　on　the　instep　of　one　foot；

is　on　your　entire　trunk；　compressing　to　the　seeming　of　death　your

heart；　your　lungs；　and　all　the　rest　of　your　vital　and　essential

organs。



I　remember　the　first　time　they　gave　me　the　jacket　down　in　the

dungeons。　　It　was　at　the　beginning　of　my　incorrigibility；　shortly

after　my　entrance　to　prison；　when　I　was　weaving　my　loom…task　of　a

hundred　yards　a　day　in　the　jute…mill　and　finishing　two　hours　ahead

of　the　average　day。　　Yes；　and　my　jute…sacking　was　far　above　the

average　demanded。　　I　was　sent　to　the　jacket　that　first　time；

according　to　the　prison　books；　because　of　〃skips〃　and　〃breaks〃　in

the　cloth；　in　short；　because　my　work　was　defective。　　Of　course　this

was　ridiculous。　　In　truth；　I　was　sent　to　the　jacket　because　I；　a　new

convict；　a　master　of　efficiency；　a　trained　expert　in　the　elimination

of　waste　motion；　had　elected　to　tell　the　stupid　head　weaver　a　few

things　he　did　not　know　about　his　business。　　And　the　head　weaver；

with　Captain　Jamie　present；　had　me　called　to　the　table　where

atrocious　weaving；　such　as　could　never　have　gone　through　my　loom；

was　exhibited　against　me。　　Three　times　was　I　thus　called　to　the

table。　　The　third　calling　meant　punishment　according　to　the　loom…

room　rules。　　My　punishment　was　twenty…four　hours　in　the　jacket。



They　took　me　down　into　the　dungeons。　　I　was　ordered　to　lie　face…

downward　on　the　canvas　spread　flat　upon　the　floor。　　I　refused。　　One

of　the　guards；　Morrison；　gulletted　me　with　his　thumbs。　　Mobins；　the

dungeon　trusty；　a　convict　himself；　struck　me　repeatedly　with　his

fists。　　In　the　end　I　lay　down　as　directed。　　And；　because　of　the

struggle　I　had　vexed　them　with；　they　laced　me　extra　tight。　　Then

they　rolled　me　over　like　a　log　upon　my　back。



It　did　not　seem　so　bad　at　first。　　When　they　closed　my　door；　with

clang　and　clash　of　levered　boltage；　and　left　me　in　the　utter　dark；

it　was　eleven　o'clock　in　the　morning。　　For　a　few　minutes　I　was　aware

merely　of　an　uncomfortable　constriction　which　I　fondly　believed

would　ease　as　I　grew　accustomed　to　it。　　On　the　contrary；　my　heart

began　to　thump　and　my　lungs　seemed　unable　to　draw　sufficient　air　for

my　blood。　　This　sense　of　suffocation　was　terrorizing；　and　every

thump　of　the　heart　threatened　to　burst　my　already　bursting　lungs。



After　what　seemed　hours；　and　after　what；　out　of　my　countless

succeeding　experiences　in　the　jacket　I　can　now　fairly　conclude　to

have　been　not　more　than　half…an…hour；　I　began　to　cry　out；　to　yell；

to　scream；　to　howl；　in　a　very　madness　of　dying。　　The　trouble　was　the

pain　that　had　arisen　in　my　heart。　　It　was　a　sharp；　definite　pain；

similar　to　that　of　pleurisy；　except　that　it　stabbed　hotly　through

the　heart　itself。



To　die　is　not　a　difficult　thing；　but　to　die　in　such　slow　and

horrible　fashion　was　maddening。　　Like　a　trapped　beast　of　the　wild；　I

experienced　ecstasies　of　fear；　and　yelled　and　howled　until　I

realized　that　such　vocal　exercise　merely　stabbed　my　heart　more　hotly

and　at　the　same　time　consumed　much　of　the　little　air　in　my　lungs。



I　gave　over　and　lay　quiet　for　a　long　timean　eternity　it　seemed

then；　though　now　I　am　confident　that　it　could　have　been　no　longer

than　a　quarter　of　an　hour。　　I　grew　dizzy　with　semi…asphyxiation；　and

my　heart　thumped　until　it　seemed　surely　it　would　burst　the　canvas

that　bound　me。　　Again　I　lost　control　of　myse