the jacket (the star-rover)-第14章

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delirious。　　Also；　by　an　effort　of　will；　I　managed　to　sleep　away　long

hours。



Next；　Warden　Atherton　tried　a　variation。　　I　was　given　irregular

intervals　of　jacket　and　recuperation。　　I　never　knew　when　I　was　to　go

into　the　jacket。　　Thus　I　would　have　ten　hours'　recuperation；　and　do

twenty　in　the　jacket；　or　I　would　receive　only　four　hours'　rest。　　At

the　most　unexpected　hours　of　the　night　my　door　would　clang　open　and

the　changing　guards　would　lace　me。　　Sometimes　rhythms　were

instituted。　　Thus；　for　three　days　and　nights　I　alternated　eight

hours　in　the　jacket　and　eight　hours　out。　　And　then；　just　as　I　was

growing　accustomed　to　this　rhythm；　it　was　suddenly　altered　and　I　was

given　two　days　and　nights　straight。



And　ever　the　eternal　question　was　propounded　to　me：　　Where　was　the

dynamite？　　Sometimes　Warden　Atherton　was　furious　with　me。　　On

occasion；　when　I　had　endured　an　extra　severe　jacketing；　he　almost

pleaded　with　me　to　confess。　　Once　he　even　promised　me　three　months

in　the　hospital　of　absolute　rest　and　good　food；　and　then　the　trusty

job　in　the　library。



Dr。　Jackson；　a　weak　stick　of　a　creature　with　a　smattering　of

medicine；　grew　sceptical。　　He　insisted　that　jacketing；　no　matter　how

prolonged；　could　never　kill　me；　and　his　insistence　was　a　challenge

to　the　Warden　to　continue　the　attempt。



〃These　lean　college　guys　'd　fool　the　devil；〃　he　grumbled。　　〃They're

tougher　'n　raw…hide。　　Just　the　same　we'll　wear　him　down。　　Standing；

you　hear　me。　　What　you've　got　ain't　a　caution　to　what　you're　going

to　get。　　You　might　as　well　come　across　now　and　save　trouble。　　I'm　a

man　of　my　word。　　You've　heard　me　say　dynamite　or　curtains。　　Well；

that　stands。　　Take　your　choice。〃



〃Surely　you　don't　think　I'm　holding　out　because　I　enjoy　it？〃　I

managed　to　gasp；　for　at　the　moment　Pie…Face　Jones　was　forcing　his

foot　into　my　back　in　order　to　cinch　me　tighter；　while　I　was　trying

with　my　muscle　to　steal　slack。　　〃There　is　nothing　to　confess。　　Why；

I'd　cut　off　my　right　hand　right　now　to　be　able　to　lead　you　to　any

dynamite。〃



〃Oh；　I've　seen　your　educated　kind　before；〃　he　sneered。　　〃You　get

wheels　in　your　head；　some　of　you；　that　make　you　stick　to　any　old

idea。　　You　get　baulky；　like　horses。　　Tighter；　Jones；　that　ain't　half

a　cinch。　　Standing；　if　you　don't　come　across　it's　curtains。　　I　stick

by　that。〃



One　compensation　I　learned。　　As　one　grows　weaker　one　is　less

susceptible　to　suffering。　　There　is　less　hurt　because　there　is　less

to　hurt。　　And　the　man　already　well　weakened　grows　weaker　more

slowly。　　It　is　of　common　knowledge　that　unusually　strong　men　suffer

more　severely　from　ordinary　sicknesses　than　do　women　or　invalids。

As　the　reserves　of　strength　are　consumed　there　is　less　strength　to

lose。　　After　all　superfluous　flesh　is　gone　what　is　left　is　stringy

and　resistant。　　In　fact；　that　was　what　I　becamea　sort　of　string…

like　organism　that　persisted　in　living。



Morrell　and　Oppenheimer　were　sorry　for　me；　and　rapped　me　sympathy

and　advice。　　Oppenheimer　told　me　he　had　gone　through　it；　and　worse；

and　still　lived。



〃Don't　let　them　beat　you　out；〃　he　spelled　with　his　knuckles。　　〃Don't

let　them　kill　you；　for　that　would　suit　them。　　And　don't　squeal　on

the　plant。〃



〃But　there　isn't　any　plant；〃　I　rapped　back　with　the　edge　of　the　sole

of　my　shoe　against　the　gratingI　was　in　the　jacket　at　the　time　and

so　could　talk　only　with　my　feet。　　〃I　don't　know　anything　about　the

damned　dynamite。〃



〃That's　right；〃　Oppenheimer　praised。　　〃He's　the　stuff；　ain't　he；

Ed？〃



Which　goes　to　show　what　chance　I　had　of　convincing　Warden　Atherton

of　my　ignorance　of　the　dynamite。　　His　very　persistence　in　the　quest

convinced　a　man　like　Jake　Oppenheimer；　who　could　only　admire　me　for

the　fortitude　with　which　I　kept　a　close　mouth。



During　this　first　period　of　the　jacket…inquisition　I　managed　to

sleep　a　great　deal。　　My　dreams　were　remarkable。　　Of　course　they　were

vivid　and　real；　as　most　dreams　are。　　What　made　them　remarkable　was

their　coherence　and　continuity。　　Often　I　addressed　bodies　of

scientists　on　abstruse　subjects；　reading　aloud　to　them　carefully

prepared　papers　on　my　own　researches　or　on　my　own　deductions　from

the　researches　and　experiments　of　others。　　When　I　awakened　my　voice

would　seem　still　ringing　in　my　ears；　while　my　eyes　still　could　see

typed　on　the　white　paper　whole　sentences　and　paragraphs　that　I　could

read　again　and　marvel　at　ere　the　vision　faded。　　In　passing；　I　call

attention　to　the　fact　that　at　the　time　I　noted　that　the　process　of

reasoning　employed　in　these　dream　speeches　was　invariably　deductive。



Then　there　was　a　great　farming　section；　extending　north　and　south

for　hundreds　of　miles　in　some　part　of　the　temperate　regions；　with　a

climate　and　flora　and　fauna　largely　resembling　those　of　California。

Not　once；　nor　twice；　but　thousands　of　different　times　I　journeyed

through　this　dream…region。　　The　point　I　desire　to　call　attention　to

was　that　it　was　always　the　same　region。　　No　essential　feature　of　it

ever　differed　in　the　different　dreams。　　Thus　it　was　always　an　eight…

hour　drive　behind　mountain　horses　from　the　alfalfa　meadows　（where　I

kept　many　Jersey　cows）　to　the　straggly　village　beside　the　big　dry

creek；　where　I　caught　the　little　narrow…gauge　train。　　Every　land…

mark　in　that　eight…hour　drive　in　the　mountain　buckboard；　every　tree；

every　mountain；　every　ford　and　bridge；　every　ridge　and　eroded

hillside　was　ever　the　same。



In　this　coherent；　rational　farm…region　of　my　strait…jacket　dreams

the　minor　details；　according　to　season　and　to　the　labour　of　men；　did

change。　　Thus　on　the　upland　pastures　behind　my　alfalfa　meadows　I

developed　a　new　farm　with　the　aid　of　Angora　goats。　　Here　I　marked

the　changes　with　every　dream…visit；　and　the　changes　were　in

accordance　with　the　time　that　elapsed　between　visits。



Oh；　those　brush…covered　slopes！　　How　I　can　see　them　now　just　as　when

the　goats　were　first　introduced。　　And　how　I　remembered　the

consequent　changesthe　paths　beginning　to　form　as　the　goats

literally　ate　their　way　through　the　dense　thickets；　the

disappearance　of　the　younger；　smaller　bushes　that　were　not　too　tall

for　total　browsing；　the　vistas　that　formed　in　all　directions　through

the　older；　taller　bushes；　as　the　goats　browsed　as　high　as　they　could

stand　and　reach　on　their　hind　legs；　the　driftage　of　the　pasture

grasses　that　followed　in　the　wake　of　the　clearing　by　the　goats。

Yes；　the　continuity　of　such　dreaming　was　its　charm。　　Came　the　day

when　the　men　with　axes　chopped　down　all　the　taller　brush　so　as　to

give　the　goats　access　to　the　leaves　and　buds　and　bark。　　Came　the

day；　in　winter　weather；　when　the　dry　denuded　skeletons　of　all　these

bushes　were　gathered　into　heaps　and　burned。　　Came　the　day　when　I

moved　my　goats　on　to　other　brush…impregnable　hillsides；　with

following　in　their　wake　my　cattle；　pasturing　knee…deep　in　the

succulent　grasses　that　grew　where　before　had　been　only　brush。　　And

came　the　day　when　I　moved　my　cattle　on；　and　my　plough…men　went　back

and　forth　across　the　slopes'　contourploughing　the　rich　sod　under

to　rot　to　live　and　crawling　humous　in　which　to　bed　my　seeds　of　crops

to　be。



Yes；　and　in　my　dreams；　often；　I　got　off　the　little　narrow…gauge

train　where　the　straggly　village　stood　beside　the　big　dry　creek；　and

got　into　the　buck…board　behind　my　mountain　horses；　and　drove　hour　by

hour　past　all　the　old　familiar　landmarks　of　my　alfalfa　meadows；　and

on　to　my　upland　pastures　where　my　rotated　crops　of　corn　and　barley

and　clover　were　ripe　for　harvesting　and　where　I　watched　my　men

engaged　in　the　harvest；　while　beyond；　ever　climbing；　my　goats

browsed　the　higher　slopes　of　brush　into　cleared；　tilled　fields。



But　these　were　dreams；　frank　dreams；　fancied　adventures　of　my

deductive　subconscious　mind。　　Quite　unlike　them；　as　you　shall　see；

were　my　other　adventures　when　I　passed　through　the　gates　of　the

living　death　and　relived　the　reality　of　the　other　lives　that　had

been　mine　in　other　days。



In　the　long　hours　o