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- Джек Лондон
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- До Адама
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- Стр. 11/53
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He
hated
me
from
the
first
.
And
I
quickly
learned
to
be
afraid
of
him
and
his
malicious
pranks
.
Whenever
he
came
in
sight
I
crept
close
to
my
mother
and
clung
to
her
.
But
I
was
growing
older
all
the
time
,
and
it
was
inevitable
that
I
should
from
time
to
time
stray
from
her
,
and
stray
farther
and
farther
.
And
these
were
the
opportunities
that
the
Chatterer
waited
for
.
(
I
may
as
well
explain
that
we
bore
no
names
in
those
days
;
were
not
known
by
any
name
.
For
the
sake
of
convenience
I
have
myself
given
names
to
the
various
Folk
I
was
more
closely
in
contact
with
,
and
the
“
Chatterer
”
is
the
most
fitting
description
I
can
find
for
that
precious
stepfather
of
mine
.
As
for
me
,
I
have
named
myself
“
Big
-
Tooth
.
”
My
eye
-
teeth
were
pronouncedly
large
.
)
But
to
return
to
the
Chatterer
.
He
persistently
terrorized
me
.
He
was
always
pinching
me
and
cuffing
me
,
and
on
occasion
he
was
not
above
biting
me
.
Often
my
mother
interfered
,
and
the
way
she
made
his
fur
fly
was
a
joy
to
see
.
But
the
result
of
all
this
was
a
beautiful
and
unending
family
quarrel
,
in
which
I
was
the
bone
of
contention
.
No
,
my
home
-
life
was
not
happy
.
I
smile
to
myself
as
I
write
the
phrase
.
Home
-
life
!
Home
!
I
had
no
home
in
the
modern
sense
of
the
term
.
My
home
was
an
association
,
not
a
habitation
.
I
lived
in
my
mother
’
s
care
,
not
in
a
house
.
And
my
mother
lived
anywhere
,
so
long
as
when
night
came
she
was
above
the
ground
.
My
mother
was
old
-
fashioned
.
She
still
clung
to
her
trees
.
It
is
true
,
the
more
progressive
members
of
our
horde
lived
in
the
caves
above
the
river
.
But
my
mother
was
suspicious
and
unprogressive
.
The
trees
were
good
enough
for
her
.
Of
course
,
we
had
one
particular
tree
in
which
we
usually
roosted
,
though
we
often
roosted
in
other
trees
when
nightfall
caught
us
.
In
a
convenient
fork
was
a
sort
of
rude
platform
of
twigs
and
branches
and
creeping
things
.
It
was
more
like
a
huge
bird
-
nest
than
anything
else
,
though
it
was
a
thousand
times
cruder
in
the
weaving
than
any
bird
-
nest
.
But
it
had
one
feature
that
I
have
never
seen
attached
to
any
bird
-
nest
,
namely
,
a
roof
.
Oh
,
not
a
roof
such
as
modern
man
makes
!
Nor
a
roof
such
as
is
made
by
the
lowest
aborigines
of
to
-
day
.
It
was
infinitely
more
clumsy
than
the
clumsiest
handiwork
of
man
—
of
man
as
we
know
him
.
It
was
put
together
in
a
casual
,
helter
-
skelter
sort
of
way
.
Above
the
fork
of
the
tree
whereon
we
rested
was
a
pile
of
dead
branches
and
brush
.
Four
or
five
adjacent
forks
held
what
I
may
term
the
various
ridge
-
poles
.
These
were
merely
stout
sticks
an
inch
or
so
in
diameter
.
On
them
rested
the
brush
and
branches
.
These
seemed
to
have
been
tossed
on
almost
aimlessly
.
There
was
no
attempt
at
thatching
.
And
I
must
confess
that
the
roof
leaked
miserably
in
a
heavy
rain
.
But
the
Chatterer
.
He
made
home
-
life
a
burden
for
both
my
mother
and
me
—
and
by
home
-
life
I
mean
,
not
the
leaky
nest
in
the
tree
,
but
the
group
-
life
of
the
three
of
us
.
He
was
most
malicious
in
his
persecution
of
me
.
That
was
the
one
purpose
to
which
he
held
steadfastly
for
longer
than
five
minutes
.
Also
,
as
time
went
by
,
my
mother
was
less
eager
in
her
defence
of
me
.
I
think
,
what
of
the
continuous
rows
raised
by
the
Chatterer
,
that
I
must
have
become
a
nuisance
to
her
.
At
any
rate
,
the
situation
went
from
bad
to
worse
so
rapidly
that
I
should
soon
,
of
my
own
volition
,
have
left
home
.
But
the
satisfaction
of
performing
so
independent
an
act
was
denied
me
.
Before
I
was
ready
to
go
,
I
was
thrown
out
.
And
I
mean
this
literally
.
The
opportunity
came
to
the
Chatterer
one
day
when
I
was
alone
in
the
nest
.
My
mother
and
the
Chatterer
had
gone
away
together
toward
the
blueberry
swamp
.
He
must
have
planned
the
whole
thing
,
for
I
heard
him
returning
alone
through
the
forest
,
roaring
with
self
-
induced
rage
as
he
came
.
Like
all
the
men
of
our
horde
,
when
they
were
angry
or
were
trying
to
make
themselves
angry
,
he
stopped
now
and
again
to
hammer
on
his
chest
with
his
fist
.
I
realized
the
helplessness
of
my
situation
,
and
crouched
trembling
in
the
nest
.
The
Chatterer
came
directly
to
the
tree
—
I
remember
it
was
an
oak
tree
—
and
began
to
climb
up
.
And
he
never
ceased
for
a
moment
from
his
infernal
row
.
As
I
have
said
,
our
language
was
extremely
meagre
,
and
he
must
have
strained
it
by
the
variety
of
ways
in
which
he
informed
me
of
his
undying
hatred
of
me
and
of
his
intention
there
and
then
to
have
it
out
with
me
.
