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- Джек Лондон
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It
was
all
a
jumble
,
but
this
jumble
I
shall
not
inflict
upon
you
.
It
was
not
until
I
was
a
young
man
and
had
dreamed
many
thousand
times
,
that
everything
straightened
out
and
became
clear
and
plain
.
Then
it
was
that
I
got
the
clew
of
time
,
and
was
able
to
piece
together
events
and
actions
in
their
proper
order
.
Thus
was
I
able
to
reconstruct
the
vanished
Younger
World
as
it
was
at
the
time
I
lived
in
it
—
or
at
the
time
my
other
-
self
lived
in
it
.
The
distinction
does
not
matter
;
for
I
,
too
,
the
modern
man
,
have
gone
back
and
lived
that
early
life
in
the
company
of
my
other
-
self
.
For
your
convenience
,
since
this
is
to
be
no
sociological
screed
,
I
shall
frame
together
the
different
events
into
a
comprehensive
story
.
For
there
is
a
certain
thread
of
continuity
and
happening
that
runs
through
all
the
dreams
.
There
is
my
friendship
with
Lop
-
Ear
,
for
instance
.
Also
,
there
is
the
enmity
of
Red
-
Eye
,
and
the
love
of
the
Swift
One
.
Taking
it
all
in
all
,
a
fairly
coherent
and
interesting
story
I
am
sure
you
will
agree
.
I
do
not
remember
much
of
my
mother
.
Possibly
the
earliest
recollection
I
have
of
her
—
and
certainly
the
sharpest
—
is
the
following
:
It
seemed
I
was
lying
on
the
ground
.
I
was
somewhat
older
than
during
the
nest
days
,
but
still
helpless
.
I
rolled
about
in
the
dry
leaves
,
playing
with
them
and
making
crooning
,
rasping
noises
in
my
throat
.
The
sun
shone
warmly
and
I
was
happy
,
and
comfortable
.
I
was
in
a
little
open
space
.
Around
me
,
on
all
sides
,
were
bushes
and
fern
-
like
growths
,
and
overhead
and
all
about
were
the
trunks
and
branches
of
forest
trees
.
Suddenly
I
heard
a
sound
.
I
sat
upright
and
listened
.
I
made
no
movement
.
The
little
noises
died
down
in
my
throat
,
and
I
sat
as
one
petrified
.
The
sound
drew
closer
.
It
was
like
the
grunt
of
a
pig
.
Then
I
began
to
hear
the
sounds
caused
by
the
moving
of
a
body
through
the
brush
.
Next
I
saw
the
ferns
agitated
by
the
passage
of
the
body
.
Then
the
ferns
parted
,
and
I
saw
gleaming
eyes
,
a
long
snout
,
and
white
tusks
.
It
was
a
wild
boar
.
He
peered
at
me
curiously
.
He
grunted
once
or
twice
and
shifted
his
weight
from
one
foreleg
to
the
other
,
at
the
same
time
moving
his
head
from
side
to
side
and
swaying
the
ferns
.
Still
I
sat
as
one
petrified
,
my
eyes
unblinking
as
I
stared
at
him
,
fear
eating
at
my
heart
.
It
seemed
that
this
movelessness
and
silence
on
my
part
was
what
was
expected
of
me
.
I
was
not
to
cry
out
in
the
face
of
fear
.
It
was
a
dictate
of
instinct
.
And
so
I
sat
there
and
waited
for
I
knew
not
what
.
The
boar
thrust
the
ferns
aside
and
stepped
into
the
open
.
The
curiosity
went
out
of
his
eyes
,
and
they
gleamed
cruelly
.
He
tossed
his
head
at
me
threateningly
and
advanced
a
step
.
This
he
did
again
,
and
yet
again
.
Then
I
screamed
.
.
.
or
shrieked
—
I
cannot
describe
it
,
but
it
was
a
shrill
and
terrible
cry
.
And
it
seems
that
it
,
too
,
at
this
stage
of
the
proceedings
,
was
the
thing
expected
of
me
.
From
not
far
away
came
an
answering
cry
.
My
sounds
seemed
momentarily
to
disconcert
the
boar
,
and
while
he
halted
and
shifted
his
weight
with
indecision
,
an
apparition
burst
upon
us
.
She
was
like
a
large
orangutan
,
my
mother
,
or
like
a
chimpanzee
,
and
yet
,
in
sharp
and
definite
ways
,
quite
different
.
She
was
heavier
of
build
than
they
,
and
had
less
hair
.
