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- Джек Лондон
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His
hips
were
thin
;
and
the
legs
,
lean
and
hairy
,
were
crooked
and
stringy
-
muscled
.
In
fact
,
my
father
’
s
legs
were
more
like
arms
.
They
were
twisted
and
gnarly
,
and
with
scarcely
the
semblance
of
the
full
meaty
calf
such
as
graces
your
leg
and
mine
.
I
remember
he
could
not
walk
on
the
flat
of
his
foot
.
This
was
because
it
was
a
prehensile
foot
,
more
like
a
hand
than
a
foot
.
The
great
toe
,
instead
of
being
in
line
with
the
other
toes
,
opposed
them
,
like
a
thumb
,
and
its
opposition
to
the
other
toes
was
what
enabled
him
to
get
a
grip
with
his
foot
.
This
was
why
he
could
not
walk
on
the
flat
of
his
foot
.
But
his
appearance
was
no
more
unusual
than
the
manner
of
his
coming
,
there
to
my
mother
and
me
as
we
perched
above
the
angry
wild
pigs
.
He
came
through
the
trees
,
leaping
from
limb
to
limb
and
from
tree
to
tree
;
and
he
came
swiftly
.
I
can
see
him
now
,
in
my
wake
-
a
-
day
life
,
as
I
write
this
,
swinging
along
through
the
trees
,
a
four
-
handed
,
hairy
creature
,
howling
with
rage
,
pausing
now
and
again
to
beat
his
chest
with
his
clenched
fist
,
leaping
ten
-
and
-
fifteen
-
foot
gaps
,
catching
a
branch
with
one
hand
and
swinging
on
across
another
gap
to
catch
with
his
other
hand
and
go
on
,
never
hesitating
,
never
at
a
loss
as
to
how
to
proceed
on
his
arboreal
way
.
And
as
I
watched
him
I
felt
in
my
own
being
,
in
my
very
muscles
themselves
,
the
surge
and
thrill
of
desire
to
go
leaping
from
bough
to
bough
;
and
I
felt
also
the
guarantee
of
the
latent
power
in
that
being
and
in
those
muscles
of
mine
.
And
why
not
?
Little
boys
watch
their
fathers
swing
axes
and
fell
trees
,
and
feel
in
themselves
that
some
day
they
,
too
,
will
swing
axes
and
fell
trees
.
And
so
with
me
.
The
life
that
was
in
me
was
constituted
to
do
what
my
father
did
,
and
it
whispered
to
me
secretly
and
ambitiously
of
aerial
paths
and
forest
flights
.
At
last
my
father
joined
us
.
He
was
extremely
angry
.
I
remember
the
out
-
thrust
of
his
protruding
underlip
as
he
glared
down
at
the
wild
pigs
.
He
snarled
something
like
a
dog
,
and
I
remember
that
his
eye
-
teeth
were
large
,
like
fangs
,
and
that
they
impressed
me
tremendously
.
His
conduct
served
only
the
more
to
infuriate
the
pigs
.
He
broke
off
twigs
and
small
branches
and
flung
them
down
upon
our
enemies
.
He
even
hung
by
one
hand
,
tantalizingly
just
beyond
reach
,
and
mocked
them
as
they
gnashed
their
tusks
with
impotent
rage
.
Not
content
with
this
,
he
broke
off
a
stout
branch
,
and
,
holding
on
with
one
hand
and
foot
,
jabbed
the
infuriated
beasts
in
the
sides
and
whacked
them
across
their
noses
.
Needless
to
state
,
my
mother
and
I
enjoyed
the
sport
.
But
one
tires
of
all
good
things
,
and
in
the
end
,
my
father
,
chuckling
maliciously
the
while
,
led
the
way
across
the
trees
.
Now
it
was
that
my
ambitions
ebbed
away
,
and
I
became
timid
,
holding
tightly
to
my
mother
as
she
climbed
and
swung
through
space
.
I
remember
when
the
branch
broke
with
her
weight
She
had
made
a
wide
leap
,
and
with
the
snap
of
the
wood
I
was
overwhelmed
with
the
sickening
consciousness
of
falling
through
space
,
the
pair
of
us
.
The
forest
and
the
sunshine
on
the
rustling
leaves
vanished
from
my
eyes
.
I
had
a
fading
glimpse
of
my
father
abruptly
arresting
his
progress
to
look
,
and
then
all
was
blackness
.
The
next
moment
I
was
awake
,
in
my
sheeted
bed
,
sweating
,
trembling
,
nauseated
.
The
window
was
up
,
and
a
cool
air
was
blowing
through
the
room
.
The
night
-
lamp
was
burning
calmly
.
And
because
of
this
I
take
it
that
the
wild
pigs
did
not
get
us
,
that
we
never
fetched
bottom
;
else
I
should
not
be
here
now
,
a
thousand
centuries
after
,
to
remember
the
event
.
And
now
put
yourself
in
my
place
for
a
moment
.
Walk
with
me
a
bit
in
my
tender
childhood
,
bed
with
me
a
night
and
imagine
yourself
dreaming
such
incomprehensible
horrors
.
Remember
I
was
an
inexperienced
child
.
I
had
never
seen
a
wild
boar
in
my
life
.
For
that
matter
I
had
never
seen
a
domesticated
pig
.
The
nearest
approach
to
one
that
I
had
seen
was
breakfast
bacon
sizzling
in
its
fat
.
And
yet
here
,
real
as
life
,
wild
boars
dashed
through
my
dreams
,
and
I
,
with
fantastic
parents
,
swung
through
the
lofty
tree
-
spaces
.
Do
you
wonder
that
I
was
frightened
and
oppressed
by
my
nightmare
-
ridden
nights
?
I
was
accursed
.
And
,
worst
of
all
,
I
was
afraid
to
tell
.
I
do
not
know
why
,
except
that
I
had
a
feeling
of
guilt
,
though
I
knew
no
better
of
what
I
was
guilty
.
So
it
was
,
through
long
years
,
that
I
suffered
in
silence
,
until
I
came
to
man
’
s
estate
and
learned
the
why
and
wherefore
of
my
dreams
.
