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- Джек Лондон
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- Стр. 172/210
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In
a
little
while
they
will
try
to
befool
me
.
They
will
take
me
from
this
cell
to
the
bath
,
according
to
the
prison
custom
of
the
weekly
bath
.
But
I
shall
not
be
brought
back
to
this
cell
.
I
shall
be
dressed
outright
in
fresh
clothes
and
be
taken
to
the
death-cell
.
There
they
will
place
the
death-watch
on
me
.
Night
or
day
,
waking
or
sleeping
,
I
shall
be
watched
.
I
shall
not
be
permitted
to
put
my
head
under
the
blankets
for
fear
I
may
anticipate
the
State
by
choking
myself
.
Always
bright
light
will
blaze
upon
me
.
And
then
,
when
they
have
well
wearied
me
,
they
will
lead
me
out
one
morning
in
a
shirt
without
a
collar
and
drop
me
through
the
trap
.
Oh
,
I
know
.
The
rope
they
will
do
it
with
is
well-stretched
.
For
many
a
month
now
the
hangman
of
Folsom
has
been
stretching
it
with
heavy
weights
so
as
to
take
the
spring
out
of
it
.
Yes
,
I
shall
drop
far
.
They
have
cunning
tables
of
calculations
,
like
interest
tables
,
that
show
the
distance
of
the
drop
in
relation
to
the
victim
's
weight
.
I
am
so
emaciated
that
they
will
have
to
drop
me
far
in
order
to
break
my
neck
.
And
then
the
onlookers
will
take
their
hats
off
,
and
as
I
swing
the
doctors
will
press
their
ears
to
my
chest
to
count
my
fading
heart-beats
,
and
at
last
they
will
say
that
I
am
dead
.
It
is
grotesque
.
It
is
the
ridiculous
effrontery
of
men-maggots
who
think
they
can
kill
me
.
I
can
not
die
.
I
am
immortal
,
as
they
are
immortal
;
the
difference
is
that
I
know
it
and
they
do
not
know
it
Pah
!
I
was
once
a
hangman
,
or
an
executioner
,
rather
.
Well
I
remember
it
!
I
used
the
sword
,
not
the
rope
.
The
sword
is
the
braver
way
,
although
all
ways
are
equally
inefficacious
.
Forsooth
,
as
if
spirit
could
be
thrust
through
with
steel
or
throttled
by
a
rope
!
Next
to
Oppenheimer
and
Morrell
,
who
rotted
with
me
through
the
years
of
darkness
,
I
was
considered
the
most
dangerous
prisoner
in
San
Quentin
.
On
the
other
hand
I
was
considered
the
toughest
--
tougher
even
than
Oppenheimer
and
Morrell
.
Of
course
by
toughness
I
mean
enduringness
.
Terrible
as
were
the
attempts
to
break
them
in
body
and
in
spirit
,
more
terrible
were
the
attempts
to
break
me
.
And
I
endured
.
Dynamite
or
curtains
had
been
Warden
Atherton
's
ultimatum
.
And
in
the
end
it
was
neither
.
I
could
not
produce
the
dynamite
,
and
Warden
Atherton
could
not
induce
the
curtains
.
It
was
not
because
my
body
was
enduring
,
but
because
my
spirit
was
enduring
.
And
it
was
because
,
in
earlier
existences
,
my
spirit
had
been
wrought
to
steel-hardness
by
steel-hard
experiences
.
There
was
one
experience
that
for
long
was
a
sort
of
nightmare
to
me
.
It
had
neither
beginning
nor
end
.
Always
I
found
myself
on
a
rocky
,
surge-battered
islet
so
low
that
in
storms
the
salt
spray
swept
over
its
highest
point
.
It
rained
much
.
I
lived
in
a
lair
and
suffered
greatly
,
for
I
was
without
fire
and
lived
on
uncooked
meat
.
Always
I
suffered
.
It
was
the
middle
of
some
experience
to
which
I
could
get
no
clue
.
And
since
,
when
I
went
into
the
little
death
I
had
no
power
of
directing
my
journeys
,
I
often
found
myself
reliving
this
particularly
detestable
experience
.
My
only
happy
moments
were
when
the
sun
shone
,
at
which
times
I
basked
on
the
rocks
and
thawed
out
the
almost
perpetual
chill
I
suffered
.
My
one
diversion
was
an
oar
and
a
jackknife
.
Upon
this
oar
I
spent
much
time
,
carving
minute
letters
and
cutting
a
notch
for
each
week
that
passed
.
There
were
many
notches
.
I
sharpened
the
knife
on
a
flat
piece
of
rock
,
and
no
barber
was
ever
more
careful
of
his
favourite
razor
than
was
I
of
that
knife
.
Nor
did
ever
a
miser
prize
his
treasure
as
did
I
prize
the
knife
.
It
was
as
precious
as
my
life
.
In
truth
,
it
was
my
life
.
By
many
repetitions
,
I
managed
to
bring
back
out
of
the
jacket
the
legend
that
was
carved
on
the
oar
.
At
first
I
could
bring
but
little
.
Later
,
it
grew
easier
,
a
matter
of
piecing
portions
together
.
And
at
last
I
had
the
thing
complete
.
Here
it
is
:
