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So
,
to
return
,
I
say
,
during
the
ages
of
three
and
four
and
five
,
I
was
not
yet
I.
I
was
merely
becoming
as
I
took
form
in
the
mould
of
my
body
,
and
all
the
mighty
,
indestructible
past
wrought
in
the
mixture
of
me
to
determine
what
the
form
of
that
becoming
would
be
.
It
was
not
my
voice
that
cried
out
in
the
night
in
fear
of
things
known
,
which
I
,
forsooth
,
did
not
and
could
not
know
.
The
same
with
my
childish
angers
,
my
loves
,
and
my
laughters
.
Other
voices
screamed
through
my
voice
,
the
voices
of
men
and
women
aforetime
,
of
all
shadowy
hosts
of
progenitors
.
And
the
snarl
of
my
anger
was
blended
with
the
snarls
of
beasts
more
ancient
than
the
mountains
,
and
the
vocal
madness
of
my
child
hysteria
,
with
all
the
red
of
its
wrath
,
was
chorded
with
the
insensate
,
stupid
cries
of
beasts
pre-Adamic
and
progeologic
in
time
.
And
there
the
secret
is
out
.
The
red
wrath
!
It
has
undone
me
in
this
,
my
present
life
.
Because
of
it
,
a
few
short
weeks
hence
,
I
shall
be
led
from
this
cell
to
a
high
place
with
unstable
flooring
,
graced
above
by
a
well-stretched
rope
;
and
there
they
will
hang
me
by
the
neck
until
I
am
dead
.
The
red
wrath
always
has
undone
me
in
all
my
lives
;
for
the
red
wrath
is
my
disastrous
catastrophic
heritage
from
the
time
of
the
slimy
things
ere
the
world
was
prime
.
*
*
*
*
*
It
is
time
that
I
introduce
myself
.
I
am
neither
fool
nor
lunatic
.
I
want
you
to
know
that
,
in
order
that
you
will
believe
the
things
I
shall
tell
you
.
I
am
Darrell
Standing
.
Some
few
of
you
who
read
this
will
know
me
immediately
.
But
to
the
majority
,
who
are
bound
to
be
strangers
,
let
me
exposit
myself
.
Eight
years
ago
I
was
Professor
of
Agronomics
in
the
College
of
Agriculture
of
the
University
of
California
.
Eight
years
ago
the
sleepy
little
university
town
of
Berkeley
was
shocked
by
the
murder
of
Professor
Haskell
in
one
of
the
laboratories
of
the
Mining
Building
.
Darrell
Standing
was
the
murderer
.
I
am
Darrell
Standing
.
I
was
caught
red-handed
.
Now
the
right
and
the
wrong
of
this
affair
with
Professor
Haskell
I
shall
not
discuss
.
It
was
purely
a
private
matter
.
The
point
is
,
that
in
a
surge
of
anger
,
obsessed
by
that
catastrophic
red
wrath
that
has
cursed
me
down
the
ages
,
I
killed
my
fellow
professor
.
The
court
records
show
that
I
did
;
and
,
for
once
,
I
agree
with
the
court
records
.
No
;
I
am
not
to
be
hanged
for
his
murder
.
I
received
a
life-sentence
for
my
punishment
.
I
was
thirty-six
years
of
age
at
the
time
.
I
am
now
forty-four
years
old
.
I
have
spent
the
eight
intervening
years
in
the
California
State
Prison
of
San
Quentin
.
Five
of
these
years
I
spent
in
the
dark
.
Solitary
confinement
,
they
call
it
.
Men
who
endure
it
,
call
it
living
death
.
But
through
these
five
years
of
death-in-life
I
managed
to
attain
freedom
such
as
few
men
have
ever
known
.
Closest-confined
of
prisoners
,
not
only
did
I
range
the
world
,
but
I
ranged
time
.
They
who
immured
me
for
petty
years
gave
to
me
,
all
unwittingly
,
the
largess
of
centuries
.
Truly
,
thanks
to
Ed
Morrell
,
I
have
had
five
years
of
star-roving
.
But
Ed
Morrell
is
another
story
.
I
shall
tell
you
about
him
a
little
later
.
I
have
so
much
to
tell
I
scarce
know
how
to
begin
.
Well
,
a
beginning
.
I
was
born
on
a
quarter-section
in
Minnesota
.
My
mother
was
the
daughter
of
an
immigrant
Swede
.
Her
name
was
Hilda
Tonnesson
.
My
father
was
Chauncey
Standing
,
of
old
American
stock
.
He
traced
back
to
Alfred
Standing
,
an
indentured
servant
,
or
slave
if
you
please
,
who
was
transported
from
England
to
the
Virginia
plantations
in
the
days
that
were
even
old
when
the
youthful
Washington
went
a-surveying
in
the
Pennsylvania
wilderness
.
