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walls of rubble。 In the middle distance was a cluster of wretched；
flat…roofed hovels。
〃Now； my boy； where is that？〃 the missionary quizzed。
And the name came to me！
〃Samaria；〃 I said instantly。
My father clapped his hands with glee； my mother was perplexed at my
antic conduct； while the missionary evinced irritation。
〃The boy is right；〃 he said。 〃It is a village in Samaria。 I passed
through it。 That is why I bought it。 And it goes to show that the
boy has seen similar photographs before。〃
This my father and mother denied。
〃But it's different in the picture；〃 I volunteered； while all the
time my memory was busy reconstructing the photograph。 The general
trend of the landscape and the line of the distant hills were the
same。 The differences I noted aloud and pointed out with my finger。
〃The houses was about right here； and there was more trees； lots of
trees； and lots of grass； and lots of goats。 I can see 'em now； an'
two boys drivin' 'em。 An' right here is a lot of men walkin' behind
one man。 An' over there〃I pointed to where I had placed my
village〃is a lot of tramps。 They ain't got nothin' on exceptin'
rags。 An' they're sick。 Their faces； an' hands； an' legs is all
sores。〃
〃He's heard the story in church or somewhereyou remember； the
healing of the lepers in Luke；〃 the missionary said with a smile of
satisfaction。 〃How many sick tramps are there； my boy？〃
I had learned to count to a hundred when I was five years old； so I
went over the group carefully and announced：
〃Ten of 'em。 They're all wavin' their arms an' yellin' at the other
men。〃
〃But they don't come near them？〃 was the query。
I shook my head。 〃They just stand right there an' keep a…yellin'
like they was in trouble。〃
〃Go on；〃 urged the missionary。 〃What next？ What's the man doing in
the front of the other crowd you said was walking along？〃
〃They've all stopped； an' he's sayin' something to the sick men。
An' the boys with the goats 's stopped to look。 Everybody's
lookin'。〃
〃And then？〃
〃That's all。 The sick men are headin' for the houses。 They ain't
yellin' any more； an' they don't look sick any more。 An' I just
keep settin' on my horse a…lookin' on。〃
At this all three of my listeners broke into laughter。
〃An' I'm a big man！〃 I cried out angrily。 〃An' I got a big sword！〃
〃The ten lepers Christ healed before he passed through Jericho on
his way to Jerusalem；〃 the missionary explained to my parents。 〃The
boy has seen slides of famous paintings in some magic lantern
exhibition。〃
But neither father nor mother could remember that I had ever seen a
magic lantern。
〃Try him with another picture；〃 father suggested。
〃It's all different；〃 I complained as I studied the photograph the
missionary handed me。 〃Ain't nothin' here except that hill and them
other hills。 This ought to be a country road along here。 An' over
there ought to be gardens； an' trees； an' houses behind big stone
walls。 An' over there； on the other side； in holes in the rocks
ought to be where they buried dead folks。 You see this place？they
used to throw stones at people there until they killed 'm。 I never
seen 'm do it。 They just told me about it。〃
〃And the hill？〃 the missionary asked； pointing to the central part
of the print； for which the photograph seemed to have been taken。
〃Can you tell us the name of the hill？〃
I shook my head。
〃Never had no name。 They killed folks there。 I've seem 'm more 'n
once。〃
〃This time he agrees with the majority of the authorities；〃
announced the missionary with huge satisfaction。 〃The hill is
Golgotha； the Place of Skulls； or； as you please； so named because
it resembles a skull。 Notice the resemblance。 That is where they
crucified〃 He broke off and turned to me。 〃Whom did they crucify
there； young scholar？ Tell us what else you see。〃
Oh； I sawmy father reported that my eyes were bulging； but I shook
my head stubbornly and said：
〃I ain't a…goin' to tell you because you're laughin' at me。 I seen
lots an' lots of men killed there。 They nailed 'em up； an' it took
a long time。 I seenbut I ain't a…goin' to tell。 I don't tell
lies。 You ask dad an' ma if I tell lies。 He'd whale the stuffin'
out of me if I did。 Ask 'm。〃
And thereat not another word could the missionary get from me； even
though he baited me with more photographs that sent my head whirling
with a rush of memory…pictures and that urged and tickled my tongue
with spates of speech which I sullenly resisted and overcame。
〃He will certainly make a good Bible scholar；〃 the missionary told
father and mother after I had kissed them good…night and departed
for bed。 〃Or else； with that imagination； he'll become a successful
fiction…writer。〃
Which shows how prophecy can go agley。 I sit here in Murderers'
Row； writing these lines in my last days； or； rather； in Darrell
Standing's last days ere they take him out and try to thrust him
into the dark at the end of a rope； and I smile to myself。 I became
neither Bible scholar nor novelist。 On the contrary； until they
buried me in the cells of silence for half a decade； I was
everything that the missionary forecasted notan agricultural
expert； a professor of agronomy； a specialist in the science of the
elimination of waste motion； a master of farm efficiency； a precise
laboratory scientist where precision and adherence to microscopic
fact are absolute requirements。
And I sit here in the warm afternoon； in Murderers' Row； and cease
from the writing of my memoirs to listen to the soothing buzz of
flies in the drowsy air； and catch phrases of a low…voiced
conversation between Josephus Jackson； the negro murderer on my
right； and Bambeccio； the Italian murderer on my left； who are
discussing； through grated door to grated door； back and forth past
my grated door； the antiseptic virtues and excellences of chewing
tobacco for flesh wounds。
And in my suspended hand I hold my fountain pen； and as I remember
that other hands of me； in long gone ages； wielded ink…brush； and
quill； and stylus； I also find thought…space in time to wonder if
that missionary； when he was a little lad； ever trailed clouds of
glory and glimpsed the brightness of old star…roving days。
Well； back to solitary； after I had learned the code of knuckle…talk
and still found the hours of consciousness too long to endure。 By
self…hypnosis； which I began successfully to practise； I became able
to put my conscious mind to sleep and to awaken and loose my
subconscious mind。 But the latter was an undisciplined and lawless
thing。 It wandered through all nightmarish madness； without
coherence； without continuity of scene； event； or person。
My method of mechanical hypnosis was the soul of simplicity。
Sitting with folded legs on my straw…mattress； I gazed fixedly at a
fragment of bright straw which I had attached to the wall of my cell
near the door where the most light was。 I gazed at the bright
point； with my eyes close to it； and tilted upward till they
strained to see。 At the same time I relaxed all the will of me and
gave myself to the swaying dizziness that always eventually came to
me。 And when I felt myself sway out of balance backward； I closed
my eyes and permitted myself to fall supine and unconscious on the
mattress。
And then； for half…an…hour； ten minutes； or as long as an hour or
so； I would wander erratically and foolishly through the stored
memories of my eternal recurrence on earth。 But times and places
shifted too swiftly。 I knew afterward； when I awoke； that I；
Darrell Standing； was the linking personality that connected all
bizarreness and grotesqueness。 But that was all。 I could never
live out completely one full experience； one point of consciousness
in time and space。 My dreams； if dreams they may be called； were
rhymeless and reasonless。
Thus； as a sample of my rovings： in a single interval of fifteen
minutes of subconsciousness I have crawled and bellowed in the slime
of the primeval world and sat beside Haasfurther and cleaved the
twentieth century air in a gas…driven monoplane。 Awake； I
remembered that I； Darrell Standing； in the flesh； during the year
preceding my incarceration in San Quentin； had flown with Haas
further over the Pacific at Santa Monica。 Awake； I did not remember
the crawling and the bellowing in the ancient slime。 Nevertheless；
awake； I reasoned that somehow I had remembered that early adventure
in the slime； and that it was a verity of long…previous experience；
when I was not yet Darrell Standing but somebody else； or something
else that crawled and bellowed。 One experience was merely more
remote than the other。 Both experiences were equally realor else
how did I remember them？
Oh； what a fluttering of luminous images and actions！ In a few