lost face(丢失的脸)-第1节
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LOST FACE
LOST FACE
by Jack London
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LOST FACE
LOST FACE
It was the end。 Subienkow had travelled a long trail of bitterness and
horror； homing like a dove for the capitals of Europe； and here； farther
away than ever； in Russian America； the trail ceased。 He sat in the snow；
arms tied behind him； waiting the torture。 He stared curiously before him
at a huge Cossack； prone in the snow； moaning in his pain。 The men had
finished handling the giant and turned him over to the women。 That they
exceeded the fiendishness of the men； the man's cries attested。
Subienkow looked on； and shuddered。 He was not afraid to die。 He
had carried his life too long in his hands； on that weary trail from Warsaw
to Nulato； to shudder at mere dying。 But he objected to the torture。 It
offended his soul。 And this offence； in turn； was not due to the mere pain
he must endure； but to the sorry spectacle the pain would make of him。
He knew that he would pray； and beg； and entreat； even as Big Ivan and
the others that had gone before。 This would not be nice。 To pass out
bravely and cleanly； with a smile and a jestah！ that would have been the
way。 But to lose control； to have his soul upset by the pangs of the flesh；
to screech and gibber like an ape； to become the veriest beastah； that was
what was so terrible。
There had been no chance to escape。 From the beginning； when he
dreamed the fiery dream of Poland's independence； he had become a
puppet in the hands of Fate。 From the beginning； at Warsaw； at St。
Petersburg； in the Siberian mines； in Kamtchatka； on the crazy boats of the
fur…thieves； Fate had been driving him to this end。 Without doubt； in the
foundations of the world was graved this end for him for him； who was
so fine and sensitive； whose nerves scarcely sheltered under his skin； who
was a dreamer； and a poet； and an artist。 Before he was dreamed of； it
had been determined that the quivering bundle of sensitiveness that
constituted him should be doomed to live in raw and howling savagery；
and to die in this far land of night； in this dark place beyond the last
boundaries of the world。
He sighed。 So that thing before him was Big IvanBig Ivan the giant；
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the man without nerves； the man of iron； the Cossack turned freebooter of
the seas； who was as phlegmatic as an ox； with a nervous system so low
that what was pain to ordinary men was scarcely a tickle to him。 Well；
well； trust these Nulato Indians to find Big Ivan's nerves and trace them to
the roots of his quivering soul。 They were certainly doing it。 It was
inconceivable that a man could suffer so much and yet live。 Big Ivan
was paying for his low order of nerves。 Already he had lasted twice as
long as any of the others。
Subienkow felt that he could not stand the Cossack's sufferings much
longer。 Why didn't Ivan die？ He would go mad if that screaming did
not cease。 But when it did cease； his turn would come。 And there was
Yakaga awaiting him； too； grinning at him even now in anticipation
Yakaga； whom only last week he had kicked out of the fort； and upon
whose face he had laid the lash of his dog…whip。 Yakaga would attend to
him。 Doubtlessly Yakaga was saving for him more refined tortures； more
exquisite nerve…racking。 Ah！ that must have been a good one； from the
way Ivan screamed。 The squaws bending over him stepped back with
laughter and clapping of hands。 Subienkow saw the monstrous thing that
had been perpetrated； and began to laugh hysterically。 The Indians
looked at him in wonderment that he should laugh。 But Subienkow
could not stop。
This would never do。 He controlled himself； the spasmodic
twitchings slowly dying away。 He strove to think of other things； and
began reading back in his own life。 He remembered his mother and his
father； and the little spotted pony； and the French tutor who had taught him
dancing and sneaked him an old worn copy of Voltaire。 Once more he saw
Paris； and dreary London； and gay Vienna； and Rome。 And once more he
saw that wild group of youths who had dreamed； even as he； the dream of
an independent Poland with a king of Poland on the throne at Warsaw。
Ah； there it was that the long trail began。 Well； he had lasted longest。
One by one； beginning with the two executed at St。 Petersburg； he took up
the count of the passing of those brave spirits。 Here one had been beaten
to death by a jailer； and there； on that bloodstained highway of the exiles；
where they had marched for endless months； beaten and maltreated by
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their Cossack guards； another had dropped by the way。 Always it had
been savagery… …brutal； bestial savagery。 They had diedof fever； in the
mines； under the knout。 The last two had died after the escape； in the
battle with the Cossacks； and he alone had won to Kamtchatka with the
stolen papers and the money of a traveller he had left lying in the snow。
It had been nothing but savagery。 All the years； with his heart in
studios； and theatres； and courts； he had been hemmed in by savagery。 He
had purchased his life with blood。 Everybody had killed。 He had killed
that traveller for his passports。 He had proved that he was a man of parts
by duelling with two Russian officers on a single day。 He had had to prove
himself in order to win to a place among the fur… thieves。 He had had to
win to that place。 Behind him lay the thousand…years…long road across all
Siberia and Russia。 He could not escape that way。 The only way was
ahead； across the dark and icy sea of Bering to Alaska。 The way had led
from savagery to deeper savagery。 On the scurvy…rotten ships of the fur…
thieves； out of food and out of water； buffeted by the interminable storms
of that stormy sea； men had become animals。 Thrice he had sailed east
from Kamtchatka。 And thrice； after all manner of hardship and suffering；
the survivors had come back to Kamtchatka。 There had been no outlet
for escape； and he could not go back the way he had come； for the mines
and the knout awaited him。
Again； the fourth and last time； he had sailed east。 He had been with
those who first found the fabled Seal Islands； but he had not returned with
them to share the wealth of furs in the mad orgies of Kamtchatka。 He
had sworn never to go back。 He knew that to win to those dear capitals
of Europe he must go on。 So he had changed ships and remained in the
dark new land。 His comrades were Slavonian hunters and Russian
adventurers； Mongols and Tartars and Siberian aborigines； and through the
savages of the new world they had cut a path of blood。 They had
massacred whole villages that refused to furnish the fur…tribute； and they；
in turn； had been massacred by ships' companies。 He； with one Finn； had
been the sole survivor of such a company。 They had spent a winter of
solitude and starvation on a lonely Aleutian isle； and their rescue in the
spring by another fur…ship had been one chance in a thousand。
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But always the terrible savagery had hemmed him in。 Passing from
ship to ship； and ever refusing to return； he had come to the ship that
explored south。 All down the Alaska coast they had encountered nothing
but hosts of savages。 Every anchorage among the beetling
