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The Jacket (The Star-Rover)-Part6_JACK LONDON(1876-1916)_English Literature(文学名著)-第2页

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Kul'ah, as it was known by--"



But here I broke in again, pointing to rubbish piles of ruined

masonry on the left edge of the photograph



"Over there somewhere," I said. "That name you just spoke was what

the Jews called it. But we called it something else. We called it



. . . I forget."

"Listen to the youngster," my father chuckled. "You'd think he'd



ben there."

I nodded my head, for in that moment I knew I had been there, though



all seemed strangely different. My father laughed the harder, but

the missionary thought I was making game of him. He handed me



another photograph. It was just a bleak waste of a landscape,

barren of trees and vegetation, a shallowcanyon with easy-sloping



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 somewhere--you 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




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