before adam(亚当之前)-第5章
按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！
talked only concrete things because we thought only concrete things。
Also； we depended largely on pantomime。 The simplest abstraction was
practically beyond our thinking； and when one did happen to think one； he
was hard put to communicate it to his fellows。 There were no sounds for
it。 He was pressing beyond the limits of his vocabulary。 If he invented
sounds for it； his fellows did not understand the sounds。 Then it was that
he fell back on pantomime； illustrating the thought wherever possible and
at the same time repeating the new sound over and over again。
Thus language grew。 By the few sounds we possessed we were
enabled to think a short distance beyond those sounds； then came the need
for new sounds wherewith to express the new thought。 Sometimes；
however； we thought too long a distance in advance of our sounds；
managed to achieve abstractions （dim ones I grant）； which we failed
utterly to make known to other folk。 After all； language did not grow fast
in that day。
Oh； believe me； we were amazingly simple。 But we did know a lot
that is not known to…day。 We could twitch our ears； prick them up and
flatten them down at will。 And we could scratch between our shoulders
with ease。 We could throw stones with our feet。 I have done it many a
time。 And for that matter； I could keep my knees straight； bend forward
from the hips； and touch； not the tips of my fingers； but the points of my
elbows； to the ground。 And as for bird…nestingwell； I only wish the
twentieth…century boy could see us。 But we made no collections of eggs。
We ate them。
I rememberbut I out…run my story。 First let me tell of Lop…Ear and
our friendship。 Very early in my life； I separated from my mother。
Possibly this was because； after the death of my father； she took to herself
a second husband。 I have few recollections of him； and they are not of
the best。 He was a light fellow。 There was no solidity to him。 He was
too voluble。 His infernal chattering worries me even now as I think of it。
His mind was too inconsequential to permit him to possess purpose。
Monkeys in their cages always remind me of him。 He was monkeyish。
That is the best description I can give of him。
20
… Page 21…
Before Adam
He hated me from the first。 And I quickly learned to be afraid of him
and his malicious pranks。 Whenever he came in sight I crept close to my
mother and clung to her。 But I was growing older all the time； and it was
inevitable that I should from time to time stray from her； and stray farther
and farther。 And these were the opportunities that the Chatterer waited
for。 （I may as well explain that we bore no names in those days； were not
known by any name。 For the sake of convenience I have myself given
names to the various Folk I was more closely in contact with； and the
〃Chatterer〃 is the most fitting description I can find for that precious
stepfather of mine。 As for me； I have named myself 〃Big…Tooth。〃 My
eye…teeth were pronouncedly large。）
But to return to the Chatterer。 He persistently terrorized me。 He was
always pinching me and cuffing me； and on occasion he was not above
biting me。 Often my mother interfered； and the way she made his fur fly
was a joy to see。 But the result of all this was a beautiful and unending
family quarrel； in which I was the bone of contention。
No； my home…life was not happy。 I smile to myself as I write the
phrase。 Home…life！ Home！ I had no home in the modern sense of the
term。 My home was an association； not a habitation。 I lived in my
mother's care； not in a house。 And my mother lived anywhere； so long as
when night came she was above the ground。
My mother was old…fashioned。 She still clung to her trees。 It is true；
the more progressive members of our horde lived in the caves above the
river。 But my mother was suspicious and unprogressive。 The trees were
good enough for her。 Of course； we had one particular tree in which we
usually roosted； though we often roosted in other trees when nightfall
caught us。 In a convenient fork was a sort of rude platform of twigs and
branches and creeping things。 It was more like a huge bird…nest than
anything else； though it was a thousand times cruder in the weaving than
any bird…nest。 But it had one feature that I have never seen attached to
any bird…nest； namely； a roof。
Oh； not a roof such as modern man makes！ Nor a roof such as is made
by the lowest aborigines of to…day。 It was infinitely more clumsy than
the clumsiest handiwork of manof man as we know him。 It was put
21
… Page 22…
Before Adam
together in a casual； helter…skelter sort of way。 Above the fork of the tree
whereon we rested was a pile of dead branches and brush。 Four or five
adjacent forks held what I may term the various ridge…poles。 These were
merely stout sticks an inch or so in diameter。 On them rested the brush
and branches。 These seemed to have been tossed on almost aimlessly。
There was no attempt at thatching。 And I must confess that the roof leaked
miserably in a heavy rain。
But the Chatterer。 He made home…life a burden for both my mother
and meand by home…life I mean； not the leaky nest in the tree； but the
group…life of the three of us。 He was most malicious in his persecution of
me。 That was the one purpose to which he held steadfastly for longer than
five minutes。 Also； as time went by； my mother was less eager in her
defence of me。 I think； what of the continuous rows raised by the
Chatterer； that I must have become a nuisance to her。 At any rate； the
situation went from bad to worse so rapidly that I should soon； of my own
volition； have left home。 But the satisfaction of performing so
independent an act was denied me。 Before I was ready to go； I was
thrown out。 And I mean this literally。
The opportunity came to the Chatterer one day when I was alone in the
nest。 My mother and the Chatterer had gone away together toward the
blueberry swamp。 He must have planned the whole thing； for I heard
him returning alone through the forest； roaring with self…induced rage as
he came。 Like all the men of our horde； when they were angry or were
trying to make themselves angry； he stopped now and again to hammer on
his chest with his fist。
I realized the helplessness of my situation； and crouched trembling in
the nest。 The Chatterer came directly to the treeI remember it was an
oak treeand began to climb up。 And he never ceased for a moment
from his infernal row。 As I have said； our language was extremely
meagre； and he must have strained it by the variety of ways in which he
informed me of his undying hatred of me and of his intention there and
then to have it out with me。
As he climbed to the fork； I fled out the great horizontal limb。 He
followed me； and out I went； farther and farther。 At last I was out
22
… Page 23…
Before Adam
amongst the small twigs and leaves。 The Chatterer was ever a coward；
and greater always than any anger he ever worked up was his caution。
He was afraid to follow me out amongst the leaves and twigs。 For that
matter； his greater weight would have crashed him through the foliage
before he could have got to me。
But it was not necessary for him to reach me； and well he knew it； the
scoundrel！ With a malevolent expression on his face； his beady eyes
gleaming with cruel intelligence； he began teetering。 Teetering！and with
me out on the very edge of the bough； clutching at the twigs that broke
continually with my weight。 Twenty feet beneath me was the earth。
Wildly and morewildly he teetered； grinning at me his gloating
hatred。 Then came the end。 All four holds broke at the same time； and I
fell； back…downward； looking up at him； my hands and feet still clutching
the broken twigs。 Luckily； there were no wild pigs under me； and my fall
was broken by the tough and springy bushes。
Usually； my falls destroy my dreams； the nervous shock being
sufficient to bridge the thousand centuries in an instant and hurl me wide
awake into my little bed； where； perchance； I lie sweating and trembling
and hear the cuckoo clock calling the hour in the hall。 But this dream of
my leaving home I have had many times； and never yet have I been
awakened by it。 Always do I crash； shrieking； down through the brush
and fetch up with a bump on the ground。
Scratched and bruised and whimpering； I lay where I had fallen。
Peering up through the bushes； I could see the Chatterer。 He had set up a
demoniacal chant of joy and was keeping time to it with his teetering。 I
quickly hushed my whimpering。 I was no longer in the safety of the trees；
and I knew the danger I ran of bringing upon myself the hunting animals
by too audible an expression of my grief。
I remember； as my sobs died down； that I became interested in
watching the strange light…effects produced by partially opening and
closing my tear…wet eyelids。 Then I began to investigate； and found that I
was not so very badly damaged by my fall。 I had lost some hair and hide；
here and there； the sharp and jagged end of a
