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space that I was experiencing。 Many days afterwards I asked Morrell
what he had tried to convey to me。 It was a simple message； namely：
〃Standing； are you there？〃 He had tapped it rapidly； while the
guard was at the far end of the corridor into which the solitary
cells opened。 As I say； he had tapped the message very rapidly。
And now behold！ Between the first tap and the second I was off and
away among the stars； clad in fleecy garments； touching each star as
I passed in my pursuit of the formulae that would explain the last
mystery of life。 And； as before； I pursued the quest for centuries。
Then came the summons； the stamp of the hoof of doom； the exquisite
disruptive agony； and again I was back in my cell in San Quentin。
It was the second tap of Ed Morrell's knuckle。 The interval between
it and the first tap could have been no more than a fifth of a
second。 And yet； so unthinkably enormous was the extension of time
to me； that in the course of that fifth of a second I had been away
star…roving for long ages。
Now I know； my reader； that the foregoing seems all a farrago。 I
agree with you。 It is farrago。 It was experience； however。 It was
just as real to me as is the snake beheld by a man in delirium
tremens。
Possibly； by the most liberal estimate； it may have taken Ed Morrell
two minutes to tap his question。 Yet； to me； aeons elapsed between
the first tap of his knuckle and the last。 No longer could I tread
my starry path with that ineffable pristine joy； for my way was
beset with dread of the inevitable summons that would rip and tear
me as it jerked me back to my straitjacket hell。 Thus my aeons of
star…wandering were aeons of dread。
And all the time I knew it was Ed Morrell's knuckle that thus
cruelly held me earth…bound。 I tried to speak to him； to ask him to
cease。 But so thoroughly had I eliminated my body from my
consciousness that I was unable to resurrect it。 My body lay dead
in the jacket； though I still inhabited the skull。 In vain I strove
to will my foot to tap my message to Morrell。 I reasoned I had a
foot。 And yet； so thoroughly had I carried out the experiment； I
had no foot。
Nextand I know now that it was because Morrell had spelled his
message quite outI pursued my way among the stars and was not
called back。 After that； and in the course of it； I was aware；
drowsily； that I was falling asleep； and that it was delicious
sleep。 From time to time； drowsily； I stirredplease； my reader；
don't miss that verbI STIRRED。 I moved my legs； my arms。 I was
aware of clean； soft bed linen against my skin。 I was aware of
bodily well…being。 Oh； it was delicious！ As thirsting men on the
desert dream of splashing fountains and flowing wells； so dreamed I
of easement from the constriction of the jacket； of cleanliness in
the place of filth； of smooth velvety skin of health in place of my
poor parchment…crinkled hide。 But I dreamed with a difference； as
you shall see。
I awoke。 Oh； broad and wide awake I was； although I did not open my
eyes。 And please know that in all that follows I knew no surprise
whatever。 Everything was the natural and the expected。 I was I； be
sure of that。 BUT I WAS NOT DARRELL STANDING。 Darrell Standing had
no more to do with the being I was than did Darrell Standing's
parchment…crinkled skin have aught to do with the cool； soft skin
that was mine。 Nor was I aware of any Darrell Standingas I could
not well be； considering that Darrell Standing was as yet unborn and
would not be born for centuries。 But you shall see。
I lay with closed eyes； lazily listening。 From without came the
clacking of many hoofs moving orderly on stone flags。 From the
accompanying jingle of metal bits of man…harness and steed…harness I
knew some cavalcade was passing by on the street beneath my windows。
Also； I wondered idly who it was。 From somewhereand I knew where；
for I knew it was from the inn yardcame the ring and stamp of
hoofs and an impatient neigh that I recognized as belonging to my
waiting horse。
Came steps and movementssteps openly advertised as suppressed with
the intent of silence and that yet were deliberately noisy with the
secret intent of rousing me if I still slept。 I smiled inwardly at
the rascal's trick。
〃Pons；〃 I ordered； without opening my eyes； 〃water； cold water；
quick； a deluge。 I drank over long last night； and now my gullet
scorches。〃
〃And slept over long to…day；〃 he scolded； as he passed me the water；
ready in his hand。
I sat up； opened my eyes； and carried the tankard to my lips with
both my hands。 And as I drank I looked at Pons。
Now note two things。 I spoke in French； I was not conscious that I
spoke in French。 Not until afterward； back in solitary； when I
remembered what I am narrating； did I know that I had spoken in
Frenchay； and spoken well。 As for me； Darrell Standing； at
present writing these lines in Murderers' Row of Folsom Prison； why；
I know only high school French sufficient to enable me to read the
language。 As for my speaking itimpossible。 I can scarcely
intelligibly pronounce my way through a menu。
But to return。 Pons was a little withered old man。 He was born in
our houseI know； for it chanced that mention was made of it this
very day I am describing。 Pons was all of sixty years。 He was
mostly toothless； and； despite a pronounced limp that compelled him
to go slippity…hop； he was very alert and spry in all his movements。
Also； he was impudently familiar。 This was because he had been in
my house sixty years。 He had been my father's servant before I
could toddle； and after my father's death （Pons and I talked of it
this day） he became my servant。 The limp he had acquired on a
stricken field in Italy； when the horsemen charged across。 He had
just dragged my father clear of the hoofs when he was lanced through
the thigh； overthrown； and trampled。 My father； conscious but
helpless from his own wounds； witnessed it all。 And so； as I say；
Pons had earned such a right to impudent familiarity that at least
there was no gainsaying him by my father's son。
Pons shook his head as I drained the huge draught。
〃Did you hear it boil？〃 I laughed； as I handed back the empty
tankard。
〃Like your father；〃 he said hopelessly。 〃But your father lived to
learn better； which I doubt you will do。〃
〃He got a stomach affliction；〃 I devilled； 〃so that one mouthful of
spirits turned it outside in。 It were wisdom not to drink when
one's tank will not hold the drink。〃
While we talked Pons was gathering to my bedside my clothes for the
day。
〃Drink on； my master；〃 he answered。 〃It won't hurt you。 You'll die
with a sound stomach。〃
〃You mean mine is an iron…lined stomach？〃 I wilfully misunderstood
him。
〃I mean〃 he began with a quick peevishness； then broke off as he
realized my teasing and with a pout of his withered lips draped my
new sable cloa