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.One afternoon, after twenty minutes of desperate efforts to annihilate each other according to set rules thatdid not permit kicking, striking below the belt, nor hitting when one was down, Cheese- Face, panting for breath and reeling, offeredto call it quits.And Martin, head on arms, thrilled at the picture he caught of himself, at that moment in the afternoon of long ago,when he reeled and panted and choked with the blood that ran into his mouth and down his throat from his cut lips; when he totteredtoward Cheese-Face, spitting out a mouthful of blood so that he could speak, crying out that he would never quit, thoughCheese-Face could give in if he wanted to.And Cheese-Face did not give in, and the fight went on.The next day and the next, days without end, witnessed the afternoon fight.When he put up his arms, each day, to begin, they painedexquisitely, and the first few blows, struck and received, racked his soul; after that things grew numb, and he fought on blindly, seeingas in a dream, dancing and wavering, the large features and burning, animal- like eyes of Cheese-Face.He concentrated upon thatface; all else about him was a whirling void.There was nothing else in the world but that face, and he would never know rest, blessedrest, until he had beaten that face into a pulp with his bleeding knuckles, or until the bleeding knuckles that somehow belonged to thatface had beaten him into a pulp.And then, one way or the other, he would have rest.But to quit,--for him, Martin, to quit,--that wasimpossible!Came the day when he dragged himself into the Enquirer alley, and there was no Cheese-Face.Nor did Cheese-Face come.The boyscongratulated him, and told him that he had licked Cheese-Face.But Martin was not satisfied.He had not licked Cheese-Face, norhad Cheese-Face licked him.The problem had not been solved.It was not until afterward that they learned that Cheese-Face's fatherhad died suddenly that very day.Martin skipped on through the years to the night in the nigger heaven at the Auditorium.He was seventeen and just back from sea.Arow started.Somebody was bullying somebody, and Martin interfered, to be confronted by Cheese-Face's blazing eyes."I'll fix you after de show," his ancient enemy hissed.Martin nodded.The nigger-heaven bouncer was making his way toward the disturbance.Martin Eden 49/161 Martin Eden"I'll meet you outside, after the last act," Martin whispered, the while his face showed undivided interest in the buck-and-wingdancing on the stage.The bouncer glared and went away."Got a gang?" he asked Cheese-Face, at the end of the act."Sure.""Then I got to get one," Martin announced.Between the acts he mustered his following--three fellows he knew from the nail works, a railroad fireman, and half a dozen of theBoo Gang, along with as many more from the dread Eighteen-and-Market Gang.When the theatre let out, the two gangs strung along inconspicuously on opposite sides of the street.When they came to a quiet corner,they united and held a council of war."Eighth Street Bridge is the place," said a red-headed fellow belonging to Cheese-Face's Gang."You kin fight in the middle, underthe electric light, an' whichever way the bulls come in we kin sneak the other way.""That's agreeable to me," Martin said, after consulting with the leaders of his own gang.The Eighth Street Bridge, crossing an arm of San Antonio Estuary, was the length of three city blocks.In the middle of the bridge, andat each end, were electric lights.No policeman could pass those end-lights unseen.It was the safe place for the battle that reviveditself under Martin's eyelids.He saw the two gangs, aggressive and sullen, rigidly keeping apart from each other and backing theirrespective champions; and he saw himself and Cheese-Face stripping.A short distance away lookouts were set, their task being towatch the lighted ends of the bridge.A member of the Boo Gang held Martin's coat, and shirt, and cap, ready to race with them intosafety in case the police interfered.Martin watched himself go into the centre, facing Cheese-Face, and he heard himself say, as heheld up his hand warningly:-"They ain't no hand-shakin' in this.Understand? They ain't nothin' but scrap.No throwin' up the sponge.This is a grudge-fight an' it'sto a finish.Understand? Somebody's goin' to get licked."Cheese-Face wanted to demur,--Martin could see that,--but Cheese-Face's old perilous pride was touched before the two gangs."Aw, come on," he replied."Wot's the good of chewin' de rag about it? I'm wit' cheh to de finish."Then they fell upon each other, like young bulls, in all the glory of youth, with naked fists, with hatred, with desire to hurt, to maim, todestroy.All the painful, thousand years' gains of man in his upward climb through creation were lost.Only the electric light remained,a milestone on the path of the great human adventure.Martin and Cheese- Face were two savages, of the stone age, of the squattingplace and the tree refuge.They sank lower and lower into the muddy abyss, back into the dregs of the raw beginnings of life, strivingblindly and chemically, as atoms strive, as the star-dust if the heavens strives, colliding, recoiling, and colliding again and eternallyagain."God! We are animals! Brute-beasts!" Martin muttered aloud, as he watched the progress of the fight.It was to him, with his splendidpower of vision, like gazing into a kinetoscope.He was both onlooker and participant.His long months of culture and refinementshuddered at the sight; then the present was blotted out of his consciousness and the ghosts of the past possessed him, and he wasMartin Eden, just returned from sea and fighting Cheese-Face on the Eighth Street Bridge.He suffered and toiled and sweated andbled, and exulted when his naked knuckles smashed home [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
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.One afternoon, after twenty minutes of desperate efforts to annihilate each other according to set rules thatdid not permit kicking, striking below the belt, nor hitting when one was down, Cheese- Face, panting for breath and reeling, offeredto call it quits.And Martin, head on arms, thrilled at the picture he caught of himself, at that moment in the afternoon of long ago,when he reeled and panted and choked with the blood that ran into his mouth and down his throat from his cut lips; when he totteredtoward Cheese-Face, spitting out a mouthful of blood so that he could speak, crying out that he would never quit, thoughCheese-Face could give in if he wanted to.And Cheese-Face did not give in, and the fight went on.The next day and the next, days without end, witnessed the afternoon fight.When he put up his arms, each day, to begin, they painedexquisitely, and the first few blows, struck and received, racked his soul; after that things grew numb, and he fought on blindly, seeingas in a dream, dancing and wavering, the large features and burning, animal- like eyes of Cheese-Face.He concentrated upon thatface; all else about him was a whirling void.There was nothing else in the world but that face, and he would never know rest, blessedrest, until he had beaten that face into a pulp with his bleeding knuckles, or until the bleeding knuckles that somehow belonged to thatface had beaten him into a pulp.And then, one way or the other, he would have rest.But to quit,--for him, Martin, to quit,--that wasimpossible!Came the day when he dragged himself into the Enquirer alley, and there was no Cheese-Face.Nor did Cheese-Face come.The boyscongratulated him, and told him that he had licked Cheese-Face.But Martin was not satisfied.He had not licked Cheese-Face, norhad Cheese-Face licked him.The problem had not been solved.It was not until afterward that they learned that Cheese-Face's fatherhad died suddenly that very day.Martin skipped on through the years to the night in the nigger heaven at the Auditorium.He was seventeen and just back from sea.Arow started.Somebody was bullying somebody, and Martin interfered, to be confronted by Cheese-Face's blazing eyes."I'll fix you after de show," his ancient enemy hissed.Martin nodded.The nigger-heaven bouncer was making his way toward the disturbance.Martin Eden 49/161 Martin Eden"I'll meet you outside, after the last act," Martin whispered, the while his face showed undivided interest in the buck-and-wingdancing on the stage.The bouncer glared and went away."Got a gang?" he asked Cheese-Face, at the end of the act."Sure.""Then I got to get one," Martin announced.Between the acts he mustered his following--three fellows he knew from the nail works, a railroad fireman, and half a dozen of theBoo Gang, along with as many more from the dread Eighteen-and-Market Gang.When the theatre let out, the two gangs strung along inconspicuously on opposite sides of the street.When they came to a quiet corner,they united and held a council of war."Eighth Street Bridge is the place," said a red-headed fellow belonging to Cheese-Face's Gang."You kin fight in the middle, underthe electric light, an' whichever way the bulls come in we kin sneak the other way.""That's agreeable to me," Martin said, after consulting with the leaders of his own gang.The Eighth Street Bridge, crossing an arm of San Antonio Estuary, was the length of three city blocks.In the middle of the bridge, andat each end, were electric lights.No policeman could pass those end-lights unseen.It was the safe place for the battle that reviveditself under Martin's eyelids.He saw the two gangs, aggressive and sullen, rigidly keeping apart from each other and backing theirrespective champions; and he saw himself and Cheese-Face stripping.A short distance away lookouts were set, their task being towatch the lighted ends of the bridge.A member of the Boo Gang held Martin's coat, and shirt, and cap, ready to race with them intosafety in case the police interfered.Martin watched himself go into the centre, facing Cheese-Face, and he heard himself say, as heheld up his hand warningly:-"They ain't no hand-shakin' in this.Understand? They ain't nothin' but scrap.No throwin' up the sponge.This is a grudge-fight an' it'sto a finish.Understand? Somebody's goin' to get licked."Cheese-Face wanted to demur,--Martin could see that,--but Cheese-Face's old perilous pride was touched before the two gangs."Aw, come on," he replied."Wot's the good of chewin' de rag about it? I'm wit' cheh to de finish."Then they fell upon each other, like young bulls, in all the glory of youth, with naked fists, with hatred, with desire to hurt, to maim, todestroy.All the painful, thousand years' gains of man in his upward climb through creation were lost.Only the electric light remained,a milestone on the path of the great human adventure.Martin and Cheese- Face were two savages, of the stone age, of the squattingplace and the tree refuge.They sank lower and lower into the muddy abyss, back into the dregs of the raw beginnings of life, strivingblindly and chemically, as atoms strive, as the star-dust if the heavens strives, colliding, recoiling, and colliding again and eternallyagain."God! We are animals! Brute-beasts!" Martin muttered aloud, as he watched the progress of the fight.It was to him, with his splendidpower of vision, like gazing into a kinetoscope.He was both onlooker and participant.His long months of culture and refinementshuddered at the sight; then the present was blotted out of his consciousness and the ghosts of the past possessed him, and he wasMartin Eden, just returned from sea and fighting Cheese-Face on the Eighth Street Bridge.He suffered and toiled and sweated andbled, and exulted when his naked knuckles smashed home [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]