Before Adam by Jack London

Before Adam by Jack London

1906

“These are our ancestors, and their history is our

history. Remember that as surely as we one day swung

down out of the trees and walked upright, just as

surely, on a far earlier day, did we crawl up out of

the sea and achieve our first adventure on land.”

CHAPTER I

Pictures! Pictures! Pictures! Often, before I learned,

did I wonder whence came the multitudes of pictures

that thronged my dreams; for they were pictures the

like of which I had never seen in real wake-a-day life.

They tormented my childhood, making of my dreams a

procession of nightmares and a little later convincing

me that I was different from my kind, a creature

unnatural and accursed.

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In my days only did I attain any measure of happiness.

My nights marked the reign of fear–and such fear! I

make bold to state that no man of all the men who walk

the earth with me ever suffer fear of like kind and

degree. For my fear is the fear of long ago, the fear

that was rampant in the Younger World, and in the youth

of the Younger World. In short, the fear that reigned

supreme in that period known as the Mid-Pleistocene.

What do I mean? I see explanation is necessary before I

can tell you of the substance of my dreams. Otherwise,

little could you know of the meaning of the things I

know so well. As I write this, all the beings and

happenings of that other world rise up before me in

vast phantasmagoria, and I know that to you they would

be rhymeless and reasonless.

What to you the friendship of Lop-Ear, the warm lure of

the Swift One, the lust and the atavism of Red-Eye? A

screaming incoherence and no more. And a screaming

incoherence, likewise, the doings of the Fire People

and the Tree People, and the gibbering councils of the

horde. For you know not the peace of the cool caves in

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the cliffs, the circus of the drinking-places at the

end of the day. You have never felt the bite of the

morning wind in the tree-tops, nor is the taste of

young bark sweet in your mouth.

It would be better, I dare say, for you to make your

approach, as I made mine, through my childhood. As a

boy I was very like other boys–in my waking hours. It

was in my sleep that I was different. From my earliest

recollection my sleep was a period of terror. Rarely

were my dreams tinctured with happiness. As a rule,

they were stuffed with fear–and with a fear so strange

and alien that it had no ponderable quality. No fear

that I experienced in my waking life resembled the fear

that possessed me in my sleep. It was of a quality and

kind that transcended all my experiences.

For instance, I was a city boy, a city child, rather,

to whom the country was an unexplored domain. Yet I

never dreamed of cities; nor did a house ever occur in

any of my dreams. Nor, for that matter, did any of my

human kind ever break through the wall of my sleep. I,

who had seen trees only in parks and illustrated books,

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wandered in my sleep through interminable forests. And

further, these dream trees were not a mere blur on my

vision. They were sharp and distinct. I was on terms

of practised intimacy with them. I saw every branch

and twig; I saw and knew every different leaf.

Well do I remember the first time in my waking life

that I saw an oak tree. As I looked at the leaves and

branches and gnarls, it came to me with distressing

vividness that I had seen that same kind of tree many

and countless times n my sleep. So I was not

surprised, still later on in my life, to recognize

instantly, the first time I saw them, trees such as the

spruce, the yew, the birch, and the laurel. I had seen

them all before, and was seeing them even then, every

night, in my sleep.

This, as you have already discerned, violates the first

law of dreaming, namely, that in one’s dreams one sees

only what he has seen in his waking life, or

combinations of the things he has seen in his waking

life. But all my dreams violated this law. In my

dreams I never saw ANYTHING of which I had knowledge in

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my waking life. My dream life and my waking life were

lives apart, with not one thing in common save myself.

I was the connecting link that somehow lived both

lives.

Early in my childhood I learned that nuts came from the

grocer, berries from the fruit man; but before ever

that knowledge was mine, in my dreams I picked nuts

from trees, or gathered them and ate them from the

ground underneath trees, and in the same way I ate

berries from vines and bushes. This was beyond any

experience of mine.

I shall never forget the first time I saw blueberries

served on the table. I had never seen blueberries

before, and yet, at the sight of them, there leaped up

in my mind memories of dreams wherein I had wandered

through swampy land eating my fill of them. My mother

set before me a dish of the berries. I filled my

spoon, but before I raised it to my mouth I knew just

how they would taste. Nor was I disappointed. It was

the same tang that I had tasted a thousand times in my

sleep.

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Snakes? Long before I had heard of the existence of

snakes, I was tormented by them in my sleep. They

lurked for me in the forest glades; leaped up,

striking, under my feet; squirmed off through the dry

grass or across naked patches of rock; or pursued me

into the tree-tops, encircling the trunks with their

great shining bodies, driving me higher and higher or

farther and farther out on swaying and crackling

branches, the ground a dizzy distance beneath me.

Snakes!–with their forked tongues, their beady eyes

and glittering scales, their hissing and their

rattling–did I not already know them far too well on

that day of my first circus when I saw the

snake-charmer lift them up?

They were old friends of mine, enemies rather, that

peopled my nights with fear.

Ah, those endless forests, and their horror-haunted

gloom! For what eternities have I wandered through

them, a timid, hunted creature, starting at the least

sound, frightened of my own shadow, keyed-up, ever

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alert and vigilant, ready on the instant to dash away

in mad flight for my life. For I was the prey of all

manner of fierce life that dwelt in the forest, and it

was in ecstasies of fear that I fled before the hunting

monsters.

When I was five years old I went to my first circus. I

came home from it sick–but not from peanuts and pink

lemonade. Let me tell you. As we entered the animal

tent, a hoarse roaring shook the air. I tore my hand

loose from my father’s and dashed wildly back through

the entrance. I collided with people, fell down; and

all the time I was screaming with terror. My father

caught me and soothed me. He pointed to the crowd of

people, all careless of the roaring, and cheered me

with assurances of safety.

Nevertheless, it was in fear and trembling, and with

much encouragement on his part, that I at last

approached the lion’s cage. Ah, I knew him on the

instant. The beast! The terrible one! And on my inner

vision flashed the memories of my dreams,–the midday

sun shining on tall grass, the wild bull grazing

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quietly, the sudden parting of the grass before the

swift rush of the tawny one, his leap to the bull’s

back, the crashing and the bellowing, and the crunch

crunch of bones; or again, the cool quiet of the

water-hole, the wild horse up to his knees and drinking

softly, and then the tawny one–always the tawny one!–

the leap, the screaming and the splashing of the horse,

and the crunch crunch of bones; and yet again, the

sombre twilight and the sad silence of the end of day,

and then the great full-throated roar, sudden, like a

trump of doom, and swift upon it the insane shrieking

and chattering among the trees, and I, too, am

trembling with fear and am one of the many shrieking

and chattering among the trees.

At the sight of him, helpless, within the bars of his

cage, I became enraged. I gritted my teeth at him,

danced up and down, screaming an incoherent mockery and

making antic faces. He responded, rushing against the

bars and roaring back at me his impotent wrath. Ah, he

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