Chapter XXXIV

by Jack London

　　Back on the ranch, in the Valley of the Moon, I resumed my steadydrinking. My programme was no drink in the morning; first drink-time came with the completion of my thousand words. Then, betweenthat and the midday meal, were drinks numerous enough to develop apleasant jingle. Again, in the hour preceding the evening meal, Ideveloped another pleasant jingle. Nobody ever saw me drunk, forthe simple reason that I never was drunk. But I did get a jingletwice each day; and the amount of alcohol I consumed every day, ifloosed in the system of one unaccustomed to drink, would have putsuch a one on his back and out.

　　It was the old proposition. The more I drank, the more I wascompelled to drink in order to get an effect. The time came whencocktails were inadequate. I had neither the time in which todrink them nor the space to accommodate them. Whisky had a morepowerful jolt. It gave quicker action with less quantity.Bourbon or rye, or cunningly aged blends, constituted the pre-midday drinking. In the late afternoon it was Scotch and soda.

　　My sleep, always excellent, now became not quite so excellent. Ihad been accustomed to read myself back asleep when I chanced toawake. But now this began to fail me. When I had read two orthree of the small hours away and was as wide awake as ever, Ifound that a drink furnished the soporific effect. Sometimes twoor three drinks were required.

　　So short a period of sleep then intervened before early morningrising that my system did not have time to work off the alcohol.As a result I awoke with mouth parched and dry, with a slightheaviness of head, and with a mild nervous palpitation in thestomach. In fact I did not feel good. I was suffering from themorning sickness of the steady, heavy drinker. What I needed wasa pick-me-up, a bracer. Trust John Barleycorn, once he has brokendown a man's defences! So it was a drink before breakfast to putme right for breakfast--the old poison of the snake that hasbitten one! Another custom begun at this time was that of thepitcher of water by the bedside to furnish relief to my scorchedand sizzling membranes.

　　I achieved a condition in which my body was never free fromalcohol. Nor did I permit myself to be away from alcohol. If Itravelled to out-of-the-way places, I declined to run the risk offinding them dry. I took a quart, or several quarts, along in mygrip. In the past I had been amazed by other men guilty of thispractice. Now I did it myself unblushingly. And when I got outwith the fellows, I cast all rules by the board. I drank whenthey drank, what they drank, and in the same way they drank.

　　I was carrying a beautiful alcoholic conflagration around with me.The thing fed on its own heat and flamed the fiercer. There wasno time, in all my waking time, that I didn't want a drink. Ibegan to anticipate the completion of my daily thousand words bytaking a drink when only five hundred words were written. It wasnot long until I prefaced the beginning of the thousand words witha drink.

　　The gravity of this I realised too well. I made new rules.Resolutely I would refrain from drinking until my work was done.But a new and most diabolical complication arose. The workrefused to be done without drinking. It just couldn't be done. Ihad to drink in order to do it. I was beginning to fight now. Ihad the craving at last, and it was mastering me. I would sit atmy desk and dally with pad and pen, but words refused to flow. Mybrain could not think the proper thoughts because continually itwas obsessed with the one thought that across the room in theliquor cabinet stood John Barleycorn. When, in despair, I took mydrink, at once my brain loosened up and began to roll off thethousand words.

　　In my town house, in Oakland, I finished the stock of liquor andwilfully refused to purchase more. It was no use, because,unfortunately, there remained in the bottom of the liquor cabineta case of beer. In vain I tried to write. Now beer is a poorsubstitute for strong waters: besides, I didn't like beer, yet allI could think of was that beer so singularly accessible in thebottom of the cabinet. Not until I had drunk a pint of it did thewords begin to reel off, and the thousand were reeled off to thetune of numerous pints. The worst of it was that the beer causedme severe heart-burn; but despite the discomfort I soon finishedoff the case.

　　The liquor cabinet was now bare. I did not replenish it. Bytruly heroic perseverance I finally forced myself to write thedaily thousand words without the spur of John Barleycorn. But allthe time I wrote I was keenly aware of the craving for a drink.And as soon as the morning's work was done, I was out of the houseand away down-town to get my first drink. Merciful goodness!--ifJohn Barleycorn could get such sway over me, a non-alcoholic, whatmust be the sufferings of the true alcoholic, battling against theorganic demands of his chemistry while those closest to himsympathise little, understand less, and despise and deride him!