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diff --git a/75170-0.txt b/75170-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..cb70fdb --- /dev/null +++ b/75170-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11840 @@ + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75170 *** + + + + + + + =_William Faulkner_= + + + =THE SOUND= + =AND= + =THE FURY= + + + + [Illustration] + + RANDOM HOUSE _New York_ + + + + + _Copyright, 1929, by William Faulkner_ + + _Copyright renewed, 1956, by William Faulkner_ + + All rights reserved under International and Pan-American + Copyright Conventions. Published in New York by + Random House, Inc., and distributed in Canada by + Random House of Canada Limited, Toronto. + + MANUFACTURED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA + + + + + THE SOUND AND THE FURY + + + + + APRIL SEVENTH, 1928 + + +Through the fence, between the curling flower spaces, I could see them +hitting. They were coming toward where the flag was and I went along the +fence. Luster was hunting in the grass by the flower tree. They took the +flag out, and they were hitting. Then they put the flag back and they +went to the table, and he hit and the other hit. Then they went on, and +I went along the fence. Luster came away from the flower tree and we +went along the fence and they stopped and we stopped and I looked +through the fence while Luster was hunting in the grass. + +“Here, caddie.” He hit. They went away across the pasture. I held to the +fence and watched them going away. + +“Listen at you, now.” Luster said. “Aint you something, thirty-three +years old, going on that way. After I done went all the way to town to +buy you that cake. Hush up that moaning. Aint you going to help me find +that quarter so I can go to the show tonight.” + +They were hitting little, across the pasture. I went back along the +fence to where the flag was. It flapped on the bright grass and the +trees. + +“Come on.” Luster said. “We done looked there. They aint no more coming +right now. Lets go down to the branch and find that quarter before them +niggers finds it.” + +It was red, flapping on the pasture. Then there was a bird slanting and +tilting on it. Luster threw. The flag flapped on the bright grass and +the trees. I held to the fence. + +“Shut up that moaning,” Luster said. “I cant make them come if they aint +coming, can I. If you dont hush up, mammy aint going to have no birthday +for you. If you dont hush, you know what I going to do. I going to eat +that cake all up. Eat them candles, too. Eat all them thirty-three +candles. Come on, let’s go down to the branch. I got to find my quarter. +Maybe we can find one of they balls. Here. Here they is. Way over +yonder. See.” He came to the fence and pointed his arm. “See them. They +aint coming back here no more. Come on.” + +We went along the fence and came to the garden fence, where our shadows +were. My shadow was higher than Luster’s on the fence. We came to the +broken place and went through it. + +“Wait a minute.” Luster said. “You snagged on that nail again. Cant you +never crawl through here without snagging on that nail.” + +_Caddy uncaught me and we crawled through. Uncle Maury said to not let +anybody see us, so we better stoop over, Caddy said. Stoop over, Benjy. +Like this, see. We stooped over and crossed the garden, where the +flowers rasped and rattled against us. The ground was hard. We climbed +the fence, where the pigs were grunting and snuffing. I expect they’re +sorry because one of them got killed today, Caddy said. The ground was +hard, churned and knotted._ + +_Keep your hands in your pockets, Caddy said. Or they’ll get froze. You +don’t want your hands froze on Christmas, do you._ + +“It’s too cold out there.” Versh said. “You dont want to go out doors.” + +“What is it now.” Mother said. + +“He want to go out doors.” Versh said. + +“Let him go.” Uncle Maury said. + +“It’s too cold.” Mother said. “He’d better stay in. Benjamin. Stop that, +now.” + +“It wont hurt him.” Uncle Maury said. + +“You, Benjamin.” Mother said. “If you dont be good, you’ll have to go to +the kitchen.” + +“Mammy say keep him out the kitchen today.” Versh said. “She say she got +all that cooking to get done.” + +“Let him go, Caroline.” Uncle Maury said. “You’ll worry yourself sick +over him.” + +“I know it.” Mother said. “It’s a judgment on me. I sometimes wonder” + +“I know, I know.” Uncle Maury said. “You must keep your strength up. +I’ll make you a toddy.” + +“It just upsets me that much more.” Mother said. “Dont you know it +does.” + +“You’ll feel better.” Uncle Maury said. “Wrap him up good, boy, and take +him out for a while.” + +Uncle Maury went away. Versh went away. + +“Please hush.” Mother said. “We’re trying to get you out as fast as we +can. I dont want you to get sick.” + +Versh put my overshoes and overcoat on and we took my cap and went out. +Uncle Maury was putting the bottle away in the sideboard in the +dining-room. + +“Keep him out about half an hour, boy.” Uncle Maury said. “Keep him in +the yard, now.” + +“Yes, sir.” Versh said. “We dont never let him get off the place.” + +We went out doors. The sun was cold and bright. + +“Where you heading for.” Versh said. “You dont think you going to town, +does you.” We went through the rattling leaves. The gate was cold. “You +better keep them hands in your pockets.” Versh said, “You get them froze +onto that gate, then what you do. Whyn’t you wait for them in the +house.” He put my hands into my pockets. I could hear him rattling in +the leaves. I could smell the cold. The gate was cold. + +“Here some hickeynuts. Whooey. Git up that tree. Look here at this +squirl, Benjy.” + +I couldn’t feel the gate at all, but I could smell the bright cold. + +“You better put them hands back in your pockets.” + +Caddy was walking. Then she was running, her book-satchel swinging and +jouncing behind her. + +“Hello, Benjy.” Caddy said. She opened the gate and came in and stooped +down. Caddy smelled like leaves. “Did you come to meet me.” she said. +“Did you come to meet Caddy. What did you let him get his hands so cold +for, Versh.” + +“I told him to keep them in his pockets.” Versh said. “Holding onto that +ahun gate.” + +“Did you come to meet Caddy.” she said, rubbing my hands. “What is it. +What are you trying to tell Caddy.” Caddy smelled like trees and like +when she says we were asleep. + +_What are you moaning about, Luster said. You can watch them again when +we get to the branch. Here. Here’s you a jimson weed. He gave me the +flower. We went through the fence, into the lot._ + +“What is it.” Caddy said. “What are you trying to tell Caddy. Did they +send him out, Versh.” + +“Couldn’t keep him in.” Versh said. “He kept on until they let him go +and he come right straight down here, looking through the gate.” + +“What is it.” Caddy said. “Did you think it would be Christmas when I +came home from school. Is that what you thought. Christmas is the day +after tomorrow. Santy Claus, Benjy. Santy Claus. Come on, let’s run to +the house and get warm.” She took my hand and we ran through the bright +rustling leaves. We ran up the steps and out of the bright cold, into +the dark cold. Uncle Maury was putting the bottle back in the sideboard. +He called Caddy. Caddy said, + +“Take him in to the fire, Versh. Go with Versh.” she said. “I’ll come in +a minute.” + +We went to the fire. Mother said, + +“Is he cold, Versh.” + +“Nome.” Versh said. + +“Take his overcoat and overshoes off.” Mother said. “How many times do I +have to tell you not to bring him into the house with his overshoes on.” + +“Yessum.” Versh said. “Hold still, now.” He took my overshoes off and +unbuttoned my coat. Caddy said, + +“Wait, Versh. Cant he go out again, Mother. I want him to go with me.” + +“You’d better leave him here.” Uncle Maury said. “He’s been out enough +today.” + +“I think you’d both better stay in.” Mother said. “It’s getting colder, +Dilsey says.” + +“Oh, Mother.” Caddy said. + +“Nonsense.” Uncle Maury said. “She’s been in school all day. She needs +the fresh air. Run along, Candace.” + +“Let him go, Mother.” Caddy said. “Please. You know he’ll cry.” + +“Then why did you mention it before him.” Mother said. “Why did you come +in here. To give him some excuse to worry me again. You’ve been out +enough today. I think you’d better sit down here and play with him.” + +“Let them go, Caroline.” Uncle Maury said. “A little cold wont hurt +them. Remember, you’ve got to keep your strength up.” + +“I know.” Mother said. “Nobody knows how I dread Christmas. Nobody +knows. I am not one of those women who can stand things. I wish for +Jason’s and the children’s sakes I was stronger.” + +“You must do the best you can and not let them worry you.” Uncle Maury +said. “Run along, you two. But dont stay out long, now. Your mother will +worry.” + +“Yes, sir.” Caddy said. “Come on, Benjy. We’re going out doors again.” +She buttoned my coat and we went toward the door. + +“Are you going to take that baby out without his overshoes.” Mother +said. “Do you want to make him sick, with the house full of company.” + +“I forgot.” Caddy said. “I thought he had them on.” + +We went back. “You must think.” Mother said. _Hold still now_ Versh +said. He put my overshoes on. “Someday I’ll be gone, and you’ll have to +think for him.” _Now stomp_ Versh said. “Come here and kiss Mother, +Benjamin.” + +Caddy took me to Mother’s chair and Mother took my face in her hands and +then she held me against her. + +“My poor baby.” she said. She let me go. “You and Versh take good care +of him, honey.” + +“Yessum.” Caddy said. We went out. Caddy said, + +“You needn’t go, Versh. I’ll keep him for a while.” + +“All right.” Versh said. “I aint going out in that cold for no fun.” He +went on and we stopped in the hall and Caddy knelt and put her arms +around me and her cold bright face against mine. She smelled like trees. + +“You’re not a poor baby. Are you. You’ve got your Caddy. Haven’t you got +your Caddy.” + +_Cant you shut up that moaning and slobbering, Luster said. Aint_ _you +shamed of yourself, making all this racket. We passed the carriage +house, where the carriage was. It had a new wheel._ + +“Git in, now, and set still until your maw come.” Dilsey said. She +shoved me into the carriage. T. P. held the reins. “’Clare I don’t see +how come Jason wont get a new surrey.” Dilsey said. “This thing going to +fall to pieces under you all some day. Look at them wheels.” + +Mother came out, pulling her veil down. She had some flowers. + +“Where’s Roskus.” she said. + +“Roskus cant lift his arms, today.” Dilsey said. “T. P. can drive all +right.” + +“I’m afraid to.” Mother said. “It seems to me you all could furnish me +with a driver for the carriage once a week. It’s little enough I ask, +Lord knows.” + +“You know just as well as me that Roskus got the rheumatism too bad to +do more than he have to, Miss Cahline.” Dilsey said. “You come on and +get in, now. T. P. can drive you just as good as Roskus.” + +“I’m afraid to.” Mother said. “With the baby.” + +Dilsey went up the steps. “You calling that thing a baby,” she said. She +took Mother’s arms. “A man big as T. P. Come on, now, if you going.” + +“I’m afraid to.” Mother said. They came down the steps and Dilsey helped +Mother in. “Perhaps it’ll be the best thing, for all of us.” Mother +said. + +“Aint you shamed, talking that way.” Dilsey said. “Dont you know it’ll +take more than a eighteen year old nigger to make Queenie run away. She +older than him and Benjy put together. And dont you start no projecking +with Queenie, you hear me, T. P. If you dont drive to suit Miss Cahline, +I going to put Roskus on you. He aint too tied up to do that.” + +“Yessum.” T. P. said. + +“I just know something will happen.” Mother said. “Stop, Benjamin.” + +“Give him a flower to hold.” Dilsey said, “That what he wanting.” She +reached her hand in. + +“No, no.” Mother said. “You’ll have them all scattered.” + +“You hold them.” Dilsey said. “I’ll get him one out.” She gave me a +flower and her hand went away. + +“Go on now, ’fore Quentin see you and have to go too.” Dilsey said. + +“Where is she.” Mother said. + +“She down to the house playing with Luster.” Dilsey said. “Go on, T. P. +Drive that surrey like Roskus told you, now.” + +“Yessum.” T. P. said. “Hum up, Queenie.” + +“Quentin.” Mother said. “Don’t let” + +“Course I is.” Dilsey said. + +The carriage jolted and crunched on the drive. “I’m afraid to go and +leave Quentin.” Mother said. “I’d better not go. T. P.” We went through +the gate, where it didn’t jolt anymore. T. P. hit Queenie with the whip. + +“You, T. P.” Mother said. + +“Got to get her going.” T. P. said. “Keep her wake up till we get back +to the barn.” + +“Turn around.” Mother said. “I’m afraid to go and leave Quentin.” + +“Cant turn here.” T. P. said. Then it was broader. + +“Cant you turn here.” Mother said. + +“All right.” T. P. said. We began to turn. + +“You, T. P.” Mother said, clutching me. + +“I got to turn around somehow.” T. P. said. “Whoa, Queenie.” We stopped. + +“You’ll turn us over.” Mother said. + +“What you want to do, then.” T. P. said. + +“I’m afraid for you to try to turn around.” Mother said. + +“Get up, Queenie.” T. P. said. We went on. + +“I just know Dilsey will let something happen to Quentin while I’m +gone.” Mother said. “We must hurry back.” + +“Hum up, there.” T. P. said. He hit Queenie with the whip. + +“You, T. P.” Mother said, clutching me. I could hear Queenie’s feet and +the bright shapes went smooth and steady on both sides, the shadows of +them flowing across Queenie’s back. They went on like the bright tops of +wheels. Then those on one side stopped at the tall white post where the +soldier was. But on the other side they went on smooth and steady, but a +little slower. + +“What do you want.” Jason said. He had his hands in his pockets and a +pencil behind his ear. + +“We’re going to the cemetery.” Mother said. + +“All right.” Jason said. “I dont aim to stop you, do I. Was that all you +wanted with me, just to tell me that.” + +“I know you wont come.” Mother said. “I’d feel safer if you would.” + +“Safe from what.” Jason said. “Father and Quentin cant hurt you.” + +Mother put her handkerchief under her veil. “Stop it, Mother.” Jason +said. “Do you want to get that damn loony to bawling in the middle of +the square. Drive on, T. P.” + +“Hum up, Queenie.” T. P. said. + +“It’s a judgment on me.” Mother said. “But I’ll be gone too, soon.” + +“Here.” Jason said. + +“Whoa.” T. P. said. Jason said, + +“Uncle Maury’s drawing on you for fifty. What do you want to do about +it.” + +“Why ask me.” Mother said. “I dont have any say so. I try not to worry +you and Dilsey. I’ll be gone soon, and then you” + +“Go on, T. P.” Jason said. + +“Hum up, Queenie.” T. P. said. The shapes flowed on. The ones on the +other side began again, bright and fast and smooth, like when Caddy says +we are going to sleep. + +_Cry baby, Luster said. Aint you shamed. We went through the barn. The +stalls were all open. You aint got no spotted pony to ride now, Luster +said. The floor was dry and dusty. The roof was falling. The slanting +holes were full of spinning yellow. What do you want to go that way for. +You want to get your head knocked off with one of them balls._ + +“Keep your hands in your pockets.” Caddy said, “Or they’ll be froze. You +dont want your hands froze on Christmas, do you.” + +We went around the barn. The big cow and the little one were standing in +the door, and we could hear Prince and Queenie and Fancy stomping inside +the barn. “If it wasn’t so cold, we’d ride Fancy.” Caddy said, “But it’s +too cold to hold on today.” Then we could see the branch, where the +smoke was blowing. “That’s where they are killing the pig.” Caddy said. +“We can come back by there and see them.” We went down the hill. + +“You want to carry the letter.” Caddy said. “You can carry it.” She took +the letter out of her pocket and put it in mine. “It’s a Christmas +present.” Caddy said. “Uncle Maury is going to surprise Mrs Patterson +with it. We got to give it to her without letting anybody see it. Keep +your hands in your pockets good, now.” We came to the branch. + +“It’s froze.” Caddy said, “Look.” She broke the top of the water and +held a piece of it against my face. “Ice. That means how cold it is.” +She helped me across and we went up the hill. “We cant even tell Mother +and Father. You know what I think it is. I think it’s a surprise for +Mother and Father and Mr Patterson both, because Mr Patterson sent you +some candy. Do you remember when Mr Patterson sent you some candy last +summer.” + +There was a fence. The vine was dry, and the wind rattled in it. + +“Only I dont see why Uncle Maury didn’t send Versh.” Caddy said. “Versh +wont tell.” Mrs Patterson was looking out the window. “You wait here.” +Caddy said. “Wait right here, now. I’ll be back in a minute. Give me the +letter.” She took the letter out of my pocket. “Keep your hands in your +pockets.” She climbed the fence with the letter in her hand and went +through the brown, rattling flowers. Mrs Patterson came to the door and +opened it and stood there. + +_Mr Patterson was chopping in the green flowers. He stopped chopping and +looked at me. Mrs Patterson came across the garden, running. When I saw +her eyes I began to cry. You idiot, Mrs Patterson said, I told him never +to send you alone again. Give it to me. Quick. Mr Patterson came fast, +with the hoe. Mrs Patterson leaned across the fence, reaching her hand. +She was trying to climb the fence. Give it to me, she said, Give it to +me. Mr Patterson climbed the fence. He took the letter. Mrs Patterson’s +dress was caught on the fence. I saw her eyes again and I ran down the +hill._ + +“They aint nothing over yonder but houses.” Luster said. “We going down +to the branch.” + +They were washing down at the branch. One of them was singing. I could +smell the clothes flapping, and the smoke blowing across the branch. + +“You stay down here.” Luster said. “You aint got no business up yonder. +Them folks hit you, sho.” + +“What he want to do.” + +“He dont know what he want to do.” Luster said. “He think he want to go +up yonder where they knocking that ball. You sit down here and play with +your jimson weed. Look at them chillen playing in the branch, if you got +to look at something. How come you cant behave yourself like folks.” I +sat down on the bank, where they were washing, and the smoke blowing +blue. + +“Is you all seen anything of a quarter down here.” Luster said. + +“What quarter.” + +“The one I had here this morning.” Luster said. “I lost it somewhere. It +fell through this here hole in my pocket. If I dont find it I cant go to +the show tonight.” + +“Where’d you get a quarter, boy. Find it in white folks’ pocket while +they aint looking.” + +“Got it at the getting place.” Luster said. “Plenty more where that one +come from. Only I got to find that one. Is you all found it yet.” + +“I aint studying no quarter. I got my own business to tend to.” + +“Come on here.” Luster said. “Help me look for it.” + +“He wouldn’t know a quarter if he was to see it, would he.” + +“He can help look just the same.” Luster said. “You all going to the +show tonight.” + +“Dont talk to me about no show. Time I get done over this here tub I be +too tired to lift my hand to do nothing.” + +“I bet you be there.” Luster said. “I bet you was there last night. I +bet you all be right there when that tent open.” + +“Be enough niggers there without me. Was last night.” + +“Nigger’s money good as white folks, I reckon.” + +“White folks gives nigger money because know first white man comes along +with a band going to get it all back, so nigger can go to work for some +more.” + +“Aint nobody going make you go to that show.” + +“Aint yet. Aint thought of it, I reckon.” + +“What you got against white folks.” + +“Aint got nothing against them. I goes my way and lets white folks go +theirs. I aint studying that show.” + +“Got a man in it can play a tune on a saw. Play it like a banjo.” + +“You go last night.” Luster said. “I going tonight. If I can find where +I lost that quarter.” + +“You going take him with you, I reckon.” + +“Me.” Luster said. “You reckon I be found anywhere with him, time he +start bellering.” + +“What does you do when he start bellering.” + +“I whips him.” Luster said. He sat down and rolled up his overalls. They +played in the branch. + +“You all found any balls yet.” Luster said. + +“Aint you talking biggity. I bet you better not let your grandmammy hear +you talking like that.” + +Luster got into the branch, where they were playing. He hunted in the +water, along the bank. + +“I had it when we was down here this morning.” Luster said. + +“Where ’bouts you lose it.” + +“Right out this here hole in my pocket.” Luster said. They hunted in the +branch. Then they all stood up quick and stopped, then they splashed and +fought in the branch. Luster got it and they squatted in the water, +looking up the hill through the bushes. + +“Where is they.” Luster said. + +“Aint in sight yet.” + +Luster put it in his pocket. They came down the hill. + +“Did a ball come down here.” + +“It ought to be in the water. Didn’t any of you boys see it or hear it.” + +“Aint heard nothing come down here.” Luster said. “Heard something hit +that tree up yonder. Dont know which way it went.” + +They looked in the branch. + +“Hell. Look along the branch. It came down here. I saw it.” + +They looked along the branch. Then they went back up the hill. + +“Have you got that ball.” the boy said. + +“What I want with it.” Luster said. “I aint seen no ball.” + +The boy got in the water. He went on. He turned and looked at Luster +again. He went on down the branch. + +The man said “Caddie” up the hill. The boy got out of the water and went +up the hill. + +“Now, just listen at you.” Luster said. “Hush up.” + +“What he moaning about now.” + +“Lawd knows.” Luster said. “He just starts like that. He been at it all +morning. Cause it his birthday, I reckon.” + +“How old he.” + +“He thirty-three.” Luster said. “Thirty-three this morning.” + +“You mean, he been three years old thirty years.” + +“I going by what mammy say.” Luster said. “I dont know. We going to have +thirty-three candles on a cake, anyway. Little cake. Wont hardly hold +them. Hush up. Come on back here.” He came and caught my arm. “You old +loony.” he said. “You want me to whip you.” + +“I bet you will.” + +“I is done it. Hush, now.” Luster said. “Aint I told you you cant go up +there. They’ll knock your head clean off with one of them balls. Come +on, here.” He pulled me back. “Sit down.” I sat down and he took off my +shoes and rolled up my trousers. “Now, git in that water and play and +see can you stop that slobbering and moaning.” + +I hushed and got in the water _and Roskus came and said to come to +supper and Caddy said_, + +_It’s not supper time yet. I’m not going._ + +She was wet. We were playing in the branch and Caddy squatted down and +got her dress wet and Versh said, + +“Your mommer going to whip you for getting your dress wet.” + +“She’s not going to do any such thing.” Caddy said. + +“How do you know.” Quentin said. + +“That’s all right how I know.” Caddy said. “How do you know.” + +“She said she was.” Quentin said. “Besides, I’m older than you.” + +“I’m seven years old.” Caddy said, “I guess I know.” + +“I’m older than that.” Quentin said. “I go to school. Dont I, Versh.” + +“I’m going to school next year.” Caddy said, “When it comes. Aint I, +Versh.” + +“You know she whip you when you get your dress wet.” Versh said. + +“It’s not wet.” Caddy said. She stood up in the water and looked at her +dress. “I’ll take it off.” she said. “Then it’ll dry.” + +“I bet you wont.” Quentin said. + +“I bet I will.” Caddy said. + +“I bet you better not.” Quentin said. + +Caddy came to Versh and me and turned her back. + +“Unbutton it, Versh.” she said. + +“Dont you do it, Versh.” Quentin said. + +“Taint none of my dress.” Versh said. + +“You unbutton it, Versh.” Caddy said, “Or I’ll tell Dilsey what you did +yesterday.” So Versh unbuttoned it. + +“You just take your dress off.” Quentin said. Caddy took her dress off +and threw it on the bank. Then she didn’t have on anything but her +bodice and drawers, and Quentin slapped her and she slipped and fell +down in the water. When she got up she began to splash water on Quentin, +and Quentin splashed water on Caddy. Some of it splashed on Versh and me +and Versh picked me up and put me on the bank. He said he was going to +tell on Caddy and Quentin, and then Quentin and Caddy began to splash +water at Versh. He got behind a bush. + +“I’m going to tell mammy on you all.” Versh said. + +Quentin climbed up the bank and tried to catch Versh, but Versh ran away +and Quentin couldn’t. When Quentin came back Versh stopped and hollered +that he was going to tell. Caddy told him that if he wouldn’t tell, +they’d let him come back. So Versh said he wouldn’t, and they let him. + +“Now I guess you’re satisfied.” Quentin said, “We’ll both get whipped +now.” + +“I dont care.” Caddy said. “I’ll run away.” + +“Yes you will.” Quentin said. + +“I’ll run away and never come back.” Caddy said. I began to cry. Caddy +turned around and said “Hush.” So I hushed. Then they played in the +branch. Jason was playing too. He was by himself further down the +branch. Versh came around the bush and lifted me down into the water +again. Caddy was all wet and muddy behind, and I started to cry and she +came and squatted in the water. + +“Hush now.” she said. “I’m not going to run away.” So I hushed. Caddy +smelled like trees in the rain. + +_What is the matter with you, Luster said. Cant you get done with that +moaning and play in the branch like folks._ + +_Whyn’t you take him on home. Didn’t they told you not to take him off +the place._ + +_He still think they own this pasture, Luster said. Cant nobody see down +here from the house, noways._ + +_We can. And folks dont like to look at a loony. Taint no luck in it._ + +Roskus came and said to come to supper and Caddy said it wasn’t supper +time yet. + +“Yes tis.” Roskus said. “Dilsey say for you all to come on to the house. +Bring them on, Versh.” He went up the hill, where the cow was lowing. + +“Maybe we’ll be dry by the time we get to the house.” Quentin said. + +“It was all your fault.” Caddy said. “I hope we do get whipped.” She put +her dress on and Versh buttoned it. + +“They wont know you got wet.” Versh said. “It dont show on you. Less me +and Jason tells.” + +“Are you going to tell, Jason.” Caddy said. + +“Tell on who.” Jason said. + +“He wont tell.” Quentin said. “Will you, Jason.” + +“I bet he does tell.” Caddy said. “He’ll tell Damuddy.” + +“He cant tell her.” Quentin said. “She’s sick. If we walk slow it’ll be +too dark for them to see.” + +“I dont care whether they see or not.” Caddy said. “I’m going to tell, +myself. You carry him up the hill, Versh.” + +“Jason wont tell.” Quentin said. “You remember that bow and arrow I made +you, Jason.” + +“It’s broke now.” Jason said. + +“Let him tell.” Caddy said. “I dont give a cuss. Carry Maury up the +hill, Versh.” Versh squatted and I got on his back. + +_See you all at the show tonight, Luster said. Come on, here. We got to +find that quarter._ + +“If we go slow, it’ll be dark when we get there.” Quentin said. + +“I’m not going slow.” Caddy said. We went up the hill, but Quentin +didn’t come. He was down at the branch when we got to where we could +smell the pigs. They were grunting and snuffing in the trough in the +corner. Jason came behind us, with his hands in his pockets. Roskus was +milking the cow in the barn door. + +_The cows came jumping out of the barn._ + +“Go on.” T. P. said. “Holler again. I going to holler myself. Whooey.” +Quentin kicked T. P. again. He kicked T. P. into the trough where the +pigs ate and T. P. lay there. “Hot dogs.” T. P. said, “Didn’t he get me +then. You see that white man kick me that time. Whooey.” + +I wasn’t crying, but I couldn’t stop. I wasn’t crying, but the ground +wasn’t still, and then I was crying. The ground kept sloping up and the +cows ran up the hill. T. P. tried to get up. He fell down again and the +cows ran down the hill. Quentin held my arm and we went toward the barn. +Then the barn wasn’t there and we had to wait until it came back. I +didn’t see it come back. It came behind us and Quentin set me down in +the trough where the cows ate. I held on to it. It was going away too, +and I held to it. The cows ran down the hill again, across the door. I +couldn’t stop. Quentin and T. P. came up the hill, fighting. T. P. was +falling down the hill and Quentin dragged him up the hill. Quentin hit +T. P. I couldn’t stop. + +“Stand up.” Quentin said, “You stay right here. Dont you go away until I +get back.” + +“Me and Benjy going back to the wedding.” T. P. said. “Whooey.” + +Quentin hit T. P. again. Then he began to thump T. P. against the wall. +T. P. was laughing. Every time Quentin thumped him against the wall he +tried to say Whooey, but he couldn’t say it for laughing. I quit crying, +but I couldn’t stop. T. P. fell on me and the barn door went away. It +went down the hill and T. P. was fighting by himself and he fell down +again. He was still laughing, and I couldn’t stop, and I tried to get up +and I fell down, and I couldn’t stop. Versh said, + +“You sho done it now. I’ll declare if you aint. Shut up that yelling.” + +T. P. was still laughing. He flopped on the door and laughed. “Whooey.” +he said, “Me and Benjy going back to the wedding. Sassprilluh.” T. P. +said. + +“Hush.” Versh said. “Where you get it.” + +“Out the cellar.” T. P. said. “Whooey.” + +“Hush up.” Versh said, “Where’bouts in the cellar.” + +“Anywhere.” T. P. said. He laughed some more. “Moren a hundred bottles +left. Moren a million. Look out, nigger, I going to holler.” + +Quentin said, “Lift him up.” + +Versh lifted me up. + +“Drink this, Benjy.” Quentin said. The glass was hot. “Hush, now.” +Quentin said. “Drink it.” + +“Sassprilluh.” T. P. said. “Lemme drink it, Mr Quentin.” + +“You shut your mouth.” Versh said, “Mr Quentin wear you out.” + +“Hold him, Versh.” Quentin said. + +They held me. It was hot on my chin and on my shirt. “Drink.” Quentin +said. They held my head. It was hot inside me, and I began again. I was +crying now, and something was happening inside me and I cried more, and +they held me until it stopped happening. Then I hushed. It was still +going around, and then the shapes began. “Open the crib, Versh.” They +were going slow. “Spread those empty sacks on the floor.” They were +going faster, almost fast enough. “Now. Pick up his feet.” They went on, +smooth and bright. I could hear T. P. laughing. I went on with them, up +the bright hill. + +_At the top of the hill Versh put me down._ “Come on here, Quentin.” he +called, looking back down the hill. Quentin was still standing there by +the branch. He was chunking into the shadows where the branch was. + +“Let the old skizzard stay there.” Caddy said. She took my hand and we +went on past the barn and through the gate. There was a frog on the +brick walk, squatting in the middle of it. Caddy stepped over it and +pulled me on. + +“Come on, Maury.” she said. It still squatted there until Jason poked at +it with his toe. + +“He’ll make a wart on you.” Versh said. The frog hopped away. + +“Come on, Maury.” Caddy said. + +“They got company tonight.” Versh said. + +“How do you know.” Caddy said. + +“With all them lights on.” Versh said, “Light in every window.” + +“I reckon we can turn all the lights on without company, if we want to.” +Caddy said. + +“I bet it’s company.” Versh said. “You all better go in the back and +slip upstairs.” + +“I dont care.” Caddy said. “I’ll walk right in the parlor where they +are.” + +“I bet your pappy whip you if you do.” Versh said. + +“I dont care.” Caddy said. “I’ll walk right in the parlor. I’ll walk +right in the dining room and eat supper.” + +“Where you sit.” Versh said. + +“I’d sit in Damuddy’s chair.” Caddy said. “She eats in bed.” + +“I’m hungry.” Jason said. He passed us and ran on up the walk. He had +his hands in his pockets and he fell down. Versh went and picked him up. + +“If you keep them hands out your pockets, you could stay on your feet.” +Versh said. “You cant never get them out in time to catch yourself, fat +as you is.” + +Father was standing by the kitchen steps. + +“Where’s Quentin.” he said. + +“He coming up the walk.” Versh said. Quentin was coming slow. His shirt +was a white blur. + +“Oh.” Father said. Light fell down the steps, on him. + +“Caddy and Quentin threw water on each other.” Jason said. + +We waited. + +“They did.” Father said. Quentin came, and Father said, “You can eat +supper in the kitchen tonight.” He stopped and took me up, and the light +came tumbling down the steps on me too, and I could look down at Caddy +and Jason and Quentin and Versh. Father turned toward the steps. “You +must be quiet, though.” he said. + +“Why must we be quiet, Father.” Caddy said. “Have we got company.” + +“Yes.” Father said. + +“I told you they was company.” Versh said. + +“You did not.” Caddy said, “I was the one that said there was. I said I +would” + +“Hush.” Father said. They hushed and Father opened the door and we +crossed the back porch and went in to the kitchen. Dilsey was there, and +Father put me in the chair and closed the apron down and pushed it to +the table, where supper was. It was steaming up. + +“You mind Dilsey, now.” Father said. “Dont let them make any more noise +than they can help, Dilsey.” + +“Yes, sir.” Dilsey said. Father went away. + +“Remember to mind Dilsey, now.” he said behind us. I leaned my face over +where the supper was. It steamed up on my face. + +“Let them mind me tonight, Father.” Caddy said. + +“I wont.” Jason said. “I’m going to mind Dilsey.” + +“You’ll have to, if Father says so.” Caddy said. “Let them mind me, +Father.” + +“I wont.” Jason said, “I wont mind you.” + +“Hush.” Father said. “You all mind Caddy, then. When they are done, +bring them up the back stairs, Dilsey.” + +“Yes, sir.” Dilsey said. + +“There.” Caddy said, “Now I guess you’ll mind me.” + +“You all hush, now.” Dilsey said. “You got to be quiet tonight.” + +“Why do we have to be quiet tonight.” Caddy whispered. + +“Never you mind.” Dilsey said, “You’ll know in the Lawd’s own time.” She +brought my bowl. The steam from it came and tickled my face. “Come here, +Versh.” Dilsey said. + +“When is the Lawd’s own time, Dilsey.” Caddy said. + +“It’s Sunday.” Quentin said. “Dont you know anything.” + +“Shhhhhh.” Dilsey said. “Didn’t Mr Jason say for you all to be quiet. +Eat your supper, now. Here, Versh. Git his spoon.” Versh’s hand came +with the spoon, into the bowl. The spoon came up to my mouth. The steam +tickled into my mouth. Then we quit eating and we looked at each other +and we were quiet, and then we heard it again and I began to cry. + +“What was that.” Caddy said. She put her hand on my hand. + +“That was Mother.” Quentin said. The spoon came up and I ate, then I +cried again. + +“Hush.” Caddy said. But I didn’t hush and she came and put her arms +around me. Dilsey went and closed both the doors and then we couldn’t +hear it. + +“Hush, now.” Caddy said. I hushed and ate. Quentin wasn’t eating, but +Jason was. + +“That was Mother.” Quentin said. He got up. + +“You set right down.” Dilsey said. “They got company in there, and you +in them muddy clothes. You set down too, Caddy, and get done eating.” + +“She was crying.” Quentin said. + +“It was somebody singing.” Caddy said. “Wasn’t it, Dilsey.” + +“You all eat your supper, now, like Mr Jason said.” Dilsey said. “You’ll +know in the Lawd’s own time.” Caddy went back to her chair. + +“I told you it was a party.” she said. + +Versh said, “He done et all that.” + +“Bring his bowl here.” Dilsey said. The bowl went away. + +“Dilsey.” Caddy said, “Quentin’s not eating his supper. Hasn’t he got to +mind me.” + +“Eat your supper, Quentin.” Dilsey said, “You all got to get done and +get out of my kitchen.” + +“I dont want any more supper.” Quentin said. + +“You’ve got to eat if I say you have.” Caddy said. “Hasn’t he, Dilsey.” + +The bowl steamed up to my face, and Versh’s hand dipped the spoon in it +and the steam tickled into my mouth. + +“I dont want any more.” Quentin said. “How can they have a party when +Damuddy’s sick.” + +“They’ll have it down stairs.” Caddy said. “She can come to the landing +and see it. That’s what I’m going to do when I get my nightie on.” + +“Mother was crying.” Quentin said. “Wasn’t she crying, Dilsey.” + +“Dont you come pestering at me, boy.” Dilsey said. “I got to get supper +for all them folks soon as you all get done eating.” + +After a while even Jason was through eating, and he began to cry. + +“Now you got to tune up.” Dilsey said. + +“He does it every night since Damuddy was sick and he cant sleep with +her.” Caddy said. “Cry baby.” + +“I’m going to tell on you.” Jason said. + +He was crying. “You’ve already told.” Caddy said. “There’s not anything +else you can tell, now.” + +“You all needs to go to bed.” Dilsey said. She came and lifted me down +and wiped my face and hands with a warm cloth. “Versh, can you get them +up the back stairs quiet. You, Jason, shut up that crying.” + +“It’s too early to go to bed now.” Caddy said. “We dont ever have to go +to bed this early.” + +“You is tonight.” Dilsey said. “Your pa say for you to come right on up +stairs when you et supper. You heard him.” + +“He said to mind me.” Caddy said. + +“I’m not going to mind you.” Jason said. + +“You have to.” Caddy said. “Come on, now. You have to do like I say.” + +“Make them be quiet, Versh.” Dilsey said. “You all going to be quiet, +aint you.” + +“What do we have to be so quiet for, tonight.” Caddy said. + +“Your mommer aint feeling well.” Dilsey said. “You all go on with Versh, +now.” + +“I told you Mother was crying.” Quentin said. Versh took me up and +opened the door onto the back porch. We went out and Versh closed the +door black. I could smell Versh and feel him. “You all be quiet, now. +We’re not going up stairs yet. Mr Jason said for you to come right up +stairs. He said to mind me. I’m not going to mind you. But he said for +all of us to. Didn’t he, Quentin.” I could feel Versh’s head. I could +hear us. “Didn’t he, Versh. Yes, that’s right. Then I say for us to go +out doors a while. Come on.” Versh opened the door and we went out. + +We went down the steps. + +“I expect we’d better go down to Versh’s house, so we’ll be quiet.” +Caddy said. Versh put me down and Caddy took my hand and we went down +the brick walk. + +“Come on.” Caddy said, “That frog’s gone. He’s hopped way over to the +garden, by now. Maybe we’ll see another one.” Roskus came with the milk +buckets. He went on. Quentin wasn’t coming with us. He was sitting on +the kitchen steps. We went down to Versh’s house. I liked to smell +Versh’s house. _There was a fire in it and T. P. squatting in his shirt +tail in front of it, chunking it into a blaze._ + +Then I got up and T. P. dressed me and we went to the kitchen and ate. +Dilsey was singing and I began to cry and she stopped. + +“Keep him away from the house, now.” Dilsey said. + +“We cant go that way.” T. P. said. + +We played in the branch. + +“We cant go around yonder.” T. P. said. “Dont you know mammy say we +cant.” + +Dilsey was singing in the kitchen and I began to cry. + +“Hush.” T. P. said. “Come on. Lets go down to the barn.” + +Roskus was milking at the barn. He was milking with one hand, and +groaning. Some birds sat on the barn door and watched him. One of them +came down and ate with the cows. I watched Roskus milk while T. P. was +feeding Queenie and Prince. The calf was in the pig pen. It nuzzled at +the wire, bawling. + +“T. P.” Roskus said. T. P. said Sir, in the barn. Fancy held her head +over the door, because T. P. hadn’t fed her yet. “Git done there.” +Roskus said. “You got to do this milking. I cant use my right hand no +more.” + +T. P. came and milked. + +“Whyn’t you get the doctor.” T. P. said. + +“Doctor cant do no good.” Roskus said. “Not on this place.” + +“What wrong with this place.” T. P. said. + +“Taint no luck on this place.” Roskus said. “Turn that calf in if you +done.” + +_Taint no luck on this place, Roskus said. The fire rose and fell behind +him and Versh, sliding on his and Versh’s face. Dilsey finished putting +me to bed. The bed smelled like T. P. I liked it._ + +“What you know about it.” Dilsey said. “What trance you been in.” + +“Dont need no trance.” Roskus said. “Aint the sign of it laying right +there on that bed. Aint the sign of it been here for folks to see +fifteen years now.” + +“Spose it is.” Dilsey said. “It aint hurt none of you and yourn, is it. +Versh working and Frony married off your hands and T. P. getting big +enough to take your place when rheumatism finish getting you.” + +“They been two, now.” Roskus said. “Going to be one more. I seen the +sign, and you is too.” + +“I heard a squinch owl that night.” T. P. said. “Dan wouldn’t come and +get his supper, neither. Wouldn’t come no closer than the barn. Begun +howling right after dark. Versh heard him.” + +“Going to be more than one more.” Dilsey said. “Show me the man what +aint going to die, bless Jesus.” + +“Dying aint all.” Roskus said. + +“I knows what you thinking.” Dilsey said. “And they aint going to be no +luck in saying that name, lessen you going to set up with him while he +cries.” + +“They aint no luck on this place.” Roskus said. “I seen it at first but +when they changed his name I knowed it.” + +“Hush your mouth.” Dilsey said. She pulled the covers up. It smelled +like T. P. “You all shut up now, till he get to sleep.” + +“I seen the sign.” Roskus said. + +“Sign T. P. got to do all your work for you.” Dilsey said. _Take him and +Quentin down to the house and let them play with Luster, where Frony can +watch them, T. P., and go and help your pa._ + +We finished eating. T. P. took Quentin up and we went down to T. P.’s +house. Luster was playing in the dirt. T. P. put Quentin down and she +played in the dirt too. Luster had some spools and he and Quentin fought +and Quentin had the spools. Luster cried and Frony came and gave Luster +a tin can to play with, and then I had the spools and Quentin fought me +and I cried. + +“Hush.” Frony said, “Aint you shamed of yourself. Taking a baby’s play +pretty.” She took the spools from me and gave them back to Quentin. + +“Hush, now.” Frony said, “Hush, I tell you.” + +“Hush up.” Frony said. “You needs whipping, that’s what you needs.” She +took Luster and Quentin up. “Come on here.” she said. We went to the +barn. T. P. was milking the cow. Roskus was sitting on the box. + +“What’s the matter with him now.” Roskus said. + +“You have to keep him down here.” Frony said. “He fighting these babies +again. Taking they play things. Stay here with T. P. now, and see can +you hush a while.” + +“Clean that udder good now.” Roskus said. “You milked that young cow dry +last winter. If you milk this one dry, they aint going to be no more +milk.” + +Dilsey was singing. + +“Not around yonder.” T. P. said. “Dont you know mammy say you cant go +around there.” + +They were singing. + +“Come on.” T. P. said. “Lets go play with Quentin and Luster. Come on.” + +Quentin and Luster were playing in the dirt in front of T. P.’s house. +There was a fire in the house, rising and falling, with Roskus sitting +black against it. + +“That’s three, thank the Lawd.” Roskus said. “I told you two years ago. +They aint no luck on this place.” + +“Whyn’t you get out, then.” Dilsey said. She was undressing me. “Your +bad luck talk got them Memphis notions into Versh. That ought to satisfy +you.” + +“If that all the bad luck Versh have.” Roskus said. + +Frony came in. + +“You all done.” Dilsey said. + +“T. P. finishing up.” Frony said. “Miss Cahline want you to put Quentin +to bed.” + +“I’m coming just as fast as I can.” Dilsey said. “She ought to know by +this time I aint got no wings.” + +“That’s what I tell you.” Roskus said. “They aint no luck going be on no +place where one of they own chillens’ name aint never spoke.” + +“Hush.” Dilsey said. “Do you want to get him started” + +“Raising a child not to know its own mammy’s name.” Roskus said. + +“Dont you bother your head about her.” Dilsey said. “I raised all of +them and I reckon I can raise one more. Hush now. Let him get to sleep +if he will.” + +“Saying a name.” Frony said. “He dont know nobody’s name.” + +“You just say it and see if he dont.” Dilsey said. “You say it to him +while he sleeping and I bet he hear you.” + +“He know lot more than folks thinks.” Roskus said. “He knowed they time +was coming, like that pointer done. He could tell you when hisn coming, +if he could talk. Or yours. Or mine.” + +“You take Luster outen that bed, mammy.” Frony said. “That boy conjure +him.” + +“Hush your mouth.” Dilsey said, “Aint you got no better sense than that. +What you want to listen to Roskus for, anyway. Get in, Benjy.” + +Dilsey pushed me and I got in the bed, where Luster already was. He was +asleep. Dilsey took a long piece of wood and laid it between Luster and +me. “Stay on your side now.” Dilsey said “Luster little, and you don’t +want to hurt him.” + +_You can’t go yet, T. P. said. Wait._ + +We looked around the corner of the house and watched the carriages go +away. + +“Now.” T. P. said. He took Quentin up and we ran down to the corner of +the fence and watched them pass. “There he go,” T. P. said. “See that +one with the glass in it. Look at him. He laying in there. See him.” + +_Come on, Luster said, I going to take this here ball down home, where I +wont lose it. Naw, sir, you cant have it. If them men sees you with it, +they’ll say you stole it. Hush up, now. You cant have it. What business +you got with it. You cant play no ball._ + +Frony and T. P. were playing in the dirt by the door. T. P. had +lightning bugs in a bottle. + +“How did you all get back out.” Frony said. + +“We’ve got company.” Caddy said. “Father said for us to mind me tonight. +I expect you and T. P. will have to mind me too.” + +“I’m not going to mind you.” Jason said. “Frony and T. P. dont have to +either.” + +“They will if I say so.” Caddy said. “Maybe I wont say for them to.” + +“T. P. dont mind nobody.” Frony said. “Is they started the funeral yet.” + +“What’s a funeral.” Jason said. + +“Didn’t mammy tell you not to tell them.” Versh said. + +“Where they moans.” Frony said. “They moaned two days on Sis Beulah +Clay.” + +_They moaned at Dilsey’s house. Dilsey was moaning. When Dilsey moaned +Luster said, Hush, and we hushed, and then I began to cry and Blue +howled under the kitchen steps. Then Dilsey stopped and we stopped._ + +“Oh.” Caddy said, “That’s niggers. White folks dont have funerals.” + +“Mammy said us not to tell them, Frony.” Versh said. + +“Tell them what.” Caddy said. + +_Dilsey moaned, and when it got to the place I began to cry and Blue +howled under the steps. Luster, Frony said in the window, Take them down +to the barn. I cant get no cooking done with all that racket. That hound +too. Get them outen here._ + +_I aint going down there, Luster said. I might meet pappy down there. I +seen him last night, waving his arms in the barn._ + +“I like to know why not.” Frony said. “White folks dies too. Your +grandmammy dead as any nigger can get, I reckon.” + +“Dogs are dead.” Caddy said, “And when Nancy fell in the ditch and +Roskus shot her and the buzzards came and undressed her.” + +The bones rounded out of the ditch, where the dark vines were in the +black ditch, into the moonlight, like some of the shapes had stopped. +Then they all stopped and it was dark, and when I stopped to start again +I could hear Mother, and feet walking fast away, and I could smell it. +Then the room came, but my eyes went shut. I didn’t stop. I could smell +it. T. P. unpinned the bed clothes. + +“Hush.” he said, “Shhhhhhhh.” + +But I could smell it. T. P. pulled me up and he put on my clothes fast. + +“Hush, Benjy.” he said. “We going down to our house. You want to go down +to our house, where Frony is. Hush. Shhhhh.” + +He laced my shoes and put my cap on and we went out. There was a light +in the hall. Across the hall we could hear Mother. + +“Shhhhhh, Benjy.” T. P. said, “We’ll be out in a minute.” + +A door opened and I could smell it more than ever, and a head came out. +It wasn’t Father. Father was sick there. + +“Can you take him out of the house.” + +“That’s where we going.” T. P. said. Dilsey came up the stairs. + +“Hush.” she said, “Hush. Take him down home, T. P. Frony fixing him a +bed. You all look after him, now. Hush, Benjy. Go on with T. P.” + +She went where we could hear Mother. + +“Better keep him there.” It wasn’t Father. He shut the door, but I could +still smell it. + +We went down stairs. The stairs went down into the dark and T. P. took +my hand, and we went out the door, out of the dark. Dan was sitting in +the back yard, howling. + +“He smell it.” T. P. said. “Is that the way you found it out.” + +We went down the steps, where our shadows were. + +“I forgot your coat.” T. P. said. “You ought to had it. But I aint going +back.” + +Dan howled. + +“Hush now.” T. P. said. Our shadows moved, but Dan’s shadow didn’t move +except to howl when he did. + +“I cant take you down home, bellering like you is.” T. P. said. “You was +bad enough before you got that bullfrog voice. Come on.” + +We went along the brick walk, with our shadows. The pig pen smelled like +pigs. The cow stood in the lot, chewing at us. Dan howled. + +“You going to wake the whole town up.” T. P. said. “Cant you hush.” + +We saw Fancy, eating by the branch. The moon shone on the water when we +got there. + +“Naw, sir.” T. P. said, “This too close. We cant stop here. Come on. +Now, just look at you. Got your whole leg wet. Come on, here.” Dan +howled. + +The ditch came up out of the buzzing grass. The bones rounded out of the +black vines. + +“Now.” T. P. said. “Beller your head off if you want to. You got the +whole night and a twenty acre pasture to beller in.” + +T. P. lay down in the ditch and I sat down, watching the bones where the +buzzards ate Nancy, flapping black and slow and heavy out of the ditch. + +_I had it when we was down here before, Luster said. I showed it to you. +Didn’t you see it. I took it out of my pocket right here and showed it +to you._ + +“Do you think buzzards are going to undress Damuddy.” Caddy said. +“You’re crazy.” + +“You’re a skizzard.” Jason said. He began to cry. + +“You’re a knobnot.” Caddy said. Jason cried. His hands were in his +pockets. + +“Jason going to be rich man.” Versh said. “He holding his money all the +time.” + +Jason cried. + +“Now you’ve got him started.” Caddy said. “Hush up, Jason. How can +buzzards get in where Damuddy is. Father wouldn’t let them. Would you +let a buzzard undress you. Hush up, now.” + +Jason hushed. “Frony said it was a funeral.” he said. + +“Well it’s not.” Caddy said. “It’s a party. Frony dont know anything +about it. He wants your lightning bugs, T. P. Let him hold it a while.” + +T. P. gave me the bottle of lightning bugs. + +“I bet if we go around to the parlor window we can see something.” Caddy +said. “Then you’ll believe me.” + +“I already knows.” Frony said. “I dont need to see.” + +“You better hush your mouth, Frony.” Versh said. “Mammy going whip you.” + +“What is it.” Caddy said. + +“I knows what I knows.” Frony said. + +“Come on.” Caddy said, “Let’s go around to the front.” + +We started to go. + +“T. P. wants his lightning bugs.” Frony said. + +“Let him hold it a while longer, T. P.” Caddy said. “We’ll bring it +back.” + +“You all never caught them.” Frony said. + +“If I say you and T. P. can come too, will you let him hold it.” Caddy +said. + +“Aint nobody said me and T. P. got to mind you.” Frony said. + +“If I say you dont have to, will you let him hold it.” Caddy said. + +“All right.” Frony said. “Let him hold it, T. P. We going to watch them +moaning.” + +“They aint moaning.” Caddy said. “I tell you it’s a party. Are they +moaning, Versh.” + +“We aint going to know what they doing, standing here.” Versh said. + +“Come on.” Caddy said. “Frony and T. P. dont have to mind me. But the +rest of us do. You better carry him, Versh. It’s getting dark.” + +Versh took me up and we went on around the kitchen. + +_When we looked around the corner we could see the lights coming up the +drive. T. P. went back to the cellar door and opened it._ + +_You know what’s down there, T. P. said. Soda water. I seen Mr Jason +come up with both hands full of them. Wait here a minute._ + +_T. P. went and looked in the kitchen door. Dilsey said, What are you +peeping in here for. Where’s Benjy._ + +_He out here, T. P. said._ + +_Go on and watch him, Dilsey said. Keep him out the house now._ + +_Yessum, T. P. said. Is they started yet._ + +_You go on and keep that boy out of sight, Dilsey said. I got all I can +tend to._ + +A snake crawled out from under the house. Jason said he wasn’t afraid of +snakes and Caddy said he was but she wasn’t and Versh said they both +were and Caddy said to be quiet, like father said. + +_You aint got to start bellering now, T. P. said. You want some this +sassprilluh._ + +_It tickled my nose and eyes._ + +_If you aint going to drink it, let me get to it, T. P. said. All right, +here tis. We better get another bottle while aint nobody bothering us. +You be quiet, now._ + +We stopped under the tree by the parlor window. Versh set me down in the +wet grass. It was cold. There were lights in all the windows. + +“That’s where Damuddy is.” Caddy said. “She’s sick every day now. When +she gets well we’re going to have a picnic.” + +“I knows what I knows.” Frony said. + +The trees were buzzing, and the grass. + +“The one next to it is where we have the measles.” Caddy said. “Where do +you and T. P. have the measles, Frony.” + +“Has them just wherever we is, I reckon.” Frony said. + +“They haven’t started yet.” Caddy said. + +_They getting ready to start, T. P. said. You stand right here now while +I get that box so we can see in the window. Here, les finish drinking +this here sassprilluh. It make me feel just like a squinch owl inside._ + +We drank the sassprilluh and T. P. pushed the bottle through the +lattice, under the house, and went away. I could hear them in the parlor +and I clawed my hands against the wall. T. P. dragged the box. He fell +down, and he began to laugh. He lay there, laughing into the grass. He +got up and dragged the box under the window, trying not to laugh. + +“I skeered I going to holler.” T. P. said. “Git on the box and see is +they started.” + +“They haven’t started because the band hasn’t come yet.” Caddy said. + +“They aint going to have no band.” Frony said. + +“How do you know.” Caddy said. + +“I knows what I knows.” Frony said. + +“You dont know anything.” Caddy said. She went to the tree. “Push me up, +Versh.” + +“Your paw told you to stay out that tree.” Versh said. + +“That was a long time ago.” Caddy said. “I expect he’s forgotten about +it. Besides, he said to mind me tonight. Didn’t he say to mind me +tonight.” + +“I’m not going to mind you.” Jason said. “Frony and T. P. are not going +to either.” + +“Push me up, Versh.” Caddy said. + +“All right.” Versh said. “You the one going to get whipped. I aint.” He +went and pushed Caddy up into the tree to the first limb. We watched the +muddy bottom of her drawers. Then we couldn’t see her. We could hear the +tree thrashing. + +“Mr Jason said if you break that tree he whip you.” Versh said. + +“I’m going to tell on her too.” Jason said. + +The tree quit thrashing. We looked up into the still branches. + +“What you seeing.” Frony whispered. + +_I saw them. Then I saw Caddy, with flowers in her hair, and a long veil +like shining wind. Caddy Caddy_ + +“Hush.” T. P. said, “They going to hear you. Get down quick.” He pulled +me. Caddy. I clawed my hands against the wall Caddy. T. P. pulled me. + +“Hush.” he said, “Hush. Come on here quick.” He pulled me on. Caddy +“Hush up, Benjy. You want them to hear you. Come on, les drink some more +sassprilluh, then we can come back if you hush. We better get one more +bottle or we both be hollering. We can say Dan drunk it. Mr Quentin +always saying he so smart, we can say he sassprilluh dog, too.” + +The moonlight came down the cellar stairs. We drank some more +sassprilluh. + +“You know what I wish.” T. P. said. “I wish a bear would walk in that +cellar door. You know what I do. I walk right up to him and spit in he +eye. Gimme that bottle to stop my mouth before I holler.” + +T. P. fell down. He began to laugh, and the cellar door and the +moonlight jumped away and something hit me. + +“Hush up.” T. P. said, trying not to laugh, “Lawd, they’ll all hear us. +Get up.” T. P. said, “Get up, Benjy, quick.” He was thrashing about and +laughing and I tried to get up. The cellar steps ran up the hill in the +moonlight and T. P. fell up the hill, into the moonlight, and I ran +against the fence and T. P. ran behind me saying “Hush up hush up” Then +he fell into the flowers, laughing, and I ran into the box. But when I +tried to climb onto it it jumped away and hit me on the back of the head +and my throat made a sound. It made the sound again and I stopped trying +to get up, and it made the sound again and I began to cry. But my throat +kept on making the sound while T. P. was pulling me. It kept on making +it and I couldn’t tell if I was crying or not, and T. P. fell down on +top of me, laughing, and it kept on making the sound and Quentin kicked +T. P. and Caddy put her arms around me, and her shining veil, and I +couldn’t smell trees anymore and I began to cry. + +_Benjy, Caddy said, Benjy. She put her arms around me again, but I went +away._ “What is it, Benjy.” she said, “Is it this hat.” She took her hat +off and came again, and I went away. + +“Benjy.” she said, “What is it, Benjy. What has Caddy done.” + +“He dont like that prissy dress.” Jason said. “You think you’re grown +up, dont you. You think you’re better than anybody else, dont you. +Prissy.” + +“You shut your mouth.” Caddy said, “You dirty little beast. Benjy.” + +“Just because you are fourteen, you think you’re grown up, dont you.” +Jason said. “You think you’re something. Dont you.” + +“Hush, Benjy.” Caddy said. “You’ll disturb Mother. Hush.” + +But I didn’t hush, and when she went away I followed, and she stopped on +the stairs and waited and I stopped too. + +“What is it, Benjy.” Caddy said, “Tell Caddy. She’ll do it. Try.” + +“Candace.” Mother said. + +“Yessum.” Caddy said. + +“Why are you teasing him.” Mother said. “Bring him here.” + +We went to Mother’s room, where she was lying with the sickness on a +cloth on her head. + +“What is the matter now.” Mother said. “Benjamin.” + +“Benjy.” Caddy said. She came again, but I went away. + +“You must have done something to him.” Mother said. “Why wont you let +him alone, so I can have some peace. Give him the box and please go on +and let him alone.” + +Caddy got the box and set it on the floor and opened it. It was full of +stars. When I was still, they were still. When I moved, they glinted and +sparkled. I hushed. + +Then I heard Caddy walking and I began again. + +“Benjamin.” Mother said, “Come here.” I went to the door. “You, +Benjamin.” Mother said. + +“What is it now.” Father said, “Where are you going.” + +“Take him downstairs and get someone to watch him, Jason.” Mother said. +“You know I’m ill, yet you” + +Father shut the door behind us. + +“T. P.” he said. + +“Sir.” T. P. said downstairs. + +“Benjy’s coming down.” Father said. “Go with T. P.” + +I went to the bathroom door. I could hear the water. + +“Benjy.” T. P. said downstairs. + +I could hear the water. I listened to it. + +“Benjy.” T. P. said downstairs. + +I listened to the water. + +I couldn’t hear the water, and Caddy opened the door. + +“Why, Benjy.” she said. She looked at me and I went and she put her arms +around me. “Did you find Caddy again.” she said. “Did you think Caddy +had run away.” Caddy smelled like trees. + +We went to Caddy’s room. She sat down at the mirror. She stopped her +hands and looked at me. + +“Why, Benjy. What is it.” she said. “You mustn’t cry. Caddy’s not going +away. See here.” she said. She took up the bottle and took the stopper +out and held it to my nose. “Sweet. Smell. Good.” + +I went away and I didn’t hush, and she held the bottle in her hand, +looking at me. + +“Oh.” she said. She put the bottle down and came and put her arms around +me. “So that was it. And you were trying to tell Caddy and you couldn’t +tell her. You wanted to, but you couldn’t, could you. Of course Caddy +wont. Of course Caddy wont. Just wait till I dress.” + +Caddy dressed and took up the bottle again and we went down to the +kitchen. + +“Dilsey.” Caddy said, “Benjy’s got a present for you.” She stooped down +and put the bottle in my hand. “Hold it out to Dilsey, now.” Caddy held +my hand out and Dilsey took the bottle. + +“Well I’ll declare.” Dilsey said, “If my baby aint give Dilsey a bottle +of perfume. Just look here, Roskus.” + +Caddy smelled like trees. “We dont like perfume ourselves.” Caddy said. + +_She smelled like trees._ + +“Come on, now.” Dilsey said, “You too big to sleep with folks. You a big +boy now. Thirteen years old. Big enough to sleep by yourself in Uncle +Maury’s room.” Dilsey said. + +Uncle Maury was sick. His eye was sick, and his mouth. Versh took his +supper up to him on the tray. + +“Maury says he’s going to shoot the scoundrel.” Father said. “I told him +he’d better not mention it to Patterson before hand.” He drank. + +“Jason.” Mother said. + +“Shoot who, Father.” Quentin said. “What’s Uncle Maury going to shoot +him for.” + +“Because he couldn’t take a little joke.” Father said. + +“Jason.” Mother said, “How can you. You’d sit right there and see Maury +shot down in ambush, and laugh.” + +“Then Maury’d better stay out of ambush.” Father said. + +“Shoot who, Father.” Quentin said, “Who’s Uncle Maury going to shoot.” + +“Nobody.” Father said. “I dont own a pistol.” + +Mother began to cry. “If you begrudge Maury your food, why aren’t you +man enough to say so to his face. To ridicule him before the children, +behind his back.” + +“Of course I dont.” Father said, “I admire Maury. He is invaluable to my +own sense of racial superiority. I wouldn’t swap Maury for a matched +team. And do you know why, Quentin.” + +“No, sir.” Quentin said. + +“_Et ego in arcadia_ I have forgotten the latin for hay.” Father said. +“There, there.” he said, “I was just joking.” He drank and set the glass +down and went and put his hand on Mother’s shoulder. + +“It’s no joke.” Mother said. “My people are every bit as well born as +yours. Just because Maury’s health is bad.” + +“Of course.” Father said. “Bad health is the primary reason for all +life. Created by disease, within putrefaction, into decay. Versh.” + +“Sir.” Versh said behind my chair. + +“Take the decanter and fill it.” + +“And tell Dilsey to come and take Benjamin up to bed.” Mother said. + +“You a big boy.” Dilsey said, “Caddy tired sleeping with you. Hush now, +so you can go to sleep.” The room went away, but I didn’t hush, and the +room came back and Dilsey came and sat on the bed, looking at me. + +“Aint you going to be a good boy and hush.” Dilsey said. “You aint, is +you. See can you wait a minute, then.” + +She went away. There wasn’t anything in the door. Then Caddy was in it. + +“Hush.” Caddy said. “I’m coming.” + +I hushed and Dilsey turned back the spread and Caddy got in between the +spread and the blanket. She didn’t take off her bathrobe. + +“Now.” she said, “Here I am.” Dilsey came with a blanket and spread it +over her and tucked it around her. + +“He be gone in a minute.” Dilsey said. “I leave the light on in your +room.” + +“All right.” Caddy said. She snuggled her head beside mine on the +pillow. “Goodnight, Dilsey.” + +“Goodnight, honey.” Dilsey said. The room went black. _Caddy smelled +like trees._ + +We looked up into the tree where she was. + +“What she seeing, Versh.” Frony whispered. + +“Shhhhhhh.” Caddy said in the tree. Dilsey said, + +“You come on here.” She came around the corner of the house. “Whyn’t you +all go on up stairs, like your paw said, stead of slipping out behind my +back. Where’s Caddy and Quentin.” + +“I told her not to climb up that tree.” Jason said. “I’m going to tell +on her.” + +“Who in what tree.” Dilsey said. She came and looked up into the tree. +“Caddy.” Dilsey said. The branches began to shake again. + +“You, Satan.” Dilsey said. “Come down from there.” + +“Hush.” Caddy said, “Dont you know Father said to be quiet.” Her legs +came in sight and Dilsey reached up and lifted her out of the tree. + +“Aint you got any better sense than to let them come around here.” +Dilsey said. + +“I couldn’t do nothing with her.” Versh said. + +“What you all doing here.” Dilsey said. “Who told you to come up to the +house.” + +“She did.” Frony said. “She told us to come.” + +“Who told you you got to do what she say.” Dilsey said. “Get on home, +now.” Frony and T. P. went on. We couldn’t see them when they were still +going away. + +“Out here in the middle of the night.” Dilsey said. She took me up and +we went to the kitchen. + +“Slipping out behind my back.” Dilsey said. “When you knowed it’s past +your bedtime.” + +“Shhhh, Dilsey.” Caddy said. “Dont talk so loud. We’ve got to be quiet.” + +“You hush your mouth and get quiet, then.” Dilsey said. “Where’s +Quentin.” + +“Quentin’s mad because he had to mind me tonight.” Caddy said. “He’s +still got T. P.’s bottle of lightning bugs.” + +“I reckon T. P. can get along without it.” Dilsey said. “You go and find +Quentin, Versh. Roskus say he seen him going towards the barn.” Versh +went on. We couldn’t see him. + +“They’re not doing anything in there.” Caddy said. “Just sitting in +chairs and looking.” + +“They dont need no help from you all to do that.” Dilsey said. We went +around the kitchen. + +_Where you want to go now, Luster said. You going back to watch them +knocking ball again. We done looked for it over there. Here. Wait a +minute. You wait right here while I go back and get that ball. I done +thought of something._ + +The kitchen was dark. The trees were black on the sky. Dan came waddling +out from under the steps and chewed my ankle. I went around the kitchen, +where the moon was. Dan came scuffling along, into the moon. + +“Benjy.” T. P. said in the house. + +The flower tree by the parlor window wasn’t dark, but the thick trees +were. The grass was buzzing in the moonlight where my shadow walked on +the grass. + +“You, Benjy.” T. P. said in the house. “Where you hiding. You slipping +off. I knows it.” + +_Luster came back. Wait, he said. Here. Dont go over there. Miss Quentin +and her beau in the swing yonder. You come on this way. Come back here, +Benjy._ + +It was dark under the trees. Dan wouldn’t come. He stayed in the +moonlight. Then I could see the swing and I began to cry. + +_Come away from there, Benjy, Luster said. You know Miss Quentin going +to get mad._ + +It was two now, and then one in the swing. Caddy came fast, white in the +darkness. + +“Benjy,” she said. “How did you slip out. Where’s Versh.” + +She put her arms around me and I hushed and held to her dress and tried +to pull her away. + +“Why, Benjy.” she said. “What is it. T. P.” she called. + +The one in the swing got up and came, and I cried and pulled Caddy’s +dress. + +“Benjy.” Caddy said. “It’s just Charlie. Dont you know Charlie.” + +“Where’s his nigger.” Charlie said. “What do they let him run around +loose for.” + +“Hush, Benjy.” Caddy said. “Go away, Charlie. He doesn’t like you.” +Charlie went away and I hushed. I pulled at Caddy’s dress. + +“Why, Benjy.” Caddy said. “Aren’t you going to let me stay here and talk +to Charlie awhile.” + +“Call that nigger.” Charlie said. He came back. I cried louder and +pulled at Caddy’s dress. + +“Go away, Charlie.” Caddy said. Charlie came and put his hands on Caddy +and I cried more. I cried loud. + +“No, no.” Caddy said. “No. No.” + +“He cant talk.” Charlie said. “Caddy.” + +“Are you crazy.” Caddy said. She began to breathe fast. “He can see. +Dont. Dont.” Caddy fought. They both breathed fast. “Please. Please.” +Caddy whispered. + +“Send him away.” Charlie said. + +“I will.” Caddy said. “Let me go.” + +“Will you send him away.” Charlie said. + +“Yes.” Caddy said. “Let me go.” Charlie went away. “Hush.” Caddy said. +“He’s gone.” I hushed. I could hear her and feel her chest going. + +“I’ll have to take him to the house.” she said. She took my hand. “I’m +coming.” she whispered. + +“Wait.” Charlie said. “Call the nigger.” + +“No.” Caddy said. “I’ll come back. Come on, Benjy.” + +“Caddy.” Charlie whispered, loud. We went on. “You better come back. Are +you coming back.” Caddy and I were running. “Caddy.” Charlie said. We +ran out into the moonlight, toward the kitchen. + +“Caddy.” Charlie said. + +Caddy and I ran. We ran up the kitchen steps, onto the porch, and Caddy +knelt down in the dark and held me. I could hear her and feel her chest. +“I wont.” she said. “I wont anymore, ever. Benjy. Benjy.” Then she was +crying, and I cried, and we held each other. “Hush.” she said. “Hush. I +wont anymore.” So I hushed and Caddy got up and we went into the kitchen +and turned the light on and Caddy took the kitchen soap and washed her +mouth at the sink, hard. Caddy smelled like trees. + +_I kept a telling you to stay away from there, Luster said. They sat up +in the swing, quick. Quentin had her hands on her hair. He had a red +tie._ + +_You old crazy loon, Quentin said. I’m going to tell Dilsey about the +way you let him follow everywhere I go. I’m going to make her whip you +good._ + +“I couldn’t stop him.” Luster said. “Come on here, Benjy.” + +“Yes you could.” Quentin said. “You didn’t try. You were both snooping +around after me. Did Grandmother send you all out here to spy on me.” +She jumped out of the swing. “If you dont take him right away this +minute and keep him away, I’m going to make Jason whip you.” + +“I cant do nothing with him.” Luster said. “You try it if you think you +can.” + +“Shut your mouth.” Quentin said. “Are you going to get him away.” + +“Ah, let him stay.” he said. He had a red tie. The sun was red on it. +“Look here, Jack.” He struck a match and put it in his mouth. Then he +took the match out of his mouth. It was still burning. “Want to try it.” +he said. I went over there. “Open your mouth.” he said. I opened my +mouth. Quentin hit the match with her hand and it went away. + +“Goddamn you.” Quentin said. “Do you want to get him started. Dont you +know he’ll beller all day. I’m going to tell Dilsey on you.” She went +away running. + +“Here, kid.” he said. “Hey. Come on back. I aint going to fool with +him.” + +Quentin ran on to the house. She went around the kitchen. + +“You played hell then, Jack.” he said. “Aint you.” + +“He cant tell what you saying.” Luster said. “He deef and dumb.” + +“Is.” he said. “How long’s he been that way.” + +“Been that way thirty-three years today.” Luster said. “Born looney. Is +you one of them show folks.” + +“Why.” he said. + +“I dont ricklick seeing you around here before.” Luster said. + +“Well, what about it.” he said. + +“Nothing.” Luster said. “I going tonight.” + +He looked at me. + +“You aint the one can play a tune on that saw, is you.” Luster said. + +“It’ll cost you a quarter to find that out.” he said. He looked at me. +“Why dont they lock him up.” he said. “What’d you bring him out here +for.” + +“You aint talking to me.” Luster said. “I cant do nothing with him. I +just come over here looking for a quarter I lost so I can go to the show +tonight. Look like now I aint going to get to go.” Luster looked on the +ground. “You aint got no extra quarter, is you.” Luster said. + +“No.” he said. “I aint.” + +“I reckon I just have to find that other one, then.” Luster said. He put +his hand in his pocket. “You dont want to buy no golf ball neither, does +you.” Luster said. + +“What kind of ball.” he said. + +“Golf ball.” Luster said. “I dont want but a quarter.” + +“What for.” he said. “What do I want with it.” + +“I didn’t think you did.” Luster said. “Come on here, mulehead.” he +said. “Come on here and watch them knocking that ball. Here. Here +something you can play with along with that jimson weed.” Luster picked +it up and gave it to me. It was bright. + +“Where’d you get that.” he said. His tie was red in the sun, walking. + +“Found it under this here bush.” Luster said. “I thought for a minute it +was that quarter I lost.” + +He came and took it. + +“Hush.” Luster said. “He going to give it back when he done looking at +it.” + +“Agnes Mabel Becky.” he said. He looked toward the house. + +“Hush.” Luster said. “He fixing to give it back.” + +He gave it to me and I hushed. + +“Who come to see her last night.” he said. + +“I dont know.” Luster said. “They comes every night she can climb down +that tree. I dont keep no track of them.” + +“Damn if one of them didn’t leave a track.” he said. He looked at the +house. Then he went and lay down in the swing. “Go away.” he said. “Dont +bother me.” + +“Come on here.” Luster said. “You done played hell now. Time Miss +Quentin get done telling on you.” + +We went to the fence and looked through the curling flower spaces. +Luster hunted in the grass. + +“I had it right here.” he said. I saw the flag flapping, and the sun +slanting on the broad grass. + +“They’ll be some along soon.” Luster said. “There some now, but they +going away. Come on and help me look for it.” + +We went along the fence. + +“Hush.” Luster said. “How can I make them come over here, if they aint +coming. Wait. They’ll be some in a minute. Look yonder. Here they come.” + +I went along the fence, to the gate, where the girls passed with their +booksatchels. “You, Benjy.” Luster said. “Come back here.” + +_You cant do no good looking through the gate, T. P. said. Miss Caddy +done gone long ways away. Done got married and left you. You cant do no +good, holding to the gate and crying. She cant hear you._ + +_What is it he wants, T. P. Mother said. Cant you play with him and keep +him quiet._ + +_He want to go down yonder and look through the gate, T. P. said._ + +_Well, he cannot do it, Mother said. It’s raining. You will just have to +play with him and keep him quiet. You, Benjamin._ + +_Aint nothing going to quiet him, T. P. said. He think if he down to the +gate, Miss Caddy come back._ + +_Nonsense, Mother said._ + +I could hear them talking. I went out the door and I couldn’t hear them, +and I went down to the gate, where the girls passed with their +booksatchels. They looked at me, walking fast, with their heads turned. +I tried to say, but they went on, and I went along the fence, trying to +say, and they went faster. Then they were running and I came to the +corner of the fence and I couldn’t go any further, and I held to the +fence, looking after them and trying to say. + +“You, Benjy.” T. P. said. “What you doing, slipping out. Dont you know +Dilsey whip you.” + +“You cant do no good, moaning and slobbering through the fence.” T. P. +said. “You done skeered them chillen. Look at them, walking on the other +side of the street.” + +_How did he get out, Father said. Did you leave the gate unlatched when +you came in, Jason._ + +_Of course not, Jason said. Dont you know I’ve got better sense than to +do that. Do you think I wanted anything like this to happen. This family +is bad enough, God knows. I could have told you, all the time. I reckon +you’ll send him to Jackson, now. If Mrs Burgess dont shoot him first._ + +_Hush, Father said._ + +_I could have told you, all the time, Jason said._ + +It was open when I touched it, and I held to it in the twilight. I +wasn’t crying, and I tried to stop, watching the girls coming along in +the twilight. I wasn’t crying. + +“There he is.” + +They stopped. + +“He cant get out. He wont hurt anybody, anyway. Come on.” + +“I’m scared to. I’m scared. I’m going to cross the street.” + +“He cant get out.” + +I wasn’t crying. + +“Dont be a ’fraid cat. Come on.” + +They came on in the twilight. I wasn’t crying, and I held to the gate. +They came slow. + +“I’m scared.” + +“He wont hurt you. I pass here every day. He just runs along the fence.” + +They came on. I opened the gate and they stopped, turning. I was trying +to say, and I caught her, trying to say, and she screamed and I was +trying to say and trying and the bright shapes began to stop and I tried +to get out. I tried to get it off of my face, but the bright shapes were +going again. They were going up the hill to where it fell away and I +tried to cry. But when I breathed in, I couldn’t breathe out again to +cry, and I tried to keep from falling off the hill and I fell off the +hill into the bright, whirling shapes. + +_Here, loony, Luster said. Here come some. Hush your slobbering and +moaning, now._ + +They came to the flag. He took it out and they hit, then he put the flag +back. + +“Mister.” Luster said. + +He looked around. “What.” he said. + +“Want to buy a golf ball.” Luster said. + +“Let’s see it.” he said. He came to the fence and Luster reached the +ball through. + +“Where’d you get it.” he said. + +“Found it.” Luster said. + +“I know that.” he said. “Where. In somebody’s golf bag.” + +“I found it laying over here in the yard.” Luster said. “I’ll take a +quarter for it.” + +“What makes you think it’s yours.” he said. + +“I found it.” Luster said. + +“Then find yourself another one.” he said. He put it in his pocket and +went away. + +“I got to go to that show tonight.” Luster said. + +“That so.” he said. He went to the table. “Fore, caddie.” he said. He +hit. + +“I’ll declare.” Luster said. “You fusses when you dont see them and you +fusses when you does. Why cant you hush. Dont you reckon folks gets +tired of listening to you all the time. Here. You dropped your jimson +weed.” He picked it up and gave it back to me. “You needs a new one. You +’bout wore that one out.” We stood at the fence and watched them. + +“That white man hard to get along with.” Luster said. “You see him take +my ball.” They went on. We went on along the fence. We came to the +garden and we couldn’t go any further. I held to the fence and looked +through the flower spaces. They went away. + +“Now you aint got nothing to moan about.” Luster said. “Hush up. I the +one got something to moan over, you aint. Here. Whyn’t you hold on to +that weed. You be bellering about it next.” He gave me the flower. +“Where you heading now.” + +Our shadows were on the grass. They got to the trees before we did. Mine +got there first. Then we got there, and then the shadows were gone. +There was a flower in the bottle. I put the other flower in it. + +“Aint you a grown man, now.” Luster said. “Playing with two weeds in a +bottle. You know what they going to do with you when Miss Cahline die. +They going to send you to Jackson, where you belong. Mr Jason say so. +Where you can hold the bars all day long with the rest of the looneys +and slobber. How you like that.” + +Luster knocked the flowers over with his hand. “That’s what they’ll do +to you at Jackson when you starts bellering.” + +I tried to pick up the flowers. Luster picked them up, and they went +away. I began to cry. + +“Beller.” Luster said. “Beller. You want something to beller about. All +right, then. Caddy.” he whispered. “Caddy. Beller now. Caddy.” + +“Luster.” Dilsey said from the kitchen. + +The flowers came back. + +“Hush.” Luster said. “Here they is. Look. It’s fixed back just like it +was at first. Hush, now.” + +“You, Luster.” Dilsey said. + +“Yessum.” Luster said. “We coming. You done played hell. Get up.” He +jerked my arm and I got up. We went out of the trees. Our shadows were +gone. + +“Hush.” Luster said. “Look at all them folks watching you. Hush.” + +“You bring him on here.” Dilsey said. She came down the steps. + +“What you done to him now.” she said. + +“Aint done nothing to him.” Luster said. “He just started bellering.” + +“Yes you is.” Dilsey said. “You done something to him. Where you been.” + +“Over yonder under them cedars.” Luster said. + +“Getting Quentin all riled up.” Dilsey said. “Why cant you keep him away +from her. Dont you know she dont like him where she at.” + +“Got as much time for him as I is.” Luster said. “He aint none of my +uncle.” + +“Dont you sass me, nigger boy.” Dilsey said. + +“I aint done nothing to him.” Luster said. “He was playing there, and +all of a sudden he started bellering.” + +“Is you been projecking with his graveyard.” Dilsey said. + +“I aint touched his graveyard.” Luster said. + +“Dont lie to me, boy.” Dilsey said. We went up the steps and into the +kitchen. Dilsey opened the firedoor and drew a chair up in front of it +and I sat down. I hushed. + +_What you want to get her started for, Dilsey said. Whyn’t you keep him +out of there._ + +_He was just looking at the fire, Caddy said. Mother was telling him his +new name. We didn’t mean to get her started._ + +_I knows you didn’t, Dilsey said. Him at one end of the house and her at +the other. You let my things alone, now. Dont you touch nothing till I +get back._ + +“Aint you shamed of yourself.” Dilsey said. “Teasing him.” She set the +cake on the table. + +“I aint been teasing him.” Luster said. “He was playing with that bottle +full of dogfennel and all of a sudden he started up bellering. You heard +him.” + +“You aint done nothing to his flowers.” Dilsey said. + +“I aint touched his graveyard.” Luster said. “What I want with his +truck. I was just hunting for that quarter.” + +“You lost it, did you.” Dilsey said. She lit the candles on the cake. +Some of them were little ones. Some were big ones cut into little +pieces. “I told you to go put it away. Now I reckon you want me to get +you another one from Frony.” + +“I got to go to that show, Benjy or no Benjy.” Luster said. “I aint +going to follow him around day and night both.” + +“You going to do just what he want you to, nigger boy.” Dilsey said. +“You hear me.” + +“Aint I always done it.” Luster said. “Dont I always does what he wants. +Dont I, Benjy.” + +“Then you keep it up.” Dilsey said. “Bringing him in here, bawling and +getting her started too. You all go ahead and eat this cake, now, before +Jason come. I dont want him jumping on me about a cake I bought with my +own money. Me baking a cake here, with him counting every egg that comes +into this kitchen. See can you let him alone now, less you dont want to +go to that show tonight.” + +Dilsey went away. + +“You cant blow out no candles.” Luster said. “Watch me blow them out.” +He leaned down and puffed his face. The candles went away. I began to +cry. “Hush.” Luster said. “Here. Look at the fire whiles I cuts this +cake.” + +_I could hear the clock, and I could hear Caddy standing behind me, and +I could hear the roof. It’s still raining, Caddy said. I hate rain. I +hate everything. And then her head came into my lap and she was crying, +holding me, and I began to cry. Then I looked at the fire again and the +bright, smooth shapes went again. I could hear the clock and the roof +and Caddy._ + +I ate some cake. Luster’s hand came and took another piece. I could hear +him eating. I looked at the fire. + +A long piece of wire came across my shoulder. It went to the door, and +then the fire went away. I began to cry. + +“What you howling for now.” Luster said. “Look there.” The fire was +there. I hushed. “Cant you set and look at the fire and be quiet like +mammy told you.” Luster said. “You ought to be ashamed of yourself. +Here. Here’s you some more cake.” + +“What you done to him now.” Dilsey said. “Cant you never let him alone.” + +“I was just trying to get him to hush up and not sturb Miss Cahline.” +Luster said. “Something got him started again.” + +“And I know what that something name.” Dilsey said. “I’m going to get +Versh to take a stick to you when he comes home. You just trying +yourself. You been doing it all day. Did you take him down to the +branch.” + +“Nome.” Luster said. “We been right here in this yard all day, like you +said.” + +His hand came for another piece of cake. Dilsey hit his hand. “Reach it +again, and I chop it right off with this here butcher knife.” Dilsey +said. “I bet he aint had one piece of it.” + +“Yes he is.” Luster said. “He already had twice as much as me. Ask him +if he aint.” + +“Reach hit one more time.” Dilsey said. “Just reach it.” + +_That’s right, Dilsey said. I reckon it’ll be my time to cry next. +Reckon Maury going to let me cry on him a while, too._ + +_His name’s Benjy now, Caddy said._ + +_How come it is, Dilsey said. He aint wore out the name he was born with +yet, is he._ + +_Benjamin came out of the bible, Caddy said. It’s a better name for him +than Maury was._ + +_How come it is, Dilsey said._ + +_Mother says it is, Caddy said._ + +_Huh, Dilsey said. Name aint going to help him. Hurt him, neither. Folks +dont have no luck, changing names. My name been Dilsey since fore I +could remember and it be Dilsey when they’s long forgot me._ + +_How will they know it’s Dilsey, when it’s long forgot, Dilsey, Caddy +said._ + +_It’ll be in the Book, honey, Dilsey said. Writ out._ + +_Can you read it, Caddy said._ + +_Wont have to, Dilsey said. They’ll read it for me. All I got to do is +say Ise here._ + +The long wire came across my shoulder, and the fire went away. I began +to cry. + +Dilsey and Luster fought. + +“I seen you.” Dilsey said. “Oho, I seen you.” She dragged Luster out of +the corner, shaking him. “Wasn’t nothing bothering him, was they. You +just wait till your pappy come home. I wish I was young like I use to +be, I’d tear them years right off your head. I good mind to lock you up +in that cellar and not let you go to that show tonight, I sho is.” + +“Ow, mammy.” Luster said. “Ow, mammy.” + +I put my hand out to where the fire had been. + +“Catch him.” Dilsey said. “Catch him back.” + +My hand jerked back and I put it in my mouth and Dilsey caught me. I +could still hear the clock between my voice. Dilsey reached back and hit +Luster on the head. My voice was going loud every time. + +“Get that soda.” Dilsey said. She took my hand out of my mouth. My voice +went louder then and my hand tried to go back to my mouth, but Dilsey +held it. My voice went loud. She sprinkled soda on my hand. + +“Look in the pantry and tear a piece off of that rag hanging on the +nail.” she said. “Hush, now. You dont want to make your ma sick again, +does you. Here, look at the fire. Dilsey make your hand stop hurting in +just a minute. Look at the fire.” She opened the fire door. I looked at +the fire, but my hand didn’t stop and I didn’t stop. My hand was trying +to go to my mouth but Dilsey held it. + +She wrapped the cloth around it. Mother said, + +“What is it now. Cant I even be sick in peace. Do I have to get up out +of bed to come down to him, with two grown negroes to take care of him.” + +“He all right now.” Dilsey said. “He going to quit. He just burnt his +hand a little.” + +“With two grown negroes, you must bring him into the house, bawling.” +Mother said. “You got him started on purpose, because you know I’m +sick.” She came and stood by me. “Hush.” she said. “Right this minute. +Did you give him this cake.” + +“I bought it.” Dilsey said. “It never come out of Jason’s pantry. I +fixed him some birthday.” + +“Do you want to poison him with that cheap store cake.” Mother said. “Is +that what you are trying to do. Am I never to have one minute’s peace.” + +“You go on back up stairs and lay down.” Dilsey said. “It’ll quit +smarting him in a minute now, and he’ll hush. Come on, now.” + +“And leave him down here for you all to do something else to.” Mother +said. “How can I lie there, with him bawling down here. Benjamin. Hush +this minute.” + +“They aint nowhere else to take him.” Dilsey said. “We aint got the room +we use to have. He cant stay out in the yard, crying where all the +neighbors can see him.” + +“I know, I know.” Mother said. “It’s all my fault. I’ll be gone soon, +and you and Jason will both get along better.” She began to cry. + +“You hush that, now.” Dilsey said. “You’ll get yourself down again. You +come on back up stairs. Luster going to take him to the liberry and play +with him till I get his supper done.” + +Dilsey and Mother went out. + +“Hush up.” Luster said. “You hush up. You want me to burn your other +hand for you. You aint hurt. Hush up.” + +“Here.” Dilsey said. “Stop crying, now.” She gave me the slipper, and I +hushed. “Take him to the liberry.” she said. “And if I hear him again, I +going to whip you myself.” + +We went to the library. Luster turned on the light. The windows went +black, and the dark tall place on the wall came and I went and touched +it. It was like a door, only it wasn’t a door. + +The fire came behind me and I went to the fire and sat on the floor, +holding the slipper. The fire went higher. It went onto the cushion in +Mother’s chair. + +“Hush up.” Luster said. “Cant you never get done for a while. Here I +done built you a fire, and you wont even look at it.” + +_Your name is Benjy. Caddy said. Do you hear. Benjy. Benjy._ + +_Dont tell him that, Mother said. Bring him here._ + +_Caddy lifted me under the arms._ + +_Get up, Mau—I mean Benjy, she said._ + +_Dont try to carry him, Mother said. Cant you lead him over here. Is +that too much for you to think of._ + +_I can carry him_, Caddy said. “Let me carry him up, Dilsey.” + +“Go on, Minute.” Dilsey said. “You aint big enough to tote a flea. You +go on and be quiet, like Mr. Jason said.” + +There was a light at the top of the stairs. Father was there, in his +shirt sleeves. The way he looked said Hush. Caddy whispered, + +“Is Mother sick.” + +_Versh set me down and we went into Mother’s room. There was a fire. It +was rising and falling on the walls. There was another fire in the +mirror. I could smell the sickness. It was a cloth folded on Mother’s +head. Her hair was on the pillow. The fire didn’t reach it, but it shone +on her hand, where her rings were jumping._ + +“Come and tell Mother goodnight.” Caddy said. We went to the bed. The +fire went out of the mirror. Father got up from the bed and lifted me up +and Mother put her hand on my head. + +“What time is it.” Mother said. Her eyes were closed. + +“Ten minutes to seven.” Father said. + +“It’s too early for him to go to bed.” Mother said. “He’ll wake up at +daybreak, and I simply cannot bear another day like today.” + +“There, there.” Father said. He touched Mother’s face. + +“I know I’m nothing but a burden to you.” Mother said. “But I’ll be gone +soon. Then you will be rid of my bothering.” + +“Hush.” Father said. “I’ll take him downstairs awhile.” He took me up. +“Come on, old fellow. Let’s go downstairs awhile. We’ll have to be quiet +while Quentin is studying, now.” + +Caddy went and leaned her face over the bed and Mother’s hand came into +the firelight. Her rings jumped on Caddy’s back. + +_Mother’s sick, Father said. Dilsey will put you to bed. Where’s +Quentin._ + +_Versh getting him, Dilsey said._ + +Father stood and watched us go past. We could hear Mother in her room. +Caddy said “Hush.” Jason was still climbing the stairs. He had his hands +in his pockets. + +“You all must be good tonight.” Father said. “And be quiet, so you wont +disturb Mother.” + +“We’ll be quiet.” Caddy said. “You must be quiet now, Jason.” she said. +We tiptoed. + +_We could hear the roof. I could see the fire in the mirror too. Caddy +lifted me again._ + +“Come on, now.” she said. “Then you can come back to the fire. Hush, +now.” + +“Candace.” Mother said. + +“Hush, Benjy.” Caddy said. “Mother wants you a minute. Like a good boy. +Then you can come back. Benjy.” + +Caddy let me down, and I hushed. + +“Let him stay here, Mother. When he’s through looking at the fire, then +you can tell him.” + +“Candace.” Mother said. Caddy stooped and lifted me. We staggered. +“Candace.” Mother said. + +“Hush.” Caddy said. “You can still see it. Hush.” + +“Bring him here.” Mother said. “He’s too big for you to carry. You must +stop trying. You’ll injure your back. All of our women have prided +themselves on their carriage. Do you want to look like a washer-woman.” + +“He’s not too heavy.” Caddy said. “I can carry him.” + +“Well, I dont want him carried, then.” Mother said. “A five year old +child. No, no. Not in my lap. Let him stand up.” + +“If you’ll hold him, he’ll stop.” Caddy said. “Hush.” she said. “You can +go right back. Here. Here’s your cushion. See.” + +“Dont, Candace.” Mother said. + +“Let him look at it and he’ll be quiet.” Caddy said. “Hold up just a +minute while I slip it out. There, Benjy. Look.” + +I looked at it and hushed. + +“You humour him too much.” Mother said. “You and your father both. You +dont realise that I am the one who has to pay for it. Damuddy spoiled +Jason that way and it took him two years to outgrow it, and I am not +strong enough to go through the same thing with Benjamin.” + +“You dont need to bother with him.” Caddy said. “I like to take care of +him. Dont I, Benjy.” + +“Candace.” Mother said. “I told you not to call him that. It was bad +enough when your father insisted on calling you by that silly nickname, +and I will not have him called by one. Nicknames are vulgar. Only common +people use them. Benjamin.” she said. + +“Look at me.” Mother said. + +“Benjamin.” she said. She took my face in her hands and turned it to +hers. + +“Benjamin.” she said. “Take that cushion away, Candace.” + +“He’ll cry.” Caddy said. + +“Take that cushion away, like I told you.” Mother said. “He must learn +to mind.” + +The cushion went away. + +“Hush, Benjy.” Caddy said. + +“You go over there and sit down.” Mother said. “Benjamin.” She held my +face to hers. + +“Stop that.” she said. “Stop it.” + +But I didn’t stop and Mother caught me in her arms and began to cry, and +I cried. Then the cushion came back and Caddy held it above Mother’s +head. She drew Mother back in the chair and Mother lay crying against +the red and yellow cushion. + +“Hush, Mother.” Caddy said. “You go upstairs and lay down, so you can be +sick. I’ll go get Dilsey.” She led me to the fire and I looked at the +bright, smooth shapes. I could hear the fire and the roof. + +Father took me up. He smelled like rain. + +“Well, Benjy.” he said. “Have you been a good boy today.” + +Caddy and Jason were fighting in the mirror. + +“You, Caddy.” Father said. + +They fought. Jason began to cry. + +“Caddy.” Father said. Jason was crying. He wasn’t fighting anymore but +we could see Caddy fighting in the mirror and Father put me down and +went into the mirror and fought too. He lifted Caddy up. She fought. +Jason lay on the floor, crying. He had the scissors in his hand. Father +held Caddy. + +“He cut up all Benjy’s dolls.” Caddy said. “I’ll slit his gizzle.” + +“Candace.” Father said. + +“I will.” Caddy said. “I will.” She fought. Father held her. She kicked +at Jason. He rolled into the corner, out of the mirror. Father brought +Caddy to the fire. They were all out of the mirror. Only the fire was in +it. Like the fire was in a door. + +“Stop that.” Father said. “Do you want to make Mother sick in her room.” + +Caddy stopped. “He cut up all the dolls Mau—Benjy and I made.” Caddy +said. “He did it just for meanness.” + +“I didn’t.” Jason said. He was sitting up, crying. “I didn’t know they +were his. I just thought they were some old papers.” + +“You couldn’t help but know.” Caddy said. “You did it just.” + +“Hush.” Father said. “Jason.” he said. + +“I’ll make you some more tomorrow.” Caddy said. “We’ll make a lot of +them. Here, you can look at the cushion, too.” + +_Jason came in._ + +_I kept telling you to hush, Luster said._ + +_What’s the matter now, Jason said._ + +“He just trying hisself.” Luster said. “That the way he been going on +all day.” + +“Why dont you let him alone, then.” Jason said. “If you cant keep him +quiet, you’ll have to take him out to the kitchen. The rest of us cant +shut ourselves up in a room like Mother does.” + +“Mammy say keep him out the kitchen till she get supper.” Luster said. + +“Then play with him and keep him quiet.” Jason said. “Do I have to work +all day and then come home to a mad house.” He opened the paper and read +it. + +_You can look at the fire and the mirror and the cushion too, Caddy +said. You wont have to wait until supper to look at the cushion, now. We +could hear the roof. We could hear Jason too, crying loud beyond the +wall._ + +Dilsey said, “You come, Jason. You letting him alone, is you.” + +“Yessum.” Luster said. + +“Where Quentin.” Dilsey said. “Supper near bout ready.” + +“I dont know’m.” Luster said. “I aint seen her.” + +Dilsey went away. “Quentin.” she said in the hall. “Quentin. Supper +ready.” + +_We could hear the roof. Quentin smelled like rain, too._ + +_What did Jason do, he said._ + +_He cut up all Benjy’s dolls, Caddy said._ + +_Mother said to not call him Benjy, Quentin said. He sat on the rug by +us. I wish it wouldn’t rain, he said. You cant do anything._ + +_You’ve been in a fight, Caddy said. Haven’t you._ + +_It wasn’t much, Quentin said._ + +_You can tell it, Caddy said. Father’ll see it._ + +_I dont care, Quentin said. I wish it wouldn’t rain._ + +Quentin said, “Didn’t Dilsey say supper was ready.” + +“Yessum.” Luster said. Jason looked at Quentin. Then he read the paper +again. Quentin came in. “She say it bout ready.” Luster said. Quentin +jumped down in Mother’s chair. Luster said, + +“Mr Jason.” + +“What.” Jason said. + +“Let me have two bits.” Luster said. + +“What for.” Jason said. + +“To go to the show tonight.” Luster said. + +“I thought Dilsey was going to get a quarter from Frony for you.” Jason +said. + +“She did.” Luster said. “I lost it. Me and Benjy hunted all day for that +quarter. You can ask him.” + +“Then borrow one from him.” Jason said. “I have to work for mine.” He +read the paper. Quentin looked at the fire. The fire was in her eyes and +on her mouth. Her mouth was red. + +“I tried to keep him away from there.” Luster said. + +“Shut your mouth.” Quentin said. Jason looked at her. + +“What did I tell you I was going to do if I saw you with that show +fellow again.” he said. Quentin looked at the fire. “Did you hear me.” +Jason said. + +“I heard you.” Quentin said. “Why dont you do it, then.” + +“Dont you worry.” Jason said. + +“I’m not.” Quentin said. Jason read the paper again. + +_I could hear the roof. Father leaned forward and looked at Quentin._ + +_Hello, he said. Who won._ + +“Nobody.” Quentin said. “They stopped us. Teachers.” + +“Who was it.” Father said. “Will you tell.” + +“It was all right.” Quentin said. “He was as big as me.” + +“That’s good.” Father said. “Can you tell what it was about.” + +“It wasn’t anything.” Quentin said. “He said he would put a frog in her +desk and she wouldn’t dare to whip him.” + +“Oh.” Father said. “She. And then what.” + +“Yes, sir.” Quentin said. “And then I kind of hit him.” + +We could hear the roof and the fire, and a snuffling outside the door. + +“Where was he going to get a frog in November.” Father said. + +“I dont know, sir.” Quentin said. + +We could hear them. + +“Jason.” Father said. We could hear Jason. + +“Jason.” Father said. “Come in here and stop that.” + +We could hear the roof and the fire and Jason. + +“Stop that, now.” Father said. “Do you want me to whip you again.” +Father lifted Jason up into the chair by him. Jason snuffled. We could +hear the fire and the roof. Jason snuffled a little louder. + +“One more time.” Father said. We could hear the fire and the roof. + +_Dilsey said, All right. You all can come on to supper._ + +_Versh smelled like rain. He smelled like a dog, too. We could hear the +fire and the roof._ + +We could hear Caddy walking fast. Father and Mother looked at the door. +Caddy passed it, walking fast, She didn’t look. She walked fast. + +“Candace.” Mother said. Caddy stopped walking. + +“Yes, Mother.” she said. + +“Hush, Caroline.” Father said. + +“Come here.” Mother said. + +“Hush, Caroline.” Father said. “Let her alone.” + +Caddy came to the door and stood there, looking at Father and Mother. +Her eyes flew at me, and away. I began to cry. It went loud and I got +up. Caddy came in and stood with her back to the wall, looking at me. I +went toward her, crying, and she shrank against the wall and I saw her +eyes and I cried louder and pulled at her dress. She put her hands out +but I pulled at her dress. Her eyes ran. + +_Versh said, Your name Benjamin now. You know how come your name +Benjamin now. They making a bluegum out of you. Mammy say in old time +your granpa changed nigger’s name, and_ _he turn preacher, and when they +look at him, he bluegum too. Didn’t use to be bluegum, neither. And when +family woman look him in the eye in the full of the moon, chile born +bluegum. And one evening, when they was about a dozen them bluegum +chillen running round the place, he never come home. Possum hunters +found him in the woods, et clean. And you know who et him. Them bluegum +chillen did._ + +We were in the hall. Caddy was still looking at me. Her hand was against +her mouth and I saw her eyes and I cried. We went up the stairs. She +stopped again, against the wall, looking at me and I cried and she went +on and I came on, crying, and she shrank against the wall, looking at +me. She opened the door to her room, but I pulled at her dress and we +went to the bathroom and she stood against the door, looking at me. Then +she put her arm across her face and I pushed at her, crying. + +_What are you doing to him, Jason said. Why cant you let him alone._ + +_I aint touching him, Luster said. He been doing this way all day long. +He needs whipping._ + +_He needs to be sent to Jackson, Quentin said. How can anybody live in a +house like this._ + +_If you dont like it, young lady, you’d better get out, Jason said._ + +_I’m going to, Quentin said. Dont you worry._ + +Versh said, “You move back some, so I can dry my legs off.” He shoved me +back a little. “Dont you start bellering, now. You can still see it. +That’s all you have to do. You aint had to be out in the rain like I is. +You’s born lucky and dont know it.” He lay on his back before the fire. + +“You know how come your name Benjamin now.” Versh said. “Your mamma too +proud for you. What mammy say.” + +“You be still there and let me dry my legs off.” Versh said. “Or you +know what I’ll do. I’ll skin your rinktum.” + +We could hear the fire and the roof and Versh. + +Versh got up quick and jerked his legs back. Father said, “All right, +Versh.” + +“I’ll feed him tonight.” Caddy said. “Sometimes he cries when Versh +feeds him.” + +“Take this tray up,” Dilsey said. “And hurry back and feed Benjy.” + +“Dont you want Caddy to feed you.” Caddy said. + +_Has he got to keep that old dirty slipper on the table, Quentin said. +Why dont you feed him in the kitchen. It’s like eating with a pig._ + +_If you dont like the way we eat, you’d better not come to the table, +Jason said._ + +Steam came off of Roskus. He was sitting in front of the stove. The oven +door was open and Roskus had his feet in it. Steam came off the bowl. +Caddy put the spoon into my mouth easy. There was a black spot on the +inside of the bowl. + +_Now, now, Dilsey said. He aint going to bother you no more._ + +It got down below the mark. Then the bowl was empty. It went away. “He’s +hungry tonight.” Caddy said. The bowl came back. I couldn’t see the +spot. Then I could. “He’s starved, tonight.” Caddy said. “Look how much +he’s eaten.” + +_Yes he will, Quentin said. You all send him out to spy on me. I hate +this house. I’m going to run away._ + +Roskus said, “It going to rain all night.” + +_You’ve been running a long time, not to ’ve got any further off than +mealtime, Jason said._ + +_See if I dont, Quentin said._ + +“Then I dont know what I going to do.” Dilsey said. “It caught me in the +hip so bad now I cant scarcely move. Climbing them stairs all evening.” + +_Oh, I wouldn’t be surprised, Jason said. I wouldn’t be surprised at +anything you’d do._ + +_Quentin threw her napkin on the table._ + +_Hush your mouth, Jason, Dilsey said. She went and put her arm around +Quentin. Sit down, honey, Dilsey said. He ought to be shamed of hisself, +throwing what aint your fault up to you._ + +“She sulling again, is she.” Roskus said. + +“Hush your mouth.” Dilsey said. + +_Quentin pushed Dilsey away. She looked at Jason. Her mouth was red. She +picked up her glass of water and swung her arm back, looking at Jason. +Dilsey caught her arm. They fought. The glass_ _broke on the table, and +the water ran into the table. Quentin was running._ + +“Mother’s sick again.” Caddy said. + +“Sho she is.” Dilsey said. “Weather like this make anybody sick. When +you going to get done eating, boy.” + +_Goddamn you, Quentin said. Goddamn you. We could hear her running on +the stairs. We went to the library._ + +Caddy gave me the cushion, and I could look at the cushion and the +mirror and the fire. + +“We must be quiet while Quentin’s studying.” Father said. “What are you +doing, Jason.” + +“Nothing.” Jason said. + +“Suppose you come over here to do it, then.” Father said. + +Jason came out of the corner. + +“What are you chewing.” Father said. + +“Nothing.” Jason said. + +“He’s chewing paper again.” Caddy said. + +“Come here, Jason.” Father said. + +Jason threw into the fire. It hissed, uncurled, turning black. Then it +was gray. Then it was gone. Caddy and Father and Jason were in Mother’s +chair. Jason’s eyes were puffed shut and his mouth moved, like tasting. +Caddy’s head was on Father’s shoulder. Her hair was like fire, and +little points of fire were in her eyes, and I went and Father lifted me +into the chair too, and Caddy held me. She smelled like trees. + +_She smelled like trees. In the corner it was dark, but I could see the +window. I squatted there, holding the slipper. I couldn’t see it, but my +hands saw it, and I could hear it getting night, and my hands saw the +slipper but I couldn’t see myself, but my hands could see the slipper, +and I squatted there, hearing it getting dark._ + +_Here you is, Luster said. Look what I got. He showed it to me. You know +where I got it. Miss Quentin gave it to me. I knowed they couldn’t keep +me out. What you doing, off in here. I thought you done slipped back out +doors. Aint you done enough moaning and slobbering today, without hiding +off in this here empty room, mumbling and taking on. Come on here to +bed, so I can get up there before it starts. I cant fool with you all +night tonight. Just let them horns toot the first toot and I done gone._ + +We didn’t go to our room. + +“This is where we have the measles.” Caddy said. “Why do we have to +sleep in here tonight.” + +“What you care where you sleep.” Dilsey said. She shut the door and sat +down and began to undress me. Jason began to cry. “Hush.” Dilsey said. + +“I want to sleep with Damuddy.” Jason said. + +“She’s sick.” Caddy said. “You can sleep with her when she gets well. +Cant he, Dilsey.” + +“Hush, now.” Dilsey said. Jason hushed. + +“Our nighties are here, and everything.” Caddy said. “It’s like moving.” + +“And you better get into them.” Dilsey said. “You be unbuttoning Jason.” + +Caddy unbuttoned Jason. He began to cry. + +“You want to get whipped.” Dilsey said. Jason hushed. + +_Quentin, Mother said in the hall._ + +_What, Quentin said beyond the wall. We heard Mother lock the door. She +looked in our door and came in and stooped over the bed and kissed me on +the forehead._ + +_When you get him to bed, go and ask Dilsey if she objects to my having +a hot water bottle, Mother said. Tell her that if she does, I’ll try to +get along without it. Tell her I just want to know._ + +_Yessum, Luster said. Come on. Get your pants off._ + +Quentin and Versh came in. Quentin had his face turned away. “What are +you crying for.” Caddy said. + +“Hush.” Dilsey said. “You all get undressed, now. You can go on home, +Versh.” + +_I got undressed and I looked at myself, and I began to cry. Hush, +Luster said. Looking for them aint going to do no good. They’re gone. +You keep on like this, and we aint going have you no more birthday. He +put my gown on. I hushed, and then Luster stopped, his head toward the +window. Then he went to the window and looked out. He came back and took +my arm. Here she come, he said. Be quiet, now. We went to the window and +looked out. It came out of Quentin’s window and climbed across into the +tree. We watched the tree shaking. The shaking went down the tree, than_ +_it came out and we watched it go away across the grass. Then we +couldn’t see it. Come on, Luster said. There now. Hear them horns. You +get in that bed while my foots behaves._ + +There were two beds. Quentin got in the other one. He turned his face to +the wall. Dilsey put Jason in with him. Caddy took her dress off. + +“Just look at your drawers.” Dilsey said. “You better be glad your ma +aint seen you.” + +“I already told on her.” Jason said. + +“I bound you would.” Dilsey said. + +“And see what you got by it.” Caddy said. “Tattletale.” + +“What did I get by it.” Jason said. + +“Whyn’t you get your nightie on.” Dilsey said. She went and helped Caddy +take off her bodice and drawers. “Just look at you.” Dilsey said. She +wadded the drawers and scrubbed Caddy behind with them. “It done soaked +clean through onto you.” she said. “But you wont get no bath this night. +Here.” She put Caddy’s nightie on her and Caddy climbed into the bed and +Dilsey went to the door and stood with her hand on the light. “You all +be quiet now, you hear.” she said. + +“All right.” Caddy said. “Mother’s not coming in tonight.” she said. “So +we still have to mind me.” + +“Yes.” Dilsey said. “Go to sleep, now.” + +“Mother’s sick.” Caddy said. “She and Damuddy are both sick.” + +“Hush.” Dilsey said. “You go to sleep.” + +The room went black, except the door. Then the door went black. Caddy +said, “Hush, Maury,” putting her hand on me. So I stayed hushed. We +could hear us. We could hear the dark. + +It went away, and Father looked at us. He looked at Quentin and Jason, +then he came and kissed Caddy and put his hand on my head. + +“Is Mother very sick.” Caddy said. + +“No.” Father said. “Are you going to take good care of Maury.” + +“Yes.” Caddy said. + +Father went to the door and looked at us again. Then the dark came back, +and he stood black in the door, and then the door turned black again. +Caddy held me and I could hear us all, and the darkness, and something I +could smell. And then I could see the windows, where the trees were +buzzing. Then the dark began to go in smooth, bright shapes, like it +always does, even when Caddy says that I have been asleep. + + + + + JUNE SECOND, 1910 + + +When the shadow of the sash appeared on the curtains it was between +seven and eight oclock and then I was in time again, hearing the watch. +It was Grandfather’s and when Father gave it to me he said, Quentin, I +give you the mausoleum of all hope and desire; it’s rather +excrutiating-ly apt that you will use it to gain the reducto absurdum of +all human experience which can fit your individual needs no better than +it fitted his or his father’s. I give it to you not that you may +remember time, but that you might forget it now and then for a moment +and not spend all your breath trying to conquer it. Because no battle is +ever won he said. They are not even fought. The field only reveals to +man his own folly and despair, and victory is an illusion of +philosophers and fools. + +It was propped against the collar box and I lay listening to it. Hearing +it, that is. I dont suppose anybody ever deliberately listens to a watch +or a clock. You dont have to. You can be oblivious to the sound for a +long while, then in a second of ticking it can create in the mind +unbroken the long diminishing parade of time you didn’t hear. Like +Father said down the long and lonely light-rays you might see Jesus +walking, like. And the good Saint Francis that said Little Sister Death, +that never had a sister. + +Through the wall I heard Shreve’s bed-springs and then his slippers on +the floor hishing. I got up and went to the dresser and slid my hand +along it and touched the watch and turned it face-down and went back to +bed. But the shadow of the sash was still there and I had learned to +tell almost to the minute, so I’d have to turn my back to it, feeling +the eyes animals used to have in the back of their heads when it was on +top, itching. It’s always the idle habits you acquire which you will +regret. Father said that. That Christ was not crucified: he was worn +away by a minute clicking of little wheels. That had no sister. + +And so as soon as I knew I couldn’t see it, I began to wonder what time +it was. Father said that constant speculation regarding the position of +mechanical hands on an arbitrary dial which is a symptom of +mind-function. Excrement Father said like sweating. And I saying All +right. Wonder. Go on and wonder. + +If it had been cloudy I could have looked at the window, thinking what +he said about idle habits. Thinking it would be nice for them down at +New London if the weather held up like this. Why shouldn’t it? The month +of brides, the voice that breathed _She ran right out of the mirror, out +of the banked scent. Roses. Roses. Mr and Mrs Jason Richmond Compson +announce the marriage of._ Roses. Not virgins like dogwood, milkweed. I +said I have committed incest, Father I said. Roses. Cunning and serene. +If you attend Harvard one year, but dont see the boat-race, there should +be a refund. Let Jason have it. Give Jason a year at Harvard. + +Shreve stood in the door, putting his collar on, his glasses glinting +rosily, as though he had washed them with his face. “You taking a cut +this morning?” + +“Is it that late?” + +He looked at his watch. “Bell in two minutes.” + +“I didn’t know it was that late.” He was still looking at the watch, his +mouth shaping. “I’ll have to hustle. I cant stand another cut. The dean +told me last week—” He put the watch back into his pocket. Then I quit +talking. + +“You’d better slip on your pants and run,” he said. He went out. + +I got up and moved about, listening to him through the wall. He entered +the sitting-room, toward the door. + +“Aren’t you ready yet?” + +“Not yet. Run along. I’ll make it.” + +He went out. The door closed. His feet went down the corridor. Then I +could hear the watch again. I quit moving around and went to the window +and drew the curtains aside and watched them running for chapel, the +same ones fighting the same heaving coat-sleeves, the same books and +flapping collars flushing past like debris on a flood, and Spoade. +Calling Shreve my husband. Ah let him alone, Shreve said, if he’s got +better sense than to chase after the little dirty sluts, whose business. +In the South you are ashamed of being a virgin. Boys. Men. They lie +about it. Because it means less to women, Father said. He said it was +men invented virginity not women. Father said it’s like death, only a +state in which the others are left and I said, But to believe it doesn’t +matter and he said, That’s what’s so sad about anything: not only +virginity, and I said, Why couldn’t it have been me and not her who is +unvirgin and he said, That’s why that’s sad too; nothing is even worth +the changing of it, and Shreve said if he’s got better sense than to +chase after the little dirty sluts and I said Did you ever have a +sister? Did you? Did you? + +Spoade was in the middle of them like a terrapin in a street full of +scuttering dead leaves, his collar about his ears, moving at his +customary unhurried walk. He was from South Carolina, a senior. It was +his club’s boast that he never ran for chapel and had never got there on +time and had never been absent in four years and had never made either +chapel or first lecture with a shirt on his back and socks on his feet. +About ten oclock he’d come in Thompson’s, get two cups of coffee, sit +down and take his socks out of his pocket and remove his shoes and put +them on while the coffee cooled. About noon you’d see him with a shirt +and collar on, like anybody else. The others passed him running, but he +never increased his pace at all. After a while the quad was empty. + +A sparrow slanted across the sunlight, onto the window ledge, and cocked +his head at me. His eye was round and bright. First he’d watch me with +one eye, then flick! and it would be the other one, his throat pumping +faster than any pulse. The hour began to strike. The sparrow quit +swapping eyes and watched me steadily with the same one until the chimes +ceased, as if he were listening too. Then he flicked off the ledge and +was gone. + +It was a while before the last stroke ceased vibrating. It stayed in the +air, more felt than heard, for a long time. Like all the bells that ever +rang still ringing in the long dying light-rays and Jesus and Saint +Francis talking about his sister. Because if it were just to hell; if +that were all of it. Finished. If things just finished themselves. +Nobody else there but her and me. If we could just have done something +so dreadful that they would have fled hell except us. _I have committed +incest I said Father it was I it was not Dalton Ames_ And when he put +Dalton Ames. Dalton Ames. Dalton Ames. When he put the pistol in my hand +I didn’t. That’s why I didn’t. He would be there and she would and I +would. Dalton Ames. Dalton Ames. Dalton Ames. If we could have just done +something so dreadful and Father said That’s sad too, people cannot do +anything that dreadful they cannot do anything very dreadful at all they +cannot even remember tomorrow what seemed dreadful today and I said, You +can shirk all things and he said, Ah can you. And I will look down and +see my murmuring bones and the deep water like wind, like a roof of +wind, and after a long time they cannot distinguish even bones upon the +lonely and inviolate sand. Until on the Day when He says Rise only the +flat-iron would come floating up. It’s not when you realise that nothing +can help you—religion, pride, anything—it’s when you realise that you +dont need any aid. Dalton Ames. Dalton Ames. Dalton Ames. If I could +have been his mother lying with open body lifted laughing, holding his +father with my hand refraining, seeing, watching him die before he +lived. _One minute she was standing in the door_ + +I went to the dresser and took up the watch, with the face still down. I +tapped the crystal on the corner of the dresser and caught the fragments +of glass in my hand and put them into the ashtray and twisted the hands +off and put them in the tray. The watch ticked on. I turned the face up, +the blank dial with little wheels clicking and clicking behind it, not +knowing any better. Jesus walking on Galilee and Washington not telling +lies. Father brought back a watch-charm from the Saint Louis Fair to +Jason: a tiny opera glass into which you squinted with one eye and saw a +skyscraper, a ferris wheel all spidery, Niagara Falls on a pinhead. +There was a red smear on the dial. When I saw it my thumb began to +smart. I put the watch down and went into Shreve’s room and got the +iodine and painted the cut. I cleaned the rest of the glass out of the +rim with the towel. + +I laid out two suits of underwear, with socks, shirts, collars and ties, +and packed my trunk. I put in everything except my new suit and an old +one and two pairs of shoes and two hats, and my books. I carried the +books into the sitting-room and stacked them on the table, the ones I +had brought from home and the ones _Father said it used to be a +gentleman was known by his books; nowadays he is known by the ones he +has not returned_ and locked the trunk and addressed it. The quarter +hour sounded. I stopped and listened to it until the chimes ceased. + +I bathed and shaved. The water made my finger smart a little, so I +painted it again. I put on my new suit and put my watch on and packed +the other suit and the accessories and my razor and brushes in my hand +bag, and wrapped the trunk key into a sheet of paper and put it in an +envelope and addressed it to Father, and wrote the two notes and sealed +them. + +The shadow hadn’t quite cleared the stoop. I stopped inside the door, +watching the shadow move. It moved almost perceptibly, creeping back +inside the door, driving the shadow back into the door. _Only she was +running already when I heard it. In the mirror she was running before I +knew what it was. That quick, her train caught up over her arm she ran +out of the mirror like a cloud, her veil swirling in long glints her +heels brittle and fast clutching her dress onto her shoulder with the +other hand, running out of the mirror the smells roses roses the voice +that breathed o’er Eden. Then she was across the porch I couldn’t hear +her heels then in the moonlight like a cloud, the floating shadow of the +veil running across the grass, into the bellowing. She ran out of her +dress, clutching her bridal, running into the bellowing where T. P. in +the dew Whooey Sassprilluh Benjy under the box bellowing. Father had a +V-shaped silver cuirass on his running chest_ + +Shreve said, “Well, you didn’t. . . . Is it a wedding or a wake?” + +“I couldn’t make it,” I said. + +“Not with all that primping. What’s the matter? You think this was +Sunday?” + +“I reckon the police wont get me for wearing my new suit one time,” I +said. + +“I was thinking about the Square students. Have you got too proud to +attend classes too?” + +“I’m going to eat first.” The shadow on the stoop was gone. I stepped +into sunlight, finding my shadow again. I walked down the steps just +ahead of it. The half hour went. Then the chimes ceased and died away. + +Deacon wasn’t at the postoffice either. I stamped the two envelopes and +mailed the one to Father and put Shreve’s in my inside pocket, and then +I remembered where I had last seen the Deacon. It was on Decoration Day, +in a G. A. R. uniform, in the middle of the parade. If you waited long +enough on any corner you would see him in whatever parade came along. +The one before was on Columbus’ or Garibaldi’s or somebody’s birthday. +He was in the Street Sweeper’s section, in a stovepipe hat, carrying a +two inch Italian flag, smoking a cigar among the brooms and scoops. But +the last time was the G. A. R. one, because Shreve said: + +“There now. Just look at what your grandpa did to that poor old nigger.” + +“Yes,” I said, “Now he can spend day after day marching in parades. If +it hadn’t been for my grandfather, he’d have to work like whitefolks.” + +I didn’t see him anywhere. But I never knew even a working nigger that +you could find when you wanted him, let alone one that lived off the fat +of the land. A car came along. I went over to town and went to Parker’s +and had a good breakfast. While I was eating I heard a clock strike the +hour. But then I suppose it takes at least one hour to lose time in, who +has been longer than history getting into the mechanical progression of +it. + +When I finished breakfast I bought a cigar. The girl said a fifty cent +one was the best, so I took one and lit it and went out to the street. I +stood there and took a couple of puffs, then I held it in my hand and +went on toward the corner. I passed a jeweller’s window, but I looked +away in time. At the corner two bootblacks caught me, one on either +side, shrill and raucous, like blackbirds. I gave the cigar to one of +them, and the other one a nickel. Then they let me alone. The one with +the cigar was trying to sell it to the other for the nickel. + +There was a clock, high up in the sun, and I thought about how, when you +dont want to do a thing, your body will try to trick you into doing it, +sort of unawares. I could feel the muscles in the back of my neck, and +then I could hear my watch ticking away in my pocket and after a while I +had all the other sounds shut away, leaving only the watch in my pocket. +I turned back up the street, to the window. He was working at the table +behind the window. He was going bald. There was a glass in his eye—a +metal tube screwed into his face. I went in. + +The place was full of ticking, like crickets in September grass, and I +could hear a big clock on the wall above his head. He looked up, his eye +big and blurred and rushing beyond the glass. I took mine out and handed +it to him. + +“I broke my watch.” + +He flipped it over in his hand. “I should say you have. You must have +stepped on it.” + +“Yes, sir. I knocked it off the dresser and stepped on it in the dark. +It’s still running though.” + +He pried the back open and squinted into it. “Seems to be all right. I +cant tell until I go over it, though. I’ll go into it this afternoon.” + +“I’ll bring it back later,” I said. “Would you mind telling me if any of +those watches in the window are right?” + +He held my watch on his palm and looked up at me with his blurred +rushing eye. + +“I made a bet with a fellow,” I said, “And I forgot my glasses this +morning.” + +“Why, all right,” he said. He laid the watch down and half rose on his +stool and looked over the barrier. Then he glanced up at the wall. “It’s +twen—” + +“Dont tell me,” I said, “please sir. Just tell me if any of them are +right.” + +He looked at me again. He sat back on the stool and pushed the glass up +onto his forehead. It left a red circle around his eye and when it was +gone his whole face looked naked. “What’re you celebrating today?” he +said. “That boat race aint until next week, is it?” + +“No, sir. This is just a private celebration. Birthday. Are any of them +right?” + +“No. But they haven’t been regulated and set yet. If you’re thinking of +buying one of them—” + +“No, sir. I dont need a watch. We have a clock in our sitting room. I’ll +have this one fixed when I do.” I reached my hand. + +“Better leave it now.” + +“I’ll bring it back later.” He gave me the watch. I put it in my pocket. +I couldn’t hear it now, above all the others. “I’m much obliged to you. +I hope I haven’t taken up your time.” + +“That’s all right. Bring it in when you are ready. And you better put +off this celebration until after we win that boat race.” + +“Yes, sir. I reckon I had.” + +I went out, shutting the door upon the ticking. I looked back into the +window. He was watching me across the barrier. There were about a dozen +watches in the window, a dozen different hours and each with the same +assertive and contradictory assurance that mine had, without any hands +at all. Contradicting one another. I could hear mine, ticking away +inside my pocket, even though nobody could see it, even though it could +tell nothing if anyone could. + +And so I told myself to take that one. Because Father said clocks slay +time. He said time is dead as long as it is being clicked off by little +wheels; only when the clock stops does time come to life. The hands were +extended, slightly off the horizontal at a faint angle, like a gull +tilting into the wind. Holding all I used to be sorry about like the new +moon holding water, niggers say. The jeweler was working again, bent +over his bench, the tube tunnelled into his face. His hair was parted in +the center. The part ran up into the bald spot, like a drained marsh in +December. + +I saw the hardware store from across the street. I didn’t know you +bought flat-irons by the pound. + +The clerk said, “These weigh ten pounds.” Only they were bigger than I +thought. So I got two six-pound little ones, because they would look +like a pair of shoes wrapped up. They felt heavy enough together, but I +thought again how Father had said about the reducto absurdum of human +experience, thinking how the only opportunity I seemed to have for the +application of Harvard. Maybe by next year; thinking maybe it takes two +years in school to learn to do that properly. + +But they felt heavy enough in the air. A street car came. I got on. I +didn’t see the placard on the front. It was full, mostly prosperous +looking people reading newspapers. The only vacant seat was beside a +nigger. He wore a derby and shined shoes and he was holding a dead cigar +stub. I used to think that a Southerner had to be always conscious of +niggers. I thought that Northerners would expect him to. When I first +came East I kept thinking You’ve got to remember to think of them as +coloured people not niggers, and if it hadn’t happened that I wasn’t +thrown with many of them, I’d have wasted a lot of time and trouble +before I learned that the best way to take all people, black or white, +is to take them for what they think they are, then leave them alone. +That was when I realised that a nigger is not a person so much as a form +of behaviour; a sort of obverse reflection of the white people he lives +among. But I thought at first that I ought to miss having a lot of them +around me because I thought that Northerners thought I did, but I didn’t +know that I really had missed Roskus and Dilsey and them until that +morning in Virginia. The train was stopped when I waked and I raised the +shade and looked out. The car was blocking a road crossing, where two +white fences came down a hill and then sprayed outward and downward like +part of the skeleton of a horn, and there was a nigger on a mule in the +middle of the stiff ruts, waiting for the train to move. How long he had +been there I didn’t know, but he sat straddle of the mule, his head +wrapped in a piece of blanket, as if they had been built there with the +fence and the road, or with the hill, carved out of the hill itself, +like a sign put there saying You are home again. He didn’t have a saddle +and his feet dangled almost to the ground. The mule looked like a +rabbit. I raised the window. + +“Hey, Uncle,” I said, “Is this the way?” + +“Suh?” He looked at me, then he loosened the blanket and lifted it away +from his ear. + +“Christmas gift!” I said. + +“Sho comin, boss. You done caught me, aint you?” + +“I’ll let you off this time.” I dragged my pants out of the little +hammock and got a quarter out. “But look out next time. I’ll be coming +back through here two days after New Year, and look out then.” I threw +the quarter out the window. “Buy yourself some Santy Claus.” + +“Yes, suh,” he said. He got down and picked up the quarter and rubbed it +on his leg. “Thanky, young marster. Thanky.” Then the train began to +move. I leaned out the window, into the cold air, looking back. He stood +there beside the gaunt rabbit of a mule, the two of them shabby and +motionless and unimpatient. The train swung around the curve, the engine +puffing with short, heavy blasts, and they passed smoothly from sight +that way, with that quality about them of shabby and timeless patience, +of static serenity: that blending of childlike and ready incompetence +and paradoxical reliability that tends and protects them it loves out of +all reason and robs them steadily and evades responsibility and +obligations by means too barefaced to be called subterfuge even and is +taken in theft or evasion with only that frank and spontaneous +admiration for the victor which a gentleman feels for anyone who beats +him in a fair contest, and withal a fond and unflagging tolerance for +whitefolks’ vagaries like that of a grandparent for unpredictable and +troublesome children, which I had forgotten. And all that day, while the +train wound through rushing gaps and along ledges where movement was +only a labouring sound of the exhaust and groaning wheels and the +eternal mountains stood fading into the thick sky, I thought of home, of +the bleak station and the mud and the niggers and country folks +thronging slowly about the square, with toy monkeys and wagons and candy +in sacks and roman candles sticking out, and my insides would move like +they used to do in school when the bell rang. + +I wouldn’t begin counting until the clock struck three. Then I would +begin, counting to sixty and folding down one finger and thinking of the +other fourteen fingers waiting to be folded down, or thirteen or twelve +or eight or seven, until all of a sudden I’d realise silence and the +unwinking minds, and I’d say “Ma’am?” “Your name is Quentin, isn’t it?” +Miss Laura said. Then more silence and the cruel unwinking minds and +hands jerking into the silence. “Tell Quentin who discovered the +Mississippi River, Henry.” “DeSoto.” Then the minds would go away, and +after a while I’d be afraid I had gotten behind and I’d count fast and +fold down another finger, then I’d be afraid I was going too fast and +I’d slow up, then I’d get afraid and count fast again. So I never could +come out even with the bell, and the released surging of feet moving +already, feeling earth in the scuffed floor, and the day like a pane of +glass struck a light, sharp blow, and my insides would move, sitting +still. _Moving sitting still. One minute she was standing in the door. +Benjy. Bellowing. Benjamin the child of mine old age bellowing. Caddy! +Caddy!_ + +_I’m going to run away. He began to cry she went and touched him. Hush. +I’m not going to. Hush. He hushed. Dilsey._ + +_He smell what you tell him when he want to. Dont have to listen nor +talk._ + +_Can he smell that new name they give him? Can he smell bad luck?_ + +_What he want to worry about luck for? Luck cant do him no hurt._ + +_What they change his name for then if aint trying to help his luck?_ + +The street car stopped, started, stopped again. Below the window I +watched the crowns of people’s heads passing beneath new straw hats not +yet unbleached. There were women in the car now, with market baskets, +and men in work-clothes were beginning to outnumber the shined shoes and +collars. + +The nigger touched my knee. “Pardon me,” he said. I swung my legs out +and let him pass. We were going beside a blank wall, the sound +clattering back into the car, at the women with market baskets on their +knees and a man in a stained hat with a pipe stuck in the band. I could +smell water, and in a break in the wall I saw a glint of water and two +masts, and a gull motionless in midair, like on an invisible wire +between the masts, and I raised my hand and through my coat touched the +letters I had written. When the car stopped I got off. + +The bridge was open to let a schooner through. She was in tow, the tug +nudging along under her quarter, trailing smoke, but the ship herself +was like she was moving without visible means. A man naked to the waist +was coiling down a line on the fo’c’s’le head. His body was burned the +colour of leaf tobacco. Another man in a straw hat without any crown was +at the wheel. The ship went through the bridge, moving under bare poles +like a ghost in broad day, with three gulls hovering above the stern +like toys on invisible wires. + +When it closed I crossed to the other side and leaned on the rail above +the boathouses. The float was empty and the doors were closed. The crew +just pulled in the late afternoon now, resting up before. The shadow of +the bridge, the tiers of railing, my shadow leaning flat upon the water, +so easily had I tricked it that would not quit me. At least fifty feet +it was, and if I only had something to blot it into the water, holding +it until it was drowned, the shadow of the package like two shoes +wrapped up lying on the water. Niggers say a drowned man’s shadow was +watching for him in the water all the time. It twinkled and glinted, +like breathing, the float slow like breathing too, and debris half +submerged, healing out to the sea and the caverns and the grottoes of +the sea. The displacement of water is equal to the something of +something. Reducto absurdum of all human experience, and two six-pound +flat-irons weigh more than one tailor’s goose. What a sinful waste +Dilsey would say. Benjy knew it when Damuddy died. He cried. _He smell +hit. He smell hit._ + +The tug came back downstream, the water shearing in long rolling +cylinders, rocking the float at last with the echo of passage, the float +lurching onto the rolling cylinder with a plopping sound and a long +jarring noise as the door rolled back and two men emerged, carrying a +shell. They set it in the water and a moment later Bland came out, with +the sculls. He wore flannels, a grey jacket and a stiff straw hat. +Either he or his mother had read somewhere that Oxford students pulled +in flannels and stiff hats, so early one March they bought Gerald a one +pair shell and in his flannels and stiff hat he went on the river. The +folks at the boathouses threatened to call a policeman, but he went +anyway. His mother came down in a hired auto, in a fur suit like an +arctic explorer’s, and saw him off in a twenty-five mile wind and a +steady drove of ice floes like dirty sheep. Ever since then I have +believed that God is not only a gentleman and a sport; He is a +Kentuckian too. When he sailed away she made a detour and came down to +the river again and drove along parallel with him, the car in low gear. +They said you couldn’t have told they’d ever seen one another before, +like a King and Queen, not even looking at one another, just moving side +by side across Massachusetts on parallel courses like a couple of +planets. + +He got in and pulled away. He pulled pretty well now. He ought to. They +said his mother tried to make him give rowing up and do something else +the rest of his class couldn’t or wouldn’t do, but for once he was +stubborn. If you could call it stubbornness, sitting in his attitudes of +princely boredom, with his curly yellow hair and his violet eyes and his +eyelashes and his New York clothes, while his mamma was telling us about +Gerald’s horses and Gerald’s niggers and Gerald’s women. Husbands and +fathers in Kentucky must have been awful glad when she carried Gerald +off to Cambridge. She had an apartment over in town, and Gerald had one +there too, besides his rooms in college. She approved of Gerald +associating with me because I at least revealed a blundering sense of +noblesse oblige by getting myself born below Mason and Dixon, and a few +others whose geography met the requirements (minimum) Forgave, at least. +Or condoned. But since she met Spoade coming out of chapel one He said +she couldn’t be a lady no lady would be out at that hour of the night +she never had been able to forgive him for having five names, including +that of a present English ducal house. I’m sure she solaced herself by +being convinced that some misfit Maingault or Mortemar had got mixed up +with the lodge-keeper’s daughter. Which was quite probable, whether she +invented it or not. Spoade was the world’s champion sitter-around, no +holds barred and gouging discretionary. + +The shell was a speck now, the oars catching the sun in spaced glints, +as if the hull were winking itself along. _Did you ever have a sister? +No but they’re all bitches. Did you ever have a sister? One minute she +was. Bitches. Not bitch one minute she stood in the door_ Dalton Ames. +Dalton Ames. Dalton Shirts. I thought all the time they were khaki, army +issue khaki, until I saw they were of heavy Chinese silk or finest +flannel because they made his face so brown his eyes so blue. Dalton +Ames. It just missed gentility. Theatrical fixture. Just papier-mache, +then touch. Oh. Asbestos. Not quite bronze. _But wont see him at the +house._ + +_Caddy’s a woman too, remember. She must do things for women’s reasons, +too._ + +_Why wont you bring him to the house, Caddy? Why must you do like nigger +women do in the pasture the ditches the dark woods hot hidden furious in +the dark woods._ + +And after a while I had been hearing my watch for some time and I could +feel the letters crackle through my coat, against the railing, and I +leaned on the railing, watching my shadow, how I had tricked it. I moved +along the rail, but my suit was dark too and I could wipe my hands, +watching my shadow, how I had tricked it. I walked it into the shadow of +the quai. Then I went east. + +_Harvard my Harvard boy Harvard harvard_ That pimple-faced infant she +met at the field-meet with coloured ribbons. Skulking along the fence +trying to whistle her out like a puppy. Because they couldn’t cajole him +into the diningroom Mother believed he had some sort of spell he was +going to cast on her when he got her alone. Yet any blackguard _He was +lying beside the box under the window bellowing_ that could drive up in +a limousine with a flower in his buttonhole. _Harvard. Quentin this is +Herbert. My Harvard boy. Herbert will be a big brother has already +promised Jason a position in the bank._ + +Hearty, celluloid like a drummer. Face full of teeth white but not +smiling. _I’ve heard of him up there._ All teeth but not smiling. _You +going to drive?_ + +_Get in Quentin._ + +_You going to drive._ + +_It’s her car aren’t you proud of your little sister owns first auto in +town Herbert his present. Louis has been giving her lessons every +morning didn’t you get my letter_ Mr and Mrs Jason Richmond Compson +announce the marriage of their daughter Candace to Mr Sydney Herbert +Head on the twenty-fifth of April one thousand nine hundred and ten at +Jefferson Mississippi. At home after the first of August number +Something Something Avenue South Bend Indiana. Shreve said Aren’t you +even going to open it? _Three days. Times. Mr and Mrs Jason Richmond +Compson_ Young Lochinvar rode out of the west a little too soon, didn’t +he? + +I’m from the south. You’re funny, aren’t you. + +O yes I knew it was somewhere in the country. + +You’re funny, aren’t you. You ought to join the circus. + +I did. That’s how I ruined my eyes watering the elephant’s fleas. _Three +times_ These country girls. You cant even tell about them, can you. +Well, anyway Byron never had his wish, thank God. _But not hit a man in +glasses._ Aren’t you even going to open it? _It lay on the table a +candle burning at each corner upon the envelope tied in a soiled pink +garter two artificial flowers. Not hit a man in glasses._ + +Country people poor things they never saw an auto before lots of them +honk the horn Candace so _She wouldn’t look at me_ they’ll get out of +the way _wouldn’t look at me_ your father wouldn’t like it if you were +to injure one of them I’ll declare your father will simply have to get +an auto now I’m almost sorry you brought it down Herbert I’ve enjoyed it +so much of course there’s the carriage but so often when I’d like to go +out Mr Compson has the darkies doing something it would be worth my head +to interrupt he insists that Roskus is at my call all the time but I +know what that means I know how often people make promises just to +satisfy their consciences are you going to treat my little baby girl +that way Herbert but I know you wont Herbert has spoiled us all to death +Quentin did I write you that he is going to take Jason into his bank +when Jason finishes high school Jason will make a splendid banker he is +the only one of my children with any practical sense you can thank me +for that he takes after my people the others are all Compson _Jason +furnished the flour. They made kites on the back porch and sold them for +a nickle a piece, he and the Patterson boy. Jason was treasurer._ + +There was no nigger in this street car, and the hats unbleached as yet +flowing past under the window. Going to Harvard. We have sold Benjy’s +_He lay on the ground under the window, bellowing. We have sold Benjy’s +pasture so that Quentin may go to Harvard_ a brother to you. Your little +brother. + +You should have a car it’s done you no end of good dont you think so +Quentin I call him Quentin at once you see I have heard so much about +him from Candace. + +Why shouldn’t you I want my boys to be more than friends yes Candace and +Quentin more than friends _Father I have committed_ what a pity you had +no brother or sister _No sister no sister had no sister_ Dont ask +Quentin he and Mr Compson both feel a little insulted when I am strong +enough to come down to the table I am going on nerve now I’ll pay for it +after it’s all over and you have taken my little daughter away from me +_My little sister had no. If I could say Mother. Mother_ + +Unless I do what I am tempted to and take you instead I dont think Mr +Compson could overtake the car. + +Ah Herbert Candace do you hear that _She wouldn’t look at me soft +stubborn jaw-angle not back-looking_ You needn’t be jealous though it’s +just an old woman he’s flattering a grown married daughter I cant +believe it. + +Nonsense you look like a girl you are lots younger than Candace colour +in your cheeks like a girl _A face reproachful tearful an odour of +camphor and of tears a voice weeping steadily and softly beyond the +twilit door the twilight-coloured smell of honeysuckle. Bringing empty +trunks down the attic stairs they sounded like coffins French Lick. +Found not death at the salt lick_ + +Hats not unbleached and not hats. In three years I can not wear a hat. I +could not. Was. Will there be hats then since I was not and not Harvard +then. Where the best of thought Father said clings like dead ivy vines +upon old dead brick. Not Harvard then. Not to me, anyway. Again. Sadder +than was. Again. Saddest of all. Again. + +Spoade had a shirt on; then it must be. When I can see my shadow again +if not careful that I tricked into the water shall tread again upon my +impervious shadow. But no sister. I wouldn’t have done it. _I wont have +my daughter spied on_ I wouldn’t have. + +_How can I control any of them when you have always taught them to have +no respect for me and my wishes I know you look down on my people but is +that any reason for teaching my children my own children I suffered for +to have no respect_ Trampling my shadow’s bones into the concrete with +hard heels and then I was hearing the watch, and I touched the letters +through my coat. + +_I will not have my daughter spied on by you or Quentin or anybody no +matter what you think she has done_ + +_At least you agree there is reason for having her watched_ + +I wouldn’t have I wouldn’t have. _I know you wouldn’t I didn’t mean to +speak so sharply but women have no respect for each other for +themselves_ + +_But why did she_ The chimes began as I stepped on my shadow, but it was +the quarter hour. The Deacon wasn’t in sight anywhere. _think I would +have could have_ + +_She didn’t mean that that’s the way women do things its because she +loves Caddy_ + +_The street lamps would go down the hill then rise toward town_ I walked +upon the belly of my shadow. I could extend my hand beyond it. _feeling +Father behind me beyond the rasping darkness of summer and August the +street lamps_ Father and I protect women from one another from +themselves our women _Women are like that they dont acquire knowledge of +people we are for that they are just born with a practical fertility of +suspicion that makes a crop every so often and usually right they have +an affinity for evil for supplying whatever the evil lacks in itself for +drawing it about them instinctively as you do bedclothing in slumber +fertilising the mind for it until the evil has served its purpose +whether it ever existed or no_ He was coming along between a couple of +freshmen. He hadn’t quite recovered from the parade, for he gave me a +salute, a very superior-officerish kind. + +“I want to see you a minute,” I said, stopping. + +“See me? All right. See you again, fellows,” he said, stopping and +turning back; “glad to have chatted with you.” That was the Deacon, all +over. Talk about your natural psychologists. They said he hadn’t missed +a train at the beginning of school in forty years, and that he could +pick out a Southerner with one glance. He never missed, and once he had +heard you speak, he could name your state. He had a regular uniform he +met trains in, a sort of Uncle Tom’s cabin outfit, patches and all. + +“Yes, suh. Right dis way, young marster, hyer we is,” taking your bags. +“Hyer, boy, come hyer and git dese grips.” Whereupon a moving mountain +of luggage would edge up, revealing a white boy of about fifteen, and +the Deacon would hang another bag on him somehow and drive him off. +“Now, den, dont you drap hit. Yes, suh, young marster, jes give de old +nigger yo room number, and hit’ll be done got cold dar when you +arrives.” + +From then on until he had you completely subjugated he was always in or +out of your room, ubiquitous and garrulous, though his manner gradually +moved northward as his raiment improved, until at last when he had bled +you until you began to learn better he was calling you Quentin or +whatever, and when you saw him next he’d be wearing a cast-off Brooks +suit and a hat with a Princeton club I forget which band that someone +had given him and which he was pleasantly and unshakably convinced was a +part of Abe Lincoln’s military sash. Someone spread the story years ago, +when he first appeared around college from wherever he came from, that +he was a graduate of the divinity school. And when he came to understand +what it meant he was so taken with it that he began to retail the story +himself, until at last he must come to believe he really had. Anyway he +related long pointless anecdotes of his undergraduate days, speaking +familiarly of dead and departed professors by their first names, usually +incorrect ones. But he had been guide mentor and friend to unnumbered +crops of innocent and lonely freshmen, and I suppose that with all his +petty chicanery and hypocrisy he stank no higher in heaven’s nostrils +than any other. + +“Haven’t seen you in three-four days,” he said, staring at me from his +still military aura. “You been sick?” + +“No. I’ve been all right. Working, I reckon. I’ve seen you, though.” + +“Yes?” + +“In the parade the other day.” + +“Oh, that. Yes, I was there. I dont care nothing about that sort of +thing, you understand, but the boys likes to have me with them, the +vet’runs does. Ladies wants all the old vet’runs to turn out, you know. +So I has to oblige them.” + +“And on that Wop holiday too,” I said. “You were obliging the W. C. T. +U. then, I reckon.” + +“That? I was doing that for my son-in-law. He aims to get a job on the +city forces. Street cleaner. I tells him all he wants is a broom to +sleep on. You saw me, did you?” + +“Both times. Yes.” + +“I mean, in uniform. How’d I look?” + +“You looked fine. You looked better than any of them. They ought to make +you a general, Deacon.” + +He touched my arm, lightly, his hand that worn, gentle quality of +niggers’ hands. “Listen. This aint for outside talking. I dont mind +telling you because you and me’s the same folks, come long and short.” +He leaned a little to me, speaking rapidly, his eyes not looking at me. +“I’ve got strings out, right now. Wait till next year. Just wait. Then +see where I’m marching. I wont need to tell you how I’m fixing it; I +say, just wait and see, my boy.” He looked at me now and clapped me +lightly on the shoulder and rocked back on his heels, nodding at me. +“Yes, sir. I didnt turn Democrat three years ago for nothing. My +son-in-law on the city; me—Yes, sir. If just turning Democrat’ll make +that son of a bitch go to work. . . . And me: just you stand on that +corner yonder a year from two days ago, and see.” + +“I hope so. You deserve it, Deacon. And while I think about it—” I took +the letter from my pocket. “Take this around to my room tomorrow and +give it to Shreve. He’ll have something for you. But not till tomorrow, +mind.” + +He took the letter and examined it. “It’s sealed up.” + +“Yes. And it’s written inside, Not good until tomorrow.” + +“H’m,” he said. He looked at the envelope, his mouth pursed. “Something +for me, you say?” + +“Yes. A present I’m making you.” + +He was looking at me now, the envelope white in his black hand, in the +sun. His eyes were soft and irisless and brown, and suddenly I saw +Roskus watching me from behind all his white-folks’ claptrap of uniforms +and politics and Harvard manner, diffident, secret, inarticulate and +sad. “You aint playing a joke on the old nigger, is you?” + +“You know I’m not. Did any Southerner ever play a joke on you?” + +“You’re right. They’re fine folks. But you cant live with them.” + +“Did you ever try?” I said. But Roskus was gone. Once more he was that +self he had long since taught himself to wear in the world’s eye, +pompous, spurious, not quite gross. + +“I’ll confer to your wishes, my boy.” + +“Not until tomorrow, remember.” + +“Sure,” he said; “understood, my boy. Well—” + +“I hope—” I said. He looked down at me, benignant, profound. Suddenly I +held out my hand and we shook, he gravely, from the pompous height of +his municipal and military dream. “You’re a good fellow, Deacon. I +hope. . . . You’ve helped a lot of young fellows, here and there.” + +“I’ve tried to treat all folks right,” he said. “I draw no petty social +lines. A man to me is a man, wherever I find him.” + +“I hope you’ll always find as many friends as you’ve made.” + +“Young fellows. I get along with them. They dont forget me, neither,” he +said, waving the envelope. He put it into his pocket and buttoned his +coat. “Yes, sir,” he said, “I’ve had good friends.” + +The chimes began again, the half hour. I stood in the belly of my shadow +and listened to the strokes spaced and tranquil along the sunlight, +among the thin, still little leaves. Spaced and peaceful and serene, +with that quality of autumn always in bells even in the month of brides. +_Lying on the ground under the window bellowing_ He took one look at her +and knew. Out of the mouths of babes. _The street lamps_ The chimes +ceased. I went back to the postoffice, treading my shadow into pavement. +_go down the hill then they rise toward town like lanterns hung one +above another on a wall._ Father said because she loves Caddy she loves +people through their shortcomings. Uncle Maury straddling his legs +before the fire must remove one hand long enough to drink Christmas. +Jason ran on, his hands in his pockets fell down and lay there like a +trussed fowl until Versh set him up. _Whyn’t you keep them hands outen +your pockets when you running you could stand up then_ Rolling his head +in the cradle rolling it flat across the back. Caddy told Jason Versh +said that the reason Uncle Maury didn’t work was that he used to roll +his head in the cradle when he was little. + +Shreve was coming up the walk, shambling, fatly earnest, his glasses +glinting beneath the running leaves like little pools. + +“I gave Deacon a note for some things. I may not be in this afternoon, +so dont you let him have anything until tomorrow, will you?” + +“All right.” He looked at me. “Say, what’re you doing today, anyhow? All +dressed up and mooning around like the prologue to a suttee. Did you go +to Psychology this morning?” + +“I’m not doing anything. Not until tomorrow, now.” + +“What’s that you got there?” + +“Nothing. Pair of shoes I had half-soled. Not until tomorrow, you hear?” + +“Sure. All right. Oh, by the way, did you get a letter off the table +this morning?” + +“No.” + +“It’s there. From Semiramis. Chauffeur brought it before ten o’clock.” + +“All right. I’ll get it. Wonder what she wants now.” + +“Another band recital, I guess. Tumpty ta ta Gerald blah. ‘A little +louder on the drum, Quentin.’ God, I’m glad I’m not a gentleman.” He +went on, nursing a book, a little shapeless, fatly intent. _The street +lamps_ do you think so because one of our forefathers was a governor and +three were generals and Mother’s weren’t + +any live man is better than any dead man but no live or dead man is very +much better than any other live or dead man _Done in Mother’s mind +though. Finished. Finished. Then we were all poisoned_ you are confusing +sin and morality women dont do that your Mother is thinking of morality +whether it be sin or not has not occurred to her + +Jason I must go away you keep the others I’ll take Jason and go where +nobody knows us so he’ll have a chance to grow up and forget all this +the others dont love me they have never loved anything with that streak +of Compson selfishness and false pride Jason was the only one my heart +went out to without dread + +nonsense Jason is all right I was thinking that as soon as you feel +better you and Caddy might go up to French Lick + +and leave Jason here with nobody but you and the darkies + +she will forget him then all the talk will die away _found not death at +the salt licks_ + +maybe I could find a husband for her _not death at the salt licks_ + +The car came up and stopped. The bells were still ringing the half hour. +I got on and it went on again, blotting the half hour. No: the three +quarters. Then it would be ten minutes anyway. To leave Harvard _your +Mother’s dream for sold Benjy’s pasture for_ + +what have I done to have been given children like these Benjamin was +punishment enough and now for her to have no more regard for me her own +mother I’ve suffered for her dreamed and planned and sacrificed I went +down into the valley yet never since she opened her eyes has she given +me one unselfish thought at times I look at her I wonder if she can be +my child except Jason he has never given me one moment’s sorrow since I +first held him in my arms I knew then that he was to be my joy and my +salvation I thought that Benjamin was punishment enough for any sins I +have committed I thought he was my punishment for putting aside my pride +and marrying a man who held himself above me I dont complain I loved him +above all of them because of it because my duty though Jason pulling at +my heart all the while but I see now that I have not suffered enough I +see now that I must pay for your sins as well as mine what have you done +what sins have your high and mighty people visited upon me but you’ll +take up for them you always have found excuses for your own blood only +Jason can do wrong because he is more Bascomb than Compson while your +own daughter my little daughter my baby girl she is she is no better +than that when I was a girl I was unfortunate I was only a Bascomb I was +taught that there is no halfway ground that a woman is either a lady or +not but I never dreamed when I held her in my arms that any daughter of +mine could let herself dont you know I can look at her eyes and tell you +may think she’d tell you but she doesn’t tell things she is secretive +you dont know her I know things she’s done that I’d die before I’d have +you know that’s it go on criticise Jason accuse me of setting him to +watch her as if it were a crime while your own daughter can I know you +dont love him that you wish to believe faults against him you never have +yes ridicule him as you always have Maury you cannot hurt me any more +than your children already have and then I’ll be gone and Jason with no +one to love him shield him from this I look at him every day dreading to +see this Compson blood beginning to show in him at last with his sister +slipping out to see what do you call it then have you ever laid eyes on +him will you even let me try to find out who he is it’s not for myself I +couldn’t bear to see him it’s for your sake to protect you but who can +fight against bad blood you wont let me try we are to sit back with our +hands folded while she not only drags your name in the dirt but corrupts +the very air your children breathe Jason you must let me go away I +cannot stand it let me have Jason and you keep the others they’re not my +flesh and blood like he is strangers nothing of mine and I am afraid of +them I can take Jason and go where we are not known I’ll go down on my +knees and pray for the absolution of my sins that he may escape this +curse try to forget that the others ever were + +If that was the three quarters, not over ten minutes now. One car had +just left, and people were already waiting for the next one. I asked, +but he didn’t know whether another one would leave before noon or not +because you’d think that interurbans. So the first one was another +trolley. I got on. You can feel noon. I wonder if even miners in the +bowels of the earth. That’s why whistles: because people that sweat, and +if just far enough from sweat you wont hear whistles and in eight +minutes you should be that far from sweat in Boston. Father said a man +is the sum of his misfortunes. One day you’d think misfortune would get +tired, but then time is your misfortune Father said. A gull on an +invisible wire attached through space dragged. You carry the symbol of +your frustration into eternity. Then the wings are bigger Father said +only who can play a harp. + +I could hear my watch whenever the car stopped, but not often they were +already eating _Who would play a_ Eating the business of eating inside +of you space too space and time confused Stomach saying noon brain +saying eat oclock All right I wonder what time it is what of it. People +were getting out. The trolley didn’t stop so often now, emptied by +eating. + +Then it was past. I got off and stood in my shadow and after a while a +car came along and I got on and went back to the interurban station. +There was a car ready to leave, and I found a seat next the window and +it started and I watched it sort of frazzle out into slack tide flats, +and then trees. Now and then I saw the river and I thought how nice it +would be for them down at New London if the weather and Gerald’s shell +going solemnly up the glinting forenoon and I wondered what the old +woman would be wanting now, sending me a note before ten oclock in the +morning. What picture of Gerald I to be one of the _Dalton Ames oh +asbestos Quentin has shot_ background. Something with girls in it. +Women do have _always his voice above the gabble voice that breathed_ an +affinity for evil, for believing that no woman is to be trusted, but +that some men are too innocent to protect themselves. Plain girls. +Remote cousins and family friends whom mere acquaintanceship invested +with a sort of blood obligation noblesse oblige. And she sitting there +telling us before their faces what a shame it was that Gerald should +have all the family looks because a man didn’t need it, was better off +without it but without it a girl was simply lost. Telling us about +Gerald’s women in a _Quentin has shot Herbert he shot his voice through +the floor of Caddy’s room_ tone of smug approbation. “When he was +seventeen I said to him one day ‘What a shame that you should have a +mouth like that it should be on a girls face’ and can you imagine _the +curtains leaning in on the twilight upon the odour of the apple tree her +head against the twilight her arms behind her head kimono-winged the +voice that breathed o’er eden clothes upon the bed by the nose seen +above the apple_ what he said? just seventeen, mind. ‘Mother’ he said +‘it often is.’ ” And him sitting there in attitudes regal watching two +or three of them through his eyelashes. They gushed like swallows +swooping his eyelashes. Shreve said he always had _Are you going to look +after Benjy and Father_ + +_The less you say about Benjy and Father the better when have you ever +considered them Caddy_ + +_Promise_ + +_You needn’t worry about them you’re getting out in good shape_ + +_Promise I’m sick you’ll have to promise_ wondered who invented that +joke but then he always had considered Mrs Bland a remarkably preserved +woman he said she was grooming Gerald to seduce a duchess sometime. She +called Shreve that fat Canadian youth twice she arranged a new room-mate +for me without consulting me at all, once for me to move out, once for + +He opened the door in the twilight. His face looked like a pumpkin pie. + +“Well, I’ll say a fond farewell. Cruel fate may part us, but I will +never love another. Never.” + +“What are you talking about?” + +“I’m talking about cruel fate in eight yards of apricot silk and more +metal pound for pound than a galley slave and the sole owner and +proprietor of the unchallenged peripatetic john of the late +Confederacy.” Then he told me how she had gone to the proctor to have +him moved out and how the proctor had revealed enough low stubbornness +to insist on consulting Shreve first. Then she suggested that he send +for Shreve right off and do it, and he wouldnt do that, so after that +she was hardly civil to Shreve. “I make it a point never to speak +harshly of females,” Shreve said, “but that woman has got more ways like +a bitch than any lady in these sovereign states and dominions.” and now +Letter on the table by hand, command orchid scented coloured If she knew +I had passed almost beneath the window knowing it there without My +dear Madam I have not yet had an opportunity of receiving your +communication but I beg in advance to be excused today or yesterday and +tomorrow or when As I remember that the next one is to be how Gerald +throws his nigger downstairs and how the nigger plead to be allowed to +matriculate in the divinity school to be near marster marse gerald and +How he ran all the way to the station beside the carriage with tears in +his eyes when marse gerald rid away I will wait until the day for the +one about the sawmill husband came to the kitchen door with a shotgun +Gerald went down and bit the gun in two and handed it back and wiped his +hands on a silk handkerchief threw the handkerchief in the stove I’ve +only heard that one twice + +_shot him through the_ I saw you come in here so I watched my chance and +came along thought we might get acquainted have a cigar + +Thanks I dont smoke + +No things must have changed up there since my day mind if I light up + +Help yourself + +Thanks I’ve heard a lot I guess your mother wont mind if I put the match +behind the screen will she a lot about you Candace talked about you all +the time up there at the Licks I got pretty jealous I says to myself +who is this Quentin anyway I must see what this animal looks like +because I was hit pretty hard see soon as I saw the little girl I dont +mind telling you it never occurred to me it was her brother she kept +talking about she couldnt have talked about you any more if you’d been +the only man in the world husband wouldnt have been in it you wont +change your mind and have a smoke + +I dont smoke + +In that case I wont insist even though it is a pretty fair weed cost me +twenty-five bucks a hundred wholesale friend in Havana yes I guess there +are lots of changes up there I keep promising myself a visit but I never +get around to it been hitting the ball now for ten years I cant get away +from the bank during school fellow’s habits change things that seem +important to an undergraduate you know tell me about things up there + +I’m not going to tell Father and Mother if that’s what you are getting +at + +Not going to tell not going to oh that that’s what you are talking about +is it you understand that I dont give a damn whether you tell or not +understand that a thing like that unfortunate but no police crime I +wasn’t the first or the last I was just unlucky you might have been +luckier + +You lie + +Keep your shirt on I’m not trying to make you tell anything you dont +want to meant no offense of course a young fellow like you would +consider a thing of that sort a lot more serious than you will in five +years + +I dont know but one way to consider cheating I dont think I’m likely to +learn different at Harvard + +We’re better than a play you must have made the Dramat well you’re right +no need to tell them we’ll let bygones be bygones eh no reason why you +and I should let a little thing like that come between us I like you +Quentin I like your appearance you dont look like these other hicks I’m +glad we’re going to hit it off like this I’ve promised your mother to do +something for Jason but I would like to give you a hand too Jason would +be just as well off here but there’s no future in a hole like this for a +young fellow like you + +Thanks you’d better stick to Jason he’d suit you better than I would + +I’m sorry about that business but a kid like I was then I never had a +mother like yours to teach me the finer points it would just hurt her +unnecessarily to know it yes you’re right no need to that includes +Candace of course + +I said Mother and Father + +Look here take a look at me how long do you think you’d last with me + +I wont have to last long if you learned to fight up at school too try +and see how long I would + +You damned little what do you think you’re getting at + +Try and see + +My God the cigar what would your mother say if she found a blister on +her mantel just in time too look here Quentin we’re about to do +something we’ll both regret I like you liked you as soon as I saw you I +says he must be a damned good fellow whoever he is or Candace wouldnt be +so keen on him listen I’ve been out in the world now for ten years +things dont matter so much then you’ll find that out let’s you and I get +together on this thing sons of old Harvard and all I guess I wouldnt +know the place now best place for a young fellow in the world I’m going +to send my sons there give them a better chance than I had wait dont go +yet let’s discuss this thing a young man gets these ideas and I’m all +for them does him good while he’s in school forms his character good for +tradition the school but when he gets out into the world he’ll have to +get his the best way he can because he’ll find that everybody else is +doing the same thing and be damned to here let’s shake hands and let +bygones by bygones for your mother’s sake remember her health come on +give me your hand here look at it it’s just out of convent look not a +blemish not even been creased yet see here + +To hell with your money + +No no come on I belong to the family now see I know how it is with a +young fellow he has lots of private affairs it’s always pretty hard to +get the old man to stump up for I know havent I been there and not so +long ago either but now I’m getting married and all specially up there +come on dont be a fool listen when we get a chance for a real talk I +want to tell you about a little widow over in town + +I’ve heard that too keep your damned money + +Call it a loan then just shut your eyes a minute and you’ll be fifty + +Keep your hands off of me you’d better get that cigar off the mantel + +Tell and be damned then see what it gets you if you were not a damned +fool you’d have seen that I’ve got them too tight for any half-baked +Galahad of a brother your mother’s told me about your sort with your +head swelled up come in oh come in dear Quentin and I were just getting +acquainted talking about Harvard did you want me cant stay away from the +old man can she + +Go out a minute Herbert I want to talk to Quentin + +Come in come in let’s all have a gabfest and get acquainted I was just +telling Quentin + +Go on Herbert go out a while + +Well all right then I suppose you and bubber do want to see one another +once more eh + +You’d better take that cigar off the mantel + +Right as usual my boy then I’ll toddle along let them order you around +while they can Quentin after day after tomorrow it’ll be pretty please +to the old man wont it dear give us a kiss honey + +Oh stop that save that for day after tomorrow + +I’ll want interest then dont let Quentin do anything he cant finish oh +by the way did I tell Quentin the story about the man’s parrot and what +happened to it a sad story remind me of that think of it yourself ta-ta +see you in the funnypaper + +Well + +Well + +What are you up to now + +Nothing + +You’re meddling in my business again didn’t you get enough of that last +summer + +Caddy you’ve got fever _You’re sick how are you sick_ + +_I’m just sick. I cant ask._ + +_Shot his voice through the_ + +Not that blackguard Caddy + +Now and then the river glinted beyond things in sort of swooping glints, +across noon and after. Well after now, though we had passed where he was +still pulling upstream majestical in the face of god gods. Better. Gods. +God would be canaille too in Boston in Massachusetts. Or maybe just not +a husband. The wet oars winking him along in bright winks and female +palms. Adulant. Adulant if not a husband he’d ignore God. _That +blackguard, Caddy_ The river glinted away beyond a swooping curve. + +_I’m sick you’ll have to promise_ + +_Sick how are you sick_ + +_I’m just sick I cant ask anybody yet promise you will_ + +_If they need any looking after it’s because of you how are you sick_ +Under the window we could hear the car leaving for the station, the 8:10 +train. To bring back cousins. Heads. Increasing himself head by head but +not barbers. Manicure girls. We had a blood horse once. In the stable +yes, but under leather a cur. _Quentin has shot all of their voices +through the floor of Caddy’s room_ + +The car stopped. I got off, into the middle of my shadow. A road crossed +the track. There was a wooden marquee with an old man eating something +out of a paper bag, and then the car was out of hearing too. The road +went into the trees, where it would be shady, but June foliage in New +England not much thicker than April at home in Mississippi. I could see +a smoke stack. I turned my back to it, tramping my shadow into the dust. +_There was something terrible in me sometimes at night I could see it +grinning at me I could see it through them grinning at me through their +faces it’s gone now and I’m sick_ + +_Caddy_ + +_Dont touch me just promise_ + +_If you’re sick you cant_ + +_Yes I can after that it’ll be all right it wont matter dont let them +send him to Jackson promise_ + +_I promise Caddy Caddy_ + +_Dont touch me dont touch me_ + +_What does it look like Caddy_ + +_What_ + +_That that grins at you that thing through them_ + +I could still see the smoke stack. That’s where the water would be, +heading out to the sea and the peaceful grottoes. Tumbling peacefully +they would, and when He said Rise only the flat irons. When Versh and I +hunted all day we wouldn’t take any lunch, and at twelve oclock I’d get +hungry. I’d stay hungry until about one, then all of a sudden I’d even +forget that I wasn’t hungry anymore. _The street lamps go down the hill +then heard the car go down the hill. The chair-arm flat cool smooth +under my forehead shaping the chair the apple tree leaning on my hair +above the eden clothes by the nose seen_ You’ve got fever I felt it +yesterday it’s like being near a stove. + +Dont touch me. + +Caddy you cant do it if you are sick. That blackguard. + +I’ve got to marry somebody. _Then they told me the bone would have to be +broken again_ + +At last I couldn’t see the smoke stack. The road went beside a wall. +Trees leaned over the wall, sprayed with sunlight. The stone was cool. +Walking near it you could feel the coolness. Only our country was not +like this country. There was something about just walking through it. A +kind of still and violent fecundity that satisfied ever bread-hunger +like. Flowing around you, not brooding and nursing every niggard stone. +Like it were put to makeshift for enough green to go around among the +trees and even the blue of distance not that rich chimaera. _told me the +bone would have to be broken again and inside me it began to say Ah Ah +Ah and I began to sweat. What do I care I know what a broken leg is all +it is it wont be anything I’ll just have to stay in the house a little +longer that’s all and my jaw-muscles getting numb and my mouth saying +Wait Wait just a minute through the sweat ah ah ah behind my teeth and +Father damn that horse damn that horse. Wait it’s my fault. He came +along the fence every morning with a basket toward the kitchen dragging +a stick along the fence every morning I dragged myself to the window +cast and all and laid for him with a piece of coal Dilsey said you goin +to ruin yoself aint you got no mo sense than that not fo days since you +bruck hit. Wait I’ll get used to it in a minute wait just a minute I’ll +get_ + +Even sound seemed to fail in this air, like the air was worn out with +carrying sounds so long. A dog’s voice carries further than a train, in +the darkness anyway. And some people’s. Niggers. Louis Hatcher never +even used his horn carrying it and that old lantern. I said, “Louis, +when was the last time you cleaned that lantern?” + +“I cleant hit a little while back. You member when all dat floodwatter +wash dem folks away up yonder? I cleant hit dat ve’y day. Old woman and +me settin fore de fire dat night and she say ‘Louis, whut you gwine do +ef dat flood git out dis fur?’ and I say ‘Dat’s a fack. I reckon I had +better clean dat lantun up.’ So I cleant hit dat night.” + +“That flood was way up in Pennsylvania,” I said. “It couldn’t even have +got down this far.” + +“Dat’s whut you says,” Louis said. “Watter kin git des ez high en wet in +Jefferson ez hit kin in Pennsylvaney, I reckon. Hit’s de folks dat says +de high watter cant git dis fur dat comes floatin out on de ridge-pole, +too.” + +“Did you and Martha get out that night?” + +“We done jest that. I cleant dat lantun and me and her sot de balance of +de night on top o dat knoll back de graveyard. En ef I’d a knowed of +aihy one higher, we’d a been on hit instead.” + +“And you haven’t cleaned that lantern since then.” + +“Whut I want to clean hit when dey aint no need?” + +“You mean, until another flood comes along?” + +“Hit kep us outen dat un.” + +“Oh, come on, Uncle Louis,” I said. + +“Yes, suh. You do you way en I do mine. Ef all I got to do to keep outen +de high watter is to clean dis yere lantun, I wont quoil wid no man.” + +“Unc’ Louis wouldn’t ketch nothin wid a light he could see by,” Versh +said. + +“I wuz huntin possums in dis country when dey was still drowndin nits in +yo pappy’s head wid coal oil, boy,” Louis said. “Ketchin um, too.” + +“Dat’s de troof,” Versh said. “I reckon Unc’ Louis done caught mo +possums than aihy man in dis country.” + +“Yes, suh,” Louis said, “I got plenty light fer possums to see, all +right. I aint heard none o dem complainin. Hush, now. Dar he. Whooey. +Hum awn, dawg.” And we’d sit in the dry leaves that whispered a little +with the slow respiration of our waiting and with the slow breathing of +the earth and the windless October, the rank smell of the lantern +fouling the brittle air, listening to the dogs and to the echo of Louis’ +voice dying away. He never raised it, yet on a still night we have heard +it from our front porch. When he called the dogs in he sounded just like +the horn he carried slung on his shoulder and never used, but clearer, +mellower, as though his voice were a part of darkness and silence, +coiling out of it, coiling into it again. WhoOoooo. WhoOoooo. +WhoOooooooooooooooo. _Got to marry somebody_ + +_Have there been very many Caddy_ + +_I dont know too many will you look after Benjy and Father_ + +_You dont know whose it is then does he know_ + +_Dont touch me will you look after Benjy and Father_ + +I began to feel the water before I came to the bridge. The bridge was of +grey stone, lichened, dappled with slow moisture where the fungus crept. +Beneath it the water was clear and still in the shadow, whispering and +clucking about the stone in fading swirls of spinning sky. _Caddy that_ + +_I’ve got to marry somebody_ Versh told me about a man mutilated +himself. He went into the woods and did it with a razor, sitting in a +ditch. A broken razor flinging them backward over his shoulder the same +motion complete the jerked skein of blood backward not looping. But +that’s not it. It’s not not having them. It’s never to have had them +then I could say O That That’s Chinese I dont know Chinese. And Father +said it’s because you are a virgin: dont you see? Women are never +virgins. Purity is a negative state and therefore contrary to nature. +It’s nature is hurting you not Caddy and I said That’s just words and he +said So is virginity and I said you dont know. You cant know and he said +Yes. On the instant when we come to realise that tragedy is second-hand. + +Where the shadow of the bridge fell I could see down for a long way, but +not as far as the bottom. When you leave a leaf in water a long time +after awhile the tissue will be gone and the delicate fibers waving slow +as the motion of sleep. They dont touch one another, no matter how +knotted up they once were, no matter how close they lay once to the +bones. And maybe when He says Rise the eyes will come floating up too, +out of the deep quiet and the sleep, to look on glory. And after awhile +the flat irons would come floating up. I hid them under the end of the +bridge and went back and leaned on the rail. + +I could not see the bottom, but I could see a long way into the motion +of the water before the eye gave out, and then I saw a shadow hanging +like a fat arrow stemming into the current. Mayflies skimmed in and out +of the shadow of the bridge just above the surface. _If it could just be +a hell beyond that: the clean flame the two of us more than dead. Then +you will have only me then only me then the two of us amid the pointing +and the horror beyond the clean flame_ The arrow increased without +motion, then in a quick swirl the trout lipped a fly beneath the surface +with that sort of gigantic delicacy of an elephant picking up a peanut. +The fading vortex drifted away down stream and then I saw the arrow +again, nose into the current, wavering delicately to the motion of the +water above which the May flies slanted and poised. _Only you and me +then amid the pointing and the horror walled by the clean flame_ + +The trout hung, delicate and motionless among the wavering shadows. +Three boys with fishing poles came onto the bridge and we leaned on the +rail and looked down at the trout. They knew the fish. He was a +neighbourhood character. + +“They’ve been trying to catch that trout for twenty-five years. There’s +a store in Boston offers a twenty-five dollar fishing rod to anybody +that can catch him.” + +“Why dont you all catch him, then? Wouldnt you like to have a +twenty-five dollar fishing rod?” + +“Yes,” they said. They leaned on the rail, looking down at the trout. “I +sure would,” one said. + +“I wouldnt take the rod,” the second said. “I’d take the money instead.” + +“Maybe they wouldnt do that,” the first said. “I bet he’d make you take +the rod.” + +“Then I’d sell it.” + +“You couldnt get twenty-five dollars for it.” + +“I’d take what I could get, then. I can catch just as many fish with +this pole as I could with a twenty-five dollar one.” Then they talked +about what they would do with twenty-five dollars. They all talked at +once, their voices insistent and contradictory and impatient, making of +unreality a possibility, then a probability, then an incontrovertible +fact, as people will when their desires become words. + +“I’d buy a horse and wagon,” the second said. + +“Yes you would,” the others said. + +“I would. I know where I can buy one for twenty-five dollars. I know the +man.” + +“Who is it?” + +“That’s all right who it is. I can buy it for twenty-five dollars.” + +“Yah,” the others said, “He dont know any such thing. He’s just +talking.” + +“Do you think so?” the boy said. They continued to jeer at him, but he +said nothing more. He leaned on the rail, looking down at the trout +which he had already spent, and suddenly the acrimony, the conflict, was +gone from their voices, as if to them too it was as though he had +captured the fish and bought his horse and wagon, they too partaking of +that adult trait of being convinced of anything by an assumption of +silent superiority. I suppose that people, using themselves and each +other so much by words, are at least consistent in attributing wisdom to +a still tongue, and for a while I could feel the other two seeking +swiftly for some means by which to cope with him, to rob him of his +horse and wagon. + +“You couldnt get twenty-five dollars for that pole,” the first said. “I +bet anything you couldnt.” + +“He hasnt caught that trout yet,” the third said suddenly, then they +both cried: + +“Yah, wha’d I tell you? What’s the man’s name? I dare you to tell. There +aint any such man.” + +“Ah, shut up,” the second said. “Look, Here he comes again.” They leaned +on the rail, motionless, identical, their poles slanting slenderly in +the sunlight, also identical. The trout rose without haste, a shadow in +faint wavering increase; again the little vortex faded slowly +downstream. “Gee,” the first one murmured. + +“We dont try to catch him anymore,” he said. “We just watch Boston folks +that come out and try.” + +“Is he the only fish in this pool?” + +“Yes. He ran all the others out. The best place to fish around here is +down at the Eddy.” + +“No it aint,” the second said. “It’s better at Bigelow’s Mill two to +one.” Then they argued for a while about which was the best fishing and +then left off all of a sudden to watch the trout rise again and the +broken swirl of water suck down a little of the sky. I asked how far it +was to the nearest town. They told me. + +“But the closest car line is that way,” the second said, pointing back +down the road. “Where are you going?” + +“Nowhere. Just walking.” + +“You from the college?” + +“Yes. Are there any factories in that town?” + +“Factories?” They looked at me. + +“No,” the second said. “Not there.” They looked at my clothes. “You +looking for work?” + +“How about Bigelow’s Mill?” the third said. “That’s a factory.” + +“Factory my eye. He means a sure enough factory.” + +“One with a whistle,” I said. “I havent heard any one oclock whistles +yet.” + +“Oh,” the second said. “There’s a clock in the Unitarian steeple. You +can find out the time from that. Havent you got a watch on that chain?” + +“I broke it this morning.” I showed them my watch. They examined it +gravely. + +“It’s still running,” the second said. “What does a watch like that +cost?” + +“It was a present,” I said. “My father gave it to me when I graduated +from high school.” + +“Are you a Canadian?” the third said. He had red hair. + +“Canadian?” + +“He dont talk like them,” the second said. “I’ve heard them talk. He +talks like they do in minstrel shows.” + +“Say,” the third said, “Aint you afraid he’ll hit you?” + +“Hit me?” + +“You said he talks like a coloured man.” + +“Ah, dry up,” the second said. “You can see the steeple when you get +over that hill there.” + +I thanked them. “I hope you have good luck. Only dont catch that old +fellow down there. He deserves to be let alone.” + +“Cant anybody catch that fish,” the first said. They leaned on the rail, +looking down into the water, the three poles like three slanting threads +of yellow fire in the sun. I walked upon my shadow, tramping it into the +dappled shade of trees again. The road curved, mounting away from the +water. It crossed the hill, then descended winding, carrying the eye, +the mind on ahead beneath a still green tunnel, and the square cupola +above the trees and the round eye of the clock but far enough. I sat +down at the roadside. The grass was ankle deep, myriad. The shadows on +the road were as still as if they had been put there with a stencil, +with slanting pencils of sunlight. But it was only a train, and after a +while it died away beyond the trees, the long sound, and then I could +hear my watch and the train dying away, as though it were running +through another month or another summer somewhere, rushing away under +the poised gull and all things rushing. Except Gerald. He would be sort +of grand too, pulling in lonely state across the noon, rowing himself +right out of noon, up the long bright air like an apotheosis, mounting +into a drowsing infinity where only he and the gull, the one +terrifically motionless, the other in a steady and measured pull and +recover that partook of inertia itself, the world punily beneath their +shadows on the sun. Caddy that blackguard that blackguard Caddy + +Their voices came over the hill, and the three slender poles like +balanced threads of running fire. They looked at me passing, not +slowing. + +“Well,” I said, “I dont see him.” + +“We didnt try to catch him,” the first said. “You cant catch that fish.” + +“There’s the clock,” the second said, pointing. “You can tell the time +when you get a little closer.” + +“Yes,” I said, “All right.” I got up. “You all going to town?” + +“We’re going to the Eddy for chub,” the first said. + +“You cant catch anything at the Eddy,” the second said. + +“I guess you want to go to the mill, with a lot of fellows splashing and +scaring all the fish away.” + +“You cant catch any fish at the Eddy.” + +“We wont catch none nowhere if we dont go on,” the third said. + +“I dont see why you keep on talking about the Eddy,” the second said. +“You cant catch anything there.” + +“You dont have to go,” the first said. “You’re not tied to me.” + +“Let’s go to the mill and go swimming,” the third said. + +“I’m going to the Eddy and fish,” the first said. “You can do as you +please.” + +“Say, how long has it been since you heard of anybody catching a fish at +the Eddy?” the second said to the third. + +“Let’s go to the mill and go swimming,” the third said. The cupola sank +slowly beyond the trees, with the round face of the clock far enough +yet. We went on in the dappled shade. We came to an orchard, pink and +white. It was full of bees; already we could hear them. + +“Let’s go to the mill and go swimming,” the third said. A lane turned +off beside the orchard. The third boy slowed and halted. The first went +on, flecks of sunlight slipping along the pole across his shoulder and +down the back of his shirt. “Come on,” the third said. The second boy +stopped too. _Why must you marry somebody Caddy_ + +_Do you want me to say it do you think that if I say it it wont be_ + +“Let’s go up to the mill,” he said. “Come on.” + +The first boy went on. His bare feet made no sound, falling softer than +leaves in the thin dust. In the orchard the bees sounded like a wind +getting up, a sound caught by a spell just under crescendo and +sustained. The lane went along the wall, arched over, shattered with +bloom, dissolving into trees. Sunlight slanted into it, sparse and +eager. Yellow butterflies flickered along the shade like flecks of sun. + +“What do you want to go to the Eddy for?” the second boy said. “You can +fish at the mill if you want to.” + +“Ah, let him go,” the third said. They looked after the first boy. +Sunlight slid patchily across his walking shoulders, glinting along the +pole like yellow ants. + +“Kenny,” the second said. _Say it to Father will you I will am my +fathers Progenitive I invented him created I him Say it to him it will +not be for he will say I was not and then you and I since +philoprogenitive_ + +“Ah, come on,” the boy said, “They’re already in.” They looked after the +first boy. “Yah,” they said suddenly, “go on then, mamma’s boy. If he +goes swimming he’ll get his head wet and then he’ll get a licking.” They +turned into the lane and went on, the yellow butterflies slanting about +them along the shade. + +_it is because there is nothing else I believe there is something else +but there may not be and then I You will find that even injustice is +scarcely worthy of what you believe yourself to be_ He paid me no +attention, his jaw set in profile, his face turned a little away beneath +his broken hat. + +“Why dont you go swimming with them?” I said. _that blackguard Caddy_ + +_Were you trying to pick a fight with him were you_ + +_A liar and a scoundrel Caddy was dropped from his club for cheating at +cards got sent to Coventry caught cheating at midterm exams and +expelled_ + +_Well what about it I’m not going to play cards with_ + +“Do you like fishing better than swimming?” I said. The sound of the +bees diminished, sustained yet, as though instead of sinking into +silence, silence merely increased between us, as water rises. The road +curved again and became a street between shady lawns with white houses. +_Caddy that blackguard can you think of Benjy and Father and do it not +of me_ + +_What else can I think about what else have I thought about_ The boy +turned from the street. He climbed a picket fence without looking back +and crossed the lawn to a tree and laid the pole down and climbed into +the fork of the tree and sat there, his back to the road and the dappled +sun motionless at last upon his white shirt. _Else have I thought about +I cant even cry I died last year I told you I had but I didnt know then +what I meant I didnt know what I was saying_ Some days in late August at +home are like this, the air thin and eager like this, with something in +it sad and nostalgic and familiar. Man the sum of his climatic +experiences Father said. Man the sum of what have you. A problem in +impure properties carried tediously to an unvarying nil: stalemate of +dust and desire. _But now I know I’m dead I tell you_ + +_Then why must you listen we can go away you and Benjy and me where +nobody knows us where_ The buggy was drawn by a white horse, his feet +clopping in the thin dust; spidery wheels chattering thin and dry, +moving uphill beneath a rippling shawl of leaves. Elm. No: ellum. Ellum. + +_On what on your school money the money they sold the pasture for so you +could go to Harvard dont you see you’ve got to finish now if you dont +finish he’ll have nothing_ + +_Sold the pasture_ His white shirt was motionless in the fork, in the +flickering shade. The wheels were spidery. Beneath the sag of the buggy +the hooves neatly rapid like the motions of a lady doing embroidery, +diminishing without progress like a figure on a treadmill being drawn +rapidly offstage. The street turned again. I could see the white cupola, +the round stupid assertion of the clock. _Sold the pasture_ + +_Father will be dead in a year they say if he doesnt stop drinking and +he wont stop he cant stop since I since last summer and then they’ll +send Benjy to Jackson I cant cry I cant even cry one minute she was +standing in the door the next minute he was pulling at her dress and +bellowing his voice hammered back and forth between the walls in waves +and she shrinking against the wall getting smaller and smaller with her +white face her eyes like thumbs dug into it until he pushed her out of +the room his voice hammering back and forth as though its own momentum +would not let it stop as though there were no place for it in silence +bellowing_ + +When you opened the door a bell tinkled, but just once, high and clear +and small in the neat obscurity above the door, as though it were gauged +and tempered to make that single clear small sound so as not to wear the +bell out nor to require the expenditure of too much silence in restoring +it when the door opened upon the recent warm scent of baking; a little +dirty child with eyes like a toy bear’s and two patent-leather +pig-tails. + +“Hello, sister.” Her face was like a cup of milk dashed with coffee in +the sweet warm emptiness. “Anybody here?” + +But she merely watched me until a door opened and the lady came. Above +the counter where the ranks of crisp shapes behind the glass her neat +grey face her hair tight and sparse from her neat grey skull, spectacles +in neat grey rims riding approaching like something on a wire, like a +cash box in a store. She looked like a librarian. Something among dusty +shelves of ordered certitudes long divorced from reality, desiccating +peacefully, as if a breath of that air which sees injustice done + +“Two of these, please, ma’am.” + +From under the counter she produced a square cut from a newspaper and +laid it on the counter and lifted the two buns out. The little girl +watched them with still and unwinking eyes like two currants floating +motionless in a cup of weak coffee Land of the kike home of the wop. +Watching the bread, the neat grey hands, a broad gold band on the left +forefinger, knuckled there by a blue knuckle. + +“Do you do your own baking, ma’am?” + +“Sir?” she said. Like that. Sir? Like on the stage. Sir? “Five cents. +Was there anything else?” + +“No, ma’am. Not for me. This lady wants something.” She was not tall +enough to see over the case, so she went to the end of the counter and +looked at the little girl. + +“Did you bring her in here?” + +“No, ma’am. She was here when I came.” + +“You little wretch,” she said. She came out around the counter, but she +didnt touch the little girl. “Have you got anything in your pockets?” + +“She hasnt got any pockets,” I said. “She wasnt doing anything. She was +just standing here, waiting for you.” + +“Why didnt the bell ring, then?” She glared at me. She just needed a +bunch of switches, a blackboard behind her 2 X 2 e 5. “She’ll hide it +under her dress and a body’d never know it. You, child. How’d you get in +here?” + +The little girl said nothing. She looked at the woman, then she gave me +a flying black glance and looked at the woman again, “Them foreigners,” +the woman said. “How’d she get in without the bell ringing?” + +“She came in when I opened the door,” I said. “It rang once for both of +us. She couldnt reach anything from here, anyway. Besides, I dont think +she would. Would you, sister?” The little girl looked at me, secretive, +contemplative. “What do you want? bread?” + +She extended her fist. It uncurled upon a nickel, moist and dirty, moist +dirt ridged into her flesh. The coin was damp and warm. I could smell +it, faintly metallic. + +“Have you got a five cent loaf, please, ma’am?” + +From beneath the counter she produced a square cut from a newspaper +sheet and laid it on the counter and wrapped a loaf into it. I laid the +coin and another one on the counter. “And another one of those buns, +please, ma’am.” + +She took another bun from the case. “Give me that parcel,” she said. I +gave it to her and she unwrapped it and put the third bun in and wrapped +it and took up the coins and found two coppers in her apron and gave +them to me. I handed them to the little girl. Her fingers closed about +them, damp and hot, like worms. + +“You going to give her that bun?” the woman said. + +“Yessum,” I said. “I expect your cooking smells as good to her as it +does to me.” + +I took up the two packages and gave the bread to the little girl, the +woman all iron-grey behind the counter, watching us with cold certitude. +“You wait a minute,” she said. She went to the rear. The door opened +again and closed. The little girl watched me, holding the bread against +her dirty dress. + +“What’s your name?” I said. She quit looking at me, but she was still +motionless. She didnt even seem to breathe. The woman returned. She had +a funny looking thing in her hand. She carried it sort of like it might +have been a dead pet rat. + +“Here,” she said. The child looked at her. “Take it,” the woman said, +jabbing it at the little girl. “It just looks peculiar. I calculate you +wont know the difference when you eat it. Here. I cant stand here all +day.” The child took it, still watching her. The woman rubbed her hands +on her apron. “I got to have that bell fixed,” she said. She went to the +door and jerked it open. The little bell tinkled once, faint and clear +and invisible. We moved toward the door and the woman’s peering back. + +“Thank you for the cake,” I said. + +“Them foreigners,” she said, staring up into the obscurity where the +bell tinkled. “Take my advice and stay clear of them, young man.” + +“Yessum,” I said. “Come on, sister.” We went out. “Thank you, ma’am.” + +She swung the door to, then jerked it open again, making the bell give +forth its single small note. “Foreigners,” she said, peering up at the +bell. + +We went on. “Well,” I said, “How about some ice cream?” She was eating +the gnarled cake. “Do you like ice cream?” She gave me a black still +look, chewing. “Come on.” + +We came to the drugstore and had some ice cream. She wouldn’t put the +loaf down. “Why not put it down so you can eat better?” I said, offering +to take it. But she held to it, chewing the ice cream like it was taffy. +The bitten cake lay on the table. She ate the ice cream steadily, then +she fell to on the cake again, looking about at the showcases. I +finished mine and we went out. + +“Which way do you live?” I said. + +A buggy, the one with the white horse it was. Only Doc Peabody is fat. +Three hundred pounds. You ride with him on the uphill side, holding on. +Children. Walking easier than holding uphill. _Seen the doctor yet have +you seen Caddy_ + +_I dont have to I cant ask now afterward it will be all right it wont +matter_ + +Because women so delicate so mysterious Father said. Delicate +equilibrium of periodical filth between two moons balanced. Moons he +said full and yellow as harvest moons her hips thighs. Outside outside +of them always but. Yellow. Feet soles with walking like. Then know that +some man that all those mysterious and imperious concealed. With all +that inside of them shapes an outward suavity waiting for a touch to. +Liquid putrefaction like drowned things floating like pale rubber +flabbily filled getting the odour of honeysuckle all mixed up. + +“You’d better take your bread on home, hadnt you?” + +She looked at me. She chewed quietly and steadily; at regular intervals +a small distension passed smoothly down her throat. I opened my package +and gave her one of the buns. “Goodbye,” I said. + +I went on. Then I looked back. She was behind me. “Do you live down this +way?” She said nothing. She walked beside me, under my elbow sort of, +eating. We went on. It was quiet, hardly anyone about _getting the odour +of honeysuckle all mixed She would have told me not to let me sit there +on the steps hearing her door twilight slamming hearing Benjy still +crying Supper she would have to come down then getting honeysuckle all +mixed up in it_ We reached the corner. + +“Well, I’ve got to go down this way,” I said, “Goodbye.” She stopped +too. She swallowed the last of the cake, then she began on the bun, +watching me across it. “Goodbye,” I said. I turned into the street and +went on, but I went to the next corner before I stopped. + +“Which way do you live?” I said. “This way?” I pointed down the street. +She just looked at me. “Do you live over that way? I bet you live close +to the station, where the trains are. Dont you?” She just looked at me, +serene and secret and chewing. The street was empty both ways, with +quiet lawns and houses neat among the trees, but no one at all except +back there. We turned and went back. Two men sat in chairs in front of a +store. + +“Do you all know this little girl? She sort of took up with me and I +cant find where she lives.” + +They quit looking at me and looked at her. + +“Must be one of them new Italian families,” one said. He wore a rusty +frock coat. “I’ve seen her before. What’s your name, little girl?” She +looked at them blackly for awhile, her jaws moving steadily. She +swallowed without ceasing to chew. + +“Maybe she cant speak English,” the other said. + +“They sent her after bread,” I said. “She must be able to speak +something.” + +“What’s your pa’s name?” the first said. “Pete? Joe? name John huh?” She +took another bite from the bun. + +“What must I do with her?” I said. “She just follows me. I’ve got to get +back to Boston.” + +“You from the college?” + +“Yes, sir. And I’ve got to get on back.” + +“You might go up the street and turn her over to Anse. He’ll be up at +the livery stable. The marshall.” + +“I reckon that’s what I’ll have to do,” I said. “I’ve got to do +something with her. Much obliged. Come on, sister.” + +We went up the street, on the shady side, where the shadow of the broken +façade blotted slowly across the road. We came to the livery stable. The +marshall wasnt there. A man sitting in a chair tilted in the broad low +door, where a dark cool breeze smelling of ammonia blew among the ranked +stalls, said to look at the postoffice. He didn’t know her either. + +“Them furriners. I cant tell one from another. You might take her across +the tracks where they live, and maybe somebody’ll claim her.” + +We went to the postoffice. It was back down the street. The man in the +frock coat was opening a newspaper. + +“Anse just drove out of town,” he said. “I guess you’d better go down +past the station and walk past them houses by the river. Somebody +there’ll know her.” + +“I guess I’ll have to,” I said. “Come on, sister.” She pushed the last +piece of the bun into her mouth and swallowed it. “Want another?” I +said. She looked at me, chewing, her eyes black and unwinking and +friendly. I took the other two buns out and gave her one and bit into +the other. I asked a man where the station was and he showed me. “Come +on, sister.” + +We reached the station and crossed the tracks, where the river was. A +bridge crossed it, and a street of jumbled frame houses followed the +river, backed onto it. A shabby street, but with an air heterogeneous +and vivid too. In the center of an untrimmed plot enclosed by a fence of +gaping and broken pickets stood an ancient lopsided surrey and a +weathered house from an upper window of which hung a garment of vivid +pink. + +“Does that look like your house?” I said. She looked at me over the bun. +“This one?” I said, pointing. She just chewed, but it seemed to me that +I discerned something affirmative, acquiescent even if it wasn’t eager, +in her air. “This one?” I said. “Come on, then.” I entered the broken +gate. I looked back at her. “Here?” I said. “This look like your house?” + +She nodded her head rapidly, looking at me, gnawing into the damp +halfmoon of the bread. We went on. A walk of broken random flags, +speared by fresh coarse blades of grass, led to the broken stoop. There +was no movement about the house at all, and the pink garment hanging in +no wind from the upper window. There was a bell pull with a porcelain +knob, attached to about six feet of wire when I stopped pulling and +knocked. The little girl had the crust edgeways in her chewing mouth. + +A woman opened the door. She looked at me, then she spoke rapidly to the +little girl in Italian, with a rising inflexion, then a pause, +interrogatory. She spoke to her again, the little girl looking at her +across the end of the crust, pushing it into her mouth with a dirty +hand. + +“She says she lives here,” I said. “I met her down town. Is this your +bread?” + +“No spika,” the woman said. She spoke to the little girl again. The +little girl just looked at her. + +“No live here?” I said. I pointed to the girl, then at her, then at the +door. The woman shook her head. She spoke rapidly. She came to the edge +of the porch and pointed down the road, speaking. + +I nodded violently too. “You come show?” I said. I took her arm, waving +my other hand toward the road. She spoke swiftly, pointing. “You come +show,” I said, trying to lead her down the steps. + +“Si, si,” she said, holding back, showing me whatever it was. I nodded +again. + +“Thanks. Thanks. Thanks.” I went down the steps and walked toward the +gate, not running, but pretty fast. I reached the gate and stopped and +looked at her for a while. The crust was gone now, and she looked at me +with her black, friendly stare. The woman stood on the stoop, watching +us. + +“Come on, then,” I said. “We’ll have to find the right one sooner or +later.” + +She moved along just under my elbow. We went on. The houses all seemed +empty. Not a soul in sight. A sort of breathlessness that empty houses +have. Yet they couldnt all be empty. All the different rooms, if you +could just slice the walls away all of a sudden Madam, your daughter, if +you please. No. Madam, for God’s sake, your daughter. She moved along +just under my elbow, her shiny tight pigtails, and then the last house +played out and the road curved out of sight beyond a wall, following the +river. The woman was emerging from the broken gate, with a shawl over +her head and clutched under her chin. The road curved on, empty. I found +a coin and gave it to the little girl. A quarter. “Goodbye, sister,” I +said. Then I ran. + +I ran fast, not looking back. Just before the road curved away I looked +back. She stood in the road, a small figure clasping the loaf of bread +to her filthy little dress, her eyes still and black and unwinking. I +ran on. + +A lane turned from the road. I entered it and after a while I slowed to +a fast walk. The lane went between back premises—unpainted houses with +more of those gay and startling coloured garments on lines, a barn +broken-backed, decaying quietly among rank orchard trees, unpruned and +weed-choked, pink and white and murmurous with sunlight and with bees. I +looked back. The entrance to the lane was empty. I slowed still more, my +shadow pacing me, dragging its head through the weeds that hid the +fence. + +The lane went back to a barred gate, became defunctive in grass, a mere +path scarred quietly into new grass. I climbed the gate into a woodlot +and crossed it and came to another wall and followed that one, my shadow +behind me now. There were vines and creepers where at home would be +honeysuckle. Coming and coming especially in the dusk when it rained, +getting honeysuckle all mixed up in it as though it were not enough +without that, not unbearable enough. _What did you let him for kiss +kiss_ + +_I didn’t let him I made him watching me getting mad What do you think +of that? Red print of my hand coming up through her face like turning a +light on under your hand her eyes going bright_ + +_It’s not for kissing I slapped you. Girl’s elbows at fifteen Father +said you swallow like you had a fishbone in your throat what’s the +matter with you and Caddy across the table not to look at me. It’s for +letting it be some darn town squirt I slapped you you will will you now +I guess you say calf rope. My red hand coming up out of her face. What +do you think of that scouring her head into the. Grass sticks +crisscrossed into the flesh tingling scouring her head. Say calf rope +say it_ + +_I didnt kiss a dirty girl like Natalie anyway_ The wall went into +shadow, and then my shadow, I had tricked it again. I had forgot about +the river curving along the road. I climbed the wall. And then she +watched me jump down, holding the loaf against her dress. + +I stood in the weeds and we looked at one another for a while. + +“Why didnt you tell me you lived out this way, sister?” The loaf was +wearing slowly out of the paper; already it needed a new one. “Well, +come on then and show me the house.” _not a dirty girl like Natalie. It +was raining we could hear it on the roof, sighing through the high sweet +emptiness of the barn._ + +_There? touching her_ + +_Not there_ + +_There? not raining hard but we couldnt hear anything but the roof and +as if it was my blood or her blood_ + +_She pushed me down the ladder and ran off and left me Caddy did_ + +_Was it there it hurt you when Caddy did ran off was it there_ + +_Oh_ She walked just under my elbow, the top of her patent leather head, +the loaf fraying out of the newspaper. + +“If you dont get home pretty soon you’re going to wear that loaf out. +And then what’ll your mamma say?” _I bet I can lift you up_ + +_You cant I’m too heavy_ + +_Did Caddy go away did she go to the house you cant see the barn from +our house did you ever try to see the barn from_ + +_It was her fault she pushed me she ran away_ + +_I can lift you up see how I can_ + +_Oh her blood or my blood Oh_ We went on in the thin dust, our feet +silent as rubber in the thin dust where pencils of sun slanted in the +trees. And I could feel water again running swift and peaceful in the +secret shade. + +“You live a long way, dont you. You’re mighty smart to go this far to +town by yourself.” _It’s like dancing sitting down did you ever dance +sitting down? We could hear the rain, a rat in the crib, the empty barn +vacant with horses. How do you hold to dance do you hold like this_ + +_Oh_ + +_I used to hold like this you thought I wasnt strong enough didn’t you_ + +_Oh Oh Oh Oh_ + +_I hold to use like this I mean did you hear what I said I said_ + +_oh oh oh oh_ + +The road went on, still and empty, the sun slanting more and more. Her +stiff little pigtails were bound at the tips with bits of crimson cloth. +A corner of the wrapping flapped a little as she walked, the nose of the +loaf naked. I stopped. + +“Look here. Do you live down this road? We havent passed a house in a +mile, almost.” + +She looked at me, black and secret and friendly. + +“Where do you live, sister? Dont you live back there in town?” + +There was a bird somewhere in the woods, beyond the broken and +infrequent slanting of sunlight. + +“Your papa’s going to be worried about you. Dont you reckon you’ll get a +whipping for not coming straight home with that bread?” + +The bird whistled again, invisible, a sound meaningless and profound, +inflexionless, ceasing as though cut off with the blow of a knife, and +again, and that sense of water swift and peaceful above secret places, +felt, not seen not heard. + +“Oh, hell, sister.” About half the paper hung limp. “That’s not doing +any good now.” I tore it off and dropped it beside the road. “Come on. +We’ll have to go back to town. We’ll go back along the river.” + +We left the road. Among the moss little pale flowers grew, and the sense +of water mute and unseen. _I hold to use like this I mean I use to hold +She stood in the door looking at us her hands on her hips_ + +_You pushed me it was your fault it hurt me too_ + +_We were dancing sitting down I bet Caddy cant dance sitting down_ + +_Stop that stop that_ + +_I was just brushing the trash off the back of your dress_ + +_You keep your nasty old hands off of me it was your fault you pushed me +down I’m mad at you_ + +_I dont care she looked at us stay mad she went away_ We began to hear +the shouts, the splashings; I saw a brown body gleam for an instant. + +_Stay mad. My shirt was getting wet and my hair. Across the roof hearing +the roof loud now I could see Natalie going through the garden among the +rain. Get wet I hope you catch pneumonia go on home Cowface. I jumped +hard as I could into the hogwallow the mud yellowed up to my waist +stinking I kept on plunging until I fell down and rolled over in it_ +“Hear them in swimming, sister? I wouldn’t mind doing that myself.” If I +had time. When I have time. I could hear my watch. _mud was warmer than +the rain it smelled awful. She had her back turned I went around in +front of her. You know what I was doing? She turned her back I went +around in front of her the rain creeping into the mud flatting her +bodice through her dress it smelled horrible. I was hugging her that’s +what I was doing. She turned her back I went around in front of her. I +was hugging her I tell you._ + +_I dont give a damn what you were doing_ + +_You dont you dont I’ll make you I’ll make you give a damn. She hit my +hands away I smeared mud on her with the other hand I couldn’t feel the +wet smacking of her hand I wiped mud from my legs smeared it on her wet +hard turning body hearing her fingers going into my face but I couldn’t +feel it even when the rain began to taste sweet on my lips_ + +They saw us from the water first, heads and shoulders. They yelled and +one rose squatting and sprang among them. They looked like beavers, the +water lipping about their chins, yelling. + +“Take that girl away! What did you want to bring a girl here for? Go on +away!” + +“She wont hurt you. We just want to watch you for a while.” + +They squatted in the water. Their heads drew into a clump, watching us, +then they broke and rushed toward us, hurling water with their hands. We +moved quick. + +“Look out, boys; she wont hurt you.” + +“Go on away, Harvard!” It was the second boy, the one that thought the +horse and wagon back there at the bridge. “Splash them, fellows!” + +“Let’s get out and throw them in,” another said. “I aint afraid of any +girl.” + +“Splash them! Splash them!” They rushed toward us, hurling water. We +moved back. “Go on away!” they yelled. “Go on away!” + +We went away. They huddled just under the bank, their slick heads in a +row against the bright water. We went on. “That’s not for us, is it.” +The sun slanted through to the moss here and there, leveller. “Poor kid, +you’re just a girl.” Little flowers grew among the moss, littler than I +had ever seen. “You’re just a girl. Poor kid.” There was a path, curving +along beside the water. Then the water was still again, dark and still +and swift. “Nothing but a girl. Poor sister.” _We lay in the wet grass +panting the rain like cold shot on my back. Do you care now do you do +you_ + +_My Lord we sure are in a mess get up. Where the rain touched my +forehead it began to smart my hand came red away streaking off pink in +the rain. Does it hurt_ + +_Of course it does what do you reckon_ + +_I tried to scratch your eyes out my Lord we sure do stink we better try +to wash it off in the branch_ “There’s town again, sister. You’ll have +to go home now. I’ve got to get back to school. Look how late it’s +getting. You’ll go home now, wont you?” But she just looked at me with +her black, secret, friendly gaze, the half-naked loaf clutched to her +breast. “It’s wet. I thought we jumped back in time.” I took my +handkerchief and tried to wipe the loaf, but the crust began to come +off, so I stopped. “We’ll just have to let it dry itself. Hold it like +this.” She held it like that. It looked kind of like rats had been +eating it now. _and the water building and building up the squatting +back the sloughed mud stinking surfaceward pocking the pattering surface +like grease on a hot stove. I told you I’d make you_ + +_I dont give a goddam what you do_ + +Then we heard the running and we stopped and looked back and saw him +coming up the path running, the level shadows flicking upon his legs. + +“He’s in a hurry. We’d—” then I saw another man, an oldish man running +heavily, clutching a stick, and a boy naked from the waist up, clutching +his pants as he ran. + +“There’s Julio,” the little girl said, and then I saw his Italian face +and his eyes as he sprang upon me. We went down. His hands were jabbing +at my face and he was saying something and trying to bite me, I reckon, +and then they hauled him off and held him heaving and thrashing and +yelling and they held his arms and he tried to kick me until they +dragged him back. The little girl was howling, holding the loaf in both +arms. The half-naked boy was darting and jumping up and down, clutching +his trousers and someone pulled me up in time to see another stark naked +figure come around the tranquil bend in the path running and change +direction in midstride and leap into the woods, a couple of garments +rigid as boards behind it. Julio still struggled. The man who had pulled +me up said, “Whoa, now. We got you.” He wore a vest but no coat. Upon it +was a metal shield. In his other hand he clutched a knotted, polished +stick. + +“You’re Anse, aren’t you?” I said. “I was looking for you. What’s the +matter?” + +“I warn you that anything you say will be used against you,” he said. +“You’re under arrest.” + +“I killa heem,” Julio said. He struggled. Two men held him. The little +girl howled steadily, holding the bread. “You steala my seester,” Julio +said. “Let go, meesters.” + +“Steal his sister?” I said. “Why, I’ve been—” + +“Shet up,” Anse said. “You can tell that to Squire.” + +“Steal his sister?” I said. Julio broke from the men and sprang at me +again, but the marshall met him and they struggled until the other two +pinioned his arms again. Anse released him, panting. + +“You durn furriner,” he said, “I’ve a good mind to take you up too, for +assault and battery.” He turned to me again. “Will you come peaceable, +or do I handcuff you?” + +“I’ll come peaceable,” I said. “Anything, just so I can find someone—do +something with—Stole his sister,” I said. “Stole his—” + +“I’ve warned you,” Anse said, “He aims to charge you with meditated +criminal assault. Here, you, make that gal shut up that noise.” + +“Oh,” I said. Then I began to laugh. Two more boys with plastered heads +and round eyes came out of the bushes, buttoning shirts that had already +dampened onto their shoulders and arms, and I tried to stop the +laughter, but I couldnt. + +“Watch him, Anse, he’s crazy, I believe.” + +“I’ll h-have to qu-quit,” I said, “It’ll stop in a mu-minute. The other +time it said ah ah ah,” I said, laughing. “Let me sit down a while.” I +sat down, they watching me, and the little girl with her streaked face +and the gnawed looking loaf, and the water swift and peaceful below the +path. After a while the laughter ran out. But my throat wouldnt quit +trying to laugh, like retching after your stomach is empty. + +“Whoa, now,” Anse said. “Get a grip on yourself.” + +“Yes,” I said, tightening my throat. There was another yellow butterfly, +like one of the sunflecks had come loose. After a while I didnt have to +hold my throat so tight. I got up. “I’m ready. Which way?” + +We followed the path, the two others watching Julio and the little girl +and the boys somewhere in the rear. The path went along the river to the +bridge. We crossed it and the tracks, people coming to the doors to look +at us and more boys materializing from somewhere until when we turned +into the main street we had quite a procession. Before the drugstore +stood an auto, a big one, but I didn’t recognise them until Mrs Bland +said, + +“Why, Quentin! Quentin Compson!” Then I saw Gerald, and Spoade in the +back seat, sitting on the back of his neck. And Shreve. I didnt know the +two girls. + +“Quentin Compson!” Mrs Bland said. + +“Good afternoon,” I said, raising my hat. “I’m under arrest. I’m sorry I +didnt get your note. Did Shreve tell you?” + +“Under arrest?” Shreve said. “Excuse me,” he said. He heaved himself up +and climbed over their feet and got out. He had on a pair of my flannel +pants, like a glove. I didnt remember forgetting them. I didnt remember +how many chins Mrs Bland had, either. The prettiest girl was with Gerald +in front, too. They watched me through veils, with a kind of delicate +horror. “Who’s under arrest?” Shreve said. “What’s this, mister?” + +“Gerald,” Mrs Bland said, “Send these people away. You get in this car, +Quentin.” + +Gerald got out. Spoade hadnt moved. + +“What’s he done, Cap?” he said. “Robbed a hen house?” + +“I warn you,” Anse said. “Do you know the prisoner?” + +“Know him,” Shreve said. “Look here—” + +“Then you can come along to the squire’s. You’re obstructing justice. +Come along.” He shook my arm. + +“Well, good afternoon,” I said. “I’m glad to have seen you all. Sorry I +couldnt be with you.” + +“You, Gerald,” Mrs Bland said. + +“Look here, constable,” Gerald said. + +“I warn you you’re interfering with an officer of the law,” Anse said. +“If you’ve anything to say, you can come to the squire’s and make +cognizance of the prisoner.” We went on. Quite a procession now, Anse +and I leading. I could hear them telling them what it was, and Spoade +asking questions, and then Julio said something violently in Italian and +I looked back and saw the little girl standing at the curb, looking at +me with her friendly, inscrutable regard. + +“Git on home,” Julio shouted at her, “I beat hell outa you.” + +We went down the street and turned into a bit of lawn in which, set back +from the street, stood a one storey building of brick trimmed with +white. We went up the rock path to the door, where Anse halted everyone +except us and made them remain outside. We entered a bare room smelling +of stale tobacco. There was a sheet iron stove in the center of a wooden +frame filled with sand, and a faded map on the wall and the dingy plat +of a township. Behind a scarred littered table a man with a fierce roach +of iron grey hair peered at us over steel spectacles. + +“Got him, did ye, Anse?” he said. + +“Got him, Squire.” + +He opened a huge dusty book and drew it to him and dipped a foul pen +into an inkwell filled with what looked like coal dust. + +“Look here, mister,” Shreve said. + +“The prisoner’s name,” the squire said. I told him. He wrote it slowly +into the book, the pen scratching with excruciating deliberation. + +“Look here, mister,” Shreve said, “We know this fellow. We—” + +“Order in the court,” Anse said. + +“Shut up, bud,” Spoade said. “Let him do it his way. He’s going to +anyhow.” + +“Age,” the squire said. I told him. He wrote that, his mouth moving as +he wrote. “Occupation.” I told him. “Harvard student, hey?” he said. He +looked up at me, bowing his neck a little to see over the spectacles. +His eyes were clear and cold, like a goat’s. “What are you up to, coming +out here kidnapping children?” + +“They’re crazy, Squire,” Shreve said. “Whoever says this boy’s +kidnapping—” + +Julio moved violently. “Crazy?” he said. “Dont I catcha heem, eh? Dont I +see weetha my own eyes—” + +“You’re a liar,” Shreve said. “You never—” + +“Order, order,” Anse said, raising his voice. + +“You fellers shet up,” the squire said. “If they dont stay quiet, turn +’em out, Anse.” They got quiet. The squire looked at Shreve, then at +Spoade, then at Gerald. “You know this young man?” he said to Spoade. + +“Yes, your honour,” Spoade said. “He’s just a country boy in school up +there. He dont mean any harm. I think the marshall’ll find it’s a +mistake. His father’s a congregational minister.” + +“H’m,” the squire said. “What was you doing, exactly?” I told him, he +watching me with his cold, pale eyes. “How about it, Anse?” + +“Might have been,” Anse said. “Them durn furriners.” + +“I American,” Julio said. “I gotta da pape’.” + +“Where’s the gal?” + +“He sent her home,” Anse said. + +“Was she scared or anything?” + +“Not till Julio there jumped on the prisoner. They were just walking +along the river path, towards town. Some boys swimming told us which way +they went.” + +“It’s a mistake, Squire,” Spoade said. “Children and dogs are always +taking up with him like that. He cant help it.” + +“H’m,” the squire said. He looked out of the window for a while. We +watched him. I could hear Julio scratching himself. The squire looked +back. + +“Air you satisfied the gal aint took any hurt, you, there?” + +“No hurt now,” Julio said sullenly. + +“You quit work to hunt for her?” + +“Sure I quit. I run. I run like hell. Looka here, looka there, then man +tella me he seen him giva her she eat. She go weetha.” + +“H’m,” the squire said. “Well, son, I calculate you owe Julio something +for taking him away from his work.” + +“Yes, sir,” I said. “How much?” + +“Dollar, I calculate.” + +I gave Julio a dollar. + +“Well,” Spoade said, “If that’s all—I reckon he’s discharged, your +honour?” + +The squire didn’t look at him. “How far’d you run him, Anse?” + +“Two miles, at least. It was about two hours before we caught him.” + +“H’m,” the squire said. He mused a while. We watched him, his stiff +crest, the spectacles riding low on his nose. The yellow shape of the +window grew slowly across the floor, reached the wall, climbing. Dust +motes whirled and slanted. “Six dollars.” + +“Six dollars?” Shreve said. “What’s that for?” + +“Six dollars,” the squire said. He looked at Shreve a moment, then at me +again. + +“Look here,” Shreve said. + +“Shut up,” Spoade said. “Give it to him, bud, and let’s get out of here. +The ladies are waiting for us. You got six dollars?” + +“Yes,” I said. I gave him six dollars. + +“Case dismissed,” he said. + +“You get a receipt,” Shreve said. “You get a signed receipt for that +money.” + +The squire looked at Shreve mildly. “Case dismissed,” he said without +raising his voice. + +“I’ll be damned—” Shreve said. + +“Come on here,” Spoade said, taking his arm. “Good afternoon, Judge. +Much obliged.” As we passed out the door Julio’s voice rose again, +violent, then ceased. Spoade was looking at me, his brown eyes +quizzical, a little cold. “Well, bud, I reckon you’ll do your girl +chasing in Boston after this.” + +“You damned fool,” Shreve said, “What the hell do you mean anyway, +straggling off here, fooling with these damn wops?” + +“Come on,” Spoade said, “They must be getting impatient.” + +Mrs Bland was talking to them. They were Miss Holmes and Miss +Daingerfield and they quit listening to her and looked at me again with +that delicate and curious horror, their veils turned back upon their +little white noses and their eyes fleeing and mysterious beneath the +veils. + +“Quentin Compson,” Mrs Bland said, “What would your mother say? A young +man naturally gets into scrapes, but to be arrested on foot by a country +policeman. What did they think he’d done, Gerald?” + +“Nothing,” Gerald said. + +“Nonsense. What was it, you, Spoade?” + +“He was trying to kidnap that little dirty girl, but they caught him in +time,” Spoade said. + +“Nonsense,” Mrs Bland said, but her voice sort of died away and she +stared at me for a moment, and the girls drew their breaths in with a +soft concerted sound. “Fiddlesticks,” Mrs Bland said briskly, “If that +isn’t just like these ignorant lowclass Yankees. Get in, Quentin.” + +Shreve and I sat on two small collapsible seats. Gerald cranked the car +and got in and we started. + +“Now, Quentin, you tell me what all this foolishness is about,” Mrs +Bland said. I told them, Shreve hunched and furious on his little seat +and Spoade sitting again on the back of his neck beside Miss +Daingerfield. + +“And the joke is, all the time Quentin had us all fooled,” Spoade said. +“All the time we thought he was the model youth that anybody could trust +a daughter with, until the police showed him up at his nefarious work.” + +“Hush up, Spoade,” Mrs Bland said. We drove down the street and crossed +the bridge and passed the house where the pink garment hung in the +window. “That’s what you get for not reading my note. Why didnt you come +and get it? Mr MacKenzie says he told you it was there.” + +“Yessum. I intended to, but I never went back to the room.” + +“You’d have let us sit there waiting I dont know how long, if it hadnt +been for Mr MacKenzie. When he said you hadnt come back, that left an +extra place, so we asked him to come. We’re very glad to have you +anyway, Mr MacKenzie.” Shreve said nothing. His arms were folded and he +glared straight ahead past Gerald’s cap. It was a cap for motoring in +England. Mrs Bland said so. We passed that house, and three others, and +another yard where the little girl stood by the gate. She didnt have the +bread now, and her face looked like it had been streaked with coaldust. +I waved my hand, but she made no reply, only her head turned slowly as +the car passed, following us with her unwinking gaze. Then we ran beside +the wall, our shadows running along the wall, and after a while we +passed a piece of torn newspaper lying beside the road and I began to +laugh again. I could feel it in my throat and I looked off into the +trees where the afternoon slanted, thinking of afternoon and of the bird +and the boys in swimming. But still I couldnt stop it and then I knew +that if I tried too hard to stop it I’d be crying and I thought about +how I’d thought about I could not be a virgin, with so many of them +walking along in the shadows and whispering with their soft girlvoices +lingering in the shadowy places and the words coming out and perfume and +eyes you could feel not see, but if it was that simple to do it wouldnt +be anything and if it wasnt anything, what was I and then Mrs Bland +said, “Quentin? Is he sick, Mr MacKenzie?” and then Shreve’s fat hand +touched my knee and Spoade began talking and I quit trying to stop it. + +“If that hamper is in his way, Mr MacKenzie, move it over on your side. +I brought a hamper of wine because I think young gentlemen should drink +wine, although my father, Gerald’s grandfather” _ever do that Have you +ever done that In the grey darkness a little light her hands locked +about_ + +“They do, when they can get it,” Spoade said. “Hey, Shreve?” _her knees +her face looking at the sky the smell of honeysuckle upon her face and +throat_ + +“Beer, too,” Shreve said. His hand touched my knee again. I moved my +knee again. _like a thin wash of lilac coloured paint talking about him +bringing_ + +“You’re not a gentleman,” Spoade said. _him between us until the shape +of her blurred not with dark_ + +“No. I’m Canadian,” Shreve said. _talking about him the oar blades +winking him along winking the Cap made for motoring in England and all +time rushing beneath and they two blurred within the other forever more +he had been in the army had killed men_ + +“I adore Canada,” Miss Daingerfield said. “I think it’s marvellous.” + +“Did you ever drink perfume?” Spoade said. _with one hand he could lift +her to his shoulder and run with her running Running_ + +“No,” Shreve said. _running the beast with two backs and she blurred in +the winking oars running the swine of Euboeleus running coupled within +how many Caddy_ + +“Neither did I,” Spoade said. _I dont know too many there was +something terrible in me terrible in me Father I have committed Have you +ever done that We didnt we didnt do that did we do that_ + +“and Gerald’s grandfather always picked his own mint before breakfast, +while the dew was still on it. He wouldnt even let old Wilkie touch it +do you remember Gerald but always gathered it himself and made his own +julep. He was as crochety about his julep as an old maid, measuring +everything by a recipe in his head. There was only one man he ever gave +that recipe to; that was” _we did how can you not know it if youll just +wait I’ll tell you how it was it was a crime we did a terrible crime it +cannot be hid you think it can but wait Poor Quentin youve never done +that have you and I’ll tell you how it was I’ll tell Father then itll +have to be because you love Father then we’ll have to go away amid the +pointing and the horror the clean flame I’ll make you say we did I’m +stronger than you I’ll make you know we did you thought it was them but_ +_it was me listen I fooled you all the time it was me you thought I was +in the house where that damn honeysuckle trying not to think the swing +the cedars the secret surges the breathing locked drinking the wild +breath the yes Yes Yes yes_ “never be got to drink wine himself, but he +always said that a hamper what book did you read that in the one where +Geralds rowing suit of wine was a necessary part of any gentlemen’s +picnic basket” _did you love them Caddy did you love them When they +touched me I died_ + +one minute she was standing there the next he was yelling and pulling at +her dress they went into the hall and up the stairs yelling and shoving +at her up the stairs to the bathroom door and stopped her back against +the door and her arm across her face yelling and trying to shove her +into the bathroom when she came in to supper T. P. was feeding him he +started again just whimpering at first until she touched him then he +yelled she stood there her eyes like cornered rats then I was running in +the grey darkness it smelled of rain and all flower scents the damp warm +air released and crickets sawing away in the grass pacing me with a +small travelling island of silence Fancy watched me across the fence +blotchy like a quilt on a line I thought damn that nigger he forgot to +feed her again I ran down the hill in that vacuum of crickets like a +breath travelling across a mirror she was lying in the water her head on +the sand spit the water flowing about her hips there was a little more +light in the water her skirt half saturated flopped along her flanks to +the waters motion in heavy ripples going nowhere renewed themselves of +their own movement I stood on the bank I could smell the honeysuckle on +the water gap the air seemed to drizzle with honeysuckle and with the +rasping of crickets a substance you could feel on the flesh + +is Benjy still crying + +I dont know yes I dont know + +poor Benjy + +I sat down on the bank the grass was damp a little then I found my shoes +wet + +get out of that water are you crazy + +but she didnt move her face was a white blur framed out of the blur of +the sand by her hair + +get out now + +she sat up then she rose her skirt flopped against her draining she +climbed the bank her clothes flopping sat down + +why dont you wring it out do you want to catch cold + +yes + +the water sucked and gurgled across the sand spit and on in the dark +among the willows across the shallow the water rippled like a piece of +cloth holding still a little light as water does + +he’s crossed all the oceans all around the world + +then she talked about him clasping her wet knees her face tilted back in +the grey light the smell of honeysuckle there was a light in mothers +room and in Benjys where T. P. was putting him to bed + +do you love him + +her hand came out I didnt move it fumbled down my arm and she held my +hand flat against her chest her heart thudding + +no no + +did he make you then he made you do it let him he was stronger than you +and he tomorrow Ill kill him I swear I will father neednt know until +afterward and then you and I nobody need ever know we can take my school +money we can cancel my matriculation Caddy you hate him dont you dont +you + +she held my hand against her chest her heart thudding I turned and +caught her arm + +Caddy you hate him dont you + +she moved my hand up against her throat her heart was hammering there + +poor Quentin + +her face looked at the sky it was low so low that all smells and sounds +of night seemed to have been crowded down like under a slack tent +especially the honeysuckle it had got into my breathing it was on her +face and throat like paint her blood pounded against my hand I was +leaning on my other arm it began to jerk and jump and I had to pant to +get any air at all out of that thick grey honeysuckle + +yes I hate him I would die for him I’ve already died for him I die for +him over and over again everytime this goes + +when I lifted my hand I could still feel crisscrossed twigs and grass +burning into the palm + +poor Quentin + +she leaned back on her arms her hands locked about her knees + +youve never done that have you + +what done what + +that what I have what I did + +yes yes lots of times with lots of girls + +then I was crying her hand touched me again and I was crying against her +damp blouse then she lying on her back looking past my head into the sky +I could see a rim of white under her irises I opened my knife + +do you remember the day damuddy died when you sat down in the water in +your drawers + +yes + +I held the point of the knife at her throat + +it wont take but a second just a second then I can do mine I can do mine +then + +all right can you do yours by yourself + +yes the blades long enough Benjys in bed by now + +yes + +it wont take but a second Ill try not to hurt + +all right + +will you close your eyes + +no like this youll have to push it harder + +touch your hand to it + +but she didnt move her eyes were wide open looking past my head at the +sky + +Caddy do you remember how Dilsey fussed at you because your drawers were +muddy + +dont cry + +Im not crying Caddy + +push it are you going to + +do you want me to + +yes push it + +touch your hand to it + +dont cry poor Quentin + +but I couldnt stop she held my head against her damp hard breast I could +hear her heart going firm and slow now not hammering and the water +gurgling among the willows in the dark and waves of honeysuckle coming +up the air my arm and shoulder were twisted under me + +what is it what are you doing + +her muscles gathered I sat up + +its my knife I dropped it + +she sat up + +what time is it + +I dont know + +she rose to her feet I fumbled along the ground + +Im going let it go + +I could feel her standing there I could smell her damp clothes feeling +her there + +its right here somewhere + +let it go you can find it tomorrow come on + +wait a minute I’ll find it + +are you afraid to + +here it is it was right here all the time + +was it come on + +I got up and followed we went up the hill the crickets hushing before us + +its funny how you can sit down and drop something and have to hunt all +around for it + +the grey it was grey with dew slanting up into the grey sky then the +trees beyond + +damn that honeysuckle I wish it would stop + +you used to like it + +we crossed the crest and went on toward the trees she walked into me she +gave over a little the ditch was a black scar on the grey grass she +walked into me again she looked at me and gave over we reached the ditch + +lets go this way + +what for + +lets see if you can still see Nancys bones I havent thought to look in a +long time have you + +it was matted with vines and briers dark + +they were right here you cant tell whether you see them or not can you + +stop Quentin + +come on + +the ditch narrowed closed she turned toward the trees + +stop Quentin + +Caddy + +I got in front of her again + +Caddy + +stop it + +I held her + +Im stronger than you + +she was motionless hard unyielding but still + +I wont fight stop youd better stop + +Caddy dont Caddy + +it wont do any good dont you know it wont let me go + +the honeysuckle drizzled and drizzled I could hear the crickets watching +us in a circle she moved back went around me on toward the trees + +you go on back to the house you neednt come + +I went on + +why dont you go on back to the house + +damn that honeysuckle + +we reached the fence she crawled through I crawled through when I rose +from stooping he was coming out of the trees into the grey toward us +coming toward us tall and flat and still even moving like he was still +she went to him + +this is Quentin Im wet Im wet all over you dont have to if you dont want +to + +their shadows one shadow her head rose it was above his on the sky +higher their two heads + +you dont have to if you dont want to + +then not two heads the darkness smelled of rain of damp grass and leaves +the grey light drizzling like rain the honeysuckle coming up in damp +waves I could see her face a blur against his shoulder he held her in +one arm like she was no bigger than a child he extended his hand + +glad to know you + +we shook hands then we stood there her shadow high against his shadow +one shadow + +whatre you going to do Quentin + +walk a while I think Ill go through the woods to the road and come back +through town + +I turned away going + +goodnight + +Quentin + +I stopped + +what do you want + +in the woods the tree frogs were going smelling rain in the air they +sounded like toy music boxes that were hard to turn and the honeysuckle + +come here + +what do you want + +come here Quentin + +I went back she touched my shoulder leaning down her shadow the blur of +her face leaning down from his high shadow I drew back + +look out + +you go on home + +Im not sleepy Im going to take a walk + +wait for me at the branch + +Im going for a walk + +Ill be there soon wait for me you wait + +no Im going through the woods + +I didnt look back the tree frogs didnt pay me any mind the grey light +like moss in the trees drizzling but still it wouldnt rain after a while +I turned went back to the edge of the woods as soon as I got there I +began to smell honeysuckle again I could see the lights on the +courthouse clock and the glare of town the square on the sky and the +dark willows along the branch and the light in mothers windows the light +still on in Benjys room and I stooped through the fence and went across +the pasture running I ran in the grey grass among the crickets the +honeysuckle getting stronger and stronger and the smell of water then I +could see the water the colour of grey honeysuckle I lay down on the +bank with my face close to the ground so I couldnt smell the honeysuckle +I couldnt smell it then and I lay there feeling the earth going through +my clothes listening to the water and after a while I wasnt breathing so +hard and I lay there thinking that if I didnt move my face I wouldnt +have to breathe hard and smell it and then I wasnt thinking about +anything at all she came along the bank and stopped I didnt move + +its late you go on home + +what + +you go on home its late + +all right + +her clothes rustled I didnt move they stopped rustling + +are you going in like I told you + +I didnt hear anything + +Caddy + +yes I will if you want me to I will + +I sat up she was sitting on the ground her hands clasped about her knee + +go on to the house like I told you + +yes Ill do anything you want me to anything yes + +she didnt even look at me I caught her shoulder and shook her hard + +you shut up + +I shook her + +you shut up you shut up + +yes + +she lifted her face then I saw she wasnt even looking at me at all I +could see that white rim + +get up + +I pulled her she was limp I lifted her to her feet + +go on now + +was Benjy still crying when you left + +go on + +we crossed the branch the roof came in sight then the windows upstairs + +hes asleep now + +I had to stop and fasten the gate she went on in the grey light the +smell of rain and still it wouldnt rain and honeysuckle beginning to +come from the garden fence beginning she went into the shadow I could +hear her feet then + +Caddy + +I stopped at the steps I couldnt hear her feet + +Caddy + +I heard her feet then my hand touched her not warm not cool just still +her clothes a little damp still + +do you love him now + +not breathing except slow like far away breathing + +Caddy do you love him now + +I dont know + +outside the grey light the shadows of things like dead things in +stagnant water + +I wish you were dead + +do you you coming in now + +are you thinking about him now + +I dont know + +tell me what youre thinking about tell me + +stop stop Quentin + +you shut up you shut up you hear me you shut up are you going to shut up + +all right I will stop we’ll make too much noise + +Ill kill you do you hear + +lets go out to the swing theyll hear you here + +Im not crying do you say Im crying + +no hush now we’ll wake Benjy up + +you go on into the house go on now + +I am dont cry Im bad anyway you cant help it + +theres a curse on us its not our fault is it our fault + +hush come on and go to bed now + +you cant make me theres a curse on us + +finally I saw him he was just going into the barbershop he looked out I +went on and waited + +Ive been looking for you two or three days + +you wanted to see me + +Im going to see you + +he rolled the cigarette quickly with about two motions he struck the +match with his thumb + +we cant talk here suppose I meet you somewhere + +Ill come to your room are you at the hotel + +no thats not so good you know that bridge over the creek in there back +of + +yes all right + +at one oclock right + +yes + +I turned away + +Im obliged to you + +look + +I stopped looked back + +she all right + +he looked like he was made out of bronze his khaki shirt + +she need me for anything now + +I’ll be there at one + +she heard me tell T. P. to saddle Prince at one oclock she kept watching +me not eating much she came too + +what are you going to do + +nothing cant I go for a ride if I want to + +youre going to do something what is it + +none of your business whore whore + +T. P. had Prince at the side door + +I wont want him Im going to walk + +I went down the drive and out the gate I turned into the lane then I ran +before I reached the bridge I saw him leaning on the rail the horse was +hitched in the woods he looked over his shoulder then he turned his back +he didnt look up until I came onto the bridge and stopped he had a piece +of bark in his hands breaking pieces from it and dropping them over the +rail into the water + +I came to tell you to leave town + +he broke a piece of bark deliberately dropped it carefully into the +water watched it float away + +I said you must leave town + +he looked at me + +did she send you to me + +I say you must go not my father not anybody I say it + +listen save this for a while I want to know if shes all right have they +been bothering her up there + +thats something you dont need to trouble yourself about + +then I heard myself saying Ill give you until sundown to leave town + +he broke a piece of bark and dropped it into the water then he laid the +bark on the rail and rolled a cigarette with those two swift motions +spun the match over the rail + +what will you do if I dont leave + +Ill kill you dont think that just because I look like a kid to you + +the smoke flowed in two jets from his nostrils across his face + +how old are you + +I began to shake my hands were on the rail I thought if I hid them hed +know why + +Ill give you until tonight + +listen buddy whats your name Benjys the natural isnt he you are + +Quentin + +my mouth said it I didnt say it at all + +Ill give you till sundown + +Quentin + +he raked the cigarette ash carefully off against the rail he did it +slowly and carefully like sharpening a pencil my hands had quit shaking + +listen no good taking it so hard its not your fault kid it would have +been some other fellow + +did you ever have a sister did you + +no but theyre all bitches + +I hit him my open hand beat the impulse to shut it to his face his hand +moved as fast as mine the cigarette went over the rail I swung with the +other hand he caught it too before the cigarette reached the water he +held both my wrists in the same hand his other hand flicked to his +armpit under his coat behind him the sun slanted and a bird singing +somewhere beyond the sun we looked at one another while the bird singing +he turned my hands loose + +look here + +he took the bark from the rail and dropped it into the water it bobbed +up the current took it floated away his hand lay on the rail holding the +pistol loosely we waited + +you cant hit it now + +no + +it floated on it was quite still in the woods I heard the bird again and +the water afterward the pistol came up he didnt aim at all the bark +disappeared then pieces of it floated up spreading he hit two more of +them pieces of bark no bigger than silver dollars + +thats enough I guess + +he swung the cylinder out and blew into the barrel a thin wisp of smoke +dissolved he reloaded the three chambers shut the cylinder he handed it +to me butt first + +what for I wont try to beat that + +youll need it from what you said Im giving you this one because youve +seen what itll do + +to hell with your gun + +I hit him I was still trying to hit him long after he was holding my +wrists but I still tried then it was like I was looking at him through a +piece of coloured glass I could hear my blood and then I could see the +sky again and branches against it and the sun slanting through them and +he holding me on my feet + +did you hit me + +I couldnt hear + +what + +yes how do you feel + +all right let go + +he let me go I leaned against the rail + +do you feel all right + +let me alone Im all right + +can you make it home all right + +go on let me alone + +youd better not try to walk take my horse + +no you go on + +you can hang the reins on the pommel and turn him loose he’ll go back to +the stable + +let me alone you go on and let me alone + +I leaned on the rail looking at the water I heard him untie the horse +and ride off and after a while I couldnt hear anything but the water and +then the bird again I left the bridge and sat down with my back against +a tree and leaned my head against the tree and shut my eyes a patch of +sun came through and fell across my eyes and I moved a little further +around the tree I heard the bird again and the water and then everything +sort of rolled away and I didnt feel anything at all I felt almost good +after all those days and the nights with honeysuckle coming up out of +the darkness into my room where I was trying to sleep even when after a +while I knew that he hadnt hit me that he had lied about that for her +sake too and that I had just passed out like a girl but even that didnt +matter anymore and I sat there against the tree with little flecks of +sunlight brushing across my face like yellow leaves on a twig listening +to the water and not thinking about anything at all even when I heard +the horse coming fast I sat there with my eyes closed and heard its feet +bunch scuttering the hissing sand and feet running and her hard running +hands + +fool fool are you hurt + +I opened my eyes her hands running on my face + +I didnt know which way until I heard the pistol I didnt know where I +didnt think he and you running off slipping I didnt think he would have + +she held my face between her hands bumping my head against the tree + +stop stop that + +I caught her wrists + +quit that quit it + +I knew he wouldnt I knew he wouldnt + +she tried to bump my head against the tree + +I told him never to speak to me again I told him + +she tried to break her wrists free + +let me go + +stop it I’m stronger than you stop it now + +let me go Ive got to catch him and ask his let me go Quentin please let +me go let me go + +all at once she quit her wrists went lax + +yes I can tell him I can make him believe anytime I can make him + +Caddy + +she hadnt hitched Prince he was liable to strike out for home if the +notion took him + +anytime he will believe me + +do you love him Caddy + +do I what + +she looked at me then everything emptied out of her eyes and they looked +like the eyes in the statues blank and unseeing and serene + +put your hand against my throat + +she took my hand and held it flat against her throat + +now say his name + +Dalton Ames + +I felt the first surge of blood there it surged in strong accelerating +beats + +say it again + +her face looked off into the trees where the sun slanted and where the +bird + +say it again + +Dalton Ames + +her blood surged steadily beating and beating against my hand + +It kept on running for a long time, but my face felt cold and sort of +dead, and my eye, and the cut place on my finger was smarting again. I +could hear Shreve working the pump, then he came back with the basin and +a round blob of twilight wobbling in it, with a yellow edge like a +fading balloon, then my reflection. I tried to see my face in it. + +“Has it stopped?” Shreve said. “Give me the rag.” He tried to take it +from my hand. + +“Look out,” I said, “I can do it. Yes, it’s about stopped now.” I dipped +the rag again, breaking the balloon. The rag stained the water. “I wish +I had a clean one.” + +“You need a piece of beefsteak for that eye,” Shreve said. “Damn if you +wont have a shiner tomorrow. The son of a bitch,” he said. + +“Did I hurt him any?” I wrung out the handkerchief and tried to clean +the blood off of my vest. + +“You cant get that off,” Shreve said. “You’ll have to send it to the +cleaner’s. Come on, hold it on your eye, why dont you.” + +“I can get some of it off,” I said. But I wasn’t doing much good. “What +sort of shape is my collar in?” + +“I dont know,” Shreve said. “Hold it against your eye. Here.” + +“Look out,” I said. “I can do it. Did I hurt him any?” + +“You may have hit him. I may have looked away just then or blinked or +something. He boxed the hell out of you. He boxed you all over the +place. What did you want to fight him with your fists for? You goddamn +fool. How do you feel?” + +“I feel fine,” I said. “I wonder if I can get something to clean my +vest.” + +“Oh, forget your damn clothes. Does your eye hurt?” + +“I feel fine,” I said. Everything was sort of violet and still, the sky +green paling into gold beyond the gable of the house and a plume of +smoke rising from the chimney without any wind. I heard the pump again. +A man was filling a pail, watching us across his pumping shoulder. A +woman crossed the door, but she didnt look out. I could hear a cow +lowing somewhere. + +“Come on,” Shreve said, “Let your clothes alone and put that rag on your +eye. I’ll send your suit out first thing tomorrow.” + +“All right. I’m sorry I didn’t bleed on him a little, at least.” + +“Son of a bitch,” Shreve said. Spoade came out of the house, talking to +the woman I reckon, and crossed the yard. He looked at me with his cold, +quizzical eyes. + +“Well, bud,” he said, looking at me, “I’ll be damned if you dont go to a +lot of trouble to have your fun. Kidnapping, then fighting. What do you +do on your holidays? burn houses?” + +“I’m all right,” I said. “What did Mrs Bland say?” + +“She’s giving Gerald hell for bloodying you up. She’ll give you hell for +letting him, when she sees you. She dont object to the fighting, it’s +the blood that annoys her. I think you lost caste with her a little by +not holding your blood better. How do you feel?” + +“Sure,” Shreve said, “If you cant be a Bland, the next best thing is to +commit adultery with one or get drunk and fight him, as the case may +be.” + +“Quite right,” Spoade said. “But I didnt know Quentin was drunk.” + +“He wasnt,” Shreve said. “Do you have to be drunk to want to hit that +son of a bitch?” + +“Well, I think I’d have to be pretty drunk to try it, after seeing how +Quentin came out. Where’d he learn to box?” + +“He’s been going to Mike’s every day, over in town,” I said. + +“He has?” Spoade said. “Did you know that when you hit him?” + +“I dont know,” I said. “I guess so. Yes.” + +“Wet it again,” Shreve said. “Want some fresh water?” + +“This is all right,” I said. I dipped the cloth again and held it to my +eye. “Wish I had something to clean my vest.” Spoade was still watching +me. + +“Say,” he said, “What did you hit him for? What was it he said?” + +“I dont know. I dont know why I did.” + +“The first I knew was when you jumped up all of a sudden and said, ‘Did +you ever have a sister? Did you?’ and when he said No, you hit him. I +noticed you kept on looking at him, but you didnt seem to be paying any +attention to what anybody was saying until you jumped up and asked him +if he had any sisters.” + +“Ah, he was blowing off as usual,” Shreve said, “about his women. You +know: like he does, before girls, so they dont know exactly what he’s +saying. All his damn innuendo and lying and a lot of stuff that dont +make sense even. Telling us about some wench that he made a date with to +meet at a dance hall in Atlantic City and stood her up and went to the +hotel and went to bed and how he lay there being sorry for her waiting +on the pier for him, without him there to give her what she wanted. +Talking about the body’s beauty and the sorry ends thereof and how tough +women have it, without anything else they can do except lie on their +backs. Leda lurking in the bushes, whimpering and moaning for the swan, +see. The son of a bitch. I’d hit him myself. Only I’d grabbed up her +damn hamper of wine and done it if it had been me.” + +“Oh,” Spoade said, “the champion of dames. Bud, you excite not only +admiration, but horror.” He looked at me, cold and quizzical. “Good +God,” he said. + +“I’m sorry I hit him,” I said. “Do I look too bad to go back and get it +over with?” + +“Apologies, hell,” Shreve said, “Let them go to hell. We’re going to +town.” + +“He ought to go back so they’ll know he fights like a gentleman,” Spoade +said. “Gets licked like one, I mean.” + +“Like this?” Shreve said, “With his clothes all over blood?” + +“Why, all right,” Spoade said, “You know best.” + +“He cant go around in his undershirt,” Shreve said, “He’s not a senior +yet. Come on, let’s go to town.” + +“You neednt come,” I said. “You go on back to the picnic.” + +“Hell with them,” Shreve said. “Come on here.” + +“What’ll I tell them?” Spoade said. “Tell them you and Quentin had a +fight too?” + +“Tell them nothing,” Shreve said. “Tell her her option expired at +sunset. Come on, Quentin. I’ll ask that woman where the nearest +interurban—” + +“No,” I said, “I’m not going back to town.” + +Shreve stopped, looking at me. Turning, his glasses looked like small +yellow moons. + +“What are you going to do?” + +“I’m not going back to town yet. You go on back to the picnic. Tell them +I wouldnt come back because my clothes were spoiled.” + +“Look here,” he said, “What are you up to?” + +“Nothing. I’m all right. You and Spoade go on back. I’ll see you +tomorrow.” I went on across the yard, toward the road. + +“Do you know where the station is?” Shreve said. + +“I’ll find it. I’ll see you all tomorrow. Tell Mrs Bland I’m sorry I +spoiled her party.” They stood watching me. I went around the house. A +rock path went down to the road. Roses grew on both sides of the path. I +went through the gate, onto the road. It dropped downhill, toward the +woods, and I could make out the auto beside the road. I went up the +hill. The light increased as I mounted, and before I reached the top I +heard a car. It sounded far away across the twilight and I stopped and +listened to it. I couldnt make out the auto any longer, but Shreve was +standing in the road before the house, looking up the hill. Behind him +the yellow light lay like a wash of paint on the roof of the house. I +lifted my hand and went on over the hill, listening to the car. Then the +house was gone and I stopped in the green and yellow light and heard the +car growing louder and louder, until just as it began to die away it +ceased all together. I waited until I heard it start again. Then I went +on. + +As I descended the light dwindled slowly, yet at the same time without +altering its quality, as if I and not light were changing, decreasing, +though even when the road ran into trees you could have read a +newspaper. Pretty soon I came to a lane. I turned into it. It was closer +and darker than the road, but when it came out at the trolley +stop—another wooden marquee—the light was still unchanged. After the +lane it seemed brighter, as though I had walked through night in the +lane and come out into morning again. Pretty soon the car came. I got on +it, they turning to look at my eye, and found a seat on the left side. + +The lights were on in the car, so while we ran between trees I couldnt +see anything except my own face and a woman across the aisle with a hat +sitting right on top of her head, with a broken feather in it, but when +we ran out of the trees I could see the twilight again, that quality of +light as if time really had stopped for a while, with the sun hanging +just under the horizon, and then we passed the marquee where the old man +had been eating out of the sack, and the road going on under the +twilight, into twilight and the sense of water peaceful and swift +beyond. Then the car went on, the draught building steadily up in the +open door until it was drawing steadily through the car with the odour +of summer and darkness except honeysuckle. Honeysuckle was the saddest +odour of all, I think. I remember lots of them. Wistaria was one. On the +rainy days when Mother wasnt feeling quite bad enough to stay away from +the windows we used to play under it. When Mother stayed in bed Dilsey +would put old clothes on us and let us go out in the rain because she +said rain never hurt young folks. But if Mother was up we always began +by playing on the porch until she said we were making too much noise, +then we went out and played under the wistaria frame. + +This was where I saw the river for the last time this morning, about +here. I could feel water beyond the twilight, smell. When it bloomed in +the spring and it rained the smell was everywhere you didnt notice it so +much at other times but when it rained the smell began to come into the +house at twilight either it would rain more at twilight or there was +something in the light itself but it always smelled strongest then until +I would lie in bed thinking when will it stop when will it stop. The +draft in the door smelled of water, a damp steady breath. Sometimes I +could put myself to sleep saying that over and over until after the +honeysuckle got all mixed up in it the whole thing came to symbolise +night and unrest I seemed to be lying neither asleep nor awake looking +down a long corridor of grey halflight where all stable things had +become shadowy paradoxical all I had done shadows all I had felt +suffered taking visible form antic and perverse mocking without +relevance inherent themselves with the denial of the significance they +should have affirmed thinking I was I was not who was not was not who. + +I could smell the curves of the river beyond the dusk and I saw the last +light supine and tranquil upon tideflats like pieces of broken mirror, +then beyond them lights began in the pale clear air, trembling a little +like butterflies hovering a long way off. Benjamin the child of. How he +used to sit before that mirror. Refuge unfailing in which conflict +tempered silenced reconciled. Benjamin the child of mine old age held +hostage into Egypt. O Benjamin. Dilsey said it was because Mother was +too proud for him. They come into white people’s lives like that in +sudden sharp black trickles that isolate white facts for an instant in +unarguable truth like under a microscope; the rest of the time just +voices that laugh when you see nothing to laugh at, tears when no reason +for tears. They will bet on the odd or even number of mourners at a +funeral. A brothel full of them in Memphis went into a religious trance +ran naked into the street. It took three policemen to subdue one of +them. Yes Jesus O good man Jesus O that good man. + +The car stopped. I got out, with them looking at my eye. When the +trolley came it was full. I stopped on the back platform. + +“Seats up front,” the conductor said. I looked into the car. There were +no seats on the left side. + +“I’m not going far,” I said. “I’ll just stand here.” + +We crossed the river. The bridge, that is, arching slow and high into +space, between silence and nothingness where lights—yellow and red and +green—trembled in the clear air, repeating themselves. + +“Better go up front and get a seat,” the conductor said. + +“I get off pretty soon,” I said. “A couple of blocks.” + +I got off before we reached the postoffice. They’d all be sitting around +somewhere by now though, and then I was hearing my watch and I began to +listen for the chimes and I touched Shreve’s letter through my coat, the +bitten shadows of the elms flowing upon my hand. And then as I turned +into the quad the chimes did begin and I went on while the notes came up +like ripples on a pool and passed me and went on, saying Quarter to +what? All right. Quarter to what. + +Our windows were dark. The entrance was empty. I walked close to the +left wall when I entered, but it was empty: just the stairs curving up +into shadows echoes of feet in the sad generations like light dust upon +the shadows, my feet waking them like dust, lightly to settle again. + +I could see the letter before I turned the light on, propped against a +book on the table so I would see it. Calling him my husband. And then +Spoade said they were going somewhere, would not be back until late, and +Mrs Bland would need another cavalier. But I would have seen him and he +cannot get another car for an hour because after six oclock. I took out +my watch and listened to it clicking away, not knowing it couldnt even +lie. Then I laid it face up on the table and took Mrs Bland’s letter and +tore it across and dropped the pieces into the waste basket and took off +my coat, vest, collar, tie and shirt. The tie was spoiled too, but then +niggers. Maybe a pattern of blood he could call that the one Christ was +wearing. I found the gasoline in Shreve’s room and spread the vest on +the table, where it would be flat, and opened the gasoline. + +_the first car in town a girl Girl that’s what Jason couldn’t bear smell +of gasoline making him sick then got madder than ever because a girl +Girl had no sister but Benjamin Benjamin the child of my sorrowful if +I’d just had a mother so I could say Mother Mother_ It took a lot of +gasoline, and then I couldnt tell if it was still the stain or just the +gasoline. It had started the cut to smarting again so when I went to +wash I hung the vest on a chair and lowered the light cord so that the +bulb would be drying the splotch. I washed my face and hands, but even +then I could smell it within the soap stinging, constricting the +nostrils a little. Then I opened the bag and took the shirt and collar +and tie out and put the bloody ones in and closed the bag, and dressed. +While I was brushing my hair the half hour went. But there was until the +three quarters anyway, except suppose _seeing on the rushing darkness +only his own face no broken feather unless two of them but not two like +that going to Boston the same night then my face his face for an instant +across the crashing when out of darkness two lighted windows in rigid +fleeing crash gone his face and mine just I see saw did I see not +goodbye the marquee empty of eating the road empty in darkness in +silence the bridge arching into silence darkness sleep the water +peaceful and swift not goodbye_ + +I turned out the light and went into my bedroom, out of the gasoline but +I could still smell it. I stood at the window the curtains moved slow +out of the darkness touching my face like someone breathing asleep, +breathing slow into the darkness again, leaving the touch. _After they +had gone up stairs Mother lay back in her chair, the camphor +handkerchief to her mouth. Father hadn’t moved he still sat beside her +holding her hand the bellowing hammering away like no place for it in +silence_ When I was little there was a picture in one of our books, a +dark place into which a single weak ray of light came slanting upon two +faces lifted out of the shadow. _You know what I’d do if I were King?_ +she never was a queen or a fairy she was always a king or a giant or a +general _I’d break that place open and drag them out and I’d whip them +good_ It was torn out, jagged out. I was glad. I’d have to turn back to +it until the dungeon was Mother herself she and Father upward into weak +light holding hands and us lost somewhere below even them without even a +ray of light. Then the honeysuckle got into it. As soon as I turned off +the light and tried to go to sleep it would begin to come into the room +in waves building and building up until I would have to pant to get any +air at all out of it until I would have to get up and feel my way like +when I was a little boy _hands can see touching in the mind shaping +unseen door Door now nothing hands can see_ My nose could see gasoline, +the vest on the table, the door. The corridor was still empty of all the +feet in sad generations seeking water. _yet the eyes unseeing clenched +like teeth not disbelieving doubting even the absence of pain shin ankle +knee the long invisible flowing of the stair-railing where a misstep in +the darkness filled with sleeping Mother Father Caddy Jason Maury door I +am not afraid only Mother Father Caddy Jason Maury getting so far ahead +sleeping I will sleep fast when I door Door door_ It was empty too, the +pipes, the porcelain, the stained quiet walls, the throne of +contemplation. I had forgotten the glass, but I could _hands can see +cooling fingers invisible swan-throat where less than Moses rod the +glass touch tentative not to drumming lean cool throat drumming cooling +the metal the glass full overfull cooling the glass the fingers flushing +sleep leaving the taste of dampened sleep in the long silence of the +throat_ I returned up the corridor, waking the lost feet in whispering +battalions in the silence, into the gasoline, the watch telling its +furious lie on the dark table. Then the curtains breathing out of the +dark upon my face, leaving the breathing upon my face. A quarter hour +yet. And then I’ll not be. The peacefullest words. Peacefullest words. +_Non fui. Sum. Fui. Nom sum._ Somewhere I heard bells once. Mississippi +or Massachusetts. I was. I am not. Massachusetts or Mississippi. Shreve +has a bottle in his trunk. _Aren’t you even going to open it_ Mr and Mrs +Jason Richmond Compson announce the _Three times. Days. Aren’t you even +going to open it_ marriage of their daughter Candace _that liquor +teaches you to confuse the means with the end_. I am. Drink. I was not. +Let us sell Benjy’s pasture so that Quentin may go to Harvard and I may +knock my bones together and together. I will be dead in. Was it one year +Caddy said. Shreve has a bottle in his trunk. Sir I will not need +Shreve’s I have sold Benjy’s pasture and I can be dead in Harvard Caddy +said in the caverns and the grottoes of the sea tumbling peacefully to +the wavering tides because Harvard is such a fine sound forty acres is +no high price for a fine sound. A find dead sound we will swap Benjy’s +pasture for a fine dead sound. It will last him a long time because he +cannot hear it unless he can smell it _as soon as she came in the door +he began to cry_ I thought all the time it was just one of those town +squirts that Father was always teasing her about until. I didnt notice +him any more than any other stranger drummer or what thought they were +army shirts until all of a sudden I knew he wasn’t thinking of me at all +as a potential source of harm, but was thinking of her when he looked at +me was looking at me through her like through a piece of coloured glass +_why must you meddle with me dont you know it wont do any good I thought +you’d have left that for Mother and Jason_ + +_did Mother set Jason to spy on you_ I wouldnt have. + +_Women only use other people’s codes of honour it’s because she loves +Caddy_ staying downstairs even when she was sick so Father couldnt kid +Uncle Maury before Jason Father said Uncle Maury was too poor a +classicist to risk the blind immortal boy in person he should have +chosen Jason because Jason would have made only the same kind of blunder +Uncle Maury himself would have made not one to get him a black eye the +Patterson boy was smaller than Jason too they sold the kites for a +nickel apiece until the trouble over finances Jason got a new partner +still smaller one small enough anyway because T. P. said Jason still +treasurer but Father said why should Uncle Maury work if he father could +support five or six niggers that did nothing at all but sit with their +feet in the oven he certainly could board and lodge Uncle Maury now and +then and lend him a little money who kept his Father’s belief in the +celestial derivation of his own species at such a fine heat then Mother +would cry and say that Father believed his people were better than hers +that he was ridiculing Uncle Maury to teach us the same thing she +couldnt see that Father was teaching us that all men are just +accumulations dolls stuffed with sawdust swept up from the trash heaps +where all previous dolls had been thrown away the sawdust flowing from +what wound in what side that not for me died not. It used to be I +thought of death as a man something like Grandfather a friend of his a +kind of private and particular friend like we used to think of +Grandfather’s desk not to touch it not even to talk loud in the room +where it was I always thought of them as being together somewhere all +the time waiting for old Colonel Sartoris to come down and sit with them +waiting on a high place beyond cedar trees Colonel Sartoris was on a +still higher place looking out across at something and they were waiting +for him to get done looking at it and come down Grandfather wore his +uniform and we could hear the murmur of their voices from beyond the +cedars they were always talking and Grandfather was always right + +The three quarters began. The first note sounded, measured and tranquil, +serenely peremptory, emptying the unhurried silence for the next one and +that’s it if people could only change one another forever that way merge +like a flame swirling up for an instant then blown cleanly out along the +cool eternal dark instead of lying there trying not to think of the +swing until all cedars came to have that vivid dead smell of perfume +that Benjy hated so. Just by imagining the clump it seemed to me that I +could hear whispers secret surges smell the beating of hot blood under +wild unsecret flesh watching against red eyelids the swine untethered in +pairs rushing coupled into the sea and he we must just stay awake and +see evil done for a little while its not always and i it doesnt have to +be even that long for a man of courage and he do you consider that +courage and i yes sir dont you and he every man is the arbiter of his +own virtues whether or not you consider it courageous is of more +importance than the act itself than any act otherwise you could not be +in earnest and i you dont believe i am serious and he i think you are +too serious to give me any cause for alarm you wouldn’t have felt driven +to the expedient of telling me you have committed incest otherwise and i +i wasnt lying i wasnt lying and he you wanted to sublimate a piece of +natural human folly into a horror and then exorcise it with truth and i +it was to isolate her out of the loud world so that it would have to +flee us of necessity and then the sound of it would be as though it had +never been and he did you try to make her do it and i i was afraid to i +was afraid she might and then it wouldnt have done any good but if i +could tell you we did it would have been so and then the others wouldnt +be so and then the world would roar away and he and now this other you +are not lying now either but you are still blind to what is in yourself +to that part of general truth the sequence of natural events and their +causes which shadows every mans brow even benjys you are not thinking of +finitude you are contemplating an apotheosis in which a temporary state +of mind will become symmetrical above the flesh and aware both of itself +and of the flesh it will not quite discard you will not even be dead and +i temporary and he you cannot bear to think that someday it will no +longer hurt you like this now were getting at it you seem to regard it +merely as an experience that will whiten your hair overnight so to speak +without altering your appearance at all you wont do it under these +conditions it will be a gamble and the strange thing is that man who is +conceived by accident and whose every breath is a fresh cast with dice +already loaded against him will not face that final main which he knows +before hand he has assuredly to face without essaying expedients ranging +all the way from violence to petty chicanery that would not deceive a +child until someday in very disgust he risks everything on a single +blind turn of a card no man ever does that under the first fury of +despair or remorse or bereavement he does it only when he has realised +that even the despair or remorse or bereavement is not particularly +important to the dark diceman and i temporary and he it is hard +believing to think that a love or a sorrow is a bond purchased without +design and which matures willynilly and is recalled without warning to +be replaced by whatever issue the gods happen to be floating at the time +no you will not do that until you come to believe that even she was not +quite worth despair perhaps and i i will never do that nobody knows what +i know and he i think youd better go on up to cambridge right away you +might go up into maine for a month you can afford it if you are careful +it might be a good thing watching pennies has healed more scars than +jesus and i suppose i realise what you believe i will realise up there +next week or next month and he then you will remember that for you to go +to harvard has been your mothers dream since you were born and no +compson has ever disappointed a lady and i temporary it will be better +for me for all of us and he every man is the arbiter of his own virtues +but let no man prescribe for another mans wellbeing and i temporary and +he was the saddest word of all there is nothing else in the world its +not despair until time its not even time until it was + +The last note sounded. At last it stopped vibrating and the darkness was +still again. I entered the sitting room and turned on the light. I put +my vest on. The gasoline was faint now, barely noticeable, and in the +mirror the stain didnt show. Not like my eye did, anyway. I put on my +coat. Shreve’s letter crackled through the cloth and I took it out and +examined the address, and put it in my side pocket. Then I carried the +watch into Shreve’s room and put it in his drawer and went to my room +and got a fresh handkerchief and went to the door and put my hand on the +light switch. Then I remembered I hadnt brushed my teeth, so I had to +open the bag again. I found my toothbrush and got some of Shreve’s paste +and went out and brushed my teeth. I squeezed the brush as dry as I +could and put it back in the bag and shut it, and went to the door +again. Before I snapped the light out I looked around to see if there +was anything else, then I saw that I had forgotten my hat. I’d have to +go by the postoffice and I’d be sure to meet some of them, and they’d +think I was a Harvard Square student making like he was a senior. I had +forgotten to brush it too, but Shreve had a brush, so I didnt have to +open the bag any more. + + + + + APRIL SIXTH, 1928 + + +Once a bitch always a bitch, what I say. I says you’re lucky if her +playing out of school is all that worries you. I says she ought to be +down there in that kitchen right now, instead of up there in her room, +gobbing paint on her face and waiting for six niggers that cant even +stand up out of a chair unless they’ve got a pan full of bread and meat +to balance them, to fix breakfast for her. And Mother says, + +“But to have the school authorities think that I have no control over +her, that I cant—” + +“Well,” I says, “You cant, can you? You never have tried to do anything +with her,” I says, “How do you expect to begin this late, when she’s +seventeen years old?” + +She thought about that for a while. + +“But to have them think that . . . I didn’t even know she had a report +card. She told me last fall that they had quit using them this year. And +now for Professor Junkin to call me on the telephone and tell me if +she’s absent one more time, she will have to leave school. How does she +do it? Where does she go? You’re down town all day; you ought to see her +if she stays on the streets.” + +“Yes,” I says, “If she stayed on the streets. I dont reckon she’d be +playing out of school just to do something she could do in public,” I +says. + +“What do you mean?” she says. + +“I dont mean anything,” I says. “I just answered your question.” Then +she begun to cry again, talking about how her own flesh and blood rose +up to curse her. + +“You asked me,” I says. + +“I dont mean you,” she says. “You are the only one of them that isn’t a +reproach to me.” + +“Sure,” I says, “I never had time to be. I never had time to go to +Harvard like Quentin or drink myself into the ground like Father. I had +to work. But of course if you want me to follow her around and see what +she does, I can quit the store and get a job where I can work at night. +Then I can watch her during the day and you can use Ben for the night +shift.” + +“I know I’m just a trouble and a burden to you,” she says, crying on the +pillow. + +“I ought to know it,” I says. “You’ve been telling me that for thirty +years. Even Ben ought to know it now. Do you want me to say anything to +her about it?” + +“Do you think it will do any good?” she says. + +“Not if you come down there interfering just when I get started,” I +says. “If you want me to control her, just say so and keep your hands +off. Everytime I try to, you come butting in and then she gives both of +us the laugh.” + +“Remember she’s your own flesh and blood,” she says. + +“Sure,” I says, “that’s just what I’m thinking of—flesh. And a little +blood too, if I had my way. When people act like niggers, no matter who +they are the only thing to do is treat them like a nigger.” + +“I’m afraid you’ll lose your temper with her,” she says. + +“Well,” I says, “You haven’t had much luck with your system. You want me +to do anything about it, or not? Say one way or the other; I’ve got to +get on to work.” + +“I know you have to slave your life away for us,” she says. “You know if +I had my way, you’d have an office of your own to go to, and hours that +became a Bascomb. Because you are a Bascomb, despite your name. I know +that if your father could have forseen—” + +“Well,” I says, “I reckon he’s entitled to guess wrong now and then, +like anybody else, even a Smith or a Jones.” She begun to cry again. + +“To hear you speak bitterly of your dead father,” she says. + +“All right,” I says, “all right. Have it your way. But as I haven’t got +an office, I’ll have to get on to what I have got. Do you want me to say +anything to her?” + +“I’m afraid you’ll lose your temper with her,” she says. + +“All right,” I says, “I wont say anything, then.” + +“But something must be done,” she says. “To have people think I permit +her to stay out of school and run about the streets, or that I cant +prevent her doing it. . . . Jason, Jason,” she says, “How could you. How +could you leave me with these burdens.” + +“Now, now,” I says, “You’ll make yourself sick. Why dont you either lock +her up all day too, or turn her over to me and quit worrying over her?” + +“My own flesh and blood,” she says, crying. So I says, + +“All right. I’ll tend to her. Quit crying, now.” + +“Dont lose your temper,” she says. “She’s just a child, remember.” + +“No,” I says, “I wont.” I went out, closing the door. + +“Jason,” she says. I didn’t answer. I went down the hall. “Jason,” she +says beyond the door. I went on down stairs. There wasn’t anybody in the +diningroom, then I heard her in the kitchen. She was trying to make +Dilsey let her have another cup of coffee. I went in. + +“I reckon that’s your school costume, is it?” I says. “Or maybe today’s +a holiday?” + +“Just a half a cup, Dilsey,” she says. “Please.” + +“No, suh,” Dilsey says, “I aint gwine do it. You aint got no business +wid mo’n one cup, a seventeen year old gal, let lone whut Miss Cahline +say. You go on and git dressed for school, so you kin ride to town wid +Jason. You fixin to be late again.” + +“No she’s not,” I says. “We’re going to fix that right now.” She looked +at me, the cup in her hand. She brushed her hair back from her face, her +kimono slipping off her shoulder. “You put that cup down and come in +here a minute,” I says. + +“What for?” she says. + +“Come on,” I says. “Put that cup in the sink and come in here.” + +“What you up to now, Jason?” Dilsey says. + +“You may think you can run over me like you do your grandmother and +everybody else,” I says, “But you’ll find out different. I’ll give you +ten seconds to put that cup down like I told you.” + +She quit looking at me. She looked at Dilsey. “What time is it, Dilsey?” +she says. “When it’s ten seconds, you whistle. Just a half a cup. +Dilsey, pl—” + +I grabbed her by the arm. She dropped the cup. It broke on the floor and +she jerked back, looking at me, but I held her arm. Dilsey got up from +her chair. + +“You, Jason,” she says. + +“You turn me loose,” Quentin says, “I’ll slap you.” + +“You will, will you?” I says, “You will will you?” She slapped at me. I +caught that hand too and held her like a wildcat. “You will, will you?” +I says. “You think you will?” + +“You, Jason!” Dilsey says. I dragged her into the diningroom. Her kimono +came unfastened, flapping about her, damn near naked. Dilsey came +hobbling along. I turned and kicked the door shut in her face. + +“You keep out of here,” I says. + +Quentin was leaning against the table, fastening her kimono. I looked at +her. + +“Now,” I says, “I want to know what you mean, playing out of school and +telling your grandmother lies and forging her name on your report and +worrying her sick. What do you mean by it?” + +She didn’t say anything. She was fastening her kimono up under her chin, +pulling it tight around her, looking at me. She hadn’t got around to +painting herself yet and her face looked like she had polished it with a +gun rag. I went and grabbed her wrist. “What do you mean?” I says. + +“None of your damn business,” she says. “You turn me loose.” + +Dilsey came in the door. “You, Jason,” she says. + +“You get out of here, like I told you,” I says, not even looking back. +“I want to know where you go when you play out of school,” I says. “You +keep off the streets, or I’d see you. Who do you play out with? Are you +hiding out in the woods with one of those damn slick-headed jellybeans? +Is that where you go?” + +“You—you old goddamn!” she says. She fought, but I held her. “You damn +old goddamn!” she says. + +“I’ll show you,” I says. “You may can scare an old woman off, but I’ll +show you who’s got hold of you now.” I held her with one hand, then she +quit fighting and watched me, her eyes getting wide and black. + +“What are you going to do?” she says. + +“You wait until I get this belt out and I’ll show you,” I says, pulling +my belt out. Then Dilsey grabbed my arm. + +“Jason,” she says, “You, Jason! Aint you shamed of yourself.” + +“Dilsey,” Quentin says, “Dilsey.” + +“I aint gwine let him,” Dilsey says, “Dont you worry, honey.” She held +to my arm. Then the belt came out and I jerked loose and flung her away. +She stumbled into the table. She was so old she couldn’t do any more +than move hardly. But that’s all right: we need somebody in the kitchen +to eat up the grub the young ones cant tote off. She came hobbling +between us, trying to hold me again. “Hit me, den,” she says, “ef nothin +else but hittin somebody wont do you. Hit me,” she says. + +“You think I wont?” I says. + +“I dont put no devilment beyond you,” she says. Then I heard Mother on +the stairs. I might have known she wasn’t going to keep out of it. I let +go. She stumbled back against the wall, holding her kimono shut. + +“All right,” I says, “We’ll just put this off a while. But dont think +you can run it over me. I’m not an old woman, nor an old half dead +nigger, either. You damn little slut,” I says. + +“Dilsey,” she says, “Dilsey, I want my mother.” + +Dilsey went to her. “Now, now,” she says, “He aint gwine so much as lay +his hand on you while Ise here.” Mother came on down the stairs. + +“Jason,” she says, “Dilsey.” + +“Now, now,” Dilsey says, “I aint gwine let him tech you.” She put her +hand on Quentin. She knocked it down. + +“You damn old nigger,” she says. She ran toward the door. + +“Dilsey,” Mother says on the stairs. Quentin ran up the stairs, passing +her. “Quentin,” Mother says, “You, Quentin.” Quentin ran on. I could +hear her when she reached the top, then in the hall. Then the door +slammed. + +Mother had stopped. Then she came on. “Dilsey,” she says. + +“All right,” Dilsey says, “Ise comin. You go on and git dat car and wait +now,” she says, “so you kin cahy her to school.” + +“Dont you worry,” I says. “I’ll take her to school and I’m going to see +that she stays there. I’ve started this thing, and I’m going through +with it.” + +“Jason,” Mother says on the stairs. + +“Go on, now,” Dilsey says, going toward the door. “You want to git her +started too? Ise comin, Miss Cahline.” + +I went on out. I could hear them on the steps. “You go on back to bed +now,” Dilsey was saying, “Dont you know you aint feeling well enough to +git up yet? Go on back, now. I’m gwine to see she gits to school in +time.” + +I went on out the back to back the car out, then I had to go all the way +round to the front before I found them. + +“I thought I told you to put that tire on the back of the car,” I says. + +“I aint had time,” Luster says. “Aint nobody to watch him till mammy git +done in de kitchen.” + +“Yes,” I says, “I feed a whole damn kitchen full of niggers to follow +around after him, but if I want an automobile tire changed, I have to do +it myself.” + +“I aint had nobody to leave him wid,” he says. Then he begun moaning and +slobbering. + +“Take him on round to the back,” I says. “What the hell makes you want +to keep him around here where people can see him?” I made them go on, +before he got started bellowing good. It’s bad enough on Sundays, with +that damn field full of people that haven’t got a side show and six +niggers to feed, knocking a damn oversize mothball around. He’s going to +keep on running up and down that fence and bellowing every time they +come in sight until first thing I know they’re going to begin charging +me golf dues, then Mother and Dilsey’ll have to get a couple of china +door knobs and a walking stick and work it out, unless I play at night +with a lantern. Then they’d send us all to Jackson, maybe. God knows, +they’d hold Old Home week when that happened. + +I went on back to the garage. There was the tire, leaning against the +wall, but be damned if I was going to put it on. I backed out and turned +around. She was standing by the drive. I says, + +“I know you haven’t got any books: I just want to ask you what you did +with them, if it’s any of my business. Of course I haven’t got any right +to ask,” I says, “I’m just the one that paid $11.65 for them last +September.” + +“Mother buys my books,” she says. “There’s not a cent of your money on +me. I’d starve first.” + +“Yes?” I says. “You tell your grandmother that and see what she says. +You dont look all the way naked,” I says, “even if that stuff on your +face does hide more of you than anything else you’ve got on.” + +“Do you think your money or hers either paid for a cent of this?” she +says. + +“Ask your grandmother,” I says. “Ask her what became of those checks. +You saw her burn one of them, as I remember.” She wasn’t even listening, +with her face all gummed up with paint and her eyes hard as a fice +dog’s. + +“Do you know what I’d do if I thought your money or hers either bought +one cent of this?” she says, putting her hand on her dress. + +“What would you do?” I says, “Wear a barrel?” + +“I’d tear it right off and throw it into the street,” she says. “Dont +you believe me?” + +“Sure you would,” I says. “You do it every time.” + +“See if I wouldn’t,” She says. She grabbed the neck of her dress in both +hands and made like she would tear it. + +“You tear that dress,” I says, “And I’ll give you a whipping right here +that you’ll remember all your life.” + +“See if I dont,” she says. Then I saw that she really was trying to tear +it, to tear it right off of her. By the time I got the car stopped and +grabbed her hands there was about a dozen people looking. It made me so +mad for a minute it kind of blinded me. + +“You do a thing like that again and I’ll make you sorry you ever drew +breath,” I says. + +“I’m sorry now,” she says. She quit, then her eyes turned kind of funny +and I says to myself if you cry here in this car, on the street, I’ll +whip you. I’ll wear you out. Lucky for her she didn’t, so I turned her +wrists loose and drove on. Luckily we were near an alley, where I could +turn into the back street and dodge the square. They were already +putting the tent up in Beard’s lot. Earl had already given me the two +passes for our show windows. She sat there with her face turned away, +chewing her lip. “I’m sorry now,” she says. “I dont see why I was ever +born.” + +“And I know of at least one other person that dont understand all he +knows about that,” I says. I stopped in front of the school house. The +bell had rung, and the last of them were just going in. “You’re on time +for once, anyway,” I says. “Are you going in there and stay there, or am +I coming with you and make you?” She got out and banged the door. +“Remember what I say,” I says, “I mean it. Let me hear one more time +that you were slipping up and down back alleys with one of those damn +squirts.” + +She turned back at that. “I dont slip around,” she says. “I dare anybody +to know everything I do.” + +“And they all know it, too,” I says. “Everybody in this town knows what +you are. But I wont have it anymore, you hear? I dont care what you do, +myself,” I says, “But I’ve got a position in this town, and I’m not +going to have any member of my family going on like a nigger wench. You +hear me?” + +“I dont care,” she says, “I’m bad and I’m going to hell, and I dont +care. I’d rather be in hell than anywhere where you are.” + +“If I hear one more time that you haven’t been to school, you’ll wish +you were in hell,” I says. She turned and ran on across the yard. “One +more time, remember,” I says. She didn’t look back. + +I went to the postoffice and got the mail and drove on to the store and +parked. Earl looked at me when I came in. I gave him a chance to say +something about my being late, but he just said, + +“Those cultivators have come. You’d better help Uncle Job put them up.” + +I went on to the back, where old Job was uncrating them, at the rate of +about three bolts to the hour. + +“You ought to be working for me,” I says. “Every other no-count nigger +in town eats in my kitchen.” + +“I works to suit de man whut pays me Sat’dy night,” he says. “When I +does dat, it dont leave me a whole lot of time to please other folks.” +He screwed up a nut. “Aint nobody works much in dis country cep de +boll-weevil, noways,” he says. + +“You’d better be glad you’re not a boll-weevil waiting on those +cultivators,” I says. “You’d work yourself to death before they’d be +ready to prevent you.” + +“Dat’s de troof,” he says, “Boll-weevil got tough time. Work ev’y day in +de week out in de hot sun, rain er shine. Aint got no front porch to set +on en watch de wattermilyuns growin and Sat’dy dont mean nothin a-tall +to him.” + +“Saturday wouldn’t mean nothing to you, either,” I says, “if it depended +on me to pay you wages. Get those things out of the crates now and drag +them inside.” + +I opened her letter first and took the check out. Just like a woman. Six +days late. Yet they try to make men believe that they’re capable of +conducting a business. How long would a man that thought the first of +the month came on the sixth last in business. And like as not, when they +sent the bank statement out, she would want to know why I never +deposited my salary until the sixth. Things like that never occur to a +woman. + + “I had no answer to my letter about Quentin’s easter dress. Did + it arrive all right? I’ve had no answer to the last two letters + I wrote her, though the check in the second one was cashed with + the other check. Is she sick? Let me know at once or I’ll come + there and see for myself. You promised you would let me know + when she needed things. I will expect to hear from you before + the 10th. No you’d better wire me at once. You are opening my + letters to her. I know that as well as if I were looking at you. + You’d better wire me at once about her to this address.” + +About that time Earl started yelling at Job, so I put them away and went +over to try to put some life into him. What this country needs is white +labour. Let these damn trifling niggers starve for a couple of years, +then they’d see what a soft thing they have. + +Along toward ten oclock I went up front. There was a drummer there. It +was a couple of minutes to ten, and I invited him up the street to get a +coca-cola. We got to talking about crops. + +“There’s nothing to it,” I says, “Cotton is a speculator’s crop. They +fill the farmer full of hot air and get him to raise a big crop for them +to whipsaw on the market, to trim the suckers with. Do you think the +farmer gets anything out of it except a red neck and a hump in his back? +You think the man that sweats to put it into the ground gets a red cent +more than a bare living,” I says. “Let him make a big crop and it wont +be worth picking; let him make a small crop and he wont have enough to +gin. And what for? so a bunch of damn eastern jews, I’m not talking +about men of the jewish religion,” I says, “I’ve known some jews that +were fine citizens. You might be one yourself,” I says. + +“No,” he says, “I’m an American.” + +“No offense,” I says. “I give every man his due, regardless of religion +or anything else. I have nothing against jews as an individual,” I says. +“It’s just the race. You’ll admit that they produce nothing. They follow +the pioneers into a new country and sell them clothes.” + +“You’re thinking of Armenians,” he says, “aren’t you. A pioneer wouldn’t +have any use for new clothes.” + +“No offense,” I says. “I dont hold a man’s religion against him.” + +“Sure,” he says, “I’m an American. My folks have some French blood, why +I have a nose like this. I’m an American, all right.” + +“So am I,” I says. “Not many of us left. What I’m talking about is the +fellows that sit up there in New York and trim the sucker gamblers.” + +“That’s right,” he says. “Nothing to gambling, for a poor man. There +ought to be a law against it.” + +“Dont you think I’m right?” I says. + +“Yes,” he says, “I guess you’re right. The farmer catches it coming and +going.” + +“I know I’m right,” I says. “It’s a sucker game, unless a man gets +inside information from somebody that knows what’s going on. I happen to +be associated with some people who’re right there on the ground. They +have one of the biggest manipulators in New York for an adviser. Way I +do it,” I says, “I never risk much at a time. It’s the fellow that +thinks he knows it all and is trying to make a killing with three +dollars that they’re laying for. That’s why they are in the business.” + +Then it struck ten. I went up to the telegraph office. It opened up a +little, just like they said. I went into the corner and took out the +telegram again, just to be sure. While I was looking at it a report came +in. It was up two points. They were all buying. I could tell that from +what they were saying. Getting aboard. Like they didn’t know it could go +but one way. Like there was a law or something against doing anything +but buying. Well, I reckon those eastern jews have got to live too. But +I’ll be damned if it hasn’t come to a pretty pass when any damn +foreigner that cant make a living in the country where God put him, can +come to this one and take money right out of an American’s pockets. It +was up two points more. Four points. But hell, they were right there and +knew what was going on. And if I wasn’t going to take the advice, what +was I paying them ten dollars a month for. I went out, then I remembered +and came back and sent the wire. “All well. Q writing today.” + +“Q?” the operator says. + +“Yes,” I says, “Q. Cant you spell Q?” + +“I just asked to be sure,” he says. + +“You send it like I wrote it and I’ll guarantee you to be sure,” I says. +“Send it collect.” + +“What you sending, Jason?” Doc Wright says, looking over my shoulder. +“Is that a code message to buy?” + +“That’s all right about that,” I says. “You boys use your own judgment. +You know more about it than those New York folks do.” + +“Well, I ought to,” Doc says, “I’d a saved money this year raising it at +two cents a pound.” + +Another report came in. It was down a point. + +“Jason’s selling,” Hopkins says. “Look at his face.” + +“That’s all right about what I’m doing,” I says. “You boys follow your +own judgment. Those rich New York jews have got to live like everybody +else,” I says. + +I went on back to the store. Earl was busy up front. I went on back to +the desk and read Lorraine’s letter. “Dear daddy wish you were here. No +good parties when daddys out of town I miss my sweet daddy.” I reckon +she does. Last time I gave her forty dollars. Gave it to her. I never +promise a woman anything nor let her know what I’m going to give her. +That’s the only way to manage them. Always keep them guessing. If you +cant think of any other way to surprise them, give them a bust in the +jaw. + +I tore it up and burned it over the spittoon. I make it a rule never to +keep a scrap of paper bearing a woman’s hand, and I never write them at +all. Lorraine is always after me to write to her but I says anything I +forgot to tell you will save till I get to Memphis again but I says I +dont mind you writing me now and then in a plain envelope, but if you +ever try to call me up on the telephone, Memphis wont hold you I says. I +says when I’m up there I’m one of the boys, but I’m not going to have +any woman calling me on the telephone. Here I says, giving her the forty +dollars. If you ever get drunk and take a notion to call me on the +phone, just remember this and count ten before you do it. + +“When’ll that be?” she says. + +“What?” I says. + +“When you’re coming back,” she says. + +“I’ll let you know,” I says. Then she tried to buy a beer, but I +wouldn’t let her. “Keep your money,” I says. “Buy yourself a dress with +it.” I gave the maid a five, too. After all, like I say money has no +value; it’s just the way you spend it. It dont belong to anybody, so why +try to hoard it. It just belongs to the man that can get it and keep it. +There’s a man right here in Jefferson made a lot of money selling rotten +goods to niggers, lived in a room over the store about the size of a +pigpen, and did his own cooking. About four or five years ago he was +taken sick. Scared the hell out of him so that when he was up again he +joined the church and bought himself a Chinese missionary, five thousand +dollars a year. I often think how mad he’ll be if he was to die and find +out there’s not any heaven, when he thinks about that five thousand a +year. Like I say, he’d better go on and die now and save money. + +When it was burned good I was just about to shove the others into my +coat when all of a sudden something told me to open Quentin’s before I +went home, but about that time Earl started yelling for me up front, so +I put them away and went and waited on the damn redneck while he spent +fifteen minutes deciding whether he wanted a twenty cent hame string or +a thirty-five cent one. + +“You’d better take that good one,” I says. “How do you fellows ever +expect to get ahead, trying to work with cheap equipment?” + +“If this one aint any good,” he says, “why have you got it on sale?” + +“I didn’t say it wasn’t any good,” I says, “I said it’s not as good as +that other one.” + +“How do you know it’s not,” he says. “You ever use airy one of them?” + +“Because they dont ask thirty-five cents for it,” I says. “That’s how I +know it’s not as good.” + +He held the twenty cent one in his hands, drawing it through his +fingers. “I reckon I’ll take this hyer one,” he says. I offered to take +it and wrap it, but he rolled it up and put it in his overalls. Then he +took out a tobacco sack and finally got it untied and shook some coins +out. He handed me a quarter. “That fifteen cents will buy me a snack of +dinner,” he says. + +“All right,” I says, “You’re the doctor. But dont come complaining to me +next year when you have to buy a new outfit.” + +“I aint makin next year’s crop yit,” he says. Finally I got rid of him, +but every time I took that letter out something would come up. They were +all in town for the show, coming in in droves to give their money to +something that brought nothing to the town and wouldn’t leave anything +except what those grafters in the Mayor’s office will split among +themselves, and Earl chasing back and forth like a hen in a coop, saying +“Yes, ma’am, Mr Compson will wait on you. Jason, show this lady a churn +or a nickel’s worth of screen hooks.” + +Well, Jason likes work. I says no I never had university advantages +because at Harvard they teach you how to go for a swim at night without +knowing how to swim and at Sewanee they dont even teach you what water +is. I says you might send me to the state University; maybe I’ll learn +how to stop my clock with a nose spray and then you can send Ben to the +Navy I says or to the cavalry anyway, they use geldings in the cavalry. +Then when she sent Quentin home for me to feed too I says I guess that’s +right too, instead of me having to go way up north for a job they sent +the job down here to me and then Mother begun to cry and I says it’s not +that I have any objection to having it here; if it’s any satisfaction to +you I’ll quit work and nurse it myself and let you and Dilsey keep the +flour barrel full, or Ben. Rent him out to a sideshow; there must be +folks somewhere that would pay a dime to see him, then she cried more +and kept saying my poor afflicted baby and I says yes he’ll be quite a +help to you when he gets his growth not being more than one and a half +times as high as me now and she says she’d be dead soon and then we’d +all be better off and so I says all right, all right, have it your way. +It’s your grandchild, which is more than any other grandparents it’s got +can say for certain. Only I says it’s only a question of time. If you +believe she’ll do what she says and not try to see it, you fool yourself +because the first time that was that Mother kept on saying thank God you +are not a Compson except in name, because you are all I have left now, +you and Maury, and I says well I could spare Uncle Maury myself and then +they came and said they were ready to start. Mother stopped crying then. +She pulled her veil down and we went down stairs. Uncle Maury was coming +out of the diningroom, his handkerchief to his mouth. They kind of made +a lane and we went out the door just in time to see Dilsey driving Ben +and T. P. back around the corner. We went down the steps and got in. +Uncle Maury kept saying Poor little sister, poor little sister, talking +around his mouth and patting Mother’s hand. Talking around whatever it +was. + +“Have you got your band on?” she says. “Why dont they go on, before +Benjamin comes out and makes a spectacle. Poor little boy. He doesn’t +know. He cant even realise.” + +“There, there,” Uncle Maury says, patting her hand, talking around his +mouth. “It’s better so. Let him be unaware of bereavement until he has +to.” + +“Other women have their children to support them in times like this,” +Mother says. + +“You have Jason and me,” he says. + +“It’s so terrible to me,” she says, “Having the two of them like this, +in less than two years.” + +“There, there,” he says. After a while he kind of sneaked his hand to +his mouth and dropped them out the window. Then I knew what I had been +smelling. Clove stems. I reckon he thought that the least he could do at +Father’s funeral or maybe the sideboard thought it was still Father and +tripped him up when he passed. Like I say, if he had to sell something +to send Quentin to Harvard we’d all been a damn sight better off if he’d +sold that sideboard and bought himself a one-armed strait jacket with +part of the money. I reckon the reason all the Compson gave out before +it got to me like Mother says, is that he drank it up. At least I never +heard of him offering to sell anything to send me to Harvard. + +So he kept on patting her hand and saying “Poor little sister,” patting +her hand with one of the black gloves that we got the bill for four days +later because it was the twenty-sixth because it was the same day one +month that Father went up there and got it and brought it home and +wouldn’t tell anything about where she was or anything and Mother crying +and saying “And you didn’t even see him? You didn’t even try to get him +to make any provision for it?” and Father says “No she shall not touch +his money not one cent of it” and Mother says “He can be forced to by +law. He can prove nothing, unless—Jason Compson,” she says, “Were you +fool enough to tell—” + +“Hush, Caroline,” Father says, then he sent me to help Dilsey get that +old cradle out of the attic and I says, + +“Well, they brought my job home tonight” because all the time we kept +hoping they’d get things straightened out and he’d keep her because +Mother kept saying she would at least have enough regard for the family +not to jeopardize my chance after she and Quentin had had theirs. + +“And whar else do she belong?” Dilsey says, “Who else gwine raise her +’cep me? Aint I raised eve’y one of y’all?” + +“And a damn fine job you made of it,” I says. “Anyway it’ll give her +something to sure enough worry over now.” So we carried the cradle down +and Dilsey started to set it up in her old room. Then Mother started +sure enough. + +“Hush, Miss Cahline,” Dilsey says, “You gwine wake her up.” + +“In there?” Mother says, “To be contaminated by that atmosphere? It’ll +be hard enough as it is, with the heritage she already has.” + +“Hush,” Father says, “Dont be silly.” + +“Why aint she gwine sleep in here,” Dilsey says, “In the same room whar +I put her ma to bed ev’y night of her life since she was big enough to +sleep by herself.” + +“You dont know,” Mother says, “To have my own daughter cast off by her +husband. Poor little innocent baby,” she says, looking at Quentin. “You +will never know the suffering you’ve caused.” + +“Hush, Caroline,” Father says. + +“What you want to go on like that fo Jason fer?” Dilsey says. + +“I’ve tried to protect him,” Mother says. “I’ve always tried to protect +him from it. At least I can do my best to shield her.” + +“How sleepin in dis room gwine hurt her, I like to know,” Dilsey says. + +“I cant help it,” Mother says. “I know I’m just a troublesome old woman. +But I know that people cannot flout God’s laws with impunity.” + +“Nonsense,” Father said. “Fix it in Miss Caroline’s room then, Dilsey.” + +“You can say nonsense,” Mother says. “But she must never know. She must +never even learn that name. Dilsey, I forbid you ever to speak that name +in her hearing. If she could grow up never to know that she had a +mother, I would thank God.” + +“Dont be a fool,” Father says. + +“I have never interfered with the way you brought them up,” Mother says, +“But now I cannot stand anymore. We must decide this now, tonight. +Either that name is never to be spoken in her hearing, or she must go, +or I will go. Take your choice.” + +“Hush,” Father says, “You’re just upset. Fix it in here, Dilsey.” + +“En you’s about sick too,” Dilsey says. “You looks like a hant. You git +in bed and I’ll fix you a toddy and see kin you sleep. I bet you aint +had a full night’s sleep since you lef.” + +“No,” Mother says, “Dont you know what the doctor says? Why must you +encourage him to drink? That’s what’s the matter with him now. Look at +me, I suffer too, but I’m not so weak that I must kill myself with +whiskey.” + +“Fiddlesticks,” Father says, “What do doctors know? They make their +livings advising people to do whatever they are not doing at the time, +which is the extent of anyone’s knowledge of the degenerate ape. You’ll +have a minister in to hold my hand next.” Then Mother cried, and he went +out. Went down stairs, and then I heard the sideboard. I woke up and +heard him going down again. Mother had gone to sleep or something, +because the house was quiet at last. He was trying to be quiet too, +because I couldn’t hear him, only the bottom of his nightshirt and his +bare legs in front of the sideboard. + +Dilsey fixed the cradle and undressed her and put her in it. She never +had waked up since he brought her in the house. + +“She pretty near too big fer hit,” Dilsey says. “Dar now. I gwine spread +me a pallet right acrost de hall, so you wont need to git up in de +night.” + +“I wont sleep,” Mother says. “You go on home. I wont mind. I’ll be happy +to give the rest of my life to her, if I can just prevent—” + +“Hush, now,” Dilsey says. “We gwine take keer of her. En you go on to +bed too,” she says to me, “You got to go to school tomorrow.” + +So I went out, then Mother called me back and cried on me awhile. + +“You are my only hope,” she says. “Every night I thank God for you.” +While we were waiting there for them to start she says Thank God if he +had to be taken too, it is you left me and not Quentin. Thank God you +are not a Compson, because all I have left now is you and Maury and I +says, Well I could spare Uncle Maury myself. Well, he kept on patting +her hand with his black glove, talking away from her. He took them off +when his turn with the shovel came. He got up near the first, where they +were holding the umbrellas over them, stamping every now and then and +trying to kick the mud off their feet and sticking to the shovels so +they’d have to knock it off, making a hollow sound when it fell on it, +and when I stepped back around the hack I could see him behind a +tombstone, taking another one out of a bottle. I thought he never was +going to stop because I had on my new suit too, but it happened that +there wasn’t much mud on the wheels yet, only Mother saw it and says I +dont know when you’ll ever have another one and Uncle Maury says, “Now, +now. Dont you worry at all. You have me to depend on, always.” + +And we have. Always. The fourth letter was from him. But there wasn’t +any need to open it. I could have written it myself, or recited it to +her from memory, adding ten dollars just to be safe. But I had a hunch +about that other letter. I just felt that it was about time she was up +to some of her tricks again. She got pretty wise after that first time. +She found out pretty quick that I was a different breed of cat from +Father. When they begun to get it filled up toward the top Mother +started crying sure enough, so Uncle Maury got in with her and drove +off. He says You can come in with somebody; they’ll be glad to give you +a lift. I’ll have to take your mother on and I thought about saying, Yes +you ought to brought two bottles instead of just one only I thought +about where we were, so I let them go on. Little they cared how wet I +got, because then Mother could have a whale of a time being afraid I was +taking pneumonia. + +Well, I got to thinking about that and watching them throwing dirt into +it, slapping it on anyway like they were making mortar or something or +building a fence, and I began to feel sort of funny and so I decided to +walk around a while. I thought that if I went toward town they’d catch +up and be trying to make me get in one of them, so I went on back toward +the nigger graveyard. I got under some cedars, where the rain didn’t +come much, only dripping now and then, where I could see when they got +through and went away. After a while they were all gone and I waited a +minute and came out. + +I had to follow the path to keep out of the wet grass so I didn’t see +her until I was pretty near there, standing there in a black cloak, +looking at the flowers. I knew who it was right off, before she turned +and looked at me and lifted up her veil. + +“Hello, Jason,” she says, holding out her hand. We shook hands. + +“What are you doing here?” I says. “I thought you promised her you +wouldn’t come back here. I thought you had more sense than that.” + +“Yes?” she says. She looked at the flowers again. There must have been +fifty dollars’ worth. Somebody had put one bunch on Quentin’s. “You +did?” she says. + +“I’m not surprised though,” I says. “I wouldn’t put anything past you. +You dont mind anybody. You dont give a damn about anybody.” + +“Oh,” she says, “that job.” She looked at the grave. “I’m sorry about +that, Jason.” + +“I bet you are,” I says. “You’ll talk mighty meek now. But you needn’t +have come back. There’s not anything left. Ask Uncle Maury, if you dont +believe me.” + +“I dont want anything,” she says. She looked at the grave. “Why didn’t +they let me know?” she says. “I just happened to see it in the paper. On +the back page. Just happened to.” + +I didn’t say anything. We stood there, looking at the grave, and then I +got to thinking about when we were little and one thing and another and +I got to feeling funny again, kind of mad or something, thinking about +now we’d have Uncle Maury around the house all the time, running things +like the way he left me to come home in the rain by myself. I says, + +“A fine lot you care, sneaking in here soon as he’s dead. But it wont do +you any good. Dont think that you can take advantage of this to come +sneaking back. If you cant stay on the horse you’ve got, you’ll have to +walk,” I says. “We dont even know your name at that house,” I says. “Do +you know that? We don’t even know you with him and Quentin,” I says. “Do +you know that?” + +“I know it,” she says. “Jason,” she says, looking at the grave, “if +you’ll fix it so I can see her a minute I’ll give you fifty dollars.” + +“You haven’t got fifty dollars,” I says. + +“Will you?” she says, not looking at me. + +“Let’s see it,” I says. “I dont believe you’ve got fifty dollars.” + +I could see where her hands were moving under her cloak, then she held +her hand out. Damn if it wasn’t full of money. I could see two or three +yellow ones. + +“Does he still give you money?” I says. “How much does he send you?” + +“I’ll give you a hundred,” she says. “Will you?” + +“Just a minute,” I says, “And just like I say. I wouldn’t have her know +it for a thousand dollars.” + +“Yes,” she says. “Just like you say do it. Just so I see her a minute. I +wont beg or do anything. I’ll go right on away.” + +“Give me the money,” I says. + +“I’ll give it to you afterward,” she says. + +“Dont you trust me?” I says. + +“No,” she says. “I know you. I grew up with you.” + +“You’re a fine one to talk about trusting people,” I says. “Well,” I +says, “I got to get on out of the rain. Goodbye.” I made to go away. + +“Jason,” she says. I stopped. + +“Yes?” I says. “Hurry up. I’m getting wet.” + +“All right,” she says. “Here.” There wasn’t anybody in sight. I went +back and took the money. She still held to it. “You’ll do it?” she says, +looking at me from under the veil, “You promise?” + +“Let go,” I says, “You want somebody to come along and see us?” + +She let go. I put the money in my pocket. “You’ll do it, Jason?” she +says. “I wouldn’t ask you, if there was any other way.” + +“You’re damn right there’s no other way,” I says. “Sure I’ll do it. I +said I would, didn’t I? Only you’ll have to do just like I say, now.” + +“Yes,” she says, “I will.” So I told her where to be, and went to the +livery stable. I hurried and got there just as they were unhitching the +hack. I asked if they had paid for it yet and he said No and I said Mrs +Compson forgot something and wanted it again, so they let me take it. +Mink was driving. I bought him a cigar, so we drove around until it +begun to get dark on the back streets where they wouldn’t see him. Then +Mink said he’d have to take the team on back and so I said I’d buy him +another cigar and so we drove into the lane and I went across the yard +to the house. I stopped in the hall until I could hear Mother and Uncle +Maury upstairs, then I went on back to the kitchen. She and Ben were +there with Dilsey. I said Mother wanted her and I took her into the +house. I found Uncle Maury’s raincoat and put it around her and picked +her up and went back to the lane and got in the hack. I told Mink to +drive to the depot. He was afraid to pass the stable, so we had to go +the back way and I saw her standing on the corner under the light and I +told Mink to drive close to the walk and when I said Go on, to give the +team a bat. Then I took the raincoat off of her and held her to the +window and Caddy saw her and sort of jumped forward. + +“Hit ’em, Mink!” I says, and Mink gave them a cut and we went past her +like a fire engine. “Now get on that train like you promised,” I says. I +could see her running after us through the back window. “Hit ’em again,” +I says, “Let’s get on home.” When we turned the corner she was still +running. + +And so I counted the money again that night and put it away, and I +didn’t feel so bad. I says I reckon that’ll show you. I reckon you’ll +know now that you cant beat me out of a job and get away with it. It +never occurred to me she wouldn’t keep her promise and take that train. +But I didn’t know much about them then; I didn’t have any more sense +than to believe what they said, because the next morning damn if she +didn’t walk right into the store, only she had sense enough to wear the +veil and not speak to anybody. It was Saturday morning, because I was at +the store, and she came right on back to the desk where I was, walking +fast. + +“Liar,” she says, “Liar.” + +“Are you crazy?” I says. “What do you mean? coming in here like this?” +She started in, but I shut her off. I says, “You already cost me one +job; do you want me to lose this one too? If you’ve got anything to say +to me, I’ll meet you somewhere after dark. What have you got to say to +me?” I says, “Didn’t I do everything I said? I said see her a minute, +didn’t I? Well, didn’t you?” She just stood there looking at me, shaking +like an ague-fit, her hands clenched and kind of jerking. “I did just +what I said I would,” I says, “You’re the one that lied. You promised to +take that train. Didn’t you Didn’t you promise? If you think you can get +that money back, just try it,” I says. “If it’d been a thousand dollars, +you’d still owe me after the risk I took. And if I see or hear you’re +still in town after number 17 runs,” I says, “I’ll tell Mother and Uncle +Maury. Then hold your breath until you see her again.” She just stood +there, looking at me, twisting her hands together. + +“Damn you,” she says, “Damn you.” + +“Sure,” I says, “That’s all right too. Mind what I say, now. After +number 17, and I tell them.” + +After she was gone I felt better. I says I reckon you’ll think twice +before you deprive me of a job that was promised me. I was a kid then. I +believed folks when they said they’d do things. I’ve learned better +since. Besides, like I say I guess I dont need any man’s help to get +along I can stand on my own feet like I always have. Then all of a +sudden I thought of Dilsey and Uncle Maury. I thought how she’d get +around Dilsey and that Uncle Maury would do anything for ten dollars. +And there I was, couldn’t even get away from the store to protect my own +Mother. Like she says, if one of you had to be taken, thank God it was +you left me I can depend on you and I says well I dont reckon I’ll ever +get far enough from the store to get out of your reach. Somebody’s got +to hold on to what little we have left, I reckon. + +So as soon as I got home I fixed Dilsey. I told Dilsey she had leprosy +and I got the bible and read where a man’s flesh rotted off and I told +her that if she ever looked at her or Ben or Quentin they’d catch it +too. So I thought I had everything all fixed until that day when I came +home and found Ben bellowing. Raising hell and nobody could quiet him. +Mother said, Well, get him the slipper then. Dilsey made out she didn’t +hear. Mother said it again and I says I’d go I couldn’t stand that damn +noise. Like I say I can stand lots of things I dont expect much from +them but if I have to work all day long in a damn store damn if I dont +think I deserve a little peace and quiet to eat dinner in. So I says I’d +go and Dilsey says quick, “Jason!” + +Well, like a flash I knew what was up, but just to make sure I went and +got the slipper and brought it back, and just like I thought, when he +saw it you’d thought we were killing him. So I made Dilsey own up, then +I told Mother. We had to take her up to bed then, and after things got +quieted down a little I put the fear of God into Dilsey. As much as you +can into a nigger, that is. That’s the trouble with nigger servants, +when they’ve been with you for a long time they get so full of self +importance that they’re not worth a damn. Think they run the whole +family. + +“I like to know whut’s de hurt in lettin dat po chile see her own baby,” +Dilsey says. “If Mr Jason was still here hit ud be different.” + +“Only Mr Jason’s not here,” I says. “I know you wont pay me any mind, +but I reckon you’ll do what Mother says. You keep on worrying her like +this until you get her into the graveyard too, then you can fill the +whole house full of ragtag and bobtail. But what did you want to let +that damn idiot see her for?” + +“You’s a cold man, Jason, if man you is,” she says. “I thank de Lawd I +got mo heart dan dat, even ef hit is black.” + +“At least I’m man enough to keep that flour barrel full,” I says. “And +if you do that again, you wont be eating out of it either.” + +So the next time I told her that if she tried Dilsey again, Mother was +going to fire Dilsey and send Ben to Jackson and take Quentin and go +away. She looked at me for a while. There wasn’t any street light close +and I couldn’t see her face much. But I could feel her looking at me. +When we were little when she’d get mad and couldn’t do anything about it +her upper lip would begin to jump. Everytime it jumped it would leave a +little more of her teeth showing, and all the time she’d be as still as +a post, not a muscle moving except her lip jerking higher and higher up +her teeth. But she didn’t say anything. She just said, + +“All right. How much?” + +“Well, if one look through a hack window was worth a hundred,” I says. +So after that she behaved pretty well, only one time she asked to see a +statement of the bank account. + +“I know they have Mother’s indorsement on them,” she says, “But I want +to see the bank statement. I want to see myself where those checks go.” + +“That’s in Mother’s private business,” I says. “If you think you have +any right to pry into her private affairs I’ll tell her you believe +those checks are being misappropriated and you want an audit because you +dont trust her.” + +She didn’t say anything or move. I could hear her whispering Damn you oh +damn you oh damn you. + +“Say it out,” I says, “I dont reckon it’s any secret what you and I +think of one another. Maybe you want the money back,” I says. + +“Listen, Jason,” she says, “Dont lie to me now. About her. I wont ask to +see anything. If that isn’t enough, I’ll send more each month. Just +promise that she’ll—that she—You can do that. Things for her. Be kind +to her. Little things that I cant, they wont let. . . . But you wont. +You never had a drop of warm blood in you. Listen,” she says, “If you’ll +get Mother to let me have her back, I’ll give you a thousand dollars.” + +“You haven’t got a thousand dollars,” I says, “I know you’re lying now.” + +“Yes I have. I will have. I can get it.” + +“And I know how you’ll get it,” I says, “You’ll get it the same way you +got her. And when she gets big enough—” Then I thought she really was +going to hit at me, and then I didn’t know what she was going to do. She +acted for a minute like some kind of a toy that’s wound up too tight and +about to burst all to pieces. + +“Oh, I’m crazy,” she says, “I’m insane. I can’t take her. Keep her. What +am I thinking of. Jason,” she says, grabbing my arm. Her hands were hot +as fever. “You’ll have to promise to take care of her, to—She’s kin to +you; your own flesh and blood. Promise, Jason. You have Father’s name: +do you think I’d have to ask him twice? once, even?” + +“That’s so,” I says, “He did leave me something. What do you want me to +do,” I says, “Buy an apron and a go-cart? I never got you into this,” I +says. “I run more risk than you do, because you haven’t got anything at +stake. So if you expect—” + +“No,” she says, then she begun to laugh and to try to hold it back all +at the same time. “No. I have nothing at stake,” she says, making that +noise, putting her hands to her mouth, “Nuh-nuh-nothing,” she says. + +“Here,” I says, “Stop that!” + +“I’m tr-trying to,” she says, holding her hands over her mouth. “Oh God, +oh God.” + +“I’m going away from here,” I says, “I cant be seen here. You get on out +of town now, you hear?” + +“Wait,” she says, catching my arm. “I’ve stopped. I wont again. You +promise, Jason?” she says, and me feeling her eyes almost like they were +touching my face, “You promise? Mother—that money—if sometimes she +needs things—If I send checks for her to you, other ones besides those, +you’ll give them to her? You wont tell? You’ll see that she has things +like other girls?” + +“Sure,” I says, “As long as you behave and do like I tell you.” + +And so when Earl came up front with his hat on he says, “I’m going to +step up to Rogers’ and get a snack. We wont have time to go home to +dinner, I reckon.” + +“What’s the matter we wont have time?” I says. + +“With this show in town and all,” he says. “They’re going to give an +afternoon performance too, and they’ll all want to get done trading in +time to go to it. So we’d better just run up to Rogers’.” + +“All right,” I says, “It’s your stomach. If you want to make a slave of +yourself to your business, it’s all right with me.” + +“I reckon you’ll never be a slave to any business,” he says. + +“Not unless it’s Jason Compson’s business,” I says. + +So when I went back and opened it the only thing that surprised me was +it was a money order not a check. Yes, sir. You cant trust a one of +them. After all the risk I’d taken, risking Mother finding out about her +coming down here once or twice a year sometimes, and me having to tell +Mother lies about it. That’s gratitude for you. And I wouldn’t put it +past her to try to notify the postoffice not to let anyone except her +cash it. Giving a kid like that fifty dollars. Why I never saw fifty +dollars until I was twenty-one years old, with all the other boys with +the afternoon off and all day Saturday and me working in a store. Like I +say, how can they expect anybody to control her, with her giving her +money behind our backs. She has the same home you had I says, and the +same raising. I reckon Mother is a better judge of what she needs than +you are, that haven’t even got a home. “If you want to give her money,” +I says, “You send it to Mother, dont be giving it to her. If I’ve got to +run this risk every few months, you’ll have to do like I say, or it’s +out.” + +And just about the time I got ready to begin on it because if Earl +thought I was going to dash up the street and gobble two bits worth of +indigestion on his account he was bad fooled. I may not be sitting with +my feet on a mahogany desk but I am being paid for what I do inside this +building and if I cant manage to live a civilised life outside of it +I’ll go where I can. I can stand on my own feet; I dont need any man’s +mahogany desk to prop me up. So just about the time I got ready to start +I’d have to drop everything and run to sell some redneck a dime’s worth +of nails or something, and Earl up there gobbling a sandwich and half +way back already, like as not, and then I found that all the blanks were +gone. I remembered then that I had aimed to get some more, but it was +too late now, and then I looked up and there Quentin came. In the back +door. I heard her asking old Job if I was there. I just had time to +stick them in the drawer and close it. + +She came around to the desk. I looked at my watch. + +“You been to dinner already?” I says. “It’s just twelve; I just heard it +strike. You must have flown home and back.” + +“I’m not going home to dinner,” she says. “Did I get a letter today?” + +“Were you expecting one?” I says. “Have you got a sweetie that can +write?” + +“From Mother,” she says. “Did I get a letter from Mother?” she says, +looking at me. + +“Mother got one from her,” I says. “I haven’t opened it. You’ll have to +wait until she opens it. She’ll let you see it, I imagine.” + +“Please, Jason,” she says, not paying any attention, “Did I get one?” + +“What’s the matter?” I says. “I never knew you to be this anxious about +anybody. You must expect some money from her.” + +“She said she—” she says. “Please, Jason,” she says, “Did I?” + +“You must have been to school today, after all,” I says, “Somewhere +where they taught you to say please. Wait a minute, while I wait on that +customer.” + +I went and waited on him. When I turned to come back she was out of +sight behind the desk. I ran. I ran around the desk and caught her as +she jerked her hand out of the drawer. I took the letter away from her, +beating her knuckles on the desk until she let go. + +“You would, would you?” I says. + +“Give it to me,” she says, “You’ve already opened it. Give it to me. +Please, Jason. It’s mine. I saw the name.” + +“I’ll take a hame string to you,” I says. “That’s what I’ll give you. +Going into my papers.” + +“Is there some money in it?” she says, reaching for it. “She said she +would send me some money. She promised she would. Give it to me.” + +“What do you want with money?” I says. + +“She said she would,” she says, “Give it to me. Please, Jason. I wont +ever ask you anything again, if you’ll give it to me this time.” + +“I’m going to, if you’ll give me time,” I says. I took the letter and +the money order out and gave her the letter. She reached for the money +order, not hardly glancing at the letter. “You’ll have to sign it +first,” I says. + +“How much is it?” she says. + +“Read the letter,” I says. “I reckon it’ll say.” + +She read it fast, in about two looks. + +“It dont say,” she says, looking up. She dropped the letter to the +floor. “How much is it?” + +“It’s ten dollars,” I says. + +“Ten dollars?” she says, staring at me. + +“And you ought to be damn glad to get that,” I says, “A kid like you. +What are you in such a rush for money all of a sudden for?” + +“Ten dollars?” she says, like she was talking in her sleep, “Just ten +dollars?” She made a grab at the money order. “You’re lying,” she says. +“Thief!” she says, “Thief!” + +“You would, would you?” I says, holding her off. + +“Give it to me!” she says, “It’s mine. She sent it to me. I will see it. +I will.” + +“You will?” I says, holding her, “How’re you going to do it?” + +“Just let me see it, Jason,” she says, “Please. I wont ask you for +anything again.” + +“Think I’m lying, do you?” I says. “Just for that you wont see it.” + +“But just ten dollars,” she says, “She told me she—she told me—Jason, +please please please. I’ve got to have some money. I’ve just got to. +Give it to me, Jason. I’ll do anything if you will.” + +“Tell me what you’ve got to have money for,” I says. + +“I’ve got to have it,” she says. She was looking at me. Then all of a +sudden she quit looking at me without moving her eyes at all. I knew she +was going to lie. “It’s some money I owe,” she says. “I’ve got to pay +it. I’ve got to pay it today.” + +“Who to?” I says. Her hands were sort of twisting. I could watch her +trying to think of a lie to tell. “Have you been charging things at +stores again?” I says. “You needn’t bother to tell me that. If you can +find anybody in this town that’ll charge anything to you after what I +told them, I’ll eat it.” + +“It’s a girl,” she says, “It’s a girl. I borrowed some money from a +girl. I’ve got to pay it back. Jason, give it to me. Please. I’ll do +anything. I’ve got to have it. Mother will pay you. I’ll write to her to +pay you and that I wont ever ask her for anything again. You can see the +letter. Please, Jason. I’ve got to have it.” + +“Tell me what you want with it, and I’ll see about it,” I says. “Tell +me.” She just stood there, with her hands working against her dress. +“All right,” I says, “If ten dollars is too little for you, I’ll just +take it home to Mother, and you know what’ll happen to it then. Of +course, if you’re so rich you dont need ten dollars—” + +She stood there, looking at the floor, kind of mumbling to herself. “She +said she would send me some money. She said she sends money here and you +say she dont send any. She said she’s sent a lot of money here. She says +it’s for me. That it’s for me to have some of it. And you say we haven’t +got any money.” + +“You know as much about that as I do,” I says. “You’ve seen what happens +to those checks.” + +“Yes,” she says, looking at the floor. “Ten dollars,” she says, “Ten +dollars.” + +“And you’d better thank your stars it’s ten dollars,” I says. “Here,” I +says. I put the money order face down on the desk, holding my hand on +it, “Sign it.” + +“Will you let me see it?” she says. “I just want to look at it. Whatever +it says, I wont ask for but ten dollars. You can have the rest. I just +want to see it.” + +“Not after the way you’ve acted,” I says. “You’ve got to learn one +thing, and that is that when I tell you to do something, you’ve got it +to do. You sign your name on that line.” + +She took the pen, but instead of signing it she just stood there with +her head bent and the pen shaking in her hand. Just like her mother. +“Oh, God,” she says, “oh, God.” + +“Yes,” I says, “That’s one thing you’ll have to learn if you never learn +anything else. Sign it now, and get on out of here.” + +She signed it. “Where’s the money?” she says. I took the order and +blotted it and put it in my pocket. Then I gave her the ten dollars. + +“Now you go on back to school this afternoon, you hear?” I says. She +didn’t answer. She crumpled the bill up in her hand like it was a rag or +something and went on out the front door just as Earl came in. A +customer came in with him and they stopped up front. I gathered up the +things and put on my hat and went up front. + +“Been much busy?” Earl says. + +“Not much,” I says. He looked out the door. + +“That your car over yonder?” he says. “Better not try to go out home to +dinner. We’ll likely have another rush just before the show opens. Get +you a lunch at Rogers’ and put a ticker in the drawer.” + +“Much obliged,” I says. “I can still manage to feed myself, I reckon.” + +And right there he’d stay, watching that door like a hawk until I came +through it again. Well, he’d just have to watch it for a while; I was +doing the best I could. The time before I says that’s the last one now; +you’ll have to remember to get some more right away. But who can +remember anything in all this hurrah. And now this damn show had to come +here the one day I’d have to hunt all over town for a blank check, +besides all the other things I had to do to keep the house running, and +Earl watching the door like a hawk. + +I went to the printing shop and told him I wanted to play a joke on a +fellow, but he didn’t have anything. Then he told me to have a look in +the old opera house, where somebody had stored a lot of papers and junk +out of the old Merchants’ and Farmers’ Bank when it failed, so I dodged +up a few more alleys so Earl couldn’t see me and finally found old man +Simmons and got the key from him and went up there and dug around. At +last I found a pad on a Saint Louis bank. And of course she’d pick this +one time to look at it close. Well, it would have to do. I couldn’t +waste any more time now. + +I went back to the store. “Forgot some papers Mother wants to go to the +bank,” I says. I went back to the desk and fixed the check. Trying to +hurry and all, I says to myself it’s a good thing her eyes are giving +out, with that little whore in the house, a Christian forbearing woman +like Mother. I says you know just as well as I do what she’s going to +grow up into but I says that’s your business, if you want to keep her +and raise her in your house just because of Father. Then she would begin +to cry and say it was her own flesh and blood so I just says All right. +Have it your way. I can stand it if you can. + +I fixed the letter up again and glued it back and went out. + +“Try not to be gone any longer than you can help,” Earl says. + +“All right,” I says. I went to the telegraph office. The smart boys were +all there. + +“Any of you boys made a million yet?” I says. + +“Who can do anything, with a market like that?” Doc says. + +“What’s it doing?” I says. I went in and looked. It was three points +under the opening. “You boys are not going to let a little thing like +the cotton market beat you, are you?” I says. “I thought you were too +smart for that.” + +“Smart, hell,” Doc says. “It was down twelve points at twelve o’clock. +Cleaned me out.” + +“Twelve points?” I says. “Why the hell didn’t somebody let me know? Why +didn’t you let me know?” I says to the operator. + +“I take it as it comes in,” he says. “I’m not running a bucket shop.” + +“You’re smart, aren’t you?” I says. “Seems to me, with the money I spend +with you, you could take time to call me up. Or maybe your damn +company’s in a conspiracy with those damn eastern sharks.” + +He didn’t say anything. He made like he was busy. + +“You’re getting a little too big for your pants,” I says. “First thing +you know you’ll be working for a living.” + +“What’s the matter with you?” Doc says. “You’re still three points to +the good.” + +“Yes,” I says, “If I happened to be selling. I haven’t mentioned that +yet, I think. You boys all cleaned out?” + +“I got caught twice,” Doc says. “I switched just in time.” + +“Well,” I. O. Snopes says, “I’ve picked hit; I reckon taint no more +than fair fer hit to pick me once in a while.” + +So I left them buying and selling among themselves at a nickel a point. +I found a nigger and sent him for my car and stood on the corner and +waited. I couldn’t see Earl looking up and down the street, with one eye +on the clock, because I couldn’t see the door from here. After about a +week he got back with it. + +“Where the hell have you been?” I says, “Riding around where the wenches +could see you?” + +“I come straight as I could,” he says, “I had to drive clean around the +square, wid all dem wagons.” + +I never found a nigger yet that didn’t have an airtight alibi for +whatever he did. But just turn one loose in a car and he’s bound to show +off. I got in and went on around the square. I caught a glimpse of Earl +in the door across the square. + +I went straight to the kitchen and told Dilsey to hurry up with dinner. + +“Quentin aint come yit,” she says. + +“What of that?” I says. “You’ll be telling me next that Luster’s not +quite ready to eat yet. Quentin knows when meals are served in this +house. Hurry up with it, now.” + +Mother was in her room. I gave her the letter. She opened it and took +the check out and sat holding it in her hand. I went and got the shovel +from the corner and gave her a match. “Come on,” I says, “Get it over +with. You’ll be crying in a minute.” + +She took the match, but she didn’t strike it. She sat there, looking at +the check. Just like I said it would be. + +“I hate to do it,” she says, “To increase your burden by adding +Quentin. . . .” + +“I guess we’ll get along,” I says. “Come on. Get it over with.” + +But she just sat there, holding the check. + +“This one is on a different bank,” she says. “They have been on an +Indianapolis bank.” + +“Yes,” I says. “Women are allowed to do that too.” + +“Do what?” she says. + +“Keep money in two different banks,” I says. + +“Oh,” she says. She looked at the check a while. “I’m glad to know she’s +so . . . she has so much . . . God sees that I am doing right,” she +says. + +“Come on,” I says, “Finish it. Get the fun over.” + +“Fun?” she says, “When I think—” + +“I thought you were burning this two hundred dollars a month for fun,” I +says. “Come on, now. Want me to strike the match?” + +“I could bring myself to accept them,” she says, “For my childrens’ +sake. I have no pride.” + +“You’d never be satisfied,” I says, “You know you wouldn’t. You’ve +settled that once, let it stay settled. We can get along.” + +“I leave everything to you,” she says. “But sometimes I become afraid +that in doing this I am depriving you all of what is rightfully yours. +Perhaps I shall be punished for it. If you want me to, I will smother my +pride and accept them.” + +“What would be the good in beginning now, when you’ve been destroying +them for fifteen years?” I says. “If you keep on doing it, you have lost +nothing, but if you’d begin to take them now, you’ll have lost fifty +thousand dollars. We’ve got along so far, haven’t we?” I says. “I +haven’t seen you in the poorhouse yet.” + +“Yes,” she says, “We Bascombs need nobody’s charity. Certainly not that +of a fallen woman.” + +She struck the match and lit the check and put it in the shovel, and +then the envelope, and watched them burn. + +“You dont know what it is,” she says, “Thank God you will never know +what a mother feels.” + +“There are lots of women in this world no better than her,” I says. + +“But they are not my daughters,” she says. “It’s not myself,” she says, +“I’d gladly take her back, sins and all, because she is my flesh and +blood. It’s for Quentin’s sake.” + +Well, I could have said it wasn’t much chance of anybody hurting Quentin +much, but like I say I dont expect much but I do want to eat and sleep +without a couple of women squabbling and crying in the house. + +“And yours,” she says. “I know how you feel toward her.” + +“Let her come back,” I says, “far as I’m concerned.” + +“No,” she says. “I owe that to your father’s memory.” + +“When he was trying all the time to persuade you to let her come home +when Herbert threw her out?” I says. + +“You dont understand,” she says. “I know you dont intend to make it more +difficult for me. But it’s my place to suffer for my children,” she +says. “I can bear it.” + +“Seems to me you go to a lot of unnecessary trouble doing it,” I says. +The paper burned out. I carried it to the grate and put it in. “It just +seems a shame to me to burn up good money,” I says. + +“Let me never see the day when my children will have to accept that, the +wages of sin,” she says. “I’d rather see even you dead in your coffin +first.” + +“Have it your way,” I says. “Are we going to have dinner soon?” I says, +“Because if we’re not, I’ll have to go on back. We’re pretty busy +today.” She got up. “I’ve told her once,” I says. “It seems she’s +waiting on Quentin or Luster or somebody. Here, I’ll call her. Wait.” +But she went to the head of the stairs and called. + +“Quentin aint come yit,” Dilsey says. + +“Well, I’ll have to get on back,” I says. “I can get a sandwich +downtown. I dont want to interfere with Dilsey’s arrangements,” I says. +Well, that got her started again, with Dilsey hobbling and mumbling back +and forth, saying, + +“All right, all right, Ise puttin hit on fast as I kin.” + +“I try to please you all,” Mother says, “I try to make things as easy +for you as I can.” + +“I’m not complaining, am I?” I says. “Have I said a word except I had to +go back to work?” + +“I know,” she says, “I know you haven’t had the chance the others had, +that you’ve had to bury yourself in a little country store. I wanted you +to get ahead. I knew your father would never realise that you were the +only one who had any business sense, and then when everything else +failed I believed that when she married, and Herbert . . . after his +promise . . .” + +“Well, he was probably lying too,” I says. “He may not have even had a +bank. And if he had, I dont reckon he’d have to come all the way to +Mississippi to get a man for it.” + +We ate awhile. I could hear Ben in the kitchen, where Luster was feeding +him. Like I say, if we’ve got to feed another mouth and she wont take +that money, why not send him down to Jackson. He’ll be happier there, +with people like him. I says God knows there’s little enough room for +pride in this family, but it dont take much pride to not like to see a +thirty year old man playing around the yard with a nigger boy, running +up and down the fence and lowing like a cow whenever they play golf over +there. I says if they’d sent him to Jackson at first we’d all be better +off today. I says, you’ve done your duty by him; you’ve done all anybody +can expect of you and more than most folks would do, so why not send him +there and get that much benefit out of the taxes we pay. Then she says, +“I’ll be gone soon. I know I’m just a burden to you” and I says “You’ve +been saying that so long that I’m beginning to believe you” only I says +you’d better be sure and not let me know you’re gone because I’ll sure +have him on number seventeen that night and I says I think I know a +place where they’ll take her too and the name of it’s not Milk street +and Honey avenue either. Then she begun to cry and I says All right all +right I have as much pride about my kinfolks as anybody even if I dont +always know where they come from. + +We ate for awhile. Mother sent Dilsey to the front to look for Quentin +again. + +“I keep telling you she’s not coming to dinner,” I says. + +“She knows better than that,” Mother says, “She knows I dont permit her +to run about the streets and not come home at meal time. Did you look +good, Dilsey?” + +“Dont let her, then,” I says. + +“What can I do,” she says. “You have all of you flouted me. Always.” + +“If you wouldn’t come interfering, I’d make her mind,” I says. “It +wouldn’t take me but about one day to straighten her out.” + +“You’d be too brutal with her,” she says. “You have your Uncle Maury’s +temper.” + +That reminded me of the letter. I took it out and handed it to her. “You +wont have to open it,” I says. “The bank will let you know how much it +is this time.” + +“It’s addressed to you,” she says. + +“Go on and open it,” I says. She opened it and read it and handed it to +me. + +“ ‘My dear young nephew,’ it says, + + ‘You will be glad to learn that I am now in a position to avail + myself of an opportunity regarding which, for reasons which I + shall make obvious to you, I shall not go into details until I + have an opportunity to divulge it to you in a more secure + manner. My business experience has taught me to be chary of + committing anything of a confidential nature to any more + concrete medium than speech, and my extreme precaution in this + instance should give you some inkling of its value. Needless to + say, I have just completed a most exhaustive examination of all + its phases, and I feel no hesitancy in telling you that it is + that sort of golden chance that comes but once in a lifetime, + and I now see clearly before me that goal toward which I have + long and unflaggingly striven: i.e., the ultimate solidification + of my affairs by which I may restore to its rightful position + that family of which I have the honour to be the sole remaining + male descendant; that family in which I have ever included your + lady mother and her children. + + ‘As it so happens, I am not quite in a position to avail myself + of this opportunity to the uttermost which it warrants, but + rather than go out of the family to do so, I am today drawing + upon your Mother’s bank for the small sum necessary to + complement my own initial investment, for which I herewith + enclose, as a matter of formality, my note of hand at eight + percent per annum. Needless to say, this is merely a formality, + to secure your Mother in the event of that circumstance of which + man is ever the plaything and sport. For naturally I shall + employ this sum as though it were my own and so permit your + Mother to avail herself of this opportunity which my exhaustive + investigation has shown to be a bonanza—if you will permit the + vulgarism—of the first water and purest ray serene. + + ‘This is in confidence, you will understand, from one business + man to another; we will harvest our own vineyards, eh? And + knowing your Mother’s delicate health and that timorousness + which such delicately nutured Southern ladies would naturally + feel regarding matters of business, and their charming proneness + to divulge unwittingly such matters in conversation, I would + suggest that you do not mention it to her at all. On second + thought, I advise you not to do so. It might be better to simply + restore this sum to the bank at some future date, say, in a lump + sum with the other small sums for which I am indebted to her, + and say nothing about it at all. It is our duty to shield her + from the crass material world as much as possible. + + ‘Your affectionate Uncle, + ‘Maury L. Bascomb.’ ” + +“What do you want to do about it?” I says, flipping it across the table. + +“I know you grudge what I give him,” she says. + +“It’s your money,” I says. “If you want to throw it to the birds even, +it’s your business.” + +“He’s my own brother,” Mother says. “He’s the last Bascomb. When we are +gone there wont be any more of them.” + +“That’ll be hard on somebody, I guess,” I says. “All right, all right,” +I says, “It’s your money. Do as you please with it. You want me to tell +the bank to pay it?” + +“I know you begrudge him,” she says. “I realise the burden on your +shoulders. When I’m gone it will be easier on you.” + +“I could make it easier right now,” I says. “All right, all right, I +wont mention it again. Move all bedlam in here if you want to.” + +“He’s your own brother,” she says, “Even if he is afflicted.” + +“I’ll take your bank book,” I says. “I’ll draw my check today.” + +“He kept you waiting six days,” she says. “Are you sure the business is +sound? It seems strange to me that a solvent business cannot pay its +employees promptly.” + +“He’s all right,” I says, “Safe as a bank. I tell him not to bother +about mine until we get done collecting every month. That’s why it’s +late sometimes.” + +“I just couldn’t bear to have you lose the little I had to invest for +you,” she says. “I’ve often thought that Earl is not a good business +man. I know he doesn’t take you into his confidence to the extent that +your investment in the business should warrant. I’m going to speak to +him.” + +“No, you let him alone,” I says. “It’s his business.” + +“You have a thousand dollars in it.” + +“You let him alone,” I says, “I’m watching things. I have your power of +attorney. It’ll be all right.” + +“You dont know what a comfort you are to me,” she says. “You have always +been my pride and joy, but when you came to me of your own accord and +insisted on banking your salary each month in my name, I thanked God it +was you left me if they had to be taken.” + +“They were all right,” I says. “They did the best they could, I reckon.” + +“When you talk that way I know you are thinking bitterly of your +father’s memory,” she says. “You have a right to, I suppose. But it +breaks my heart to hear you.” + +I got up. “If you’ve got any crying to do,” I says, “you’ll have to do +it alone, because I’ve got to get on back. I’ll get the bank book.” + +“I’ll get it,” she says. + +“Keep still,” I says, “I’ll get it.” I went upstairs and got the bank +book out of her desk and went back to town. I went to the bank and +deposited the check and the money order and the other ten, and stopped +at the telegraph office. It was one point above the opening. I had +already lost thirteen points, all because she had to come helling in +there at twelve, worrying me about that letter. + +“What time did that report come in?” I says. + +“About an hour ago,” he says. + +“An hour ago?” I says. “What are we paying you for?” I says, “Weekly +reports? How do you expect a man to do anything? The whole damn top +could blow off and we’d not know it.” + +“I dont expect you to do anything,” he says. “They changed that law +making folks play the cotton market.” + +“They have?” I says. “I hadn’t heard. They must have sent the news out +over the Western Union.” + +I went back to the store. Thirteen points. Damn if I believe anybody +knows anything about the damn thing except the ones that sit back in +those New York offices and watch the country suckers come up and beg +them to take their money. Well, a man that just calls shows he has no +faith in himself, and like I say if you aren’t going to take the advice, +what’s the use in paying money for it. Besides, these people are right +up there on the ground; they know everything that’s going on. I could +feel the telegram in my pocket. I’d just have to prove that they were +using the telegraph company to defraud. That would constitute a bucket +shop. And I wouldn’t hesitate that long, either. Only be damned if it +doesn’t look like a company as big and rich as the Western Union could +get a market report out on time. Half as quick as they’ll get a wire to +you saying Your account closed out. But what the hell do they care about +the people. They’re hand in glove with that New York crowd. Anybody +could see that. + +When I came in Earl looked at his watch. But he didn’t say anything +until the customer was gone. Then he says, + +“You go home to dinner?” + +“I had to go to the dentist,” I says because it’s not any of his +business where I eat but I’ve got to be in the store with him all the +afternoon. And with his jaw running off after all I’ve stood. You take a +little two by four country storekeeper like I say it takes a man with +just five hundred dollars to worry about it fifty thousand dollars’ +worth. + +“You might have told me,” he says. “I expected you back right away.” + +“I’ll trade you this tooth and give you ten dollars to boot, any time,” +I says. “Our agreement was an hour for dinner,” I says, “and if you dont +like the way I do, you know what you can do about it.” + +“I’ve known that some time,” he says. “If it hadn’t been for your mother +I’d have done it before now, too. She’s a lady I’ve got a lot of +sympathy for, Jason. Too bad some other folks I know cant say as much.” + +“Then you can keep it,” I says. “When we need any sympathy I’ll let you +know in plenty of time.” + +“I’ve protected you about that business a long time, Jason,” he says. + +“Yes?” I says, letting him go on. Listening to what he would say before +I shut him up. + +“I believe I know more about where that automobile came from than she +does.” + +“You think so, do you?” I says. “When are you going to spread the news +that I stole it from my mother?” + +“I dont say anything,” he says, “I know you have her power of attorney. +And I know she still believes that thousand dollars is in this +business.” + +“All right,” I says, “Since you know so much, I’ll tell you a little +more: go to the bank and ask them whose account I’ve been depositing a +hundred and sixty dollars on the first of every month for twelve years.” + +“I dont say anything,” he says, “I just ask you to be a little more +careful after this.” + +I never said anything more. It doesn’t do any good. I’ve found that when +a man gets into a rut the best thing you can do is let him stay there. +And when a man gets it in his head that he’s got to tell something on +you for your own good, good-night. I’m glad I haven’t got the sort of +conscience I’ve got to nurse like a sick puppy all the time. If I’d ever +be as careful over anything as he is to keep his little shirt tail full +of business from making him more then eight percent. I reckon he thinks +they’d get him on the usury law if he netted more than eight percent. +What the hell chance has a man got, tied down in a town like this and to +a business like this. Why I could take his business in one year and fix +him so he’d never have to work again, only he’d give it all away to the +church or something. If there’s one thing gets under my skin, it’s a +damn hypocrite. A man that thinks anything he dont understand all about +must be crooked and that first chance he gets he’s morally bound to tell +the third party what’s none of his business to tell. Like I say if I +thought every time a man did something I didn’t know all about he was +bound to be a crook, I reckon I wouldn’t have any trouble finding +something back there on those books that you wouldn’t see any use for +running and telling somebody I thought ought to know about it, when for +all I knew they might know a damn sight more about it now than I did, +and if they didn’t it was damn little of my business anyway and he says, +“My books are open to anybody. Anybody that has any claim or believes +she has any claim on this business can go back there and welcome.” + +“Sure, you wont tell,” I says, “You couldn’t square your conscience with +that. You’ll just take her back there and let her find it. You wont +tell, yourself.” + +“I’m not trying to meddle in your business,” he says. “I know you missed +out on some things like Quentin had. But your mother has had a +misfortunate life too, and if she was to come in here and ask me why you +quit, I’d have to tell her. It aint that thousand dollars. You know +that. It’s because a man never gets anywhere if fact and his ledgers +dont square. And I’m not going to lie to anybody, for myself or anybody +else.” + +“Well, then,” I says, “I reckon that conscience of yours is a more +valuable clerk than I am; it dont have to go home at noon to eat. Only +dont let it interfere with my appetite,” I says, because how the hell +can I do anything right, with that damn family and her not making any +effort to control her nor any of them, like that time when she happened +to see one of them kissing Caddy and all next day she went around the +house in a black dress and a veil and even Father couldn’t get her to +say a word except crying and saying her little daughter was dead and +Caddy about fifteen then only in three years she’d been wearing +haircloth or probably sandpaper at that rate. Do you think I can afford +to have her running bout the streets with every drummer that comes to +town, I says, and them telling the new ones up and down the road where +to pick up a hot one when they made Jefferson. I haven’t got much pride, +I can’t afford it with a kitchen full of niggers to feed and robbing the +state asylum of its star freshman. Blood, I says, governors and +generals. It’s a damn good thing we never had any kings and presidents; +we’d all be down there at Jackson chasing butterflies. I say it’d be bad +enough if it was mine; I’d at least be sure it was a bastard to begin +with, and now even the Lord doesn’t know that for certain probably. + +So after awhile I heard the band start up, and then they begun to clear +out. Headed for the show, every one of them. Haggling over a twenty cent +hame string to save fifteen cents, so they can give it to a bunch of +Yankees that come in and pay maybe ten dollars for the privilege. I went +on out to the back. + +“Well,” I says, “If you dont look out, that bolt will grow into your +hand. And then I’m going to take an axe and chop it out. What do you +reckon the boll-weevils’ll eat if you dont get those cultivators in +shape to raise them a crop?” I says, “sage grass?” + +“Dem folks sho do play dem horns,” he says. “Tell me man in dat show kin +play a tune on a handsaw. Pick hit like a banjo.” + +“Listen,” I says. “Do you know how much that show’ll spend in this town? +About ten dollars,” I says. “The ten dollars Buck Turpin has in his +pocket right now.” + +“Whut dey give Mr Buck ten dollars fer?” he says. + +“For the privilege of showing here,” I says. “You can put the balance of +what they’ll spend in your eye.” + +“You mean dey pays ten dollars jest to give dey show here?” he says. + +“That’s all,” I says. “And how much do you reckon . . .” + +“Gret day,” he says, “You mean to tell me dey chargin um to let um show +here? I’d pay ten dollars to see dat man pick dat saw, ef I had to. I +figures dat tomorrow mawnin I be still owin um nine dollars and six bits +at dat rate.” + +And then a Yankee will talk your head off about niggers getting ahead. +Get them ahead, what I say. Get them so far ahead you cant find one +south of Louisville with a blood hound. Because when I told him about +how they’d pick up Saturday night and carry off at least a thousand +dollars out of the county, he says, + +“I don’t begrudge um. I kin sho afford my two bits.” + +“Two bits hell,” I says. “That dont begin it. How about the dime or +fifteen cents you’ll spend for a damn two cent box of candy or +something. How about the time you’re wasting right now, listening to +that band.” + +“Dat’s de troof,” he says. “Well, ef I lives twell night hit’s gwine to +be two bits mo dey takin out of town, dat’s sho.” + +“Then you’re a fool,” I says. + +“Well,” he says, “I dont spute dat neither. Ef dat uz a crime, all +chain-gangs wouldn’t be black.” + +Well, just about that time I happened to look up the alley and saw her. +When I stepped back and looked at my watch I didn’t notice at the time +who he was because I was looking at the watch. It was just two thirty, +forty-five minutes before anybody but me expected her to be out. So when +I looked around the door the first thing I saw was the red tie he had on +and I was thinking what the hell kind of a man would wear a red tie. But +she was sneaking along the alley, watching the door, so I wasn’t +thinking anything about him until they had gone past. I was wondering if +she’d have so little respect for me that she’d not only play out of +school when I told her not to, but would walk right past the store, +daring me not to see her. Only she couldn’t see into the door because +the sun fell straight into it and it was like trying to see through an +automobile searchlight, so I stood there and watched her go on past, +with her face painted up like a damn clown’s and her hair all gummed and +twisted and a dress that if a woman had come out doors even on Gayoso or +Beale street when I was a young fellow with no more than that to cover +her legs and behind, she’d been thrown in jail. I’ll be damned if they +dont dress like they were trying to make every man they passed on the +street want to reach out and clap his hand on it. And so I was thinking +what kind of a damn man would wear a red tie when all of a sudden I knew +he was one of those show folks well as if she’d told me. Well, I can +stand a lot; if I couldn’t, damn if I wouldn’t be in a hell of a fix, so +when they turned the corner I jumped down and followed. Me, without any +hat, in the middle of the afternoon, having to chase up and down back +alleys because of my mother’s good name. Like I say you cant do anything +with a woman like that, if she’s got it in her. If it’s in her blood, +you cant do anything with her. The only thing you can do is to get rid +of her, let her go on and live with her own sort. + +I went on to the street, but they were out of sight. And there I was, +without any hat, looking like I was crazy too. Like a man would +naturally think, one of them is crazy and another one drowned himself +and the other one was turned out into the street by her husband, what’s +the reason the rest of them are not crazy too. All the time I could see +them watching me like a hawk, waiting for a chance to say Well I’m not +surprised I expected it all the time the whole family’s crazy. Selling +land to send him to Harvard and paying taxes to support a state +University all the time that I never saw except twice at a baseball game +and not letting her daughter’s name be spoken on the place until after a +while Father wouldn’t even come down town anymore but just sat there all +day with the decanter I could see the bottom of his nightshirt and his +bare legs and hear the decanter clinking until finally T. P. had to pour +it for him and she says You have no respect for your Father’s memory and +I says I dont know why not it sure is preserved well enough to last only +if I’m crazy too God knows what I’ll do about it just to look at water +makes me sick and I’d just as soon swallow gasoline as a glass of +whiskey and Lorraine telling them he may not drink but if you dont +believe he’s a man I can tell you how to find out she says If I catch +you fooling with any of these whores you know what I’ll do she says I’ll +whip her grabbing at her I’ll whip her as long as I can find her she +says and I says if I dont drink that’s my business but have you ever +found me short I says I’ll buy you enough beer to take a bath in if you +want it because I’ve got every respect for a good honest whore because +with Mother’s health and the position I try to uphold to have her with +no more respect for what I try to do for her than to make her name and +my name and my Mother’s name a byword in the town. + +She had dodged out of sight somewhere. Saw me coming and dodged into +another alley, running up and down the alleys with a damn show man in a +red tie that everybody would look at and think what kind of a damn man +would wear a red tie. Well, the boy kept speaking to me and so I took +the telegram without knowing I had taken it. I didn’t realise what it +was until I was signing for it, and I tore it open without even caring +much what it was. I knew all the time what it would be, I reckon. That +was the only thing else that could happen, especially holding it up +until I had already had the check entered on the pass book. + +I dont see how a city no bigger than New York can hold enough people to +take the money away from us country suckers. Work like hell all day +every day, send them your money and get a little piece of paper back, +Your account closed at 20.62. Teasing you along, letting you pile up a +little paper profit, then bang! Your account closed at 20.62. And if +that wasn’t enough, paying ten dollars a month to somebody to tell you +how to lose it fast, that either dont know anything about it or is in +cahoots with the telegraph company. Well, I’m done with them. They’ve +sucked me in for the last time. Any fool except a fellow that hasn’t got +any more sense than to take a jew’s word for anything could tell the +market was going up all the time, with the whole damn delta about to be +flooded again and the cotton washed right out of the ground like it was +last year. Let it wash a man’s crop out of the ground year after year, +and them up there in Washington spending fifty thousand dollars a day +keeping an army in Nicaragua or some place. Of course it’ll overflow +again, and then cotton’ll be worth thirty cents a pound. Well, I just +want to hit them one time and get my money back. I don’t want a killing; +only these small town gamblers are out for that, I just want my money +back that these damn jews have gotten with all their guaranteed inside +dope. Then I’m through; they can kiss my foot for every other red cent +of mine they get. + +I went back to the store. It was half past three almost. Damn little +time to do anything in, but then I am used to that. I never had to go to +Harvard to learn that. The band had quit playing. Got them all inside +now, and they wouldn’t have to waste any more wind. Earl says, + +“He found you, did he? He was in here with it a while ago. I thought you +were out back somewhere.” + +“Yes,” I says, “I got it. They couldn’t keep it away from me all +afternoon. The town’s too small. I’ve got to go out home a minute,” I +says. “You can dock me if it’ll make you feel any better.” + +“Go ahead,” he says, “I can handle it now. No bad news, I hope.” + +“You’ll have to go to the telegraph office and find that out,” I says. +“They’ll have time to tell you. I haven’t.” + +“I just asked,” he says. “Your mother knows she can depend on me.” + +“She’ll appreciate it,” I says. “I wont be gone any longer than I have +to.” + +“Take your time,” he says. “I can handle it now. You go ahead.” + +I got the car and went home. Once this morning, twice at noon, and now +again, with her and having to chase all over town and having to beg them +to let me eat a little of the food I am paying for. Sometimes I think +what’s the use of anything. With the precedent I’ve been set I must be +crazy to keep on. And now I reckon I’ll get home just in time to take a +nice long drive after a basket of tomatoes or something and then have to +go back to town smelling like a camphor factory so my head wont explode +right on my shoulders. I keep telling her there’s not a damn thing in +that aspirin except flour and water for imaginary invalids. I says you +dont know what a headache is. I says you think I’d fool with that damn +car at all if it depended on me. I says I can get along without one I’ve +learned to get along without lots of things but if you want to risk +yourself in that old wornout surrey with a halfgrown nigger boy all +right because I says God looks after Ben’s kind, God knows He ought to +do something for him but if you think I’m going to trust a thousand +dollars’ worth of delicate machinery to a halfgrown nigger or a grown +one either, you’d better buy him one yourself because I says you like to +ride in the car and you know you do. + +Dilsey said Mother was in the house. I went on into the hall and +listened, but I didn’t hear anything. I went up stairs, but just as I +passed her door she called me. + +“I just wanted to know who it was,” she says. “I’m here alone so much +that I hear every sound.” + +“You dont have to stay here,” I says. “You could spend the whole day +visiting like other women, if you wanted to.” She came to the door. + +“I thought maybe you were sick,” she says. “Having to hurry through your +dinner like you did.” + +“Better luck next time,” I says. “What do you want?” + +“Is anything wrong?” she says. + +“What could be?” I says. “Cant I come home in the middle of the +afternoon without upsetting the whole house?” + +“Have you seen Quentin?” she says. + +“She’s in school,” I says. + +“It’s after three,” she says. “I heard the clock strike at least a half +an hour ago. She ought to be home by now.” + +“Ought she?” I says. “When have you ever seen her before dark?” + +“She ought to be home,” she says. “When I was a girl . . .” + +“You had somebody to make you behave yourself,” I says. “She hasn’t.” + +“I can’t do anything with her,” she says. “I’ve tried and I’ve tried.” + +“And you wont let me, for some reason,” I says, “So you ought to be +satisfied.” I went on to my room. I turned the key easy and stood there +until the knob turned. Then she says, + +“Jason.” + +“What,” I says. + +“I just thought something was wrong.” + +“Not in here,” I says. “You’ve come to the wrong place.” + +“I dont mean to worry you,” she says. + +“I’m glad to hear that,” I says. “I wasn’t sure. I thought I might have +been mistaken. Do you want anything?” + +After awhile she says, “No. Not any thing.” Then she went away. I took +the box down and counted out the money and hid the box again and +unlocked the door and went out. I thought about the camphor, but it +would be too late now, anyway. And I’d just have one more round trip. +She was at her door, waiting. + +“You want anything from town?” I says. + +“No,” she says. “I dont mean to meddle in your affairs. But I dont know +what I’d do if anything happened to you, Jason.” + +“I’m all right,” I says. “Just a headache.” + +“I wish you’d take some aspirin,” she says. “I know you’re not going to +stop using the car.” + +“What’s the car got to do with it?” I says. “How can a car give a man a +headache?” + +“You know gasoline always made you sick,” she says. “Ever since you were +a child. I wish you’d take some aspirin.” + +“Keep on wishing it,” I says. “It wont hurt you.” + +I got in the car and started back to town. I had just turned onto the +street when I saw a ford coming helling toward me. All of a sudden it +stopped. I could hear the wheels sliding and it slewed around and backed +and whirled and just as I was thinking what the hell they were up to, I +saw that red tie. Then I recognised her face looking back through the +window. It whirled into the alley. I saw it turn again, but when I got +to the back street it was just disappearing, running like hell. + +I saw red. When I recognised that red tie, after all I had told her, I +forgot about everything. I never thought about my head even until I came +to the first forks and had to stop. Yet we spend money and spend money +on roads and damn if it isn’t like trying to drive over a sheet of +corrugated iron roofing. I’d like to know how a man could be expected to +keep up with even a wheelbarrow. I think too much of my car; I’m not +going to hammer it to pieces like it was a ford. Chances were they had +stolen it, anyway, so why should they give a damn. Like I say blood +always tells. If you’ve got blood like that in you, you’ll do anything. +I says whatever claim you believe she has on you has already been +discharged; I says from now on you have only yourself to blame because +you know what any sensible person would do. I says if I’ve got to spend +half my time being a damn detective, at least I’ll go where I can get +paid for it. + +So I had to stop there at the forks. Then I remembered it. It felt like +somebody was inside with a hammer, beating on it. I says I’ve tried to +keep you from being worried by her; I says far as I’m concerned, let her +go to hell as fast as she pleases and the sooner the better. I says what +else do you expect except every drummer and cheap show that comes to +town because even these town jellybeans give her the go-by now. You dont +know what goes on I says, you dont hear the talk that I hear and you can +just bet I shut them up too. I says my people owned slaves here when you +all were running little shirt tail country stores and farming land no +nigger would look at on shares. + +If they ever farmed it. It’s a good thing the Lord did something for +this country; the folks that live on it never have. Friday afternoon, +and from right here I could see three miles of land that hadn’t even +been broken, and every able bodied man in the county in town at that +show. I might have been a stranger starving to death, and there wasn’t a +soul in sight to ask which way to town even. And she trying to get me to +take aspirin. I says when I eat bread I’ll do it at the table. I says +you always talking about how much you give up for us when you could buy +ten new dresses a year on the money you spend for those damn patent +medicines. It’s not something to cure it I need it’s just an even break +not to have to have them but as long as I have to work ten hours a day +to support a kitchen full of niggers in the style they’re accustomed to +and send them to the show with every other nigger in the county, only he +was late already. By the time he got there it would be over. + +After awhile he got up to the car and when I finally got it through his +head if two people in a ford had passed him, he said yes. So I went on, +and when I came to where the wagon road turned off I could see the tire +tracks. Ab Russell was in his lot, but I didn’t bother to ask him and I +hadn’t got out of sight of his barn hardly when I saw the ford. They had +tried to hide it. Done about as well at it as she did at everything else +she did. Like I say it’s not that I object to so much; maybe she cant +help that, it’s because she hasn’t even got enough consideration for her +own family to have any discretion. I’m afraid all the time I’ll run into +them right in the middle of the street or under a wagon on the square, +like a couple of dogs. + +I parked and got out. And now I’d have to go way around and cross a +plowed field, the only one I had seen since I left town, with every step +like somebody was walking along behind me, hitting me on the head with a +club. I kept thinking that when I got across the field at least I’d have +something level to walk on, that wouldn’t jolt me every step, but when I +got into the woods it was full of underbrush and I had to twist around +through it, and then I came to a ditch full of briers. I went along it +for awhile, but it got thicker and thicker, and all the time Earl +probably telephoning home about where I was and getting Mother all upset +again. + +When I finally got through I had had to wind around so much that I had +to stop and figure out just where the car would be. I knew they wouldn’t +be far from it, just under the closest bush, so I turned and worked back +toward the road. Then I couldn’t tell just how far I was, so I’d have to +stop and listen, and then with my legs not using so much blood, it all +would go into my head like it would explode any minute, and the sun +getting down just to where it could shine straight into my eyes and my +ears ringing so I couldn’t hear anything. I went on, trying to move +quiet, then I heard a dog or something and I knew that when he scented +me he’d have to come helling up, then it would be all off. + +I had gotten beggar lice and twigs and stuff all over me, inside my +clothes and shoes and all, and then I happened to look around and I had +my hand right on a bunch of poison oak. The only thing I couldn’t +understand was why it was just poison oak and not a snake or something. +So I didn’t even bother to move it. I just stood there until the dog +went away. Then I went on. + +I didn’t have any idea where the car was now. I couldn’t think about +anything except my head, and I’d just stand in one place and sort of +wonder if I had really seen a ford even, and I didn’t even care much +whether I had or not. Like I say, let her lay out all day and all night +with everything in town that wears pants, what do I care. I dont owe +anything to anybody that has no more consideration for me, that wouldn’t +be a damn bit above planting that ford there and making me spend a whole +afternoon and Earl taking her back there and showing her the books just +because he’s too damn virtuous for this world. I says you’ll have one +hell of a time in heaven, without anybody’s business to meddle in only +dont you ever let me catch you at it I says, I close my eyes to it +because of your grandmother, but just you let me catch you doing it one +time on this place, where my mother lives. These damn little slick +haired squirts, thinking they are raising so much hell, I’ll show them +something about hell I says, and you too. I’ll make him think that damn +red tie is the latch string to hell, if he thinks he can run the woods +with my niece. + +With the sun and all in my eyes and my blood going so I kept thinking +every time my head would go on and burst and get it over with, with +briers and things grabbing at me, then I came onto the sand ditch where +they had been and I recognised the tree where the car was, and just as I +got out of the ditch and started running I heard the car start. It went +off fast, blowing the horn. They kept on blowing it, like it was saying +Yah. Yah. Yaaahhhhhhhh, going out of sight. I got to the road just in +time to see it go out of sight. + +By the time I got up to where my car was, they were clean out of sight, +the horn still blowing. Well, I never thought anything about it except I +was saying Run. Run back to town. Run home and try to convince Mother +that I never saw you in that car. Try to make her believe that I dont +know who he was. Try to make her believe that I didn’t miss ten feet of +catching you in that ditch. Try to make her believe you were standing +up, too. + +It kept on saying Yahhhhh, Yahhhhh, Yaaahhhhhhhhh, getting fainter and +fainter. Then it quit, and I could hear a cow lowing up at Russell’s +barn. And still I never thought. I went up to the door and opened it and +raised my foot. I kind of thought then that the car was leaning a little +more than the slant of the road would be, but I never found it out until +I got in and started off. + +Well, I just sat there. It was getting on toward sundown, and town was +about five miles. They never even had guts enough to puncture it, to jab +a hole in it. They just let the air out. I just stood there for awhile, +thinking about that kitchen full of niggers and not one of them had time +to lift a tire onto the rack and screw up a couple of bolts. It was kind +of funny because even she couldn’t have seen far enough ahead to take +the pump out on purpose, unless she thought about it while he was +letting out the air maybe. But what it probably was, was somebody took +it out and gave it to Ben to play with for a squirt gun because they’d +take the whole car to pieces if he wanted it and Dilsey says, Aint +nobody teched yo car. What we want to fool with hit fer? and I says +You’re a nigger. You’re lucky, do you know it? I says I’ll swap with you +any day because it takes a white man not to have anymore sense than to +worry about what a little slut of a girl does. + +I walked up to Russell’s. He had a pump. That was just an oversight on +their part, I reckon. Only I still couldn’t believe she’d have had the +nerve to. I kept thinking that. I dont know why it is I cant seem to +learn that a woman’ll do anything. I kept thinking, Let’s forget for +awhile how I feel toward you and how you feel toward me: I just wouldn’t +do you this way. I wouldn’t do you this way no matter what you had done +to me. Because like I say blood is blood and you cant get around it. +It’s not playing a joke that any eight year old boy could have thought +of, it’s letting your own uncle be laughed at by a man that would wear a +red tie. They come into town and call us all a bunch of hicks and think +it’s too small to hold them. Well he doesn’t know just how right he is. +And her too. If that’s the way she feels about it, she’d better keep +right on going and a damn good riddance. + +I stopped and returned Russell’s pump and drove on to town. I went to +the drugstore and got a coca-cola and then I went to the telegraph +office. It had closed at 12.21, forty points down. Forty times five +dollars; buy something with that if you can, and she’ll say, I’ve got to +have it I’ve just got to and I’ll say that’s too bad you’ll have to try +somebody else, I haven’t got any money; I’ve been too busy to make any. + +I just looked at him. + +“I’ll tell you some news,” I says, “You’ll be astonished to learn that I +am interested in the cotton market,” I says. “That never occurred to +you, did it?” + +“I did my best to deliver it,” he says. “I tried the store twice and +called up your house, but they didn’t know where you were,” he says, +digging in the drawer. + +“Deliver what?” I says. He handed me a telegram. “What time did this +come?” I says. + +“About half past three,” he says. + +“And now it’s ten minutes past five,” I says. + +“I tried to deliver it,” he says. “I couldn’t find you.” + +“That’s not my fault, is it?” I says. I opened it, just to see what kind +of a lie they’d tell me this time. They must be in one hell of a shape +if they’ve got to come all the way to Mississippi to steal ten dollars a +month. Sell, it says. The market will be unstable, with a general +downward tendency. Do not be alarmed following government report. + +“How much would a message like this cost?” I says. He told me. + +“They paid it,” he says. + +“Then I owe them that much,” I says. “I already knew this. Send this +collect,” I says, taking a blank. Buy, I wrote, Market just on point of +blowing its head off. Occasional flurries for purpose of hooking a few +more country suckers who haven’t got in to the telegraph office yet. Do +not be alarmed. “Send that collect,” I says. + +He looked at the message, then he looked at the clock. “Market closed an +hour ago,” he says. + +“Well,” I says, “That’s not my fault either. I didn’t invent it; I just +bought a little of it while under the impression that the telegraph +company would keep me informed as to what it was doing.” + +“A report is posted whenever it comes in,” he says. + +“Yes,” I says, “And in Memphis they have it on a blackboard every ten +seconds,” I says. “I was within sixty-seven miles of there once this +afternoon.” + +He looked at the message. “You want to send this?” he says. + +“I still haven’t changed my mind,” I says. I wrote the other one out and +counted the money. “And this one too, if you’re sure you can spell +b-u-y.” + +I went back to the store. I could hear the band from down the street. +Prohibition’s a fine thing. Used to be they’d come in Saturday with just +one pair of shoes in the family and him wearing them, and they’d go down +to the express office and get his package; now they all go to the show +barefooted, with the merchants in the door like a row of tigers or +something in a cage, watching them pass. Earl says, + +“I hope it wasn’t anything serious.” + +“What?” I says. He looked at his watch. Then he went to the door and +looked at the courthouse clock. “You ought to have a dollar watch,” I +says. “It wont cost you so much to believe it’s lying each time.” + +“What?” he says. + +“Nothing,” I says. “Hope I haven’t inconvenienced you.” + +“We were not busy much,” he says. “They all went to the show. It’s all +right.” + +“If it’s not all right,” I says, “You know what you can do about it.” + +“I said it was all right,” he says. + +“I heard you,” I says. “And if it’s not all right, you know what you can +do about it.” + +“Do you want to quit?” he says. + +“It’s not my business,” I says. “My wishes dont matter. But dont get the +idea that you are protecting me by keeping me.” + +“You’d be a good business man if you’d let yourself, Jason,” he says. + +“At least I can tend to my own business and let other peoples’ alone,” I +says. + +“I dont know why you are trying to make me fire you,” he says. “You know +you could quit anytime and there wouldn’t be any hard feelings between +us.” + +“Maybe that’s why I dont quit,” I says. “As long as I tend to my job, +that’s what you are paying me for.” I went on to the back and got a +drink of water and went on out to the back door. Job had the cultivators +all set up at last. It was quiet there, and pretty soon my head got a +little easier. I could hear them singing now, and then the band played +again. Well, let them get every quarter and dime in the county; it was +no skin off my back. I’ve done what I could; a man that can live as long +as I have and not know when to quit is a fool. Especially as it’s no +business of mine. If it was my own daughter now it would be different, +because she wouldn’t have time to; she’d have to work some to feed a few +invalids and idiots and niggers, because how could I have the face to +bring anybody there. I’ve too much respect for anybody to do that. I’m a +man, I can stand it, it’s my own flesh and blood and I’d like to see the +colour of the man’s eyes that would speak disrespectful of any woman +that was my friend it’s these damn good women that do it I’d like to see +the good, church-going woman that’s half as square as Lorraine, whore or +no whore. Like I say if I was to get married you’d go up like a balloon +and you know it and she says I want you to be happy to have a family of +your own not to slave your life away for us. But I’ll be gone soon and +then you can take a wife but you’ll never find a woman who is worthy of +you and I says yes I could. You’d get right up out of your grave you +know you would. I says no thank you I have all the women I can take care +of now if I married a wife she’d probably turn out to be a hophead or +something. That’s all we lack in this family, I says. + +The sun was down beyond the Methodist church now, and the pigeons were +flying back and forth around the steeple, and when the band stopped I +could hear them cooing. It hadn’t been four months since Christmas, and +yet they were almost as thick as ever. I reckon Parson Walthall was +getting a belly full of them now. You’d have thought we were shooting +people, with him making speeches and even holding onto a man’s gun when +they came over. Talking about peace on earth good will toward all and +not a sparrow can fall to earth. But what does he care how thick they +get, he hasn’t got anything to do; what does he care what time it is. He +pays no taxes, he doesn’t have to see his money going every year to have +the courthouse clock cleaned to where it’ll run. They had to pay a man +forty-five dollars to clean it. I counted over a hundred half-hatched +pigeons on the ground. You’d think they’d have sense enough to leave +town. It’s a good thing I dont have any more ties than a pigeon, I’ll +say that. + +The band was playing again, a loud fast tune, like they were breaking +up. I reckon they’d be satisfied now. Maybe they’d have enough music to +entertain them while they drove fourteen or fifteen miles home and +unharnessed in the dark and fed the stock and milked. All they’d have to +do would be to whistle the music and tell the jokes to the live stock in +the barn, and then they could count up how much they’d made by not +taking the stock to the show too. They could figure that if a man had +five children and seven mules, he cleared a quarter by taking his family +to the show. Just like that. Earl came back with a couple of packages. + +“Here’s some more stuff going out,” he says. “Where’s Uncle Job?” + +“Gone to the show, I imagine,” I says. “Unless you watched him.” + +“He doesn’t slip off,” he says. “I can depend on him.” + +“Meaning me by that,” I says. + +He went to the door and looked out, listening. + +“That’s a good band,” he says. “It’s about time they were breaking up, +I’d say.” + +“Unless they’re going to spend the night there,” I says. The swallows +had begun, and I could hear the sparrows beginning to swarm in the trees +in the courthouse yard. Every once in a while a bunch of them would come +swirling around in sight above the roof, then go away. They are as big a +nuisance as the pigeons, to my notion. You cant even sit in the +courthouse yard for them. First thing you know, bing. Right on your hat. +But it would take a millionaire to afford to shoot them at five cents a +shot. If they’d just put a little poison out there in the square, they’d +get rid of them in a day, because if a merchant cant keep his stock from +running around the square, he’d better try to deal in something besides +chickens, something that dont eat, like plows or onions. And if a man +dont keep his dogs up, he either dont want it or he hasn’t any business +with one. Like I say if all the businesses in a town are run like +country businesses, you’re going to have a country town. + +“It wont do you any good if they have broke up,” I says. “They’ll have +to hitch up and take out to get home by midnight as it is.” + +“Well,” he says, “They enjoy it. Let them spend a little money on a show +now and then. A hill farmer works pretty hard and gets mighty little for +it.” + +“There’s no law making them farm in the hills,” I says, “Or anywhere +else.” + +“Where would you and me be, if it wasn’t for the farmers?” he says. + +“I’d be home right now,” I says, “Lying down, with an ice pack on my +head.” + +“You have these headaches too often,” he says. “Why dont you have your +teeth examined good? Did he go over them all this morning?” + +“Did who?” I says. + +“You said you went to the dentist this morning.” + +“Do you object to my having the headache on your time?” I says. “Is that +it?” They were crossing the alley now, coming up from the show. + +“There they come,” he says. “I reckon I better get up front.” He went +on. It’s a curious thing how no matter what’s wrong with you, a man’ll +tell you to have your teeth examined and a woman’ll tell you to get +married. It always takes a man that never made much at any thing to tell +you how to run your business, though. Like these college professors +without a whole pair of socks to their name, telling you how to make a +million in ten years, and a woman that couldn’t even get a husband can +always tell you how to raise a family. + +Old man Job came up with the wagon. After a while he got through +wrapping the lines around the whip socket. + +“Well,” I says, “Was it a good show?” + +“I aint been yit,” he says. “But I kin be arrested in dat tent tonight, +dough.” + +“Like hell you haven’t,” I says. “You’ve been away from here since three +oclock. Mr Earl was just back here looking for you.” + +“I been tendin to my business,” he says. “Mr Earl knows whar I been.” + +“You may can fool him,” I says. “I wont tell on you.” + +“Den he’s de onliest man here I’d try to fool,” he says. “Whut I want to +waste my time foolin a man whut I dont keer whether I sees him Sat’dy +night er not? I wont try to fool you,” he says. “You too smart fer me. +Yes, suh,” he says, looking busy as hell, putting five or six little +packages into the wagon, “You’s too smart fer me. Aint a man in dis town +kin keep up wid you fer smartness. You fools a man whut so smart he cant +even keep up wid hisself,” he says, getting in the wagon and unwrapping +the reins. + +“Who’s that?” I says. + +“Dat’s Mr Jason Compson,” he says. “Git up dar, Dan!” + +One of the wheels was just about to come off. I watched to see if he’d +get out of the alley before it did. Just turn any vehicle over to a +nigger, though. I says that old rattletrap’s just an eyesore, yet you’ll +keep it standing there in the carriage house a hundred years just so +that boy can ride to the cemetery once a week. I says he’s not the first +fellow that’ll have to do things he doesn’t want to. I’d make him ride +in that car like a civilised man or stay at home. What does he know +about where he goes or what he goes in, and us keeping a carriage and a +horse so he can take a ride on Sunday afternoon. + +A lot Job cared whether the wheel came off or not, long as he wouldn’t +have too far to walk back. Like I say the only place for them is in the +field, where they’d have to work from sunup to sundown. They cant stand +prosperity or an easy job. Let one stay around white people for a while +and he’s not worth killing. They get so they can outguess you about work +before your very eyes, like Roskus the only mistake he ever made was he +got careless one day and died. Shirking and stealing and giving you a +little more lip and a little more lip until some day you have to lay +them out with a scantling or something. Well, it’s Earl’s business. But +I’d hate to have my business advertised over this town by an old +doddering nigger and a wagon that you thought every time it turned a +corner it would come all to pieces. + +The sun was all high up in the air now, and inside it was beginning to +get dark. I went up front. The square was empty. Earl was back closing +the safe, and then the clock begun to strike. + +“You lock the back door,” he says. I went back and locked it and came +back. “I suppose you’re going to the show tonight,” he says. “I gave you +those passes yesterday, didn’t I?” + +“Yes,” I said. “You want them back?” + +“No, no,” he says, “I just forgot whether I gave them to you or not. No +sense in wasting them.” + +He locked the door and said Goodnight and went on. The sparrows were +still rattling away in the trees, but the square was empty except for a +few cars. There was a ford in front of the drugstore, but I didn’t even +look at it. I know when I’ve had enough of anything. I dont mind trying +to help her, but I know when I’ve had enough. I guess I could teach +Luster to drive it, then they could chase her all day long if they +wanted to, and I could stay home and play with Ben. + +I went in and got a couple of cigars. Then I thought I’d have another +headache shot for luck, and I stood and talked with them awhile. + +“Well,” Mac says, “I reckon you’ve got your money on the Yankees this +year.” + +“What for?” I says. + +“The Pennant,” he says. “Not anything in the League can beat them.” + +“Like hell there’s not,” I says. “They’re shot,” I says. “You think a +team can be that lucky forever?” + +“I dont call it luck,” Mac says. + +“I wouldn’t bet on any team that fellow Ruth played on,” I says. “Even +if I knew it was going to win.” + +“Yes?” Mac says. + +“I can name you a dozen men in either League who’re more valuable than +he is,” I says. + +“What have you got against Ruth?” Mac says. + +“Nothing,” I says. “I haven’t got any thing against him. I dont even +like to look at his picture.” I went on out. The lights were coming on, +and people going along the streets toward home. Sometimes the sparrows +never got still until full dark. The night they turned on the new lights +around the courthouse it waked them up and they were flying around and +blundering into the lights all night long. They kept it up two or three +nights, then one morning they were all gone. Then after about two months +they all came back again. + +I drove on home. There were no lights in the house yet, but they’d all +be looking out the windows, and Dilsey jawing away in the kitchen like +it was her own food she was having to keep hot until I got there. You’d +think to hear her that there wasn’t but one supper in the world, and +that was the one she had to keep back a few minutes on my account. Well +at least I could come home one time without finding Ben and that nigger +hanging on the gate like a bear and a monkey in the same cage. Just let +it come toward sundown and he’d head for the gate like a cow for the +barn, hanging onto it and bobbing his head and sort of moaning to +himself. That’s a hog for punishment for you. If what had happened to +him for fooling with open gates had happened to me, I never would want +to see another one. I often wondered what he’d be thinking about, down +there at the gate, watching the girls going home from school, trying to +want something he couldn’t even remember he didn’t and couldn’t want any +longer. And what he’d think when they’d be undressing him and he’d +happen to take a look at himself and begin to cry like he’d do. But like +I say they never did enough of that. I says I know what you need, you +need what they did to Ben then you’d behave. And if you dont know what +that was I says, ask Dilsey to tell you. + +There was a light in Mother’s room. I put the car up and went on into +the kitchen. Luster and Ben were there. + +“Where’s Dilsey?” I says. “Putting supper on?” + +“She upstairs wid Miss Cahline,” Luster says. “Dey been goin hit. Ever +since Miss Quentin come home. Mammy up there keepin um fum fightin. Is +dat show come, Mr Jason?” + +“Yes,” I says. + +“I thought I heard de band,” he says. “Wish I could go,” he says. “I +could ef I jes had a quarter.” + +Dilsey came in. “You come, is you?” she says. “Whut you been up to dis +evenin? You knows how much work I got to do; whyn’t you git here on +time?” + +“Maybe I went to the show,” I says. “Is supper ready?” + +“Wish I could go,” Luster said. “I could ef I jes had a quarter.” + +“You aint got no business at no show,” Dilsey says. “You go on in de +house and set down,” she says. “Dont you go up stairs and git um started +again, now.” + +“What’s the matter?” I says. + +“Quentin come in a while ago and says you been follerin her around all +evenin and den Miss Cahline jumped on her. Whyn’t you let her alone? +Cant you live in de same house wid you own blood niece widout quoilin?” + +“I cant quarrel with her,” I says, “because I haven’t seen her since +this morning. What does she say I’ve done now? made her go to school? +That’s pretty bad,” I says. + +“Well, you tend to yo business and let her alone,” Dilsey says, “I’ll +take keer of her ef you’n Miss Cahline’ll let me. Go on in dar now and +behave yoself twell I get supper on.” + +“Ef I jes had a quarter,” Luster says, “I could go to dat show.” + +“En ef you had wings you could fly to heaven,” Dilsey says. “I dont want +to hear another word about dat show.” + +“That reminds me,” I says, “I’ve got a couple of tickets they gave me.” +I took them out of my coat. + +“You fixin to use um?” Luster says. + +“Not me,” I says. “I wouldn’t go to it for ten dollars.” + +“Gimme one of um, Mr Jason,” he says. + +“I’ll sell you one,” I says. “How about it?” + +“I aint got no money,” he says. + +“That’s too bad,” I says. I made to go out. + +“Gimme one of um, Mr Jason,” he says. “You aint gwine need um bofe.” + +“Hush yo mouf,” Dilsey says, “Dont you know he aint gwine give nothing +away?” + +“How much you want fer hit?” he says. + +“Five cents,” I says. + +“I aint got dat much,” he says. + +“How much you got?” I says. + +“I aint got nothing,” he says. + +“All right,” I says. I went on. + +“Mr Jason,” he says. + +“Whyn’t you hush up?” Dilsey says. “He jes teasin you. He fixin to use +dem tickets hisself. Go on, Jason, and let him lone.” + +“I dont want them,” I says. I came back to the stove. “I came in here to +burn them up. But if you want to buy one for a nickel?” I says, looking +at him and opening the stove lid. + +“I aint got dat much,” he says. + +“All right,” I says. I dropped one of them in the stove. + +“You, Jason,” Dilsey says, “Aint you shamed?” + +“Mr Jason,” he says, “Please, suh. I’ll fix dem tires ev’ry day fer a +mont’.” + +“I need the cash,” I says. “You can have it for a nickel.” + +“Hush, Luster,” Dilsey says. She jerked him back. “Go on,” she says, +“Drop hit in. Go on. Git hit over with.” + +“You can have it for a nickel,” I says. + +“Go on,” Dilsey says. “He aint got no nickel. Go on. Drop hit in.” + +“All right,” I says. I dropped it in and Dilsey shut the stove. + +“A big growed man like you,” she says. “Git on outen my kitchen. Hush,” +she says to Luster. “Dont you git Benjy started. I’ll git you a quarter +fum Frony tonight and you kin go tomorrow night. Hush up, now.” + +I went on into the living room. I couldn’t hear anything from upstairs. +I opened the paper. After awhile Ben and Luster came in. Ben went to the +dark place on the wall where the mirror used to be, rubbing his hands on +it and slobbering and moaning. Luster begun punching at the fire. + +“What’re you doing?” I says. “We dont need any fire tonight.” + +“I trying to keep him quiet,” he says. “Hit always cold Easter,” he +says. + +“Only this is not Easter,” I says. “Let it alone.” + +He put the poker back and got the cushion out of Mother’s chair and gave +it to Ben, and he hunkered down in front of the fireplace and got quiet. + +I read the paper. There hadn’t been a sound from upstairs when Dilsey +came in and sent Ben and Luster on to the kitchen and said supper was +ready. + +“All right,” I says. She went out. I sat there, reading the paper. After +a while I heard Dilsey looking in at the door. + +“Whyn’t you come on and eat?” she says. + +“I’m waiting for supper,” I says. + +“Hit’s on the table,” she says. “I done told you.” + +“Is it?” I says. “Excuse me. I didn’t hear anybody come down.” + +“They aint comin,” she says. “You come on and eat, so I can take +something up to them.” + +“Are they sick?” I says. “What did the doctor say it was? Not Smallpox, +I hope.” + +“Come on here, Jason,” she says, “So I kin git done.” + +“All right,” I says, raising the paper again. “I’m waiting for supper +now.” + +I could feel her watching me at the door. I read the paper. + +“Whut you want to act like this fer?” she says. “When you knows how much +bother I has anyway.” + +“If Mother is any sicker than she was when she came down to dinner, all +right,” I says. “But as long as I am buying food for people younger than +I am, they’ll have to come down to the table to eat it. Let me know when +supper’s ready,” I says, reading the paper again. I heard her climbing +the stairs, dragging her feet and grunting and groaning like they were +straight up and three feet apart. I heard her at Mother’s door, then I +heard her calling Quentin, like the door was locked, then she went back +to Mother’s room and then Mother went and talked to Quentin. Then they +came down stairs. I read the paper. + +Dilsey came back to the door. “Come on,” she says, “fo you kin think up +some mo devilment. You just tryin yoself tonight.” + +I went to the diningroom. Quentin was sitting with her head bent. She +had painted her face again. Her nose looked like a porcelain insulator. + +“I’m glad you feel well enough to come down,” I says to Mother. + +“It’s little enough I can do for you, to come to the table,” she says. +“No matter how I feel. I realise that when a man works all day he likes +to be surrounded by his family at the supper table. I want to please +you. I only wish you and Quentin got along better. It would be easier +for me.” + +“We get along all right,” I says. “I dont mind her staying locked up in +her room all day if she wants to. But I cant have all this whoop-de-do +and sulking at mealtimes. I know that’s a lot to ask her, but I’m that +way in my own house. Your house, I meant to say.” + +“It’s yours,” Mother says, “You are the head of it now.” + +Quentin hadn’t looked up. I helped the plates and she begun to eat. + +“Did you get a good piece of meat?” I says. “If you didn’t, I’ll try to +find you a better one.” + +She didn’t say anything. + +“I say, did you get a good piece of meat?” I says. + +“What?” she says. “Yes. It’s all right.” + +“Will you have some more rice?” I says. + +“No,” she says. + +“Better let me give you some more,” I says. + +“I dont want any more,” she says. + +“Not at all,” I says, “You’re welcome.” + +“Is your headache gone?” Mother says. + +“Headache?” I says. + +“I was afraid you were developing one,” she says. “When you came in this +afternoon.” + +“Oh,” I says. “No, it didn’t show up. We stayed so busy this afternoon I +forgot about it.” + +“Was that why you were late?” Mother says. I could see Quentin +listening. I looked at her. Her knife and fork were still going, but I +caught her looking at me, then she looked at her plate again. I says, + +“No. I loaned my car to a fellow about three o’clock and I had to wait +until he got back with it.” I ate for a while. + +“Who was it?” Mother says. + +“It was one of those show men,” I says. “It seems his sister’s husband +was out riding with some town woman, and he was chasing them.” + +Quentin sat perfectly still, chewing. + +“You ought not to lend your car to people like that,” Mother says. “You +are too generous with it. That’s why I never call on you for it if I can +help it.” + +“I was beginning to think that myself, for awhile,” I says. “But he got +back, all right. He says he found what he was looking for.” + +“Who was the woman?” Mother says. + +“I’ll tell you later,” I says. “I dont like to talk about such things +before Quentin.” + +Quentin had quit eating. Every once in a while she’d take a drink of +water, then she’d sit there crumbling a biscuit up, her face bent over +her plate. + +“Yes,” Mother says, “I suppose women who stay shut up like I do have no +idea what goes on in this town.” + +“Yes,” I says, “They dont.” + +“My life has been so different from that,” Mother says. “Thank God I +dont know about such wickedness. I dont even want to know about it. I’m +not like most people.” + +I didn’t say any more. Quentin sat there, crumbling the biscuit until I +quit eating, then she says, + +“Can I go now?” without looking at anybody. + +“What?” I says. “Sure, you can go. Were you waiting on us?” + +She looked at me. She had crumbled all the biscuit, but her hands still +went on like they were crumbling it yet and her eyes looked like they +were cornered or something and then she started biting her mouth like it +ought to have poisoned her, with all that red lead. + +“Grandmother,” she says, “Grandmother—” + +“Did you want something else to eat?” I says. + +“Why does he treat me like this, Grandmother?” she says. “I never hurt +him.” + +“I want you all to get along with one another,” Mother says, “You are +all that’s left now, and I do want you all to get along better.” + +“It’s his fault,” she says, “He wont let me alone, and I have to. If he +doesn’t want me here, why wont he let me go back to—” + +“That’s enough,” I says, “Not another word.” + +“Then why wont he let me alone?” she says. “He—he just—” + +“He is the nearest thing to a father you’ve ever had,” Mother says. +“It’s his bread you and I eat. It’s only right that he should expect +obedience from you.” + +“It’s his fault,” she says. She jumped up. “He makes me do it. If he +would just—” she looked at us, her eyes cornered, kind of jerking her +arms against her sides. + +“If I would just what?” I says. + +“Whatever I do, it’s your fault,” she says. “If I’m bad, it’s because I +had to be. You made me. I wish I was dead. I wish we were all dead.” +Then she ran. We heard her run up the stairs. Then a door slammed. + +“That’s the first sensible thing she ever said,” I says. + +“She didn’t go to school today,” Mother says. + +“How do you know?” I says. “Were you down town?” + +“I just know,” she says. “I wish you could be kinder to her.” + +“If I did that I’d have to arrange to see her more than once a day,” I +says. “You’ll have to make her come to the table every meal. Then I +could give her an extra piece of meat every time.” + +“There are little things you could do,” she says. + +“Like not paying any attention when you ask me to see that she goes to +school?” I says. + +“She didn’t go to school today,” she says. “I just know she didn’t. She +says she went for a car ride with one of the boys this afternoon and you +followed her.” + +“How could I,” I says, “When somebody had my car all afternoon? Whether +or not she was in school today is already past,” I says, “If you’ve got +to worry about it, worry about next Monday.” + +“I wanted you and she to get along with one another,” she says. “But she +has inherited all of the headstrong traits. Quentin’s too. I thought at +the time, with the heritage she would already have, to give her that +name, too. Sometimes I think she is the judgment of Caddy and Quentin +upon me.” + +“Good Lord,” I says, “You’ve got a fine mind. No wonder you kept +yourself sick all the time.” + +“What?” she says. “I dont understand.” + +“I hope not,” I says. “A good woman misses a lot she’s better off +without knowing.” + +“They were both that way,” she says, “They would make interest with your +father against me when I tried to correct them. He was always saying +they didn’t need controlling, that they already knew what cleanliness +and honesty were, which was all that anyone could hope to be taught. And +now I hope he’s satisfied.” + +“You’ve got Ben to depend on,” I says, “Cheer up.” + +“They deliberately shut me out of their lives,” she says, “It was always +her and Quentin. They were always conspiring against me. Against you +too, though you were too young to realise it. They always looked on you +and me as outsiders, like they did your Uncle Maury. I always told your +father that they were allowed too much freedom, to be together too much. +When Quentin started to school we had to let her go the next year, so +she could be with him. She couldn’t bear for any of you to do anything +she couldn’t. It was vanity in her, vanity and false pride. And then +when her troubles began I knew that Quentin would feel that he had to do +something just as bad. But I didn’t believe that he would have been so +selfish as to—I didn’t dream that he—” + +“Maybe he knew it was going to be a girl,” I says, “And that one more of +them would be more than he could stand.” + +“He could have controlled her,” she says. “He seemed to be the only +person she had any consideration for. But that is a part of the judgment +too, I suppose.” + +“Yes,” I says, “Too bad it wasn’t me instead of him. You’d be a lot +better off.” + +“You say things like that to hurt me,” she says. “I deserve it though. +When they began to sell the land to send Quentin to Harvard I told your +father that he must make an equal provision for you. Then when Herbert +offered to take you into the bank I said, Jason is provided for now, and +when all the expense began to pile up and I was forced to sell our +furniture and the rest of the pasture, I wrote her at once because I +said she will realise that she and Quentin have had their share and part +of Jason’s too and that it depends on her now to compensate him. I said +she will do that out of respect for her father. I believed that, then. +But I’m just a poor old woman; I was raised to believe that people would +deny themselves for their own flesh and blood. It’s my fault. You were +right to reproach me.” + +“Do you think I need any man’s help to stand on my feet?” I says, “Let +alone a woman that cant name the father of her own child.” + +“Jason,” she says. + +“All right,” I says. “I didn’t mean that. Of course not.” + +“If I believed that were possible, after all my suffering.” + +“Of course it’s not,” I says. “I didn’t mean it.” + +“I hope that at least is spared me,” she says. + +“Sure it is,” I says, “She’s too much like both of them to doubt that.” + +“I couldn’t bear that,” she says. + +“Then quit thinking about it,” I says. “Has she been worrying you any +more about getting out at night?” + +“No. I made her realise that it was for her own good and that she’d +thank me for it some day. She takes her books with her and studies after +I lock the door. I see the light on as late as eleven oclock some +nights.” + +“How do you know she’s studying?” I says. + +“I don’t know what else she’d do in there alone,” she says. “She never +did read any.” + +“No,” I says, “You wouldn’t know. And you can thank your stars for +that,” I says. Only what would be the use in saying it aloud. It would +just have her crying on me again. + +I heard her go up stairs. Then she called Quentin and Quentin says What? +through the door. “Goodnight,” Mother says. Then I heard the key in the +lock, and Mother went back to her room. + +When I finished my cigar and went up, the light was still on. I could +see the empty keyhole, but I couldn’t hear a sound. She studied quiet. +Maybe she learned that in school. I told Mother goodnight and went on to +my room and got the box out and counted it again. I could hear the Great +American Gelding snoring away like a planing mill. I read somewhere +they’d fix men that way to give them women’s voices. But maybe he didn’t +know what they’d done to him. I dont reckon he even knew what he had +been trying to do, or why Mr Burgess knocked him out with the fence +picket. And if they’d just sent him on to Jackson while he was under the +ether, he’d never have known the difference. But that would have been +too simple for a Compson to think of. Not half complex enough. Having to +wait to do it at all until he broke out and tried to run a little girl +down on the street with her own father looking at him. Well, like I say +they never started soon enough with their cutting, and they quit too +quick. I know at least two more that needed something like that, and one +of them not over a mile away, either. But then I dont reckon even that +would do any good. Like I say once a bitch always a bitch. And just let +me have twenty-four hours without any damn New York jew to advise me +what it’s going to do. I dont want to make a killing; save that to suck +in the smart gamblers with. I just want an even chance to get my money +back. And once I’ve done that they can bring all Beale Street and all +bedlam in here and two of them can sleep in my bed and another one can +have my place at the table too. + + + + + APRIL EIGHTH, 1928 + + +The day dawned bleak and chill, a moving wall of grey light out of the +northeast which, instead of dissolving into moisture, seemed to +disintegrate into minute and venomous particles, like dust that, when +Dilsey opened the door of the cabin and emerged, needled laterally into +her flesh, precipitating not so much a moisture as a substance partaking +of the quality of thin, not quite congealed oil. She wore a stiff black +straw hat perched upon her turban, and a maroon velvet cape with a +border of mangy and anonymous fur above a dress of purple silk, and she +stood in the door for awhile with her myriad and sunken face lifted to +the weather, and one gaunt hand flac-soled as the belly of a fish, then +she moved the cape aside and examined the bosom of her gown. + +The gown fell gauntly from her shoulders, across her fallen breasts, +then tightened upon her paunch and fell again, ballooning a little above +the nether garments which she would remove layer by layer as the spring +accomplished and the warm days, in colour regal and moribund. She had +been a big woman once but now her skeleton rose, draped loosely in +unpadded skin that tightened again upon a paunch almost dropsical, as +though muscle and tissue had been courage or fortitude which the days or +the years had consumed until only the indomitable skeleton was left +rising like a ruin or a landmark above the somnolent and impervious +guts, and above that the collapsed face that gave the impression of the +bones themselves being outside the flesh, lifted into the driving day +with an expression at once fatalistic and of a child’s astonished +disappointment, until she turned and entered the house again and closed +the door. + +The earth immediately about the door was bare. It had a patina, as +though from the soles of bare feet in generations, like old silver or +the walls of Mexican houses which have been plastered by hand. Beside +the house, shading it in summer, stood three mulberry trees, the fledged +leaves that would later be broad and placid as the palms of hands +streaming flatly undulant upon the driving air. A pair of jaybirds came +up from nowhere, whirled up on the blast like gaudy scraps of cloth or +paper and lodged in the mulberries, where they swung in raucous tilt and +recover, screaming into the wind that ripped their harsh cries onward +and away like scraps of paper or of cloth in turn. Then three more +joined them and they swung and tilted in the wrung branches for a time, +screaming. The door of the cabin opened and Dilsey emerged once more, +this time in a man’s felt hat and an army overcoat, beneath the frayed +skirts of which her blue gingham dress fell in uneven balloonings, +streaming too about her as she crossed the yard and mounted the steps to +the kitchen door. + +A moment later she emerged, carrying an open umbrella now, which she +slanted ahead into the wind, and crossed to the woodpile and laid the +umbrella down, still open. Immediately she caught at it and arrested it +and held to it for a while, looking about her. Then she closed it and +laid it down and stacked stovewood into her crooked arm, against her +breast, and picked up the umbrella and got it open at last and returned +to the steps and held the wood precariously balanced while she contrived +to close the umbrella, which she propped in the corner just within the +door. She dumped the wood into the box behind the stove. Then she +removed the overcoat and hat and took a soiled apron down from the wall +and put it on and built a fire in the stove. While she was doing so, +rattling the grate bars and clattering the lids, Mrs Compson began to +call her from the head of the stairs. + +She wore a dressing gown of quilted black satin, holding it close under +her chin. In the other hand she held a red rubber hot water bottle and +she stood at the head of the back stairway, calling “Dilsey” at steady +and inflectionless intervals into the quiet stairwell that descended +into complete darkness, then opened again where a grey window fell +across it. “Dilsey,” she called, without inflection or emphasis or +haste, as though she were not listening for a reply at all. “Dilsey.” + +Dilsey answered and ceased clattering the stove, but before she could +cross the kitchen Mrs Compson called her again, and before she crossed +the diningroom and brought her head into relief against the grey splash +of the window, still again. + +“All right,” Dilsey said, “All right, here I is. I’ll fill hit soon ez I +git some hot water.” She gathered up her skirts and mounted the stairs, +wholly blotting the grey light. “Put hit down dar en g’awn back to bed.” + +“I couldn’t understand what was the matter,” Mrs Compson said. “I’ve +been lying awake for an hour at least, without hearing a sound from the +kitchen.” + +“You put hit down and g’awn back to bed,” Dilsey said. She toiled +painfully up the steps, shapeless, breathing heavily. “I’ll have de fire +gwine in a minute, en de water hot in two mo.” + +“I’ve been lying there for an hour, at least,” Mrs Compson said. “I +thought maybe you were waiting for me to come down and start the fire.” + +Dilsey reached the top of the stairs and took the water bottle. “I’ll +fix hit in a minute,” she said. “Luster overslep dis mawnin, up half de +night at dat show. I gwine build de fire myself. Go on now, so you wont +wake de others twell I ready.” + +“If you permit Luster to do things that interfere with his work, you’ll +have to suffer for it yourself,” Mrs Compson said. “Jason wont like this +if he hears about it. You know he wont.” + +“Twusn’t none of Jason’s money he went on,” Dilsey said. “Dat’s one +thing sho.” She went on down the stairs. Mrs Compson returned to her +room. As she got into bed again she could hear Dilsey yet descending the +stairs with a sort of painful and terrific slowness that would have +become maddening had it not presently ceased beyond the flapping +diminishment of the pantry door. + +She entered the kitchen and built up the fire and began to prepare +breakfast. In the midst of this she ceased and went to the window and +looked out toward her cabin, then she went to the door and opened it and +shouted into the driving weather. + +“Luster!” she shouted, standing to listen, tilting her face from the +wind, “You, Luster?” She listened, then as she prepared to shout again +Luster appeared around the corner of the kitchen. + +“Ma’am?” he said innocently, so innocently that Dilsey looked down at +him, for a moment motionless, with something more than mere surprise. + +“Whar you at?” she said. + +“Nowhere,” he said. “Jes in de cellar.” + +“Whut you doin in de cellar?” she said. “Dont stand dar in de rain, +fool,” she said. + +“Aint doin nothin,” he said. He came up the steps. + +“Dont you dare come in dis do widout a armful of wood,” she said. “Here +I done had to tote yo wood en build yo fire bofe. Didn’t I tole you not +to leave dis place last night befo dat woodbox wus full to de top?” + +“I did,” Luster said, “I filled hit.” + +“Whar hit gone to, den?” + +“I dont know’m. I aint teched hit.” + +“Well, you git hit full up now,” she said. “And git on up den en see +bout Benjy.” + +She shut the door. Luster went to the woodpile. The five jaybirds +whirled over the house, screaming, and into the mulberries again. He +watched them. He picked up a rock and threw it. “Whoo,” he said, “Git on +back to hell, whar you belong at. ’Taint Monday yit.” + +He loaded himself mountainously with stove wood. He could not see over +it, and he staggered to the steps and up them and blundered crashing +against the door, shedding billets. Then Dilsey came and opened the door +for him and he blundered across the kitchen. “You, Luster!” she shouted, +but he had already hurled the wood into the box with a thunderous crash. +“Hah!” he said. + +“Is you tryin to wake up de whole house?” Dilsey said. She hit him on +the back of his head with the flat of her hand. “Go on up dar and git +Benjy dressed, now.” + +“Yessum,” he said. He went toward the outer door. + +“Whar you gwine?” Dilsey said. + +“I thought I better go round de house en in by de front, so I wont wake +up Miss Cahline en dem.” + +“You go on up dem backstairs like I tole you en git Benjy’s clothes on +him,” Dilsey said. “Go on, now.” + +“Yessum,” Luster said. He returned and left by the diningroom door. +After awhile it ceased to flap. Dilsey prepared to make biscuit. As she +ground the sifter steadily above the bread board, she sang, to herself +at first, something without particular tune or words, repetitive, +mournful and plaintive, austere, as she ground a faint, steady snowing +of flour onto the bread board. The stove had begun to heat the room and +to fill it with murmurous minors of the fire, and presently she was +singing louder, as if her voice too had been thawed out by the growing +warmth, and then Mrs Compson called her name again from within the +house. Dilsey raised her face as if her eyes could and did penetrate the +walls and ceiling and saw the old woman in her quilted dressing gown at +the head of the stairs, calling her name with machinelike regularity. + +“Oh, Lawd,” Dilsey said. She set the sifter down and swept up the hem of +her apron and wiped her hands and caught up the bottle from the chair on +which she had laid it and gathered her apron about the handle of the +kettle which was now jetting faintly. “Jes a minute,” she called, “De +water jes dis minute got hot.” + +It was not the bottle which Mrs Compson wanted, however, and clutching +it by the neck like a dead hen Dilsey went to the foot of the stairs and +looked upward. + +“Aint Luster up dar wid him?” she said. + +“Luster hasn’t been in the house. I’ve been lying here listening for +him. I knew he would be late, but I did hope he’d come in time to keep +Benjamin from disturbing Jason on Jason’s one day in the week to sleep +in the morning.” + +“I dont see how you expect anybody to sleep, wid you standin in de hall, +holl’in at folks fum de crack of dawn,” Dilsey said. She began to mount +the stairs, toiling heavily. “I sont dat boy up dar half hour ago.” + +Mrs Compson watched her, holding the dressing gown under her chin. “What +are you going to do?” she said. + +“Gwine git Benjy dressed en bring him down to de kitchen, whar he wont +wake Jason en Quentin,” Dilsey said. + +“Haven’t you started breakfast yet?” + +“I’ll tend to dat too,” Dilsey said. “You better git back in bed twell +Luster make yo fire. Hit cold dis mawnin.” + +“I know it,” Mrs Compson said. “My feet are like ice. They were so cold +they waked me up.” She watched Dilsey mount the stairs. It took her a +long while. “You know how it frets Jason when breakfast is late,” Mrs +Compson said. + +“I cant do but one thing at a time,” Dilsey said. “You git on back to +bed, fo I has you on my hands dis mawnin too.” + +“If you’re going to drop everything to dress Benjamin, I’d better come +down and get breakfast. You know as well as I do how Jason acts when +it’s late.” + +“En who gwine eat yo messin?” Dilsey said. “Tell me dat. Go on now,” she +said, toiling upward. Mrs Compson stood watching her as she mounted, +steadying herself against the wall with one hand, holding her skirts up +with the other. + +“Are you going to wake him up just to dress him?” she said. + +Dilsey stopped. With her foot lifted to the next step she stood there, +her hand against the wall and the grey splash of the window behind her, +motionless and shapeless she loomed. + +“He aint awake den?” she said. + +“He wasn’t when I looked in,” Mrs Compson said. “But it’s past his time. +He never does sleep after half past seven. You know he doesn’t.” + +Dilsey said nothing. She made no further move, but though she could not +see her save as a blobby shape without depth, Mrs Compson knew that she +had lowered her face a little and that she stood now like a cow in the +rain, as she held the empty water bottle by its neck. + +“You’re not the one who has to bear it,” Mrs Compson said. “It’s not +your responsibility. You can go away. You dont have to bear the brunt of +it day in and day out. You owe nothing to them, to Mr Compson’s memory. +I know you have never had any tenderness for Jason. You’ve never tried +to conceal it.” + +Dilsey said nothing. She turned slowly and descended, lowering her body +from step to step, as a small child does, her hand against the wall. +“You go on and let him alone,” she said. “Dont go in dar no mo, now. +I’ll send Luster up soon as I find him. Let him alone, now.” + +She returned to the kitchen. She looked into the stove, then she drew +her apron over her head and donned the overcoat and opened the outer +door and looked up and down the yard. The weather drove upon her flesh, +harsh and minute, but the scene was empty of all else that moved. She +descended the steps, gingerly, as if for silence, and went around the +corner of the kitchen. As she did so Luster emerged quickly and +innocently from the cellar door. + +Dilsey stopped. “Whut you up to?” she said. + +“Nothin,” Luster said, “Mr Jason say fer me to find out whar dat water +leak in de cellar fum.” + +“En when wus hit he say fer you to do dat?” Dilsey said. “Last New +Year’s day, wasn’t hit?” + +“I thought I jes be lookin whiles dey sleep,” Luster said. Dilsey went +to the cellar door. He stood aside and she peered down into the +obscurity odorous of dank earth and mould and rubber. + +“Huh,” Dilsey said. She looked at Luster again. He met her gaze blandly, +innocent and open. “I dont know whut you up to, but you aint got no +business doin hit. You jes tryin me too dis mawnin cause de others is, +aint you? You git on up dar en see to Benjy, you hear?” + +“Yessum,” Luster said. He went on toward the kitchen steps, swiftly. + +“Here,” Dilsey said, “You git me another armful of wood while I got +you.” + +“Yessum,” he said. He passed her on the steps and went to the woodpile. +When he blundered again at the door a moment later, again invisible and +blind within and beyond his wooden avatar, Dilsey opened the door and +guided him across the kitchen with a firm hand. + +“Jes thow hit at dat box again,” she said, “Jes thow hit.” + +“I got to,” Luster said, panting, “I cant put hit down no other way.” + +“Den you stand dar en hold hit a while,” Dilsey said. She unloaded him a +stick at a time. “Whut got into you dis mawnin? Here I sont you fer wood +en you aint never brought mo’n six sticks at a time to save yo life +twell today. Whut you fixin to ax me kin you do now? Aint dat show lef +town yit?” + +“Yessum. Hit done gone.” + +She put the last stick into the box. “Now you go on up dar wid Benjy, +like I tole you befo,” she said. “And I dont want nobody else yellin +down dem stairs at me twell I rings de bell. You hear me.” + +“Yessum,” Luster said. He vanished through the swing door. Dilsey put +some more wood in the stove and returned to the bread board. Presently +she began to sing again. + +The room grew warmer. Soon Dilsey’s skin had taken on a rich, lustrous +quality as compared with that as of a faint dusting of wood ashes which +both it and Luster’s had worn, as she moved about the kitchen, gathering +about her the raw materials of food, coordinating the meal. On the wall +above a cupboard, invisible save at night, by lamp light and even then +evincing an enigmatic profundity because it had but one hand, a cabinet +clock ticked, then with a preliminary sound as if it had cleared its +throat, struck five times. + +“Eight oclock,” Dilsey said. She ceased and tilted her head upward, +listening. But there was no sound save the clock and the fire. She +opened the oven and looked at the pan of bread, then stooping she paused +while someone descended the stairs. She heard the feet cross the +diningroom, then the swing door opened and Luster entered, followed by a +big man who appeared to have been shaped of some substance whose +particles would not or did not cohere to one another or to the frame +which supported it. His skin was dead looking and hairless; dropsical +too, he moved with a shambling gait like a trained bear. His hair was +pale and fine. It had been brushed smoothly down upon his brow like that +of children in daguerreotypes. His eyes were clear, of the pale sweet +blue of cornflowers, his thick mouth hung open, drooling a little. + +“Is he cold?” Dilsey said. She wiped her hands on her apron and touched +his hand. + +“Ef he aint, I is,” Luster said. “Always cold Easter. Aint never seen +hit fail. Miss Cahline say ef you aint got time to fix her hot water +bottle to never mind about hit.” + +“Oh, Lawd,” Dilsey said. She drew a chair into the corner between the +woodbox and the stove. The man went obediently and sat in it. “Look in +de dinin room and see whar I laid dat bottle down,” Dilsey said. Luster +fetched the bottle from the diningroom and Dilsey filled it and give it +to him. “Hurry up, now,” she said. “See ef Jason wake now. Tell em hit’s +all ready.” + +Luster went out. Ben sat beside the stove. He sat loosely, utterly +motionless save for his head, which made a continual bobbing sort of +movement as he watched Dilsey with his sweet vague gaze as she moved +about. Luster returned. + +“He up,” he said, “Miss Cahline say put hit on de table.” He came to the +stove and spread his hands palm down above the firebox. “He up, too,” He +said, “Gwine hit wid bofe feet dis mawnin.” + +“Whut’s de matter now?” Dilsey said. “Git away fum dar. How kin I do +anything wid you standin over de stove?” + +“I cold,” Luster said. + +“You ought to thought about dat whiles you wus down dar in dat cellar,” +Dilsey said. “Whut de matter wid Jason?” + +“Sayin me en Benjy broke dat winder in his room.” + +“Is dey one broke?” Dilsey said. + +“Dat’s whut he sayin,” Luster said. “Say I broke hit.” + +“How could you, when he keep hit locked all day en night?” + +“Say I broke hit chunkin rocks at hit,” Luster said. + +“En did you?” + +“Nome,” Luster said. + +“Dont lie to me, boy,” Dilsey said. + +“I never done hit,” Luster said. “Ask Benjy ef I did. I aint stud’in dat +winder.” + +“Who could a broke hit, den?” Dilsey said. “He jes tryin hisself, to +wake Quentin up,” she said, taking the pan of biscuits out of the stove. + +“Reckin so,” Luster said. “Dese is funny folks. Glad I aint none of em.” + +“Aint none of who?” Dilsey said. “Lemme tell you somethin, nigger boy, +you got jes es much Compson devilment in you es any of em. Is you right +sho you never broke dat window?” + +“Whut I want to break hit fur?” + +“Whut you do any of yo devilment fur?” Dilsey said. “Watch him now, so +he cant burn his hand again twell I git de table set.” + +She went to the diningroom, where they heard her moving about, then she +returned and set a plate at the kitchen table and set food there. Ben +watched her, slobbering, making a faint, eager sound. + +“All right, honey,” she said, “Here yo breakfast. Bring his chair, +Luster.” Luster moved the chair up and Ben sat down, whimpering and +slobbering. Dilsey tied a cloth about his neck and wiped his mouth with +the end of it. “And see kin you kep fum messin up his clothes one time,” +she said, handing Luster a spoon. + +Ben ceased whimpering. He watched the spoon as it rose to his mouth. It +was as if even eagerness were muscle-bound in him too, and hunger itself +inarticulate, not knowing it is hunger. Luster fed him with skill and +detachment. Now and then his attention would return long enough to +enable him to feint the spoon and cause Ben to close his mouth upon the +empty air, but it was apparent that Luster’s mind was elsewhere. His +other hand lay on the back of the chair and upon that dead surface it +moved tentatively, delicately, as if he were picking an inaudible tune +out of the dead void, and once he even forgot to tease Ben with the +spoon while his fingers teased out of the slain wood a soundless and +involved arpeggio until Ben recalled him by whimpering again. + +In the diningroom Dilsey moved back and forth. Presently she rang a +small clear bell, then in the kitchen Luster heard Mrs Compson and Jason +descending, and Jason’s voice, and he rolled his eyes whitely with +listening. + +“Sure, I know they didn’t break it,” Jason said. “Sure, I know that. +Maybe the change of weather broke it.” + +“I dont see how it could have,” Mrs Compson said. “Your room stays +locked all day long, just as you leave it when you go to town. None of +us ever go in there except Sunday, to clean it. I dont want you to think +that I would go where I’m not wanted, or that I would permit anyone else +to.” + +“I never said you broke it, did I?” Jason said. + +“I dont want to go in your room,” Mrs Compson said. “I respect anybody’s +private affairs. I wouldn’t put my foot over the threshold, even if I +had a key.” + +“Yes,” Jason said, “I know your keys wont fit. That’s why I had the lock +changed. What I want to know is, how that window got broken.” + +“Luster say he didn’t do hit,” Dilsey said. + +“I knew that without asking him,” Jason said. “Where’s Quentin?” he +said. + +“Where she is ev’y Sunday mawnin,” Dilsey said. “Whut got into you de +last few days, anyhow?” + +“Well, we’re going to change all that,” Jason said. “Go up and tell her +breakfast is ready.” + +“You leave her alone now, Jason,” Dilsey said. “She gits up fer +breakfast ev’y week mawnin, en Cahline lets her stay in bed ev’y Sunday. +You knows dat.” + +“I cant keep a kitchen full of niggers to wait on her pleasure, much as +I’d like to,” Jason said. “Go and tell her to come down to breakfast.” + +“Aint nobody have to wait on her,” Dilsey said. “I puts her breakfast in +de warmer en she—” + +“Did you hear me?” Jason said. + +“I hears you,” Dilsey said. “All I been hearin, when you in de house. Ef +hit aint Quentin er yo maw, hit’s Luster en Benjy. Whut you let him go +on dat way fer, Miss Cahline?” + +“You’d better do as he says,” Mrs Compson said, “He’s head of the house +now. It’s his right to require us to respect his wishes. I try to do it, +and if I can, you can too.” + +“’Taint no sense in him bein so bad tempered he got to make Quentin git +up jes to suit him,” Dilsey said. “Maybe you think she broke dat +window.” + +“She would, if she happened to think of it,” Jason said. “You go and do +what I told you.” + +“En I wouldn’t blame her none ef she did,” Dilsey said, going toward the +stairs. “Wid you naggin at her all de blessed time you in de house.” + +“Hush, Dilsey,” Mrs Compson said, “It’s neither your place nor mine to +tell Jason what to do. Sometimes I think he is wrong, but I try to obey +his wishes for you alls’ sakes. If I’m strong enough to come to the +table, Quentin can too.” + +Dilsey went out. They heard her mounting the stairs. They heard her a +long while on the stairs. + +“You’ve got a prize set of servants,” Jason said. He helped his mother +and himself to food. “Did you ever have one that was worth killing? You +must have had some before I was big enough to remember.” + +“I have to humour them,” Mrs Compson said. “I have to depend on them so +completely. It’s not as if I were strong. I wish I were. I wish I could +do all the house work myself. I could at least take that much off your +shoulders.” + +“And a fine pigsty we’d live in, too,” Jason said. “Hurry up, Dilsey,” +he shouted. + +“I know you blame me,” Mrs Compson said, “for letting them off to go to +church today.” + +“Go where?” Jason said. “Hasn’t that damn show left yet?” + +“To church,” Mrs Compson said. “The darkies are having a special Easter +service. I promised Dilsey two weeks ago that they could get off.” + +“Which means we’ll eat cold dinner,” Jason said, “or none at all.” + +“I know it’s my fault,” Mrs Compson said. “I know you blame me.” + +“For what?” Jason said. “You never resurrected Christ, did you?” + +They heard Dilsey mount the final stair, then her slow feet overhead. + +“Quentin,” she said. When she called the first time Jason laid his knife +and fork down and he and his mother appeared to wait across the table +from one another, in identical attitudes; the one cold and shrewd, with +close-thatched brown hair curled into two stubborn hooks, one on either +side of his forehead like a bartender in caricature, and hazel eyes with +black-ringed irises like marbles, the other cold and querulous, with +perfectly white hair and eyes pouched and baffled and so dark as to +appear to be all pupil or all iris. + +“Quentin,” Dilsey said, “Get up, honey. Dey waitin breakfast on you.” + +“I cant understand how that window got broken,” Mrs Compson said. “Are +you sure it was done yesterday? It could have been like that a long +time, with the warm weather. The upper sash, behind the shade like +that.” + +“I’ve told you for the last time that it happened yesterday,” Jason +said. “Dont you reckon I know the room I live in? Do you reckon I could +have lived in it a week with a hole in the window you could stick your +hand—” his voice ceased, ebbed, left him staring at his mother with +eyes that for an instant were quite empty of anything. It was as though +his eyes were holding their breath, while his mother looked at him, her +face flaccid and querulous, interminable, clairvoyant yet obtuse. As +they sat so Dilsey said, + +“Quentin. Dont play wid me, honey. Come on to breakfast, honey. Dey +waitin fer you.” + +“I cant understand it,” Mrs Compson said, “It’s just as if somebody had +tried to break into the house—” Jason sprang up. His chair crashed over +backward. “What—” Mrs Compson said, staring at him as he ran past her +and went jumping up the stairs, where he met Dilsey. His face was now in +shadow, and Dilsey said, + +“She sullin. Yo ma aint unlocked—” But Jason ran on past her and along +the corridor to a door. He didn’t call. He grasped the knob and tried +it, then he stood with the knob in his hand and his head bent a little, +as if he were listening to something much further away than the +dimensioned room beyond the door, and which he already heard. His +attitude was that of one who goes through the motions of listening in +order to deceive himself as to what he already hears. Behind him Mrs +Compson mounted the stairs, calling his name. Then she saw Dilsey and +she quit calling him and began to call Dilsey instead. + +“I told you she aint unlocked dat do’ yit,” Dilsey said. + +When she spoke he turned and ran toward her, but his voice was quiet, +matter of fact. “She carry the key with her?” he said. “Has she got it +now, I mean, or will she have—” + +“Dilsey,” Mrs Compson said on the stairs. + +“Is which?” Dilsey said. “Whyn’t you let—” + +“The key,” Jason said, “To that room. Does she carry it with her all the +time. Mother.” Then he saw Mrs Compson and he went down the stairs and +met her. “Give me the key,” he said. He fell to pawing at the pockets of +the rusty black dressing sacque she wore. She resisted. + +“Jason,” she said, “Jason! Are you and Dilsey trying to put me to bed +again?” she said, trying to fend him off, “Cant you even let me have +Sunday in peace?” + +“The key,” Jason said, pawing at her, “Give it here.” He looked back at +the door, as if he expected it to fly open before he could get back to +it with the key he did not yet have. + +“You, Dilsey!” Mrs Compson said, clutching her sacque about her. + +“Give me the key, you old fool!” Jason cried suddenly. From her pocket +he tugged a huge bunch of rusted keys on an iron ring like a mediaeval +jailer’s and ran back up the hall with the two women behind him. + +“You, Jason!” Mrs Compson said. “He will never find the right one,” she +said, “You know I never let anyone take my keys, Dilsey,” she said. She +began to wail. + +“Hush,” Dilsey said, “He aint gwine do nothin to her. I aint gwine let +him.” + +“But on Sunday morning, in my own house,” Mrs Compson said, “When I’ve +tried so hard to raise them Christians. Let me find the right key, +Jason,” she said. She put her hand on his arm. Then she began to +struggle with him, but he flung her aside with a motion of his elbow and +looked around at her for a moment, his eyes cold and harried, then he +turned to the door again and the unwieldy keys. + +“Hush,” Dilsey said, “You, Jason!” + +“Something terrible has happened,” Mrs Compson said, wailing again, “I +know it has. You, Jason,” she said, grasping at him again. “He wont even +let me find the key to a room in my own house!” + +“Now, now,” Dilsey said, “Whut kin happen? I right here. I aint gwine +let him hurt her. Quentin,” she said, raising her voice, “dont you be +skeered, honey, I’se right here.” + +The door opened, swung inward. He stood in it for a moment, hiding the +room, then he stepped aside. “Go in,” he said in a thick, light voice. +They went in. It was not a girl’s room. It was not anybody’s room, and +the faint scent of cheap cosmetics and the few feminine objects and the +other evidences of crude and hopeless efforts to feminize it but added +to its anonymity, giving it that dead and stereotyped transience of +rooms in assignation houses. The bed had not been disturbed. On the +floor lay a soiled undergarment of cheap silk a little too pink; from a +half open bureau drawer dangled a single stocking. The window was open. +A pear tree grew there, close against the house. It was in bloom and the +branches scraped and rasped against the house and the myriad air, +driving in the window, brought into the room the forlorn scent of the +blossoms. + +“Dar now,” Dilsey said, “Didn’t I told you she all right?” + +“All right?” Mrs Compson said. Dilsey followed her into the room and +touched her. + +“You come on and lay down, now,” she said. “I find her in ten minutes.” + +Mrs Compson shook her off. “Find the note,” she said. “Quentin left a +note when he did it.” + +“All right,” Dilsey said, “I’ll find hit. You come on to yo room, now.” + +“I knew the minute they named her Quentin this would happen,” Mrs +Compson said. She went to the bureau and began to turn over the +scattered objects there—scent bottles, a box of powder, a chewed +pencil, a pair of scissors with one broken blade lying upon a darned +scarf dusted with powder and stained with rouge. “Find the note,” she +said. + +“I is,” Dilsey said. “You come on, now. Me and Jason’ll find hit. You +come on to yo room.” + +“Jason,” Mrs Compson said, “Where is he?” She went to the door. Dilsey +followed her on down the hall, to another door. It was closed. “Jason,” +she called through the door. There was no answer. She tried the knob, +then she called him again. But there was still no answer, for he was +hurling things backward out of the closet: garments, shoes, a suitcase. +Then he emerged carrying a sawn section of tongue-and-groove planking +and laid it down and entered the closet again and emerged with a metal +box. He set it on the bed and stood looking at the broken lock while he +dug a key ring from his pocket and selected a key, and for a time longer +he stood with the selected key in his hand, looking at the broken lock, +then he put the keys back in his pocket and carefully tilted the +contents of the box out upon the bed. Still carefully he sorted the +papers, taking them up one at a time and shaking them. Then he upended +the box and shook it too and slowly replaced the papers and stood again, +looking at the broken lock, with the box in his hands and his head bent. +Outside the window he heard some jaybirds swirl shrieking past, and +away, their cries whipping away along the wind, and an automobile passed +somewhere and died away also. His mother spoke his name again beyond the +door, but he didn’t move. He heard Dilsey lead her away up the hall, and +then a door closed. Then he replaced the box in the closet and flung the +garments back into it and went down stairs to the telephone. While he +stood there with the receiver to his ear, waiting, Dilsey came down the +stairs. She looked at him, without stopping, and went on. + +The wire opened. “This is Jason Compson,” he said, his voice so harsh +and thick that he had to repeat himself. “Jason Compson,” he said, +controlling his voice. “Have a car ready, with a deputy, if you cant go, +in ten minutes. I’ll be there—What?—Robbery. My house. I know who +it—Robbery, I say. Have a car read—What? Aren’t you a paid law +enforcement—Yes, I’ll be there in five minutes. Have that car ready to +leave at once. If you dont, I’ll report it to the governor.” + +He clapped the receiver back and crossed the diningroom, where the +scarce-broken meal now lay cold on the table, and entered the kitchen. +Dilsey was filling the hot water bottle. Ben sat, tranquil and empty. +Beside him Luster looked like a fice dog, brightly watchful. He was +eating something. Jason went on across the kitchen. + +“Aint you going to eat no breakfast?” Dilsey said. He paid her no +attention. “Go on and eat yo breakfast, Jason.” He went on. The outer +door banged behind him. Luster rose and went to the window and looked +out. + +“Whoo,” he said, “Whut happenin up dar? He been beatin’ Miss Quentin?” + +“You hush yo mouf,” Dilsey said. “You git Benjy started now en I beat yo +head off. You keep him quiet es you kin twell I get back, now.” She +screwed the cap on the bottle and went out. They heard her go up the +stairs, then they heard Jason pass the house in his car. Then there was +no sound in the kitchen save the simmering murmur of the kettle and the +clock. + +“You know whut I bet?” Luster said. “I bet he beat her. I bet he knock +her in de head en now he gone fer de doctor. Dat’s whut I bet.” The +clock tick-tocked, solemn and profound. It might have been the dry pulse +of the decaying house itself; after a while it whirred and cleared its +throat and struck six times. Ben looked up at it, then he looked at the +bullet-like silhouette of Luster’s head in the window and he begun to +bob his head again, drooling. He whimpered. + +“Hush up, loony,” Luster said without turning. “Look like we aint gwine +git to go to no church today.” But Ben sat in the chair, his big soft +hands dangling between his knees, moaning faintly. Suddenly he wept, a +slow bellowing sound, meaningless and sustained. “Hush,” Luster said. He +turned and lifted his hand. “You want me to whup you?” But Ben looked at +him, bellowing slowly with each expiration. Luster came and shook him. +“You hush dis minute!” he shouted. “Here,” he said. He hauled Ben out of +the chair and dragged the chair around facing the stove and opened the +door to the firebox and shoved Ben into the chair. They looked like a +tug nudging at a clumsy tanker in a narrow dock. Ben sat down again +facing the rosy door. He hushed. Then they heard the clock again, and +Dilsey slow on the stairs. When she entered he began to whimper again. +Then he lifted his voice. + +“Whut you done to him?” Dilsey said. “Why cant you let him lone dis +mawnin, of all times?” + +“I aint doin nothin to him,” Luster said. “Mr Jason skeered him, dat’s +whut hit is. He aint kilt Miss Quentin, is he?” + +“Hush, Benjy,” Dilsey said. He hushed. She went to the window and looked +out. “Is it quit rainin?” she said. + +“Yessum,” Luster said. “Quit long time ago.” + +“Den y’all go out do’s awhile,” she said. “I jes got Miss Cahline quiet +now.” + +“Is we gwine to church?” Luster said. + +“I let you know bout dat when de time come. You keep him away fum de +house twell I calls you.” + +“Kin we go to de pastuh?” Luster said. + +“All right. Only you keep him away fum de house. I done stood all I +kin.” + +“Yessum,” Luster said. “Whar Mr Jason gone, mammy?” + +“Dat’s some mo of yo business, aint it?” Dilsey said. She began to clear +the table. “Hush, Benjy. Luster gwine take you out to play.” + +“Whut he done to Miss Quentin, mammy?” Luster said. + +“Aint done nothin to her. You all git on outen here?” + +“I bet she aint here,” Luster said. + +Dilsey looked at him. “How you know she aint here?” + +“Me and Benjy seed her clamb out de window last night. Didn’t us, +Benjy?” + +“You did?” Dilsey said, looking at him. + +“We sees her doin hit ev’y night,” Luster said, “Clamb right down dat +pear tree.” + +“Dont you lie to me, nigger boy,” Dilsey said. + +“I aint lyin. Ask Benjy ef I is.” + +“Whyn’t you say somethin about it, den?” + +“’Twarn’t none o my business,” Luster said. “I aint gwine git mixed up +in white folks’ business. Come on here, Benjy, les go out do’s.” + +They went out. Dilsey stood for awhile at the table, then she went and +cleared the breakfast things from the diningroom and ate her breakfast +and cleaned up the kitchen. Then she removed her apron and hung it up +and went to the foot of the stairs and listened for a moment. There was +no sound. She donned the overcoat and the hat and went across to her +cabin. + +The rain had stopped. The air now drove out of the southeast, broken +overhead into blue patches. Upon the crest of a hill beyond the trees +and roofs and spires of town sunlight lay like a pale scrap of cloth, +was blotted away. Upon the air a bell came, then as if at a signal, +other bells took up the sound and repeated it. + +The cabin door opened and Dilsey emerged, again in the maroon cape and +the purple gown, and wearing soiled white elbow-length gloves and minus +her headcloth now. She came into the yard and called Luster. She waited +awhile, then she went to the house and around it to the cellar door, +moving close to the wall, and looked into the door. Ben sat on the +steps. Before him Luster squatted on the damp floor. He held a saw in +his left hand, the blade sprung a little by pressure of his hand, and he +was in the act of striking the blade with the worn wooden mallet with +which she had been making beaten biscuit for more than thirty years. The +saw gave forth a single sluggish twang that ceased with lifeless +alacrity, leaving the blade in a thin clean curve between Luster’s hand +and the floor. Still, inscrutable, it bellied. + +“Dat’s de way he done hit,” Luster said. “I jes aint foun de right thing +to hit it wid.” + +“Dat’s whut you doin, is it?” Dilsey said. “Bring me dat mallet,” she +said. + +“I aint hurt hit,” Luster said. + +“Bring hit here,” Dilsey said. “Put dat saw whar you got hit first.” + +He put the saw away and brought the mallet to her. Then Ben wailed +again, hopeless and prolonged. It was nothing. Just sound. It might have +been all time and injustice and sorrow become vocal for an instant by a +conjunction of planets. + +“Listen at him,” Luster said, “He been gwine on dat way ev’y since you +sont us outen de house. I dont know whut got in to him dis mawnin.” + +“Bring him here,” Dilsey said. + +“Come on, Benjy,” Luster said. He went back down the steps and took +Ben’s arm. He came obediently, wailing, that slow hoarse sound that +ships make, that seems to begin before the sound itself has started, +seems to cease before the sound itself has stopped. + +“Run and git his cap,” Dilsey said. “Dont make no noise Miss Cahline kin +hear. Hurry, now. We already late.” + +“She gwine hear him anyhow, ef you dont stop him.” Luster said. + +“He stop when we git off de place,” Dilsey said. “He smellin hit. Dat’s +whut hit is.” + +“Smell whut, mammy?” Luster said. + +“You go git dat cap,” Dilsey said. Luster went on. They stood in the +cellar door, Ben one step below her. The sky was broken now into +scudding patches that dragged their swift shadows up out of the shabby +garden, over the broken fence and across the yard. Dilsey stroked Ben’s +head, slowly and steadily, smoothing the bang upon his brow. He wailed +quietly, unhurriedly. “Hush,” Dilsey said, “Hush, now. We be gone in a +minute. Hush, now.” He wailed quietly and steadily. + +Luster returned, wearing a stiff new straw hat with a coloured band and +carrying a cloth cap. The hat seemed to isolate Luster’s skull, in the +beholder’s eye as a spotlight would, in all its individual planes and +angles. So peculiarly individual was its shape that at first glance the +hat appeared to be on the head of someone standing immediately behind +Luster. Dilsey looked at the hat. + +“Whyn’t you wear yo old hat?” she said. + +“Couldn’t find hit,” Luster said. + +“I bet you couldn’t. I bet you fixed hit last night so you couldn’t find +hit. You fixin to ruin dat un.” + +“Aw, mammy,” Luster said, “Hit aint gwine rain.” + +“How you know? You go git dat old hat en put dat new un away.” + +“Aw, mammy.” + +“Den you go git de umbreller.” + +“Aw, mammy.” + +“Take yo choice,” Dilsey said. “Git yo old hat, er de umbreller. I dont +keer which.” + +Luster went to the cabin. Ben wailed quietly. + +“Come on,” Dilsey said, “Dey kin ketch up wid us. We gwine to hear de +singin.” They went around the house, toward the gate. “Hush,” Dilsey +said from time to time as they went down the drive. They reached the +gate. Dilsey opened it. Luster was coming down the drive behind them, +carrying the umbrella. A woman was with him. “Here dey come,” Dilsey +said. They passed out the gate. “Now, den,” she said. Ben ceased. Luster +and his mother overtook them. Frony wore a dress of bright blue silk and +a flowered hat. She was a thin woman, with a flat, pleasant face. + +“You got six weeks’ work right dar on yo back,” Dilsey said. “Whut you +gwine do ef hit rain?” + +“Git wet, I reckon,” Frony said. “I aint never stopped no rain yit.” + +“Mammy always talkin bout hit gwine rain,” Luster said. + +“Ef I dont worry bout y’all, I dont know who is,” Dilsey said. “Come on, +we already late.” + +“Rev’un Shegog gwine preach today,” Frony said. + +“Is?” Dilsey said. “Who him?” + +“He fum Saint Looey,” Frony said. “Dat big preacher.” + +“Huh,” Dilsey said, “Whut dey needs is a man kin put de fear of God into +dese here triflin young niggers.” + +“Rev’un Shegog gwine preach today,” Frony said. “So dey tells.” + +They went on along the street. Along its quiet length white people in +bright clumps moved churchward, under the windy bells, walking now and +then in the random and tentative sun. The wind was gusty, out of the +southeast, chill and raw after the warm days. + +“I wish you wouldn’t keep on bringin him to church, mammy,” Frony said. +“Folks talkin.” + +“Whut folks?” Dilsey said. + +“I hears em,” Frony said. + +“And I knows whut kind of folks,” Dilsey said, “Trash white folks. Dat’s +who it is. Thinks he aint good enough fer white church, but nigger +church aint good enough fer him.” + +“Dey talks, jes de same,” Frony said. + +“Den you send um to me,” Dilsey said. “Tell um de good Lawd dont keer +whether he smart er not. Dont nobody but white trash keer dat.” + +A street turned oil at right angles, descending, and became a dirt road. +On either hand the land dropped more sharply; a broad flat dotted with +small cabins whose weathered roofs were on a level with the crown of the +road. They were set in small grassless plots littered with broken +things, bricks, planks, crockery, things of a once utilitarian value. +What growth there was consisted of rank weeds and the trees were +mulberries and locusts and sycamores—trees that partook also of the +foul desiccation which surrounded the houses; trees whose very +burgeoning seemed to be the sad and stubborn remnant of September, as if +even spring had passed them by, leaving them to feed upon the rich and +unmistakable smell of negroes in which they grew. + +From the doors negroes spoke to them as they passed, to Dilsey usually: + +“Sis’ Gibson! How you dis mawnin?” + +“I’m well. Is you well?” + +“I’m right well, I thank you.” + +They emerged from the cabins and struggled up the shading levee to the +road-men in staid, hard brown or black, with gold watch chains and now +and then a stick; young men in cheap violent blues or stripes and +swaggering hats; women a little stiffly sibilant, and children in +garments bought second hand of white people, who looked at Ben with the +covertness of nocturnal animals: + +“I bet you wont go up en tech him.” + +“How come I wont?” + +“I bet you wont. I bet you skeered to.” + +“He wont hurt folks. He des a loony.” + +“How come a loony wont hurt folks?” + +“Dat un wont. I teched him.” + +“I bet you wont now.” + +“Case Miss Dilsey lookin.” + +“You wont no ways.” + +“He dont hurt folks. He des a loony.” + +And steadily the older people speaking to Dilsey, though, unless they +were quite old, Dilsey permitted Frony to respond. + +“Mammy aint feelin well dis mawnin.” + +“Dat’s too bad. But Rev’un Shegog’ll cure dat. He’ll give her de comfort +en de unburdenin.” + +The road rose again, to a scene like a painted backdrop. Notched into a +cut of red clay crowned with oaks the road appeared to stop short off, +like a cut ribbon. Beside it a weathered church lifted its crazy steeple +like a painted church, and the whole scene was as flat and without +perspective as a painted cardboard set upon the ultimate edge of the +flat earth, against the windy sunlight of space and April and a +midmorning filled with bells. Toward the church they thronged with slow +sabbath deliberation. The women and children went on in, the men stopped +outside and talked in quiet groups until the bell ceased ringing. Then +they too entered. + +The church had been decorated, with sparse flowers from kitchen gardens +and hedgerows, and with streamers of coloured crepe paper. Above the +pulpit hung a battered Christmas bell, the accordian sort that +collapses. The pulpit was empty, though the choir was already in place, +fanning themselves although it was not warm. + +Most of the women were gathered on one side of the room. They were +talking. Then the bell struck one time and they dispersed to their seats +and the congregation sat for an instant, expectant. The bell struck +again one time. The choir rose and began to sing and the congregation +turned its head as one, as six small children—four girls with tight +pigtails bound with small scraps of cloth like butterflies, and two boys +with close napped heads,—entered and marched up the aisle, strung +together in a harness of white ribbons and flowers, and followed by two +men in single file. The second man was huge, of a light coffee colour, +imposing in a frock coat and white tie. His head was magisterial and +profound, his neck rolled above his collar in rich folds. But he was +familiar to them, and so the heads were still reverted when he had +passed, and it was not until the choir ceased singing that they realised +that the visiting clergyman had already entered, and when they saw the +man who had preceded their minister enter the pulpit still ahead of him +an indescribable sound went up, a sigh, a sound of astonishment and +disappointment. + +The visitor was undersized, in a shabby alpaca coat. He had a wizened +black face like a small, aged monkey. And all the while that the choir +sang again and while the six children rose and sang in thin, frightened, +tuneless whispers, they watched the insignificant looking man sitting +dwarfed and countrified by the minister’s imposing bulk, with something +like consternation. They were still looking at him with consternation +and unbelief when the minister rose and introduced him in rich, rolling +tones whose very unction served to increase the visitor’s +insignificance. + +“En dey brung dat all de way fum Saint Looey,” Frony whispered. + +“I’ve knowed de Lawd to use cuiser tools dan dat,” Dilsey said. “Hush, +now,” she said to Ben, “Dey fixin to sing again in a minute.” + +When the visitor rose to speak he sounded like a white man. His voice +was level and cold. It sounded too big to have come from him and they +listened at first through curiosity, as they would have to a monkey +talking. They began to watch him as they would a man on a tight rope. +They even forgot his insignificant appearance in the virtuosity with +which he ran and poised and swooped upon the cold inflectionless wire of +his voice, so that at last, when with a sort of swooping glide he came +to rest again beside the reading desk with one arm resting upon it at +shoulder height and his monkey body as reft of all motion as a mummy or +an emptied vessel, the congregation sighed as if it waked from a +collective dream and moved a little in its seats. Behind the pulpit the +choir fanned steadily. Dilsey whispered, “Hush, now. Dey fixin to sing +in a minute.” + +Then a voice said, “Brethren.” + +The preacher had not moved. His arm lay yet across the desk, and he +still held that pose while the voice died in sonorous echoes between the +walls. It was as different as day and dark from his former tone, with a +sad, timbrous quality like an alto horn, sinking into their hearts and +speaking there again when it had ceased in fading and cumulate echoes. + +“Brethren and sisteren,” it said again. The preacher removed his arm and +he began to walk back and forth before the desk, his hands clasped +behind him, a meagre figure, hunched over upon itself like that of one +long immured in striving with the implacable earth, “I got the +recollection and the blood of the Lamb!” He tramped steadily back and +forth beneath the twisted paper and the Christmas bell, hunched, his +hands clasped behind him. He was like a worn small rock whelmed by the +successive waves of his voice. With his body he seemed to feed the voice +that, succubus like, had fleshed its teeth in him. And the congregation +seemed to watch with its own eyes while the voice consumed him, until he +was nothing and they were nothing and there was not even a voice but +instead their hearts were speaking to one another in chanting measures +beyond the need for words, so that when he came to rest against the +reading desk, his monkey face lifted and his whole attitude that of a +serene, tortured crucifix that transcended its shabbiness and +insignificance and made it of no moment, a long moaning expulsion of +breath rose from them, and a woman’s single soprano: “Yes, Jesus!” + +As the scudding day passed overhead the dingy windows glowed and faded +in ghostly retrograde. A car passed along the road outside, labouring in +the sand, died away. Dilsey sat bolt upright, her hand on Ben’s knee. +Two tears slid down her fallen cheeks, in and out of the myriad +coruscations of immolation and abnegation and time. + +“Brethren,” the minister said in a harsh whisper, without moving. + +“Yes, Jesus!” the woman’s voice said, hushed yet. + +“Breddren en sistuhn!” His voice rang again, with the horns. He removed +his arm and stood erect and raised his hands. “I got de ricklickshun en +de blood of de Lamb!” They did not mark just when his intonation, his +pronunciation, became negroid, they just sat swaying a little in their +seats as the voice took them into itself. + +“When de long, cold—Oh, I tells you, breddren, when de long, cold—I +sees de light en I sees de word, po sinner! Dey passed away in Egypt, de +swingin chariots; de generations passed away. Wus a rich man: whar he +now, O breddren? Wus a po man: whar he now, O sistuhn? Oh I tells you, +ef you aint got de milk en de dew of de old salvation when de long, cold +years rolls away!” + +“Yes, Jesus!” + +“I tells you, breddren, en I tells you, sistuhn, dey’ll come a time. Po +sinner sayin Let me lay down wid de Lawd, lemme lay down my load. Den +whut Jesus gwine say, O breddren? O sistuhn? Is you got de ricklickshun +en de Blood of de Lamb? Case I aint gwine load down heaven!” + +He fumbled in his coat and took out a handkerchief and mopped his face. +A low concerted sound rose from the congregation: “Mmmmmmmmmmmmm!” The +woman’s voice said, “Yes, Jesus! Jesus!” + +“Breddren! Look at dem little chillen settin dar. Jesus wus like dat +once. He mammy suffered de glory en de pangs. Sometime maybe she helt +him at de nightfall, whilst de angels singin him to sleep; maybe she +look out de do’ en see de Roman po-lice passin.” He tramped back and +forth, mopping his face. “Listen, breddren! I sees de day. Ma’y settin +in de do’ wid Jesus on her lap, de little Jesus. Like dem chillen dar, +de little Jesus. I hears de angels singin de peaceful songs en de glory; +I sees de closin eyes; sees Mary jump up, sees de sojer face: We gwine +to kill! We gwine to kill! We gwine to kill yo little Jesus! I hears de +weepin en de lamentation of de po mammy widout de salvation en de word +of God!” + +“Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm! Jesus! Little Jesus!” and another voice, rising: + +“I sees, O Jesus! Oh I sees!” and still another, without words, like +bubbles rising in water. + +“I sees hit, breddren! I sees hit! Sees de blastin, blindin sight! I +sees Calvary, wid de sacred trees, sees de thief en de murderer en de +least of dese; I hears de boasting en de braggin: Ef you be Jesus, lif +up yo tree en walk! I hears de wailin of women en de evenin +lamentations; I hears de weepin en de cryin en de turnt-away face of +God: dey done kilt Jesus; dey done kilt my Son!” + +“Mmmmmmmmmmmmm. Jesus! I sees, O Jesus!” + +“O blind sinner! Breddren, I tells you; sistuhn, I says to you, when de +Lawd did turn His mighty face, say, Aint gwine overload heaven! I can +see de widowed God shet His do’; I sees de whelmin flood roll between; I +sees de darkness en de death everlastin upon de generations. Den, lo! +Breddren! Yes, breddren! Whut I see? Whut I see, O sinner? I sees de +resurrection en de light; sees de meek Jesus sayin Dey kilt Me dat ye +shall live again; I died dat dem whut sees en believes shall never die. +Breddren, O breddren! I sees de doom crack en hears de golden horns +shoutin down de glory, en de arisen dead whut got de blood en de +ricklickshun of de Lamb!” + +In the midst of the voices and the hands Ben sat, rapt in his sweet blue +gaze. Dilsey sat bolt upright beside, crying rigidly and quietly in the +annealment and the blood of the remembered Lamb. + +As they walked through the bright noon, up the sandy road with the +dispersing congregation talking easily again group to group, she +continued to weep, unmindful of the talk. + +“He sho a preacher, mon! He didn’t look like much at first, but hush!” + +“He seed de power en de glory.” + +“Yes, suh. He seed hit. Face to face he seed hit.” + +Dilsey made no sound, her face did not quiver as the tears took their +sunken and devious courses, walking with her head up, making no effort +to dry them away even. + +“Whyn’t you quit dat, mammy?” Frony said. “Wid all dese people lookin. +We be passin white folks soon.” + +“I’ve seed de first en de last,” Dilsey said. “Never you mind me.” + +“First en last whut?” Frony said. + +“Never you mind,” Dilsey said. “I seed de beginnin, en now I sees de +endin.” + +Before they reached the street, though, she stopped and lifted her skirt +and dried her eyes on the hem of her topmost underskirt. Then they went +on. Ben shambled along beside Dilsey, watching Luster who anticked along +ahead, the umbrella in his hand and his new straw hat slanted viciously +in the sunlight, like a big foolish dog watching a small clever one. +They reached the gate and entered. Immediately Ben began to whimper +again, and for a while all of them looked up the drive at the square, +paintless house with its rotting portico. + +“Whut’s gwine on up dar today?” Frony said. “Something is.” + +“Nothin,” Dilsey said. “You tend to yo business en let de white folks +tend to deir’n.” + +“Somethin is,” Frony said. “I heard him first thing dis mawnin. ’Taint +none of my business, dough.” + +“En I knows whut, too,” Luster said. + +“You knows mo dan you got any use fer,” Dilsey said. “Aint you jes heard +Frony say hit aint none of yo business? You take Benjy on to de back and +keep him quiet twell I put dinner on.” + +“I knows whar Miss Quentin is,” Luster said. + +“Den jes keep hit,” Dilsey said. “Soon es Quentin need any of yo egvice, +I’ll let you know. Y’all g’awn en play in de back, now.” + +“You know whut gwine happen soon es dey start playin dat ball over +yonder,” Luster said. + +“Dey wont start fer awhile yit. By dat time T.P. be here to take him +ridin. Here, you gimme dat new hat.” + +Luster gave her the hat and he and Ben went on across the back yard. Ben +was still whimpering, though not loud. Dilsey and Frony went to the +cabin. After a while Dilsey emerged, again in the faded calico dress, +and went to the kitchen. The fire had died down. There was no sound in +the house. She put on the apron and went up stairs. There was no sound +anywhere. Quentin’s room was as they had left it. She entered and picked +up the undergarment and put the stocking back in the drawer and closed +it. Mrs Compson’s door was closed. Dilsey stood beside it for a moment, +listening. Then she opened it and entered, entered a pervading reek of +camphor. The shades were drawn, the room in halflight, and the bed, so +that at first she thought Mrs Compson was asleep and was about to close +the door when the other spoke. + +“Well?” she said, “What is it?” + +“Hit’s me,” Dilsey said. “You want anything?” + +Mrs Compson didn’t answer. After awhile, without moving her head at all, +she said: “Where’s Jason?” + +“He aint come back yit,” Dilsey said. “Whut you want?” + +Mrs Compson said nothing. Like so many cold, weak people, when faced at +last by the incontrovertible disaster she exhumed from somewhere a sort +of fortitude, strength. In her case it was an unshakable conviction +regarding the yet unplumbed event. “Well,” she said presently, “Did you +find it?” + +“Find whut? Whut you talkin about?” + +“The note. At least she would have enough consideration to leave a note. +Even Quentin did that.” + +“Whut you talkin about?” Dilsey said, “Dont you know she all right? I +bet she be walkin right in dis do’ befo dark.” + +“Fiddlesticks,” Mrs Compson said, “It’s in the blood. Like uncle, like +niece. Or mother. I dont know which would be worse. I dont seem to +care.” + +“Whut you keep on talkin that way fur?” Dilsey said. “Whut she want to +do anything like that fur?” + +“I dont know. What reason did Quentin have? Under God’s heaven what +reason did he have? It cant be simply to flout and hurt me. Whoever God +is, He would not permit that. I’m a lady. You might not believe that +from my offspring, but I am.” + +“You des wait en see,” Dilsey said. “She be here by night, right dar in +her bed.” Mrs Compson said nothing. The camphor-soaked cloth lay upon +her brow. The black robe lay across the foot of the bed. Dilsey stood +with her hand on the door knob. + +“Well,” Mrs Compson said. “What do you want? Are you going to fix some +dinner for Jason and Benjamin, or not?” + +“Jason aint come yit,” Dilsey said. “I gwine fix somethin. You sho you +dont want nothin? Yo bottle still hot enough?” + +“You might hand me my Bible.” + +“I give hit to you dis mawnin, befo I left.” + +“You laid it on the edge of the bed. How long did you expect it to stay +there?” + +Dilsey crossed to the bed and groped among the shadows beneath the edge +of it and found the Bible, face down. She smoothed the bent pages and +laid the book on the bed again. Mrs Compson didn’t open her eyes. Her +hair and the pillow were the same color, beneath the wimple of the +medicated cloth she looked like an old nun praying. “Dont put it there +again,” she said, without opening her eyes. “That’s where you put it +before. Do you want me to have to get out of bed to pick it up?” + +Dilsey reached the book across her and laid it on the broad side of the +bed. “You cant see to read, noways,” she said. “You want me to raise de +shade a little?” + +“No. Let them alone. Go on and fix Jason something to eat.” + +Dilsey went out. She closed the door and returned to the kitchen. The +stove was almost cold. While she stood there the clock above the +cupboard struck ten times. “One oclock,” she said aloud, “Jason aint +comin home. Ise seed de first en de last,” she said, looking at the cold +stove, “I seed de first en de last.” She set out some cold food on a +table. As she moved back and forth she sang a hymn. She sang the first +two lines over and over to the complete tune. She arranged the meal and +went to the door and called Luster, and after a time Luster and Ben +entered. Ben was still moaning a little, as to himself. + +“He aint never quit,” Luster said. + +“Y’all come on en eat,” Dilsey said. “Jason aint coming to dinner.” They +sat down at the table. Ben could manage solid food pretty well for +himself, though even now, with cold food before him, Dilsey tied a cloth +about his neck. He and Luster ate. Dilsey moved about the kitchen, +singing the two lines of the hymn which she remembered. “Yo’ll kin g’awn +en eat,” she said, “Jason aint comin home.” + +He was twenty miles away at that time. When he left the house he drove +rapidly to town, overreaching the slow sabbath groups and the peremptory +bells along the broken air. He crossed the empty square and turned into +a narrow street that was abruptly quieter even yet, and stopped before a +frame house and went up the flower-bordered walk to the porch. + +Beyond the screen door people were talking. As he lifted his hand to +knock he heard steps, so he withheld his hand until a big man in black +broadcloth trousers and a stiff-bosomed white shirt without collar +opened the door. He had vigorous untidy iron-grey hair and his grey eyes +were round and shiny like a little boy’s. He took Jason’s hand and drew +him into the house, still shaking it. + +“Come right in,” he said, “Come right in.” + +“You ready to go now?” Jason said. + +“Walk right in,” the other said, propelling him by the elbow into a room +where a man and a woman sat. “You know Myrtle’s husband, dont you? Jason +Compson, Vernon.” + +“Yes,” Jason said. He did not even look at the man, and as the sheriff +drew a chair across the room the man said, + +“We’ll go out so you can talk. Come on, Myrtle.” + +“No, no,” the sheriff said, “You folks keep your seat. I reckon it aint +that serious, Jason? Have a seat.” + +“I’ll tell you as we go along,” Jason said. “Get your hat and coat.” + +“We’ll go out,” the man said, rising. + +“Keep your seat,” the sheriff said. “Me and Jason will go out on the +porch.” + +“You get your hat and coat,” Jason said. “They’ve already got a twelve +hour start.” The sheriff led the way back to the porch. A man and a +woman passing spoke to him. He responded with a hearty florid gesture. +Bells were still ringing, from the direction of the section known as +Nigger Hollow. “Get your hat, Sheriff,” Jason said. The sheriff drew up +two chairs. + +“Have a seat and tell me what the trouble is.” + +“I told you over the phone,” Jason said, standing. “I did that to save +time. Am I going to have to go to law to compel you to do your sworn +duty?” + +“You sit down and tell me about it,” the sheriff said. “I’ll take care +of you all right.” + +“Care, hell,” Jason said. “Is this what you call taking care of me?” + +“You’re the one that’s holding us up,” the sheriff said. “You sit down +and tell me about it.” + +Jason told him, his sense of injury and impotence feeding upon its own +sound, so that after a time he forgot his haste in the violent +cumulation of his self justification and his outrage. The sheriff +watched him steadily with his cold shiny eyes. + +“But you dont know they done it,” he said. “You just think so.” + +“Dont know?” Jason said. “When I spent two damn days chasing her through +alleys, trying to keep her away from him, after I told her what I’d do +to her if I ever caught her with him, and you say I dont know that that +little b—” + +“Now, then,” the sheriff said, “That’ll do. That’s enough of that.” He +looked out across the street, his hands in his pockets. + +“And when I come to you, a commissioned officer of the law,” Jason said. + +“That show’s in Mottson this week,” the sheriff said. + +“Yes,” Jason said, “And if I could find a law officer that gave a +solitary damn about protecting the people that elected him to office, +I’d be there too by now.” He repeated his story, harshly recapitulant, +seeming to get an actual pleasure out of his outrage and impotence. The +sheriff did not appear to be listening at all. + +“Jason,” he said, “What were you doing with three thousand dollars hid +in the house?” + +“What?” Jason said. “That’s my business where I keep my money. Your +business is to help me get it back.” + +“Did your mother know you had that much on the place?” + +“Look here,” Jason said, “My house has been robbed. I know who did it +and I know where they are. I come to you as the commissioned officer of +the law, and I ask you once more, are you going to make any effort to +recover my property, or not?” + +“What do you aim to do with that girl, if you catch them?” + +“Nothing,” Jason said, “Not anything. I wouldn’t lay my hand on her. The +bitch that cost me a job, the one chance I ever had to get ahead, that +killed my father and is shortening my mother’s life every day and made +my name a laughing stock in the town. I wont do anything to her,” he +said. “Not anything.” + +“You drove that girl into running off, Jason,” the sheriff said. + +“How I conduct my family is no business of yours,” Jason said. “Are you +going to help me or not?” + +“You drove her away from home,” the sheriff said. “And I have some +suspicions about who that money belongs to that I dont reckon I’ll ever +know for certain.” + +Jason stood, slowly wringing the brim of his hat in his hands. He said +quietly: “You’re not going to make any effort to catch them for me?” + +“That’s not any of my business, Jason. If you had any actual proof, I’d +have to act. But without that I dont figger it’s any of my business.” + +“That’s your answer, is it?” Jason said. “Think well, now.” + +“That’s it, Jason.” + +“All right,” Jason said. He put his hat on. “You’ll regret this. I wont +be helpless. This is not Russia, where just because he wears a little +metal badge, a man is immune to law.” He went down the steps and got in +his car and started the engine. The sheriff watched him drive away, +turn, and rush past the house toward town. + +The bells were ringing again, high in the scudding sunlight in bright +disorderly tatters of sound. He stopped at a filling station and had his +tires examined and the tank filled. + +“Gwine on a trip, is you?” the negro asked him. He didn’t answer. “Look +like hit gwine fair off, after all,” the negro said. + +“Fair off, hell,” Jason said, “It’ll be raining like hell by twelve +oclock.” He looked at the sky, thinking about rain, about the slick clay +roads, himself stalled somewhere miles from town. He thought about it +with a sort of triumph, of the fact that he was going to miss dinner, +that by starting now and so serving his compulsion of haste, he would be +at the greatest possible distance from both towns when noon came. It +seemed to him that, in this, circumstance was giving him a break, so he +said to the negro: + +“What the hell are you doing? Has somebody paid you to keep this car +standing here as long as you can?” + +“Dis here ti’ aint got no air a-tall in hit,” the negro said. + +“Then get the hell away from there and let me have that tube,” Jason +said. + +“Hit up now,” the negro said, rising. “You kin ride now.” + +Jason got in and started the engine and drove off. He went into second +gear, the engine spluttering and gasping, and he raced the engine, +jamming the throttle down and snapping the choker in and out savagely. +“It’s goin to rain,” he said, “Get me half way there, and rain like +hell.” And he drove on out of the bells and out of town, thinking of +himself slogging through the mud, hunting a team. “And every damn one of +them will be at church.” He thought of how he’d find a church at last +and take a team and of the owner coming out, shouting at him and of +himself striking the man down. “I’m Jason Compson. See if you can stop +me. See if you can elect a man to office that can stop me,” he said, +thinking of himself entering the courthouse with a file of soldiers and +dragging the sheriff out. “Thinks he can sit with his hands folded and +see me lose my job. I’ll show him about jobs.” Of his niece he did not +think at all, nor of the arbitrary valuation of the money. Neither of +them had had entity or individuality for him for ten years; together +they merely symbolized the job in the bank of which he had been deprived +before he ever got it. + +The air brightened, the running shadow patches were not the obverse, and +it seemed to him that the fact that the day was clearing was another +cunning stroke on the part of the foe, the fresh battle toward which he +was carrying ancient wounds. From time to time he passed churches, +unpainted frame buildings with sheet iron steeples, surrounded by +tethered teams and shabby motorcars, and it seemed to him that each of +them was a picket-post where the rear guards of Circumstance peeped +fleetingly back at him. “And damn You, too,” he said, “See if You can +stop me,” thinking of himself, his file of soldiers with the manacled +sheriff in the rear, dragging Omnipotence down from His throne, if +necessary; of the embattled legions of both hell and heaven through +which he tore his way and put his hands at last on his fleeing niece. + +The wind was out of the southeast. It blew steadily upon his cheek. It +seemed that he could feel the prolonged blow of it sinking through his +skull, and suddenly with an old premonition he clapped the brakes on and +stopped and sat perfectly still. Then he lifted his hand to his neck and +began to curse, and sat there, cursing in a harsh whisper. When it was +necessary for him to drive for any length of time he fortified himself +with a handkerchief soaked in camphor, which he would tie about his +throat when clear of town, thus inhaling the fumes, and he got out and +lifted the seat cushion on the chance that there might be a forgotten +one there. He looked beneath both seats and stood again for a while, +cursing, seeing himself mocked by his own triumphing. He closed his +eyes, leaning on the door. He could return and get the forgotten +camphor, or he could go on. In either case, his head would be splitting, +but at home he could be sure of finding camphor on Sunday, while if he +went on he could not be sure. But if he went back, he would be an hour +and a half later in reaching Mottson. “Maybe I can drive slow,” he said. +“Maybe I can drive slow, thinking of something else—” + +He got in and started. “I’ll think of something else,” he said, so he +thought about Lorraine. He imagined himself in bed with her, only he was +just lying beside her, pleading with her to help him, then he thought of +the money again, and that he had been outwitted by a woman, a girl. If +he could just believe it was the man who had robbed him. But to have +been robbed of that which was to have compensated him for the lost job, +which he had acquired through so much effort and risk, by the very +symbol of the lost job itself, and worst of all, by a bitch of a girl. +He drove on, shielding his face from the steady wind with the corner of +his coat. + +He could see the opposed forces of his destiny and his will drawing +swiftly together now, toward a junction that would be irrevocable; he +became cunning. I cant make a blunder, he told himself. There would be +just one right thing, without alternatives: he must do that. He believed +that both of them would know him on sight, while he’d have to trust to +seeing her first, unless the man still wore the red tie. And the fact +that he must depend on that red tie seemed to be the sum of the +impending disaster; he could almost smell it, feel it above the +throbbing of his head. + +He crested the final hill. Smoke lay in the valley, and roofs, a spire +or two above trees. He drove down the hill and into the town, slowing, +telling himself again of the need for caution, to find where the tent +was located first. He could not see very well now, and he knew that it +was the disaster which kept telling him to go directly and get something +for his head. At a filling station they told him that the tent was not +up yet, but that the show cars were on a siding at the station. He drove +there. + +Two gaudily painted pullman cars stood on the track. He reconnoitred +them before he got out. He was trying to breathe shallowly, so that the +blood would not beat so in his skull. He got out and went along the +station wall, watching the cars. A few garments hung out of the windows, +limp and crinkled, as though they had been recently laundered. On the +earth beside the steps of one sat three canvas chairs. But he saw no +sign of life at all until a man in a dirty apron came to the door and +emptied a pan of dishwater with a broad gesture, the sunlight glinting +on the metal belly of the pan, then entered the car again. + +Now I’ll have to take him by surprise, before he can warn them, he +thought. It never occurred to him that they might not be there, in the +car. That they should not be there, that the whole result should not +hinge on whether he saw them first or they saw him first, would be +opposed to all nature and contrary to the whole rhythm of events. And +more than that: he must see them first, get the money back, then what +they did would be of no importance to him, while otherwise the whole +world would know that he, Jason Compson, had been robbed by Quentin, his +niece, a bitch. + +He reconnoitred again. Then he went to the car and mounted the steps, +swiftly and quietly, and paused at the door. The galley was dark, rank +with stale food. The man was a white blur, singing in a cracked, shaky +tenor. An old man, he thought, and not as big as I am. He entered the +car as the man looked up. + +“Hey?” the man said, stopping his song. + +“Where are they?” Jason said. “Quick, now. In the sleeping car?” + +“Where’s who?” the man said. + +“Dont lie to me,” Jason said. He blundered on in the cluttered +obscurity. + +“What’s that?” the other said, “Who you calling a liar?” And when Jason +grasped his shoulder he exclaimed, “Look out, fellow!” + +“Dont lie,” Jason said, “Where are they?” + +“Why, you bastard,” the man said. His arm was frail and thin in Jason’s +grasp. He tried to wrench free, then he turned and fell to scrabbling on +the littered table behind him. + +“Come on,” Jason said, “Where are they?” + +“I’ll tell you where they are,” the man shrieked, “Lemme find my butcher +knife.” + +“Here,” Jason said, trying to hold the other, “I’m just asking you a +question.” + +“You bastard,” the other shrieked, scrabbling at the table. Jason tried +to grasp him in both arms, trying to prison the puny fury of him. The +man’s body felt so old, so frail, yet so fatally single-purposed that +for the first time Jason saw clear and unshadowed the disaster toward +which he rushed. + +“Quit it!” he said, “Here! Here! I’ll get out. Give me time, and I’ll +get out.” + +“Call me a liar,” the other wailed, “Lemme go. Lemme go just one minute. +I’ll show you.” + +Jason glared wildly about, holding the other. Outside it was now bright +and sunny, swift and bright and empty, and he thought of the people soon +to be going quietly home to Sunday dinner, decorously festive, and of +himself trying to hold the fatal, furious little old man whom he dared +not release long enough to turn his back and run. + +“Will you quit long enough for me to get out?” he said, “Will you?” But +the other still struggled, and Jason freed one hand and struck him on +the head. A clumsy, hurried blow, and not hard, but the other slumped +immediately and slid clattering among pans and buckets to the floor. +Jason stood above him, panting, listening. Then he turned and ran from +the car. At the door he restrained himself and descended more slowly and +stood there again. His breath made a hah hah hah sound and he stood +there trying to repress it, darting his gaze this way and that, when at +a scuffling sound behind him he turned in time to see the little old man +leaping awkwardly and furiously from the vestibule, a rusty hatchet high +in his hand. + +He grasped at the hatchet, feeling no shock but knowing that he was +falling, thinking So this is how it’ll end, and he believed that he was +about to die and when something crashed against the back of his head he +thought How did he hit me there? Only maybe he hit me a long time ago, +he thought, And I just now felt it, and he thought Hurry. Hurry. Get it +over with, and then a furious desire not to die seized him and he +struggled, hearing the old man wailing and cursing in his cracked voice. + +He still struggled when they hauled him to his feet, but they held him +and he ceased. + +“Am I bleeding much?” he said, “The back of my head. Am I bleeding?” He +was still saying that while he felt himself being propelled rapidly +away, heard the old man’s thin furious voice dying away behind him. +“Look at my head,” he said, “Wait, I—” + +“Wait, hell,” the man who held him said, “That damn little wasp’ll kill +you. Keep going. You aint hurt.” + +“He hit me,” Jason said. “Am I bleeding?” + +“Keep going,” the other said. He led Jason on around the corner of the +station, to the empty platform where an express truck stood, where grass +grew rigidly in a plot bordered with rigid flowers and a sign in +electric lights: Keep your [Illustration: Eye] on Mottson, the gap +filled by a human eye with an electric pupil. The man released him. + +“Now,” he said, “You get on out of here and stay out. What were you +trying to do? Commit suicide?” + +“I was looking for two people,” Jason said. “I just asked him where they +were.” + +“Who you looking for?” + +“It’s a girl,” Jason said. “And a man. He had on a red tie in Jefferson +yesterday. With this show. They robbed me.” + +“Oh,” the man said. “You’re the one, are you. Well, they aint here.” + +“I reckon so,” Jason said. He leaned against the wall and put his hand +to the back of his head and looked at his palm. “I thought I was +bleeding,” he said. “I thought he hit me with that hatchet.” + +“You hit your head on the rail,” the man said. “You better go on. They +aint here.” + +“Yes. He said they were not here. I thought he was lying.” + +“Do you think I’m lying?” the man said. + +“No,” Jason said. “I know they’re not here.” + +“I told him to get the hell out of there, both of them,” the man said. +“I wont have nothing like that in my show. I run a respectable show, +with a respectable troupe.” + +“Yes,” Jason said. “You dont know where they went?” + +“No. And I dont want to know. No member of my show can pull a stunt like +that. You her—brother?” + +“No,” Jason said. “It dont matter. I just wanted to see them. You sure +he didn’t hit me? No blood, I mean.” + +“There would have been blood if I hadn’t got there when I did. You stay +away from here, now. That little bastard’ll kill you. That your car +yonder?” + +“Yes.” + +“Well, you get in it and go back to Jefferson. If you find them, it wont +be in my show. I run a respectable show. You say they robbed you?” + +“No,” Jason said, “It dont make any difference.” He went to the car and +got in. What is it I must do? he thought. Then he remembered. He started +the engine and drove slowly up the street until he found a drugstore. +The door was locked. He stood for a while with his hand on the knob and +his head bent a little. Then he turned away and when a man came along +after a while he asked if there was a drugstore open anywhere, but there +was not. Then he asked when the northbound train ran, and the man told +him at two thirty. He crossed the pavement and got in the car again and +sat there. After a while two negro lads passed. He called to them. + +“Can either of you boys drive a car?” + +“Yes, suh.” + +“What’ll you charge to drive me to Jefferson right away?” + +They looked at one another, murmuring. + +“I’ll pay a dollar,” Jason said. + +They murmured again. “Couldn’t go fer dat,” one said. + +“What will you go for?” + +“Kin you go?” one said. + +“I cant git off,” the other said. “Whyn’t you drive him up dar? You aint +got nothin to do.” + +“Yes I is.” + +“Whut you got to do?” + +They murmured again, laughing. + +“I’ll give you two dollars,” Jason said. “Either of you.” + +“I cant git away neither,” the first said. + +“All right,” Jason said. “Go on.” + +He sat there for sometime. He heard a clock strike the half hour, then +people began to pass, in Sunday and Easter clothes. Some looked at him +as they passed, at the man sitting quietly behind the wheel of a small +car, with his invisible life ravelled out about him like a wornout sock. +After a while a negro in overalls came up. + +“Is you de one wants to go to Jefferson?” he said. + +“Yes,” Jason said. “What’ll you charge me?” + +“Fo dollars.” + +“Give you two.” + +“Cant go fer no less’n fo.” The man in the car sat quietly. He wasn’t +even looking at him. The negro said, “You want me er not?” + +“All right,” Jason said, “Get in.” + +He moved over and the negro took the wheel. Jason closed his eyes. I can +get something for it at Jefferson, he told himself, easing himself to +the jolting, I can get something there. They drove on, along the streets +where people were turning peacefully into houses and Sunday dinners, and +on out of town. He thought that. He wasn’t thinking of home, where Ben +and Luster were eating cold dinner at the kitchen table. Something—the +absence of disaster, threat, in any constant evil—permitted him to +forget Jefferson as any place which he had ever seen before, where his +life must resume itself. + +When Ben and Luster were done Dilsey sent them outdoors. “And see kin +you keep let him alone twell fo oclock. T.P. be here den.” + +“Yessum,” Luster said. They went out. Dilsey ate her dinner and cleared +up the kitchen. Then she went to the foot of the stairs and listened, +but there was no sound. She returned through the kitchen and out the +outer door and stopped on the steps. Ben and Luster were not in sight, +but while she stood there she heard another sluggish twang from the +direction of the cellar door and she went to the door and looked down +upon a repetition of the morning’s scene. + +“He done it jes dat way,” Luster said. He contemplated the motionless +saw with a kind of hopeful dejection. “I aint got de right thing to hit +it wid yit,” he said. + +“En you aint gwine find hit down here, neither,” Dilsey said. “You take +him on out in de sun. You bofe get pneumonia down here on dis wet flo.” + +She waited and watched them cross the yard toward a clump of cedar trees +near the fence. Then she went on to her cabin. + +“Now, dont you git started,” Luster said, “I had enough trouble wid you +today.” There was a hammock made of barrel staves slatted into woven +wires. Luster lay down in the swing, but Ben went on vaguely and +purposelessly. He began to whimper again. “Hush, now,” Luster said, “I +fixin to whup you.” He lay back in the swing. Ben had stopped moving, +but Luster could hear him whimpering. “Is you gwine hush, er aint you?” +Luster said. He got up and followed and came upon Ben squatting before a +small mound of earth. At either end of it an empty bottle of blue glass +that once contained poison was fixed in the ground. In one was a +withered stalk of jimson weed. Ben squatted before it, moaning, a slow, +inarticulate sound. Still moaning he sought vaguely about and found a +twig and put it in the other bottle. “Whyn’t you hush?” Luster said, +“You want me to give you somethin’ to sho nough moan about? Sposin I +does dis.” He knelt and swept the bottle suddenly up and behind him. Ben +ceased moaning. He squatted, looking at the small depression where the +bottle had sat, then as he drew his lungs full Luster brought the bottle +back into view. “Hush!” he hissed, “Dont you dast to beller! Dont you. +Dar hit is. See? Here. You fixin to start ef you stays here. Come on, +les go see ef dey started knockin ball yit.” He took Ben’s arm and drew +him up and they went to the fence and stood side by side there, peering +between the matted honeysuckle not yet in bloom. + +“Dar,” Luster said, “Dar come some. See um?” + +They watched the foursome play onto the green and out, and move to the +tee and drive. Ben watched, whimpering, slobbering. When the foursome +went on he followed along the fence, bobbing and moaning. One said. + +“Here, caddie. Bring the bag.” + +“Hush, Benjy,” Luster said, but Ben went on at his shambling trot, +clinging to the fence, wailing in his hoarse, hopeless voice. The man +played and went on, Ben keeping pace with him until the fence turned at +right angles, and he clung to the fence, watching the people move on and +away. + +“Will you hush now?” Luster said, “Will you hush now?” He shook Ben’s +arm. Ben clung to the fence, wailing steadily and hoarsely. “Aint you +gwine stop?” Luster said, “Or is you?” Ben gazed through the fence. “All +right, den,” Luster said, “You want somethin to beller about?” He looked +over his shoulder, toward the house. Then he whispered: “Caddy! Beller +now. Caddy! Caddy! Caddy!” + +A moment later, in the slow intervals of Ben’s voice, Luster heard +Dilsey calling. He took Ben by the arm and they crossed the yard toward +her. + +“I tole you he warn’t gwine stay quiet,” Luster said. + +“You vilyun!” Dilsey said, “Whut you done to him?” + +“I aint done nothin. I tole you when dem folks start playin, he git +started up.” + +“You come on here,” Dilsey said. “Hush, Benjy. Hush, now.” But he +wouldn’t hush. They crossed the yard quickly and went to the cabin and +entered. “Run git dat shoe,” Dilsey said. “Dont you sturb Miss Cahline, +now. Ef she say anything, tell her I got him. Go on, now; you kin sho do +dat right, I reckon.” Luster went out. Dilsey led Ben to the bed and +drew him down beside her and she held him, rocking back and forth, +wiping his drooling mouth upon the hem of her skirt. “Hush, now,” she +said, stroking his head, “Hush. Dilsey got you.” But he bellowed slowly, +abjectly, without tears; the grave hopeless sound of all voiceless +misery under the sun. Luster returned, carrying a white satin slipper. +It was yellow now, and cracked and soiled, and when they placed it into +Ben’s hand he hushed for a while. But he still whimpered, and soon he +lifted his voice again. + +“You reckon you kin find T. P.?” Dilsey said. + +“He say yistiddy he gwine out to St John’s today. Say he be back at fo.” + +Dilsey rocked back and forth, stroking Ben’s head. + +“Dis long time, O Jesus,” she said, “Dis long time.” + +“I kin drive dat surrey, mammy,” Luster said. + +“You kill bofe y’all,” Dilsey said, “You do hit fer devilment. I knows +you got plenty sense to. But I cant trust you. Hush, now,” she said. +“Hush. Hush.” + +“Nome I wont,” Luster said. “I drives wid T. P.” Dilsey rocked back and +forth, holding Ben. “Miss Cahline say ef you cant quiet him, she gwine +git up en come down en do hit.” + +“Hush, honey,” Dilsey said, stroking Ben’s head. “Luster, honey,” she +said, “Will you think about yo ole mammy en drive dat surrey right?” + +“Yessum,” Luster said. “I drive hit jes like T. P.” + +Dilsey stroked Ben’s head, rocking back and forth. “I does de bes I +kin,” she said, “Lawd knows dat. Go git it, den,” she said, rising. +Luster scuttled out. Ben held the slipper, crying. “Hush, now. Luster +gone to git de surrey en take you to de graveyard. We aint gwine risk +gittin yo cap,” she said. She went to a closet contrived of a calico +curtain hung across a corner of the room and got the felt hat she had +worn. “We’s down to worse’n dis, ef folks jes knowed,” she said. “You’s +de Lawd’s chile, anyway. En I be His’n too, fo long, praise Jesus. +Here.” She put the hat on his head and buttoned his coat. He wailed +steadily. She took the slipper from him and put it away and they went +out. Luster came up, with an ancient white horse in a battered and +lopsided surrey. + +“You gwine be careful, Luster?” she said. + +“Yessum,” Luster said. She helped Ben into the back seat. He had ceased +crying, but now he began to whimper again. + +“Hit’s his flower,” Luster said. “Wait, I’ll git him one.” + +“You set right dar,” Dilsey said. She went and took the cheek-strap. +“Now, hurry en git him one.” Luster ran around the house, toward the +garden. He came back with a single narcissus. + +“Dat un broke,” Dilsey said, “Whyn’t you git him a good un?” + +“Hit de onliest one I could find,” Luster said. “Y’all took all of um +Friday to dec’rate de church. Wait, I’ll fix hit.” So while Dilsey held +the horse Luster put a splint on the flower stalk with a twig and two +bits of string and gave it to Ben. Then he mounted and took the reins. +Dilsey still held the bridle. + +“You knows de way now?” she said, “Up de street, round de square, to de +graveyard, den straight back home.” + +“Yessum,” Luster said, “Hum up, Queenie.” + +“You gwine be careful, now?” + +“Yessum.” Dilsey released the bridle. + +“Hum up, Queenie,” Luster said. + +“Here,” Dilsey said, “You han me dat whup.” + +“Aw, mammy,” Luster said. + +“Give hit here,” Dilsey said, approaching the wheel. Luster gave it to +her reluctantly. + +“I wont never git Queenie started now.” + +“Never you mind about dat,” Dilsey said. “Queenie know mo bout whar she +gwine dan you does. All you got to do is set dar en hold dem reins. You +knows de way, now?” + +“Yessum. Same way T. P. goes ev’y Sunday.” + +“Den you do de same thing dis Sunday.” + +“Cose I is. Aint I drove fer T. P. mo’n a hund’ed times?” + +“Den do hit again,” Dilsey said. “G’awn, now. En ef you hurts Benjy, +nigger boy, I dont know whut I do. You bound fer de chain gang, but I’ll +send you dar fo even chain gang ready fer you.” + +“Yessum,” Luster said. “Hum up, Queenie.” + +He flapped the lines on Queenie’s broad back and the surrey lurched into +motion. + +“You, Luster!” Dilsey said. + +“Hum up, dar!” Luster said. He flapped the lines again. With +subterranean rumblings Queenie jogged slowly down the drive and turned +into the street, where Luster exhorted her into a gait resembling a +prolonged and suspended fall in a forward direction. + +Ben quit whimpering. He sat in the middle of the seat, holding the +repaired flower upright in his fist, his eyes serene and ineffable. +Directly before him Luster’s bullet head turned backward continually +until the house passed from view, then he pulled to the side of the +street and while Ben watched him he descended and broke a switch from a +hedge. Queenie lowered her head and fell to cropping the grass until +Luster mounted and hauled her head up and harried her into motion again, +then he squared his elbows and with the switch and the reins held high +he assumed a swaggering attitude out of all proportion to the sedate +clopping of Queenie’s hooves and the organlike basso of her internal +accompaniment. Motors passed them, and pedestrians; once a group of half +grown negroes: + +“Dar Luster. Whar you gwine, Luster? To de boneyard?” + +“Hi,” Luster said, “Aint de same boneyard y’all headed fer. Hum up, +elefump.” + +They approached the square, where the Confederate soldier gazed with +empty eyes beneath his marble hand into wind and weather. Luster took +still another notch in himself and gave the impervious Queenie a cut +with the switch, casting his glance about the square. “Dar Mr Jason’s +car,” he said then he spied another group of negroes. “Les show dem +niggers how quality does, Benjy,” he said, “Whut you say?” He looked +back. Ben sat, holding the flower in his fist, his gaze empty and +untroubled. Luster hit Queenie again and swung her to the left at the +monument. + +For an instant Ben sat in an utter hiatus. Then he bellowed. Bellow on +bellow, his voice mounted, with scarce interval for breath. There was +more than astonishment in it, it was horror; shock; agony eyeless, +tongueless; just sound, and Luster’s eyes backrolling for a white +instant. “Gret God,” he said, “Hush! Hush! Gret God!” He whirled again +and struck Queenie with the switch. It broke and he cast it away and +with Ben’s voice mounting toward its unbelievable crescendo Luster +caught up the end of the reins and leaned forward as Jason came jumping +across the square and onto the step. + +With a backhanded blow he hurled Luster aside and caught the reins and +sawed Queenie about and doubled the reins back and slashed her across +the hips. He cut her again and again, into a plunging gallop, while +Ben’s hoarse agony roared about them, and swung her about to the right +of the monument. Then he struck Luster over the head with his fist. + +“Dont you know any better than to take him to the left?” he said. He +reached back and struck Ben, breaking the flower stalk again. “Shut up!” +he said, “Shut up!” He jerked Queenie back and jumped down. “Get to hell +on home with him. If you ever cross that gate with him again, I’ll kill +you!” + +“Yes, suh!” Luster said. He took the reins and hit Queenie with the end +of them. “Git up! Git up, dar! Benjy, fer God’s sake!” + +Ben’s voice roared and roared. Queenie moved again, her feet began to +clop-clop steadily again, and at once Ben hushed. Luster looked quickly +back over his shoulder, then he drove on. The broken flower drooped over +Ben’s fist and his eyes were empty and blue and serene again as cornice +and façade flowed smoothly once more from left to right; post and tree, +window and doorway, and signboard, each in its ordered place. + + + + + Transcriber’s Notes + + +Because of William Faulkner’s unorthodox use of punctuation, it is +sometimes difficult to distinguish printing errors from the author’s +intentions. Therefore, every effort has been made to make the text of +this eBook correspond exactly to the printed edition of the book from +which the text was derived. The only correction made was the addition of +a missing closing quotation mark in the paragraph that begins with “He +fumbled in his coat” on page 230. + +The illustration of an eye on page 242 has been replaced by the text, +“[Illustration: Eye]”, in the plain text version of this eBook. + + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75170 *** |