The sound and the fury

By William Faulkner

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Title: The Sound and the Fury

Author: William Thomas Faulkner

Release date: January 21, 2025 [eBook #75170]

Language: English

Original publication: New York: Random House, 1929

Credits: David T. Jones, Peter Bayes, Paulina Chin & the online Distributed Proofreaders Canada team at http://www.pgdpcanada.net


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SOUND AND THE FURY ***






                          =_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


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