carson mccullers - the heart is a lonely hunter-第12节

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from　the　restaurant　where　he　owed　for　the　drinks。　His　books；　a　
white　suit；　and　some　shirts　were　all　there　as　he　had　packed　
them。　Quickly　he　began　to　dress　himself。　
An　electric　coffee…pot　was　perking　on　the　table　by　the

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time　he　had　his　clothes　on。　The　man　reached　into　the　pocket　of　
the　vest　that　hung　over　the　back　of　a　chair。　He　brought　out　a　
card　and　Jake　took　it　questioningly。　The　man's　name—John　
Singer—was　engraved　in　the　center；　and　beneath　this；　written　
in　ink　with　the　same　elaborate　precision　as　the　engraving；　
there　was　a　brief　message。　
I　am　a　deaf…mute；　but　I　read　the　lips　and　understand　what　is　
said　to　me。　Please　do　not　shout。　
The　shock　made　Jake　feel　light　and　vacant。　He　and　John　
Singer　just　looked　at　each　other。　
'I　wonder　how　long　it　would　have　taken　me　to　find　that　out；'　he　
said。　
Singer　looked　very　carefully　at　his　lips　when　he　spoke…he　had　
noticed　that　before。　But　a　dummy！　
They　sat　at　the　table　and　drank　hot　coffee　out　of　blue　cups。　
The　room　was　cool　and　the　half…drawn　shades　softened　the　
hard　glare　from　the　windows。　Singer　brought　from　his　closet　a　
tin　box　that　contained　a　loaf　of　bread；　some　oranges；　and　
cheese。　He　did　not　eat　much；　but　sat　leaning　back　in　his　chair　
with　one　hand　in　his　pocket。　Jake　ate　hungrily。　He　would　have　
to　leave　the　place　immediately　and　think　things　over。　As　long　
as　he　was　stranded　he　ought　to　scout　around　for　some　sort　of　
job　in　a　hurry。　The　quiet　room　was　too　peaceful　and　
comfortable　to　worry　in　—he　would　get　out　and　walk　by　


himself　for　a　while。　
'Are　there　any　other　deaf…mute　people　here？'　he　asked。　*You　
have　many　friends？'　
Singer　was　still　smiling。　He　did　not　catch　on　to　the　words　at　
first；　and　Jake　had　to　repeat　them。　Singer　raised　his　sharp；　dark　
eyebrows　and　shook　his　head。　
'Find　it　lonesome？'　
The　man　shook　his　head　in　a　way　that　might　have　meant　either　
yes　or　no。　They　sat　silently　for　a　little　while　and　then　Jake　got　
up　to　leave。　He　thanked　Singer　several　times　for　the　night's　
lodging；　moving　his　lips　carefully　so　that　he　was　sure　to　be　
understood。　The　mute　only　smiled　again　and　shrugged　his　
shoulders。　When　Jake　asked　if　he　could　leave　his　suitcase　
under　the　bed　for　a　few　days　the　mute　nodded　that　he　could。48　

Then　Singer　took　his　hands　from　his　pocket　and　wrote　
carefully　on　a　pad　of　paper　with　a　silver　pencil。　He　shoved　the　
pad　over　toward　Jake。　
/　can　put　a　mattress　on　the　floor　and　you　can　stay　here　until　
you　find　a　place。　I　am　out　most　of　the　day。　It　will　not　be　any　
trouble。　

Jake　felt　his　lips　tremble　with　a　sudden　feeling　of　gratefulness。　
But　he　couldn't　accept。　'Thanks；'　he　said；　'I　already　got　a　place。'　
As　he　was　leaving　the　mute　handed　him　a　pair　of　blue　
overalls；　rolled　into　a　tight　bundle；　and　seventy…five　cents。　The　
overalls　were　filthy　and　as　Jake　recognized　them　they　aroused　
in　him　a　whirl　of　sudden　memories　from　the　past　week。　The　
money；　Singer　made　him　understand；　had　been　in　his　pockets。　
'Adios；'　Jake　said。　Til　be　back　sometime　soon。'　
He　left　the　mute　standing　in　the　doorway　with　his　hands　still　
in　his　pockets　and　the　half…smile　on　his　face。　When　he　had　
gone　down　several　steps　of　the　stairs　he　turned　and　waved。　
The　mute　waved　back　to　him　and　closed　his　door。　
Outside　the　glare　was　sudden　and　sharp　against　his　eyes。　He　
stood　on　the　sidewalk　before　the　house；　too　dazzled　at　first　by　
the　sunlight　to　see　very　clearly。　A　youngun　was　sitting　on　the　
banisters　of　the　house。　He　had　seen　her　somewhere　before。　He　
remembered　the　boy's　shorts　she　was　wearing　and　the　way　she　
squinted　her　eyes。　
He　held　up　the　dirty　roll　of　overalls。　1　want　to　throw　these　


away。　Know　where　I　can　find　a　garbage　can？'　
The　kid　jumped　down　from　the　banisters。　'It's　in　the　back　yard。　
I'll　show　you。'　
He　followed　her　through　the　narrow；　dampish　alley　at　the　side　
of　the　house。　When　they　came　to　the　back　yard　Jake　saw　that　
two　Negro　men　were　sitting　on　the　back　steps。　They　were　both　
dressed　in　white　suits　and　white　shoes。　One　of　the　Negroes　
was　very　tall　and　his　tie　and　socks　were　brilliant　green。　The　
other　was　a　light　mulatto　of　average　height。　He　rubbed　a　tin　
harmonica　across　his　knee。　In　contrast　with　his　tall　companion　
his　socks　and　tie　were　a　hot　red。　
The　kid　pointed　to　the　garbage　can　by　the　back　fence　

49　

and　then　turned　to　the　kitchen　window。　'Portia！'　she　called。
'Highboy　and　Willie　here　waiting　for　you。
'
A　soft　voice　answered　from　the　kitchen。　'You　neen　holler　so
loud。　I　know　they　is。　I　putting　on　my　hat　right　now。
'
Jake　unrolled　the　overalls　before　throwing　them　away。　They
were　stiff　with　mud。　One　leg　was　torn　and　a　few　drops　of
blood　stained　the　front。　He　dropped　them　in　the　can。　A　Negro
girl　came　out　of　the　house　and　joined　the　white…suited　boys　on
the　steps。　Jake　saw　that　the　youngun　in　shorts　was　looking　at
him　very　closely。　She　changed　her　weight　from　one　foot　to　the
other　and　seemed　excited。
'Are　you　kin　to　Mister　Singer？'　she　asked。
'Not　a　bit。
'
'Good　friend？
'
'Good　enough　to　spend　the　night　with　him。
'
'I　just　wondered
'
'Which　direction　is　Main　Street？
'
She　pointed　to　the　right　Two　blocks　down　this　way。
'
Jake　combed　his　mustache　with　his　fingers　and　started　off。　He
jingled　the　seventy…five　cents　in　his　hand　and　bit　his　lower　lip
until　it　was　mottled　and　scarlet。　The　three　Negroes　were
walking　slowly　ahead　of　him；　talking　among　themselves。
Because　he　felt　lonely　in　the　unfamiliar　town　he　kept　close
behind　them　and　listened。　The　girl　held　both　of　them　by　the
arm。　She　wore　a　green　dress　with　a　red　hat　and　shoes。　The
boys　walked　very　close　to　her。



'What　we　got　planned　for　this　evening？'　she　asked。　
'It　depend　entirely　upon　you；　Honey；'　the　tall　boy　said。　〃Willie　
and　me　don't　have　no　special　plans。'　
She　looked　from　one　to　the　other。　'You　all　got　to　decide。'　
'Well'　said　the　shorter　boy　in　the　red　socks。　'Highboy　and　
me　thought　m…maybe　us　three　go　to　church。'　
The　girl　sang　her　answer　in　three　different　tones。　'O—　K—　
And　after　church　I　got　a　notion　I　ought　to　go　and　set　with　
Father　for　a　while—just　a　short　while。'　They　turned　at　the　first　
corner；　and　Jake　stood　watching　them　a　moment　before　
walking　on。　
The　main　street　was　quiet　and　hot；　almost　deserted。　He　had　
not　realized　until　now　that　it　was　Sunday—and　the　thought　of　
this　depressed　him。　The　awnings　over　the　closed　stores　were　
raised　and　the　buildings　had　a　bare　look　in　the50　

bright　sun。　He　passed　the　New　York　Cafe。　The　door　was　open；　
but　the　place　looked　empty　and　dark。　He　had　not　found　any　
socks　to　wear　that　morning；　and　the　hot　pavement　burned　
through　the　thin　soles　of　his　shoes。　The　sun　felt　like　a　hot　
piece　of　iron　pressing　down　on　his　head。　The　town　seemed　
more　lonesome　than　any　place　he　had　ever　known。　The　
stillness　of　the　street　gave　him　a　strange　feeling。　When　he　had　
been　drunk　the　place　had　seemed　violent　and　riotous。　And　
now　it　was　as　though　everything　had　come　to　a　sudden；　static　
halt。　
He　went　into　a　fruit　and　candy　store　to　buy　a　paper。　The　Help…
Wanted　column　was　very　short。　There　were　several　calls　for　
young　men　between　twenty…five　and　forty　with　automobiles　to　
sell　various　products　on　commission。　These　he　skipped　over　
quickly。　An　advertisement　for　a　truck…driver　held　his　attention　
for　a　few　minutes。　But　the　notice　at　the　bottom　interested　him　
most　It　read：　
Wanted—Experienced　Mechanic。　Sunny　Dixie　Show。　Apply　
Corner　Weavers　Lane　&　15th　Street。　

Without　knowing　it　he　had　walked　back　to　the　door　of　the　
restaurant　where　he　had　spent　his　time　during　the　past　two　
weeks。　This　was　the　only　place　on　the　block　besides　the　fruit　
store　which　was　not　closed。　Jake　decided　suddenly　to　drop　in　
and　see　Biff　Brannon。　


The　cafe　was　very　dark　after　the　brightness　outside。　
Everything　looked　dingier　and　quieter　than　he　had　
remembered　it。　Brannon　stood　behind　the　cash　register　as　
usual；　his　arms　folded　over　his　chest。　His　good…looking　plump　
wife　sat　filing　her　fingernails　at　the　other　end　of　the　counter。　
Jake　noticed　that　they　glanced　at　each　other　as　he　came　in。　
'Afternoon；'　said　Brannon。　
Jake　felt　something　in　the　air。　Maybe　the　fellow　was　laughing　
because　he　remembered　things　that　had　happened　when　he　
was　drunk。　Jake　stood　wooden　and　resentful。　'Package　of　
Target；　please。'　As　Brannon　reached　beneath　the　counter　for　
the　tobacco　Jake　decided　that　he　was　not　laughing。　In　the　
daytime　the　fellow's　face　was　not　as　hard…looking　as　it　was　at　
night　He　was　pale　as　though　

51　
he　had　not　slept；　and　his　eyes　had　the　look　of　a　weary　
buzzard's。　
'Speak　up；'　Jake　said。　'How　much　do　I　owe　you？'　
Brannon　opened　a　drawer　and　put　on　the　counter　a　public…
school　tablet。　Slowly　he　turned　over　the　pages　and　Jake　
watched　him。　The　tablet　looked　more　like　a　private　notebook　
than　the　place　where　he　kept　his　regular　accounts。　There　were　
long　lines　of　figures；　added；　divided；　and　subtracted；　and　little　
drawings。　He　stopped　at　a　certain　page　and　Jake　saw　his　last　
name　written　at　the　corner。　On　the　page　there　were　no　figures　
—only　small　checks　and　crosses。　At　random　across　the　page　
were　drawn　little　round；　seated　cats　with　long　c