carson mccullers - the heart is a lonely hunter-第13节

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—only　small　checks　and　crosses。　At　random　across　the　page　
were　drawn　little　round；　seated　cats　with　long　curved　lines　for　
tails。　Jake　stared。　The　faces　of　the　little　cats　were　human　and　
female。　The　faces　of　the　little　cats　were　Mrs。　Brannon。　
'I　have　checks　here　for　the　beers；'　Brannon　said。　'And　crosses　
for　dinners　and　straight　lines　for　the　whiskey。　Let　
me　see'　Brannon　rubbed　his　nose　and　his　eyelids　
drooped　down。　Then　he　shut　the　tablet。　'Approximately　twenty　
dollars。'　
'It'll　take　me　a　long　time；'　Jake　said。　T3ut　maybe　you'll　get　it'　
〃There's　no　big　hurry。'　
Jake　leaned　against　the　counter。　'Say；　what　kind　of　a　place　is　
this　town？'　
'Ordinary；'　Brannon　said。　'About　like　any　other　place　the　same　


size。'　
'What　population？'　
'Around　thirty　thousand。'　
Jake　opened　the　package　of　tobacco　and　rolled　himself　。　a　
cigarette。　His　hands　were　shaking。　'Mostly　mills？'　
That's　right。　Four　big　cotton　mills—those　are　the　main　ones。　A　
hosiery　factory。　Some　gins　and　sawmills。'　
'What　kind　of　wages？'　
'I'd　say　around　ten　or　eleven　a　week　on　the　average—　but　then　
of　course　they　get　laid　off　now　and　then。　What　makes　you　ask　
all　this？　You　mean　to　try　to　get　a　job　in　a　
mill？'　
Jake　dug　his　fist　into　his　eye　and　rubbed　it　sleepily。　'Don't　
know。　I　might　and　I　might　not。'　He　laid　the　newspaper　on　the　
counter　and　pointed　out　the　advertisement52　

he　had　just　read。　'I　think　I'll　go　around　and　look　into　this。'　
Brannon　read　and　considered。　'Yeah；'　he　said　finally。　'I've　seen　
that　show。　It's　not　much—just　a　couple　of　contraptions　such　as　
a　flying…jinny　and　swings。　It　corrals　the　colored　people　and　
mill　hands　and　kids。　They　move　around　to　different　vacant　lots　
in　town。'　
'Show　me　how　to　get　there。'　
Brannon　went　with　him　to　the　door　and　pointed　out　the　
direction。　'Did　you　go　on　home　with　Singer　this　morning？'　
Jake　nodded。　
〃What　do　you　think　of　him？'　
Jake　bit　his　lips。　The　mute's　face　was　in　his　mind　very　clearly。　
It　was　like　the　face　of　a　friend　he　had　known　for　a　long　time。　
He　had　been　thinking　of　the　man　ever　since　he　had　left　his　
room。　'I　didn't　even　know　he　was　a　dummy；'　he　said　finally。　
He　began　walking　again　down　the　hot；　deserted　street。　He　did　
not　walk　as　a　stranger　in　a　strange　town。　He　seemed　to　be　
looking　for　someone。　Soon　he　entered　one　of　the　mill　districts　
bordering　the　river。　The　streets　became　narrow　and　unpaved　
and　they　were　not　empty　any　longer。　Groups　of　dingy；　hungry…
looking　children　called　to　each　other　and　played　games。　The　
two…room　shacks；　each　one　like　the　other；　were　rotten　and　
unpainted。　The　stink　of　food　and　sewage　mingled　with　the　
dust　in　the　air。　The　falls　up　the　river　made　a　faint　rushing　


sound。　People　stood　silently　in　doorways　or　lounged　on　steps。　
They　looked　at　Jake　with　yellow；　expressionless　faces。　He　
stared　back　at　them　with　wide；　brown　eyes。　He　walked　jerkily；　
and　now　and　then　he　wiped　his　mouth　with　the　hairy　back　of　
his　hand。　
At　the　end　of　Weavers　Lane　there　was　a　vacant　block。　It　had　
once　been　used　as　a　junk　yard　for　old　automobiles。　Rusted　
pieces　of　machinery　and　torn　inner　tubes　still　littered　the　
ground。　A　trailer　was　parked　in　one　corner　of　the　lot；　and　nearby　was　a　flying…jinny　partly　covered　with　canvas。　
Jake　approached　slowly。　Two　little　younguns　in　overalls　stood　
before　the　flying…jinny。　Near　them；　seated　on　a　box；　a　Negro　
man　drowsed　in　the　late　sunshine；　his　knees　collapsed　against　
each　other。　In　one　hand　he　held　a　sack　of　melted　chocolate。　
Jake　watched　him　stick　his　fingers　in　the　miry　candy　and　then　
lick　them　slowly。　

53　

。Who's　the　manager　of　this　outfit？
'
The　Negro　thrust　his　two　sweet　fingers　between　his　lips　and
rolled　over　them　with　his　tongue。　'He　a　red…headed　man；'　he
said　when　he　had　finished。　'That　all　I　know；　Cap'n。
'
'Where's　he　now？
'
'He　over　there　behind　that　largest　wagon。
'
Jake　slipped　off　his　tie　as　he　walked　across　the　grass　and
staffed　it　into　his　pocket。　The　sun　was　beginning　to　set　in　the
west。　Above　the　black　line　of　housetops　the　sky　was　warm
crimson。　The　owner　of　the　show　stood　smoking　a　cigarette　by
himself。　His　red　hair　sprang　up　like　a　sponge　on　the　top　of　his
head　and　he　stared　at　Jake　with　gray；　flabby　eyes。
〃You　the　manager？
'
*Uh…huh。　Patterson's　my　name。
'
'I　come　about　the　job　in　this　morning's　paper。
'
*Yeah。　I　don't　want　no　greenhorn。　I　need　a　experienced
mechanic。
'
'I　got　plenty　of　experience；'　Jake　said。
'What　you　ever　done？
'
Tve　worked　as　a　weaver　and　loom…fixer。　I've　worked　in
garages　and　an　automobile　assembly　shop。　All　sorts　of
different　things。
'

Patterson　guided　him　toward　the　partly　covered　flying…jinny。　
The　motionless　wooden　horses　were　fantastic　in　the　late　
afternoon　sun。　They　pranced　up　statically；　pierced　by　their　
dull　gilt　bars。　The　horse　nearest　Jake　had　a　splintery　wooden　
crack　in　its　dingy　rump　and　the　eyes　walled　blind　and　frantic；　
shreds　of　paint　peeled　from　the　sockets。　The　motionless　
merry…go…round　seemed　to　Jake　like　something　in　a　liquor　
dream。　
'I　want　a　experienced　mechanic　to　run　this　and　keep　the　works　
in　good　shape；'　Patterson　said。　

。I　can　do　that　all　right。'　
'If　s　a　two…handed　job；'　Patterson　explained。　'You're　in　charge　
of　the　whole　attraction。　Besides　looking　after　the　machinery　
you　got　to　keep　the　crowd　in　order。　You　got　to　be　sure　that　
everybody　gets　on　has　a　ticket。　You　got　to　be　sure　that　the　
tickets　are　O。K。　and　not　some　old　dance…hall　ticket。　Everybody　
wants　to　ride　them　horses；　and　you'd　be　surprised　what　niggers　
will　try　to　put　over　on　you　when54　
they　don't　have　no　money。　You　got　to　keep　three　eyes　open　all　
the　time。'　
Patterson　led　him　to　the　machinery　inside　the　circle　of　horses　
and　pointed　out　the　various　parts。　He　adjusted　a　lever　and　the　
thin　jangle　of　mechanical　music　began。　The　wooden　cavalcade　
around　them　seemed　to　cut　them　off　from　the　rest　of　the　
world。　When　the　horses　stopped；　Jake　asked　a　few　questions　
and　operated　the　mechanism　himself。　
'The　fellow　I　had　quit　on　me；'　Patterson　said　when　they　had　
come　out　again　into　the　lot。　'I　always　hate　to　break　in　a　new　
man。'　'When　do　I　start？'　
Tomorrow　afternoon。　We　run　six　days　and　nights　a　week—　
beginning　at　four　and　shutting　up　at　twelve。　You're　to　come　
about　three　and　help　get　things　going。　And　it　takes　about　a　
hour　after　the　show　to　fold　up　for　the　night。'　'What　about　pay？'　
'Twelve　dollars。'　
Jake　nodded；　and　Patterson　held　out　a　dead…white；　boneless　
hand　with　dirty　fingernails。　
It　was　late　when　he　left　the　vacant　lot。　The　hard；　blue　sky　had　
blanched　and　in　the　east　there　was　a　white　moon。　Dusk　
softened　the　outline　of　the　houses　along　the　street。　Jake　did　


not　return　immediately　through　Weavers　Lane；　but　wandered　
in　the　neighborhoods　near…by。　Certain　smells；　certain　voices　
heard　from　a　distance；　made　him　stop　short　now　and　then　by　
the　side　of　the　dusty　street。　He　walked　erratically；　jerking　from　
one　direction　to　another　for　no　purpose。　His　head　felt　very　
light；　as　though　it　were　made　of　thin　glass。　A　chemical　change　
was　taking　place　in　him。　The　beers　and　whiskey　he　had　stored　
so　continuously　in　his　system　set　in　a　reaction。　He　was　
sideswiped　by　drunkenness。　The　streets　which　had　seemed　so　
dead　before　were　quick　with　life。　There　was　a　ragged　strip　of　
grass　bordering　the　street；　and　as　Jake　walked　along　the　
ground　seemed　to　rise　nearer　to　his　face。　He　sat　down　on　the　
border　of　grass　and　leaned　against　a　telephone　pole。　He　settled　
himself　comfortably；　crossing　his　legs　Turkish　fashion　and　
smoothing　down　the　ends　of　his　mustache。　Words　came　to　him　
and　dreamily　he　spoke　them　aloud　to　himself。　

55　

。Resentment　is　the　most　precious　flower　of　poverty。　Yeah。'　
It　was　good　to　talk。　The　sound　of　his　voice　gave　him　pleasure。　
The　tones　seemed　to　echo　and　hang　on　the　air　so　that　each　
word　sounded　twice。　He　swallowed　and　moistened　his　mouth　
to　speak　again。　He　wanted　suddenly　to　return　to　the　mute's　
quiet　room　and　tell　him　of　the　thoughts　that　were　in　his　mind。　
It　was　a　queer　thing　to　want　to　talk　with　a　deaf…mute。　But　he　
was　lonesome。　
The　street　before　him　dimmed　with　the　coming　evening。　
Occasionally　men　passed　along　the　narrow　street　very　close　to　
him；　talking　in　monotones　to　each　other；　a　cloud　of　dust　rising　
around　their　feet　with　each　step。　Or　girls　passed　by　together；　
or　a　mother　with　a　child　across　her　shoulder。　Jake　sat　numbly　
for　some　time；　and　at　last　he　got　to　his　feet　and　walked　on。　
Weavers　Lane　was　dark。　Oil　lamps　made　yellow；　trembling　
patches　of　light　in　the　doorways　and　windows。　Some　of　the　
houses　were　entirely　dark　and　the　families　sat　on　their　front　
steps　with　only　the　reflections　from　a　neighboring　house　to　see　
by。　A　woman　leaned　out　of　a　window　and　splashed　a　pail　of　
dirty　water　into　the　street。　A　few　drops　of　it　splashed　on　Jake's　
face。　High；　angry　voices　could　be　heard　from　the　backs　of　
some　of　the　houses。　From　others　there　was　the　peaceful　sound　

of　a　chair　slowly　rocking。
Jake　stopped　before　a　house　where　three　men　sat　together　on
the　front　steps。　A　pale　yellow　light　from　inside　the　house
shone　on　them。　Two　of　the　men　wore　overalls　but　no　s