carson mccullers - the heart is a lonely hunter-第2节

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lumps　of　sugar；　or　a　pepper…shaker；　or　pieces　of　silverware　in　
bis　pocket。　Singer　always　paid　for　what　he　took　and　there　was　
no　disturbance。　At　home　he　scolded　Antonapoulos；　but　the　big　
Greek　only　looked　at　him　with　a　bland　smile。　
The　months　went　on　and　these　habits　of　Antonapoulos　grew　
worse。　One　day　at　noon　he　walked　calmly　out　of　the　fruit　store　
of　his　cousin　and　urinated　in　public　against　the　wall　of　the　
First　National　Bank　Building　across　the　street。　At　times　he　
would　meet　people　on　the　sidewalk　whose　faces　did　not　please　
him；　and　he　would　bump　into　these　persons　and　push　at　them　
with　his　elbows　and　stomach。　He　walked　into　a　store　one　day　
and　hauled　out　a　floor　lamp　without　paying　for　it；　and　another　
time　he　tried　to　take　an　electric　train　he　had　seen　in　a　
showcase。　
For　Singer　this　was　a　time　of　great　distress。　He　was　
continually　marching　Antonapoulos　down　to　the　courthouse　
during　lunch　hour　to　settle　these　infringements　of　the　law。　
Singer　became　very　familiar　with　the　procedure　of　the　courts　
and　he　was　in　a　constant　state　of　agitation。　The　money　he　had　
saved　in　the　bank　was　spent　for　bail　and　fines。　All　of　his　
efforts　and　money　were　used　to　keep　his　friend　out　of　jail　
because　of　such　charges　as　theft；　committing　public　
indecencies；　and　assault　and　battery。　
The　Greek　cousin　for　whom　Antonapoulos　worked　did　not　
enter　into　these　troubles　at　all。　Charles　Parker　（for　that　was　the　
name　this　cousin　had　taken）　let　Antonapoulos　stay　on　at　the　
store；　but　he　watched　him　always　with　his　pale；　tight　face　and　
he　made　no　effort　to　help　him。　Singer　had　a　strange　feeling　
about　Charles　Parker。　He　began　to　dislike　him。　
Singer　lived　in　continual　turmoil　and　worry。　But　
Antonapoulos　was　always　bland；　and　no　matter　what　
happened　the　gentle；　flaccid　smile　was　still　on　his　face。　In　all6　
the　years　before　it　had　seemed　to　Singer　that　there　was　
something　very　subtle　and　wise　in　this　smile　of　his　friend。　He　
had　never　known　just　how　much　Antonapoulos　understood　
and　what　he　was　thinking。　Now　in　the　big　Greek's　expression　


Singer　thought　that　he　could　detect　something　sly　and　joking。　
He　would　shake　his　friend　by　the　shoulders　until　he　was　very　
tired　and　explain　things　over　and　over　with　his　hands。　But　
nothing　did　any　good。　
All　of　Singer's　money　was　gone　and　he　had　to　borrow　from　the　
jeweler　for　whom　he　worked。　On　one　occasion　he　was　unable　
to　pay　bail　for　bis　friend　and　Antonapoulos　spent　the　night　in　
jail。　When　Singer　came　to　get　him　out　the　next　day　he　was　
very　sulky。　He　did　not　want　to　leave。　He　had　enjoyed　his　
dinner　of　sowbelly　and　cornbread　with　syrup　poured　over　it。　
And　the　new　sleeping　arrangements　and　his　cellmates　pleased　
him。　
They　had　lived　so　much　alone　that　Singer　had　no　one　to　help　
him　in　his　distress。　Antonapoulos　let　nothing　disturb　him　or　
cure　him　of　his　habits。　At　home　he　sometimes　cooked　the　new　
dish　he　had　eaten　in　the　jail；　and　on　the　streets　there　was　never　
any　knowing　just　what　he　would　do。　
And　then　the　final　trouble　came　to　Singer。　
One　afternoon　he　had　come　to　meet　Antonapoulos　at　the　fruit　
store　when　Charles　Parker　handed　him　a　letter。　The　letter　
explained　that　Charles　Parker　had　made　arrangements　for　his　
cousin　to　be　taken　to　the　state　insane　asylum　two　hundred　
miles　away。　Charles　Parker　had　used　his　influence　in　the　town　
and　the　details　were　already　settled。　Antonapoulos　was　to　
leave　and　to　be　admitted　into　the　asylum　the　next；　week。　
Singer　read　the　letter　several　times；　and　for　a　while　he　could　
not　think。　Charles　Parker　was　talking　to　him　across　the　
counter；　but　he　did　not　even　try　to　read　his　lips　and　
understand。　At　last　Singer　wrote　on　the　little　pad　he　always　
carried　in　his　pocket：　

You　cannot　do　this。　Antonapoulos　must　stay　with　me。　

Charles　Parker　shook　his　head　excitedly。　He　did　not　know　
much　American。　'None　of　your　business；'　he　kept　saying　over　
and　over。

　7　
Singer　knew　that　everything　was　finished。　The　Greek　was　
afraid　that　some　day　he　might　be　responsible　for　his　cousin。　
Charles　Parker　did　not　know　much　about　the　American　
language—but　he　understood　the　American　dollar　very　well；　
and　he　had　used　his　money　and　influence　to　admit　his　cousin　


to　the　asylum　without　delay。　
There　was　nothing　Singer　could　do。　
The　next　week　was　full　of　feverish　activity。　He　talked　and　
talked。　And　although　his　hands　never　paused　to　rest　he　could　
not　tell　all　that　he　had　to　say。　He　wanted　to　talk　to　
Antonapoulos　of　all　the　thoughts　that　had　ever　been　in　his　
mind　and　heart；　but　there　was　not　time。　His　gray　eyes　glittered　
and　his　quick；　intelligent　face　expressed　great　strain。　
Antonapoulos　watched　him　drowsily；　and　his　friend　did　not　
know　just　what　he　really　understood。　
Then　came　the　day　when　Antonapoulos　must　leave。　Singer　
brought　out　Ms　own　suitcase　and　very　carefully　packed　the　
best　of　their　joint　possessions。　Antonapoulos　made　himself　a　
lunch　to　eat　during　the　journey。　In　the　late　afternoon　they　
walked　arm　in　arm　down　the　street　for　the　last　time　together。　It　
was　a　chilly　afternoon　in　late　November；　and　little　huffs　of　
breath　showed　in　the　air　before　them。　
Charles　Parker　was　to　travel　with　his　cousin；　but　he　stood　
apart　from　them　at　the　station。　Antonapoulos　crowded　into　the　
bus　and　settled　himself　with　elaborate　preparations　on　one　of　
the　front　seats。　Singer　watched　him　from　the　window　and　his　
hands　began　desperately　to　talk　for　the　last　time　with　his　
friend。　But　Antonapoulos　was　so　busy　checking　over　the　
various　items　in　his　lunch　box　that　for　a　while　he　paid　no　
attention。　Just　before　the　bus　pulled　away　from　the　curb　he　
turned　to　Singer　and　his　smile　was　very　bland　and　remote—as　
though　already　they　were　many　miles　apart。　
The　weeks　that　followed　didn't　seem　real　at　all。　All　day　Singer　
worked　over　his　bench　in　the　back　of　the　jewelry　store；　and　
then　at　night　he　returned　to　the　house　alone。　More　than　
anything　he　wanted　to　sleep。　As　soon　as　he　came　home　from　
work　he　would　lie　on　his　cot　and　try　to　doze　awhile。　Dreams　
came　to　him　when　he　lay　there　half…asleep。　And　in　all　of　them　
Antonapoulos　was　there。　His　hands　would　jerk　nervously；　for　
in　his　dreams　he　was　talk…8　
ing　to　his　friend　and　Antonapoulos　was　watching　him。　
Singer　tried　to　think　of　the　time　before　he　had　ever　known　his　
friend。　He　tried　to　recount　to　himself　certain　things　that　had　
happened　when　he　was　young。　But　none　of　these　things　he　
tried　to　remember　seemed　real。　


There　was　one　particular　fact　that　he　remembered；　but　it　was　
not　at　all　important　to　him。　Singer　recalled　that；　although　he　
had　been　deaf　since　he　was　an　infant；　he　had　not　always　been　
a　real　mute。　He　was　left　an　orphan　very　young　and　placed　in　
an　institution　for　the　deaf。　He　had　learned　to　talk　with　his　
hands　and　to　read。　Before　he　was　nine　years　old　he　could　talk　
with　one　hand　in　the　American　way—and　also　could　employ　
both　of　his　hands　after　the　method　of　Europeans。　He　had　
learned　to　follow　the　movements　of　people's　lips　and　to　
understand　what　they　said。　Then　finally　he　had　been　taught　to　
speak。　
At　the　school　he　was　thought　very　intelligent。　He　learned　the　
lessons　before　the　rest　of　the　pupils。　But　he　could　never　
become　used　to　speaking　with　his　lips。　It　was　not　natural　to　
him；　and　his　tongue　felt　like　a　whale　in　his　mouth。　From　the　
blank　expression　on　people's　faces　to　whom　he　talked　in　this　
way　he　felt　that　his　voice　must　be　like　the　sound　of　some　
animal　or　that　there　was　something　disgusting　in　his　speech。　It　
was　painful　for　him　to　try　to　talk　with　his　mouth；　but　his　hands　
were　always　ready　to　shape　the　words　he　wished　to　say。　When　
he　was　twenty…two　he　had　come　South　to　this　town　from　
Chicago　and　he　met　Antonapoulos　immediately。　Since　that　
time　he　had　never　spoken　with　his　mouth　again；　because　with　
his　friend　there　was　no　need　for　this。　
Nothing　seemed　real　except　the　ten　years　with　Antonapoulos。　
In　his　half…dreams　he　saw　his　friend　very　vividly；　and　when　he　
awakened　a　great　aching　loneliness　would　be　in　him。　
Occasionally　he　would　pack　up　a　box　for　Antonapoulos；　but　
he　never　received　any　reply。　And　so　the　months　passed　hi　this　
empty；　dreaming　way。　
In　the　spring　a　change　came　over　Singer。　He　could　not　sleep　
and　his　body　was　very　restless。　At　evening　he　would　walk　
monotonously　around　the　room；　unable　to　work　off　a　new　
feeling　of　energy。　If　he　rested　at　all　it　was　only　during　a　few　
hours　before　dawn—then　he　would　drop　bluntly　into　

9　
a　sleep　that　lasted　until　the　morning　light　struck　suddenly　
beneath　his　opening　eyelids　like　a　scimitar。　
He　began　spending　his　evenings　walking　around　the　town。　He　
could　no　longer　stand　the　rooms　where　Antonapoulos　had　


lived；　and　he　rented　a　place　in　a　shambling　boarding…house　not　
far　from　the　center　of　the　town。　
He　ate　his　meals　at　a　restaurant　only　two　blocks　away。　This　
restaurant　was　at　the　very　end　of　the　long　main　street　and　the　
name　of　the　place　was　the　New　York　Cafe。　The　first　day　he　
glanced　over　the　menu　quickly　and　wrote　a　short　note　and　
handed　it　to　the　proprietor。　

Each　morning　for　breakfast　I　want　an　egg；　toast；　and　coffee　

0。15　

For　lunc