carson mccullers - the heart is a lonely hunter-第27节

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your　own　blood　sister；'　Lucile　said。　
Biff　raised　his　head。　'Why　don't　you　marry　again？　Some　nice　
young　man　who's　never　had　a　wife　before；　who　would　take　
care　of　you　and　Baby？　If　you'd　just　forget　about　Leroy　you　
would　make　a　good　man　a　fine　wife。'　
Lucile　was　slow　to　answer。　Then　finally　she　said：　*You　know　
how　we　always　been—we　nearly　all　the　time　understand　each　
other　pretty　well　without　any　kind　of　throbs　either　way。　Well；　
that's　the　closest　I　ever　want　to　be　to　any　man　again。'

　111　
1　feel　the　same　way；'　Biff　said。　
Half　an　hour　later　there　was　a　knock　on　the　door。　The　car　for　
the　funeral　was　parked　before　the　house。　Biff　and　Lucile　got　
up　slowly。　The　three　of　them；　with　Baby　in　her　white　silk　


dress　a　little　ahead；　walked　in　solemn　quietness　outside。　
Biff　kept　the　restaurant　closed　during　the　next　day。　Then　in　
the　early　evening　he　removed　the　faded　wreath　of　lilies　from　
the　front　door　and　opened　the　place　for　business　again。　Old　
customers　came　in　with　sad　faces　and　talked　with　him　a　few　
minutes　by　the　cash　register　before　giving　their　orders。　The　
usual　crowd　was　present—Singer；　Blount；　various　men　who　
worked　in　stores　along　the　block　and　in　the　mills　down　on　the　
river。　After　supper　Mick　Kelly　showed　up　with　her　little　
brother　and　put　a　nickel　into　the　slot　machine。　When　she　lost　
the　first　coin　she　banged　on　the　machine　with　her　fists　and　
kept　opening　the　receiver　to　be　sure　that　nothing　had　come　
down。　Then　she　put　in　another　nickel　and　almost　won　the　
jackpot。　Coins　came　clattering　out　and　rolled　along　the　floor。　
The　kid　and　her　little　brother　both　kept　looking　around　pretty　
sharp　as　they　picked　them　up；　so　that　no　customer　would　put　
his　foot　on　one　before　they　could　get　to　it　The　mute　was　at　the　
table　in　the　middle　of　the　room　with　his　dinner　before　him。　
Across　from　him　Jake　Blount　sat　drinking　beer；　dressed　in　his　
Sunday　clothes；　and　talking。　Everything　was　the　same　as　it　had　
always　been　before。　After　a　while　the　air　became　gray　with　
cigarette　smoke　and　the　noise　increased。　Biff　was　alert；　and　no　
sound　or　movement　escaped　him。　
'I　go　around；'　Blount　said。　He　leaned　earnestly　across　the　table　
and　kept　his　eyes　on　the　mute's　face。　'I　go　all　around　and　try　to　
tell　them。　And　they　laugh。　I　can't　make　them　understand　
anything。　No　matter　what　I　say　I　can't　seem　to　make　them　see；　
the　truth。'　
Singer　nodded　and　wiped　his　mouth　with　his　napkin。　His　
dinner　had　got　cold　because　he　couldn't　look　down　to　eat；　but　
he　was　so　polite　that　he　let　Blount　go　on　talking。　The　words　of　
the　two　children　at　the　slot　machine　were　high　and　clear　
against　the　coarser　voices　of　the　men。　Mick　was　putting　her　
nickels　back　into　the　slot。　Often　she　looked　around　at　the　
middle　table；　but　the　mute　had　his　back　turned　to　her　and　did　
not　see。112　

'Mister　Singer's　got　fried　chicken　for　his　supper　and　he　hasn't　
eaten　one　piece　yet；'　the　little　boy　said。　
Mick　pulled　down　the　lever　of　the　machine　very　slowly。　'Mind　


your　own　business。'　
'You're　always　going　up　to　his　room　or　some　place　where　you　
know　he'll　be。'　
'I　told　you　to　hush；　Bubber　Kelly。'　
'You　do。'　
Mick　shook　him　until　his　teeth　rattled　and　turned　him　around　
toward　the　door。　'You　go　on　home　to　bed。　I　already　told　you　I　
get　a　bellyful　of　you　and　Ralph　in　the　daytime；　and　I　don't　
want　you　hanging　around　me　at　night　when　I'm　supposed　to　be　
free。'　
Bubber　held　out　bis　grimy　little　hand。　Well；　give　me　a　nickel；　
then。'　When　he　had　put　the　money　in　his　shirt　pocket　he　left　
for　home。　
Biff　straightened　his　coat　and　smoothed　back　his　hair。　His　tie　
was　solid　black；　and　on　the　sleeve　of　his　gray　coat　there　was　
the　mourning　band　that　he　had　sewn　there。　He　wanted　to　go　up　
to　the　slot　machine　and　talk　with　Mick；　but　something　would　
not　let　him。　He　sucked　in　his　breath　sharply　and　drank　a　glass　
of　water。　A　dance　orchestra　came　in　on　the　radio；　but　he　did　
not　want　to　listen。　All　the　tunes　in　the　last　ten　years　were　so　
alike　he　couldn't　tell　one　from　the　other。　Since　1928　he　had　
not　enjoyed　music。　Yet　when　he　was　young　he　used　to　play　
the　mandolin；　and　he　knew　the　words　and　the　melody　of　every　
current　song。　
He　laid　his　finger　on　the　side　of　his　nose　and　cocked　his　head　
to　one　side。　Mick　had　grown　so　much　in　the　past　year　that　
soon　she　would　be　taller　than　he　was。　She　was　dressed　in　the　
red　sweater　and　blue　pleated　skirt　she　had　worn　every　day　
since　school　started。　Now　the　pleats　had　come　out　and　the　hem　
dragged　loose　around　her　sharp；　jutting　knees。　She　was　at　the　
age　when　she　looked　as　much　like　an　overgrown　boy　as　a　girl。　
And　on　that　subject　why　was　it　that　the　smartest　people　mostly　
missed　that　point？　By　nature　all　people　are　of　both　sexes。　So　
that　marriage　and　the　bed　is　not　all　by　any　means。　The　proof？　
Real　youth　and　old　age。　Because　often　old　men's　voices　grow　
high　and　reedy　and　they　take　on　a　mincing　walk。　And　old　
women　sometimes　grow　fat　and　their　voices　get　rough　and　
deep　and　they　grow　dark　little　mustaches。　And　he　even　proved

　113　it　himself—the　part　of　him　that　sometimes　almost　wished　
he　was　a　mother　and　that　Mick　and　Baby　were　his　kids。　


Abruptly　Biff　turned　from　the　cash　register。　
The　newspapers　were　in　a　mess。　For　two　weeks　he　hadn't　filed　
a　single　one。　He　lifted　a　stack　of　them　from　under　the　counter。　
With　a　practiced　eye　he　glanced　from　the　masthead　to　the　
bottom　of　the　sheet。　Tomorrow　he　would　look　over　the　stacks　
of　them　in　the　back　room　and　see　about　changing　the　system　
of　files。　Build　shelves　and　use　those　solid　boxes　canned　goods　
were　shipped　in　for　drawers。　Chronologically　from　October　
27；1918；　on　up　to　the　present　date。　With　folders　and　top　
markings　outlining　historical　events。　Three　sets　of　outlines—　
one　international　beginning　with　the　Armistice　and　leading　
through　the　Munich　aftermath；　the　second　national；　the　third　
all　the　local　dope　from　the　time　Mayor　Lester　shot　his　wife　at　
the　country　club　up　to　the　Hudson　Mill　fire。　Everything　for　the　
past　twenty　years　docketed　and　outlined　and　complete。　Biff　
beamed　quietly　behind　his　hand　as　he　rubbed　his　jaw。　And　yet　
Alice　had　wanted　him　to　haul　out　the　papers　so　she　could　turn　
the　room　into　a　ladies'　toilet。　That　was　just　what　she　had　
nagged　him　to　do；　but　for　once　he　had　battered　her　down。　For　
that　one　time。　
With　peaceful　absorption　Biff　settled　down　to　the　details　of　
the　newspaper　before　him。　He　read　steadily　and　with　
concentration；　but　from　habit　some　secondary　part　of　him　was　
alert　to　everything　around　him。　Jake　Blount　was　still　talking；　
and　often　he　would　hit　his　fist　on　the　table。　The　mute　sipped　
beer。　Mick　walked　restlessly　around　the　radio　and　stared　at　the　
customers。　Biff　read　every　word　in　the　first　paper　and　made　a　
few　notes　on　the　
margins。　
Then　suddenly　he　looked　up　with　a　surprised　expression。　His　
mouth　had　been　open　for　a　yawn　and　he　snapped　it　shut。　The　
radio　swung　into　an　old　song　that　dated　back　to　the　time　when　
he　and　Alice　were　engaged。　'Just　a　Baby's　Prayer　at　Twilight。'　
They　had　taken　the　streetcar　one　Sunday　to　Old　Sardis　Lake　
and　had　rented　a　rowboat。　At　sunset　he　played　on　the　
mandolin　while　she　sang。　She　had　on　a　sailor　hat；　and　when　he　
put　his　arm　around　her　waist　

she—Alice

A　dragnet　for　lost　feelings。　Biff　folded　the　newspapers114　

and　put　them　back　under　the　counter。　He　stood　on　one　foot　


and　then　the　other。　Finally　he　called　across　the　room　to　Mick。　
'You're　not　listening；　are　you？'　
Mick　turned　off　the　radio。　'No。　Nothing　on　tonight。'　All　of　that　
he　would　keep　out　of　his　mind；　and　concentrate　on　something　
else。　He　leaned　over　the　counter　and　watched　one　customer　
after　another。　Then　at　last　his　attention　rested　on　the　mute　at　
the　middle　table。　He　saw　Mick　edge　gradually　up　to　him　and　
at　his　invitation　sit　down。　Singer　pointed　to　something　on　the　
menu　and　the　waitress　brought　a　Coca…Cola　for　her。　Nobody　
but　a　freak　like　a　deaf…mute；　cut　off　from　other　people；　would　
ask　a　right　young　girl　to　sit　down　to　the　table　where　he　was　
drinking　with　another　man。　Blount　and　Mick　both　kept　their　
eyes　on　Singer。　They　talked；　and　the　mute's　expression　
changed　as　he　watched　them。　It　was　a　funny　thing。　The　reason　
—was　it　in　them　or　in　him？　He　sat　very　still　with　his　hands　in　
his　pockets；　and　because　he　did　not　speak　it　made　him　seem　
superior。　What　did　that　fellow　think　and　realize？　What　did　he　
know？　
Twice　during　the　evening　Biff　started　to　go　over　to　the　middle　
table；　but　each　time　he　checked　himself。　After　they　were　gone　
he　still　wondered　what　it　was　about　this　mute　—and　in　the　
early　dawn　when　he　lay　in　bed　he　turned　over　questions　and　
solutions　in　his　mind　without　satisfaction。　The　puzzle　had　
taken　root　in　him。　It　worried　him　in　the　back　of　his　mind　and　
left　him　uneasy。　There　was　something　wrong。　
＇。ANY　times　Doctor　Copeland　talked　to　Mr。　Singer。　Truly　he　
was　not　like　other　white　men。　He　was　a　wise　man；　and　he　
understood　the　strong；　true　purpose　in　a　way　that　other　white　
men　could　not。　He　listened；　and　in　his　face　there　was　
something　gentle　and　Jewish；　the　knowledge　of　one　who　
belongs　to　a　race　that　is　oppressed。　O