carson mccullers - the heart is a lonely hunter-第5节

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and　shook　the　few　remaining　drops　of　beer　around　in　the　
bottom　of　his　glass。　Then　he　finished　his　drink　in　one　slow　
swallow　and　went　back　to　the　newspaper　spread　out　on　the　
counter。　
This　time　he　could　not　keep　his　mind　on　the　words　before　him。　
He　remembered　Mick。　He　wondered　if　he　should　have　sold　
her　the　pack　of　cigarettes　and　if　it　were　really　harmful　for　kids　
to　smoke。　He　thought　of　the　way　Mick　narrowed　her　eyes　and　
pushed　back　the　bangs　of　her　hair　with　the　palm　of　her　hand。　
He　thought　of　her　hoarse；　boyish　voice　and　of　her　habit　of　
hitching　up　her　khaki　shorts　and　swaggering　like　a　cowboy　in　
the　picture　show。　A　feeling　of　tenderness　came　in　him。　He　was　
uneasy。　
Restlessly　Biff　turned　his　attention　to　Singer。　The　mute　sat　
with　his　hands　in　his　pockets　and　the　half…finished　glass　of　
beer　before　him　had　become　warm　and　stagnant。　He18　


would　offer　to　treat　Singer　to　a　slug　of　whiskey　before　he　left。　
What　he　had　said　to　Alice　was　true—he　did　like　freaks。　He　
had　a　special　friendly　feeling　for　sick　people　and　cripples。　
Whenever　somebody　with　a　harelip　or　T。B。　came　into　the　
place　he　would　set　him　up　to　beer。　Or　if　the　customer　were　a　
hunchback　or　a　bad　cripple；　then　it　would　be　whiskey　on　the　
house。　There　was　one　fellow　who　had　had　his　peter　and　his　
left　leg　blown　off　in　a　boiler　explosion；　and　whenever　he　came　
to　town　there　was　a　free　pint　waiting　for　him。　And　if　Singer　
were　a　drinking　kind　of　man　he　could　get　liquor　at　half　price　
any　time　he　wanted　it。　Biff　nodded　to　himself。　Then　neatly　he　
folded　his　newspaper　and　put　it　under　the　counter　along　with　
several　others。　At　the　end　of　the　week　he　would　take　them　all　
back　to　the　storeroom　behind　the　kitchen；　where　he　kept　a　
complete　file　of　the　evening　newspapers　that　dated　back　
without　a　break　for　twenty…one　years。　
At　two　o'clock　Blount　entered　the　restaurant　again。　He　
；　brought　in　with　him　a　tall　Negro　man　carrying　a　black　bag。　
The　drunk　tried　to　bring　him　up　to　the　counter　for　a　
drink；　but　the　Negro　left　as　soon　as　he　realized　why　he　had　
been　led　inside。　Biff　recognized　him　as　a　Negro　doctor　who　
had　practiced　in　the　town　ever　since　he　could　remember。　
He　was　related　in　some　way　to　young　Willie　back　in　the　
kitchen。　Before　he　left　Biff　saw　him　turn　on　Blount　with　
a　look　of　quivering　hatred。　
The　drunk　just　stood　there。　

。Don't　you　know　you　can't　bring　no　nigger　in　a　place　where
white　men　drink？'　someone　asked　him。
Biff　watched　this　happening　from　a　distance。　Blount　was　very
angry；　and　now　it　could　easily　be　seen　how　drunk　he　was。
'I'm　part　nigger　myself；'　he　called　out　as　a　challenge。
Biff　watched　him　alertly　and　the　place　was　quiet。　With　his
thick　nostrils　and　the　rolling　whites　of　his　eyes　it　looked　
a
little　as　though　he　might　be　telling　the　truth。
'I'm　part　nigger　and　wop　and　bohunk　and　chink。　All　of　those。
'
There　was　laughter。
'And　I'm　Dutch　and　Turkish　and　Japanese　and　American。'　He
walked　in　zigzags　around　the　table　where　the　mute　drank　his
coffee。　His　voice　was　loud　and　cracked。

Tm　one　who　knows。　I'm　a　stranger　in　a　strange　land。'　

。Quiet　down；'　Biff　said　to　him。　
Blount　paid　no　attention　to　anyone　in　the　place　except　the　
mute。　They　were　both　looking　at　each　other。　The　mute's　eyes　
were　cold　and　gentle　as　a　cat's　and　all　his　body　seemed　to　
listen。　The　drunk　man　was　in　a　frenzy。　
。You're　the　only　one　in　this　town　who　catches　what　I　mean；'　
Blount　said。　'For　two　days　now　1　been　talking　to　you　in　my　
mind　because　I　know　you　understand　the　things　I　want　to　
mean。'　
Some　people　in　a　booth　were　laughing　because　without　
knowing　it　the　drunk　had　picked　out　a　deaf…mute　to　try　to　talk　
with。　Biff　watched　the　two　men　with　little　darting　glances　and　
listened　attentively。　
Blount　sat　down　to　the　table　and　leaned　over　close　to　Singer。　
There　are　those　who　know　and　those　who　don't　know。　And　
for　every　ten　thousand　who　don't　know　there's　only　one　who　
knows。　Thaf　s　the　miracle　of　all　time—the　fact　that　these　
millions　know　so　much　but　don't　know　this。　It's　like　in　the　
fifteenth　century　when　everybody　believed　the　world　was　flat　
and　only　Columbus　and　a　few　other　fellows　knew　the　truth。　
But　it's　different　in　that　it　took　talent　to　figure　that　the　earth　is　
round。　While　this　truth　is　so　obvious　it's　a　miracle　of　all　
history　that　people　don't　know。　You　savvy。'　
Biff　rested　his　elbows　on　the　counter　and　looked　at　Blount　
with　curiosity。　'Know　what？'　he　asked。　
〃Don't　listen　to　him；'　Blount　said。　'Don't　mind　that　flat…footed；　
blue…jowled；　nosy　bastard。　For　you　see；　when　us　people　who　
know　run　into　each　other　mat's　an　event。　It　almost　never　
happens。　Sometimes　we　meet　each　other　and　neither　guesses　
that　the　other　is　one　who　knows。　That's　a　bad　thing。　It's　
happened　to　me　a　lot　of　times。　But　you　see　there　are　so　few　of　
us。'　
'Masons？'　Biff　asked。　
'Shut　up；　you！　Else　111　snatch　your　arm　off　and　beat　you　
black　with　it；'　Blount　bawled。　He　hunched　over　close　to　the　
mute　and　his　voice　dropped　to　a　drunken　whisper。　'And　how　
come？　Why　has　this　miracle　of　ignorance　endured？　Because　
of　one　thing。　A　conspiracy。　A　vast　and　insidious　conspiracy。　

Obscurantism。
'
The　men　in　the　booth　were　still　laughing　at　the　drunk20


who　was　trying　to　hold　a　conversation　with　the　mute。　Only
Biff　was　serious。　He　wanted　to　ascertain　if　the　mute　really
understood　what　was　said　to　him。　The　fellow　nodded
frequently　and　his　face　seemed　contemplative。　He　was　only
slow—that　was　all。　Blount　began　to　crack　a　few　jokes　along
with　this　talk　about　knowing。　The　mute　never　smiled　until
several　seconds　after　the　funny　remark　had　been　made；　then
when　the　talk　was　gloomy　again　the　smile　still　hung　on　his
face　a　little　too　long。　The　fellow　was　downright　uncanny。
People　felt　themselves　watching　him　even　before　they　knew
that　there　was　anything　different　about　him。　His　eyes　made　
a
person　think　that　he　heard　things　nobody　else　had　ever　heard；
that　he　knew　things　no　one　had　ever　guessed　before。　He　did
not　seem　quite　human。
Jake　Blount　leaned　across　the　table　and　the　words　came　out　as
though　a　dam　inside　him　had　broken。　Biff　could　not
understand　him　any　more。　Blount's　tongue　was　so　heavy　with
drink　and　he　talked　at　such　a　violent　pace　that　the　sounds　were
all　shaken　up　together。　Biff　wondered　where　he　would　go
when　Alice　turned　him　out　of　the　place。　And　in　the　morning
she　would　do　it；　too—like　she　said。
Biff　yawned　wanly；　patting　his　open　mouth　with　his　fingertips
until　his　jaw　had　relaxed。　It　was　almost　three　o'clock；　the　most
stagnant　hour　in　the　day　or　night
The　mute　was　patient。　He　had　been　listening　to　Blount　for
almost　an　hour。　Now　he　began　to　look　at　the　clock
occasionally。　Blount　did　not　notice　this　and　went　on　without　
a
pause。　At　last　he　stopped　a　to　roll　a　cigarette；　and　then　the
mute　nodded　his　head　in　the　direction　of　the　clock；　smiled　in
that　hidden　way　of　his；　and　got　up　from　the　table。　His　hands
stayed　stuffed　in　his　pockets　as　always。　He　went　out　quickly。
Blount　was　so　drunk　that　he　did　not　know　what　had　happened。
He　had　never　even　caught　on　to　the　fact　that　the　mute　made　no
answers。　He　began　to　look　around　the　place　with　his　mouth
open　and　his　eyes　rolling　and　fuddled。　A　red　vein　stood　out　on
his　forehead　and　he　began　to　hit　the　table　angrily　with　his
fists。　His　bout　could　not　last　much　longer　now。



'Come　on　over；'　Biff　said　kindly。　〃Your　friend　has　gone。
'


The　fellow　was　still　hunting　for　Singer。　He　had　never　seemed
really　drunk　like　that　before。　He　had　an　ugly　look。
'I　have　something　for　you　over　here　and　I　want　to　speak　with
you　a　minute；'　Biff　coaxed。
Blount　pulled　himself　up　from　the　table　and　walked　with　big；
loose　steps　toward　the　street　again。
Biff　leaned　against　the　wall。　In　and　out—in　and　out。　After　all；
it　was　none　of　his　business。　The　room　was　very　empty　and
quiet。　The　minutes　lingered。　Wearily　he　let　his　head　sag
forward。　All　motion　seemed　slowly　to　be　leaving　the　room。
The　counter；　faces；　the　booths　and　tables；　the　radio　in　the
corner；　whirring　fans　on　the　ceiling—all　seemed　to　become
very　faint　and　still。
He　must　have　dozed。　A　hand　was　shaking　his　elbow。　His　wits
came　back　to　him　slowly　and　he　looked　up　to　see　what　was
wanted。　Willie；　the　colored　boy　in　the　kitchen；　stood　before
him　dressed　in　his　cap　and　his　long　white　apron。　Willie
stammered　because　he　was　excited　about　whatever　he　was
trying　to　say。
'And　so　he　were　1…1…lamming　his　fist　against　this　here　brick　w…
w…wall。
'
'What's　that？
'
'Right　down　one　of　them　alleys　two　d…d…doors　away。
'
Biff　straightened　bis　slumped　shoulders　and　arranged　his　tie。
'What？
'
'And　they　means　to　bring　him　in　here　and　they　liable　to　pile　in
any　minute
'
'Willie；'　Biff　said　patiently。　'Start　at　the　beginning　and　let　me
get　this　straight。
'
'It　this　here　short　white　man　with　the　m…m…mustache。
'


。Mr。　Blount。　Yes》　
'Well—I　didn't　see　how　it　commenced。　I　were　standing　in　the　
back　door　when　I　heard　this　here　commotion。　Sound　like　a　big　
fight　in　the　alley。　So　I　r…r…run　to　see。　And　this　here　white　man　
had　just　gone　hog　wild。　He　were　butting　bis　head　against　the　
side　of　this　brick　wall　and　hitting　with　his　fists。　He　were　
cu