carson mccullers - the heart is a lonely hunter-第59节

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He　caught　the　itch。　He　mixed　some　sulphur　and　hog　fat　and　
greased　his　body　every　morning。　He　clawed　himself　raw　and　it　
seemed　that　the　itching　would　never　be　soothed。　One　night　he　
broke　loose。　He　had　been　sitting　alone　for　many　hours。　He　had　
mixed　gin　and　whiskey　and　was　very　drunk。　It　was　almost　
morning。　He　leaned　out　of　the　window　and　looked　at　the　dark　
silent　street。　He　thought　of　all　the　people　around　him。　
Sleeping。　The　don't…knows。　Suddenly　he　bawled　out　in　a　loud　
voice：　〃This　is　the　truth！　You　bastards　don't　know　anything。　
You　don't　know。　You　don't　know！1　
The　street　awoke　angrily。　Lamps　were　lighted　and　sleepy　
curses　were　called　to　him。　The　men　who　lived　in　the　house　
rattled　furiously　on　his　door。　The　girls　from　a　cat…house　across　
the　street　stuck　their　heads　out　of　the　windows。　


'You　dumb　dumb　dumb　dumb　bastards。　You　dumb　dumb　
dumb　dumb'　
'Shuddup！　ShuddupF　
The　fellows　in　the　hall　were　pushing　against　the　door：　。You　
drunk　bull！　You'll　be　a　sight　dumber　when　we　get　thu　with　
you。'　
'How　many　out　there？'　Jake　roared。　He　banged　an　

empty　bottle　on　the　windowsill。　'Come　on；　everybody。　Come　
one；　come　all。　I'll　settle　you　three　at　a　time。'　
'That's　right；　Honey；'　a　whore　called。　
The　door　was　giving　way。　Jake　jumped　from　the　window　and　
ran　through　a　side　alley。　'Hee…haw！　Hee…haw！'　he　yelled　
drunkenly。　He　was　barefooted　and　shirtless。　An　hour　later　he　
stumbled　into　Singer's　room。　He　sprawled　on　the　floor　and　
laughed　himself　to　sleep。　
On　an　April　morning　he　found　the　body　of　a　man　who　had　
been　murdered。　A　young　Negro。　Jake　found　him　in　a　ditch　
about　thirty　yards　from　the　showgrounds。　The　Negro's　throat　
had　been　slashed　so　that　the　head　was　rolled　back　at　a　crazy　
angle。　The　sun　shone　hot　on　his　open；　glassy　eyes　and　flies　
hovered　over　the　dried　blood　that　covered　his　chest。　The　dead　
man　held　a　red…and…yellow　cane　with　a　tassel　like　the　ones　
sold　at　the　hamburger　booth　at　the　show。　Jake　stared　gloomily　
down　at　the　body　for　some　time。　Then　he　called　the　police。　No　
clues　were　found。　Two　days　later　the　family　of　the　dead　man　
claimed　his　body　at　the　morgue。　
At　the　Sunny　Dixie　there　were　frequent　fights　and　quarrels。　
Sometimes　two　friends　would　come　to　the　show　arm　in　arm；　
laughing　and　drinking—and　before　they　left　they　would　be　
struggling　together　in　a　panting　rage。　Jake　was　always　alert。　
Beneath　the　gaudy　gaiety　of　the　show；　the　bright　lights；　and　
the　lazy　laughter；　he　felt　something　sullen　and　dangerous。　
Through　these　dazed；　disjointed　weeks　Simms　nagged　his　
footsteps　constantly。　The　old　man　liked　to　come　with　a　
soapbox　and　a　Bible　and　take　a　stand　in　the　middle　of　the　
crowd　to　preach。　He　talked　of　the　second　coming　of　Christ。　He　
said　that　the　Day　of　Judgment　would　be　October　2；　1951。　He　


would　point　out　certain　drunks　and　scream　at　them　in　his　raw；　
worn　voice。　Excitement　made　his　mouth　fill　with　water　so　that　
his　words　had　a　wet；　gurgling　sound。　Once　he　had　slipped　in　
and　set　up　his　stand　no　arguments　could　make　him　budge。　He　
made　Jake　a　present　of　a　Gideon　Bible；　and　told　him　to　pray　
on　his　knees　for　one　hour　each　night　and　to　hurl　away　every　
glass　of　beer　or　cigarette　that　was　offered　him。　
They　quarreled　over　walls　and　fences。　Jake　had　begun246　

to　carry　chalk　in　his　pockets；　also。　He　wrote　brief　sentences。　
He　tried　to　word　them　so　that　a　passerby　would　stop　and　
ponder　over　the　meaning。　So　that　a　man　would　wonder。　So　
that　a　man　would　think。　Also；　he　wrote　short　pamphlets　and　
distributed　them　in　the　streets。　
If　it　had　not　been　for　Singer；　Jake　knew　that　he　would　have　
left　the　town。　Only　on　Sunday；　when　he　was　with　his　friend；　
did　he　feel　at　peace。　Sometimes　they　would　go　for　a　walk　
together　or　play　chess—but　more　often　they　spent　the　day　
quietly　in　Singer's　room。　If　he　wished　to　talk　Singer　was　
always　attentive。　If　he　sat　morosely　through　the　day　the　mute　
understood　his　feelings　and　was　not　surprised。　It　seemed　to　
him　that　only　Singer　could　help　him　now。　
Then　one　Sunday　when　he　climbed　the　stairs　he　saw　that　
Singer's　door　was　open。　The　room　was　empty。　He　sat　alone　for　
more　than　two　hours。　At　last　he　heard　Singer's　footsteps　on　the　
stairs。　
'I　was　wondering　about　you。　Where　you　been？*　
Singer　smiled。　He　brushed　off　his　hat　with　a　handkerchief　and　
put　it　away。　Then　deliberately　he　took　his　silver　pencil　from　
his　pocket　and　leaned　over　the　mantelpiece　to　write　a　note。　
'What　you　mean？'　Jake　asked　when　he　read　what　the　mute　had　
written。　'Whose　legs　are　cut　off？'　
Singer　took　back　the　note　and　wrote　a　few　additional　
sentences。　
'Huh！'　Jake　said。　That　don't　surprise　me。'　
He　brooded　over　the　piece　of　paper　and　then　crumpled　it　in　his　
hand。　The　listlessness　of　the　past　month　was　gone　and　he　was　
tense　and　uneasy。　'Huh！'　he　said　again。　
Singer　put　on　a　pot　of　coffee　and　got　out　his　chessboard。　Jake　
tore　the　note　to　pieces　and　rolled　the　fragments　between　his　


sweating　palms。
'But　something　can　be　done　about　this；'　he　said　after　a　while。
'You　know　it？
'
Singer　nodded　uncertainly。
'I　want　to　see　the　boy　and　hear　the　whole　story。　When　can　you
take　me　around　there？
'
Singer　deliberated。　Then　he　wrote　on　a　pad　of　paper；　'Tonight。
'
Jake　held　his　hand　to　his　mouth　and　began　to　walk　restlessly
around　the　room。　'We　can　do　something。
'


13


247　

J　AKE　and　Singer　waited　on　the　front　porch。　When　they　pushed　
the　doorbell　there　was　no　sound　of　a　ring　in　the　darkened　
house。　Jake　knocked　impatiently　and　pressed　his　nose　against　
the　screen　door。　Beside　him　Singer　stood　wooden　and　smiling；　
with　two　spots　of　color　on　his　cheeks；　for　they　had　drunk　a　
bottle　of　gin　together。　The　evening　was　quiet　and　dark。　Jake　
watched　a　yellow　light　shaft　softly　through　the　hall。　And　
Portia　opened　the　door　for　them。　
'I　certainly　trust　you　not　been　waiting　long。　So　many　folks　
been　coming　that　us　thought　it　wise　to　untach　the　bell。　You　
gentlemens　just　let　me　take　you　hats—Father　been　mighty　
sick。'　
Jake　tiptoed　heavily　behind　Singer　down　the　bare；　narrow　hall。　
At　the　threshold　of　the　kitchen　he　stopped　short　The　room　was　
crowded　and　hot。　A　fire　burned　in　the　small　wood　stove　and　
the　windows　were　closed　tight。　Smoke　mingled　with　a　certain　
Negro　smell。　The　glow　from　the　stove　was　the　only　light　in　the　
room。　The　dark　voices　he　had　heard　back　in　the　hall　were　
silent。　
〃These　here　are　two　white　gentlemens　come　to　inquire　about　
Father；'　Portia　said。　'I　think　maybe　he　be　able　to　see　you　but　I　
better　go　on　in　first　and　prepare　him。'　
Jake　fingered　his　thick　lower　lip。　On　the　end　of　his　nose　there　
was　a　latticed　impression　from　the　front　screen　door。　'That's　
not　it；'　he　said。　'I　come　to　talk　with　your　brother。'　
The　Negroes　in　the　room　were　standing。　Singer　motioned　to　
them　to　be　seated　again。　Two　grizzled　old　men　sat　down　on　a　
bench　by　the　stove。　A　loose…limbed　mulatto　lounged　against　


the　window。　On　a　camp　cot　in　a　corner　was　a　boy　without　legs
whose　trousers　were　folded　and　pinned　beneath　his　stumpy
thighs。
'Good　evening；'　Jake　said　awkwardly。　'Your　name　Copeland？
'
The　boy　put　his　hands　over　the　stumps　of　his　legs　and　shrank
back　close　to　the　wall。　'My　name　Willie。
'
'Honey；　don't　you　worry　none；'　said　Portia。　'This　here　is　Mr。
Singer　that　you　heard　Father　speak　about。　And　this　other　white
gentleman　is　Mr。　Blount　and　he　a　very　close　friend　of　Mr。
Singer。　They　just　kindly　come　to　inquire248


about　us　in　our　trouble。'　She　turned　to　Jake　and　motioned　to
the　three　other　people　in　the　room。　This　other　boy　leaning　on
the　window　is　my　brother　too。　Named　Buddy。　And　these　here
over　by　the　stove　is　two　dear　friends　of　my　Father。　Named　Mr。
Marshall　Nicolls　and　Mr。　John　Roberts。　I　think　it　a　good　idea
to　understand　who　all　is　in　a　room　with　you。
'
Thanks；'　Jake　said。　He　turned　to　Willie　again。　'I　just　want　you
to　tell　me　about　it　so　I　can　get　it　straight　in　my　mind。
'
This　the　way　it　is；'　Willie　said。　'I　feel　like　my　feets　is　still
hurting。　I　got　this　here　terrible　misery　down　in　my　toes。　Yet
the　hurt　in　my　feets　is　down　where　my　feets　should　be　if　they
were　on　my　1…1…legs。　And　not　where　my　feets　is　now。　It　a　hard
thing　to　understand。　My　feets　hurt　me　so　bad　all　the　time　and　
I
don't　know　where　they　is。　They　never　given　them　back　to　me。
They　s…somewhere　more　than　a　hundred　m…miles　from　here。
'
'I　mean　about　how　it　all　happened；'　Jake　said。
Uneasily　Willie　looked　up　at　his　sister。　'I　don't　remember—
very　good。
'
'Course　you　remember；　Honey。　You　done　already　told　us　over
and　over。
'
'Well'　The　boy's　voice　was　timid　and　sullen。　*Us
were　all　out　on　the　road　and　this　here　Buster　say　something　to
the　guard。　The　w…white　man　taken　a　stick　to　him。　Then　this
other　boy　he　tries　to　run　off。　And　I　follow　him。　It　all　come
about　so　quick　I　don't　remember　good　just　how　it　were。　Then
they　taken　us　back　to　the　camp　and
'
'I　know　the　rest；'　Jake　said。　'But　give　me　the　names　and
addresses　of　the　other　two　boys。　And　tell　me　the　names　of　the
guards。
'



'Listen　here；　white　man。　It　seem　to　me　like　you　meaning　to　get
me　into　trouble。
'
Trouble！'　Jake　said　rudely。　〃What　in　the　name　of　Christ　do　you
think　you'