move. walk. run. hide. steal and move on. only once had it been possible for him to stay in onespot — with a woman, or a family — for longer than a few months. that once was almost twoyears with a weaver lady in delaware, the meanest place for negroes he had ever seen outsidepulaski county, kentucky, and of course the prison camp in georgia.
from all those negroes, beloved was different. her shining, her new shoes. it bothered him.
maybe it was just the fact that he didn't bother her. or it could be timing. she had appeared andbeen taken in on the very day sethe and he had patched up their quarrel, gone out in public and hada right good time — like a family. denver had come around, so to speak; sethe was laughing; hehad a promise of steady work, 124 was cleared up from spirits. it had begun to look like a life. anddamn! a water-drinking woman fell sick, got took in, healed, and hadn't moved a peg since.
he wanted her out, but sethe had let her in and he couldn't put her out of a house that wasn't his. itwas one thing to beat up a ghost, quite another to throw a helpless coloredgirl out in territoryinfected by the klan. desperately thirsty for black blood, without which it could not live, thedragon swam the ohio at will.
sitting at table, chewing on his after-supper broom straw, paul d decided to place her. consultwith the negroes in town and find her her own place.
no sooner did he have the thought than beloved strangled on one of the raisins she had picked outof the bread pudding. she fell backward and off the chair and thrashed around holding her throat.
sethe knocked her on the back while denver pried her hands away from her neck. beloved, on herhands and knees, vomited up her food and struggled for breath.
when she was quiet and denver had wiped up the mess, she said, "go to sleep now.""come in my room," said denver. "i can watch out for you up there."no moment could have been better. denver had worried herself sick trying to think of a way to getbeloved to share her room. it was hard sleeping above her, wondering if she was going to be sickagain, fall asleep and not wake, or (god, please don't) get up and wander out of the yard just theway she wandered in. they could have their talks easier there: at night when sethe and paul dwere asleep; or in the daytime before either came home. sweet, crazy conversations full of halfsentences, daydreams and misunderstandings more thrilling than understanding could ever be.
when the girls left, sethe began to clear the table. she stacked the plates near a basin of water.
"what is it about her vex you so?"paul d frowned, but said nothing.
"we had one good fight about denver. do we need one about her too?" asked sethe.
"i just don't understand what the hold is. it's clear why she holds on to you, but just can't see whyyou holding on to her."sethe turned away from the plates toward him. "what you care who's holding on to who? feedingher is no trouble. i pick up a little extra from the restaurant is all. and she's nice girl company fordenver. you know that and i know you know it, so what is it got your teeth on edge?""i can't place it. it's a feeling in me.""well, feel this, why don't you? feel how it feels to have a bed to sleep in and somebody there notworrying you to death about what you got to do each day to deserve it. feel how that feels. and ifthat don't get it, feel how it feels to be a coloredwoman roaming the roads with anything god madeliable to jump on you. feel that." "i know every bit of that, sethe. i wasn't born yesterday and inever mistreated a woman in my life.""that makes one in the world," sethe answered.
"not two?""no. not two.""what halle ever do to you? halle stood by you. he never left you.""what'd he leave then if not me?""i don't know, but it wasn't you. that's a fact.""then he did worse; he left his children.""you don't know that.""he wasn't there. he wasn't where he said he would be.""he was there.""then why didn't he show himself? why did i have to pack my babies off and stay behind to lookfor him?""he couldn't get out the loft.""loft? what loft?""the one over your head. in the barn."slowly, slowly, taking all the time allowed, sethe moved toward the table.
"he saw?""he saw.""he told you?""you told me.""what?""the day i came in here. you said they stole your milk. i never knew what it was that messed himup. that was it, i guess. all i knew was that something broke him. not a one of them years ofsaturdays, sundays and nighttime extra never touched him. but whatever he saw go on in that barnthat day broke him like a twig." "he saw?" sethe was gripping her elbows as though to keep themfrom flying away.
"he saw. must have.""he saw them boys do that to me and let them keep on breathing air? he saw? he saw? he saw?""hey! hey! listen up. let me tell you something. a man ain't a goddamn ax. chopping, hacking,busting every goddamn minute of the day. things get to him. things he can't chop down becausethey're inside."sethe was pacing up and down, up and down in the lamplight. "the underground agent said, bysunday. they took my milk and he saw it and didn't come down? sunday came and he didn't.
monday came and no halle. i thought he was dead, that's why; then i thought they caught him,that's why. then i thought, no, he's not dead because if he was i'd know it, and then you comehere after all this time and you didn't say he was dead, because you didn't know either, so ithought, well, he just found him another better way to live. because if he was anywhere near here,he'd come to baby suggs, if not to me. but i never knew he saw.""what does that matter now?""if he is alive, and saw that, he won't step foot in my door. not halle.""it broke him, sethe." paul d looked up at her and sighed. "you may as well know it all. last timei saw him he was sitting by the chum. he had butter all over his face."nothing happened, and she was grateful for that. usually she could see the picture right away ofwhat she heard. but she could not picture what paul d said. nothing came to mind. carefully,carefully, she passed on to a reasonable question.
"what did he say?""nothing.""not a word?""not a word.""did you speak to him? didn't you say anything to him? something!""i couldn't, sethe. i just.., couldn't.""why!""i had a bit in my mouth."sethe opened the front door and sat down on the porch steps. the day had gone blue without itssun, but she could still make out the black silhouettes of trees in the meadow beyond. she shookher head from side to side, resigned to her rebellious brain. why was there nothing it reused? nomisery, no regret, no hateful picture too rotten to accept? like a greedy child it snatched upeverything. just once, could it say, no thank you? i just ate and can't hold another bite? i am fullgod damn it of two boys with mossy teeth, one sucking on my breast the other holding me down,their book-reading teacher watching and writing it up. i am still full of that, god damn it, i can't goback and add more. add my husband to it, watching, above me in the loft — hiding close by — theone place he thought no one would look for him, looking down on what i couldn't look at at all.
and not stopping them — looking and letting it happen. but my greedy brain says, oh thanks, i'dlove more — so i add more. and no sooner than i do, there is no stopping. there is also myhusband squatting by the churn smearing the butter as well as its clabber all over his face becausethe milk they took is on his mind. and as far as he is concerned, the world may as well know it.
and if he was that broken then, then he is also and certainly dead now. and if paul d saw him andcould not save or comfort him because the iron bit was in his mouth, then there is still more thatpaul d could tell me and my brain would go right ahead and take it and never say, no thank you. idon't want to know or have to remember that. i have other things to do: worry, for example, abouttomorrow, about denver, about beloved, about age and sickness not to speak of love.
but her brain was not interested in the future. loaded with the past and hungry for more, it left herno room to imagine, let alone plan for, the next day. exactly like that afternoon in the wild onions— when one more step was the most she could see of the future. other people went crazy, whycouldn't she? other people's brains stopped, turned around and went on to something new, which iswhat must have happened to halle. and how sweet that would have been: the two of them back bythe milk shed, squatting by the churn, smashing cold, lumpy butter into their faces with not a carein the world. feeling it slippery, sticky — rubbing it in their hair, watching it squeeze through theirfingers. what a relief to stop it right there. close. shut. squeeze the butter. but her three childrenwere chewing sugar teat under a blanket on their way to ohio and no butter play would changethat.
paul d stepped through the door and touched her shoulder.
"i didn't plan on telling you that.""i didn't plan on hearing it.""i can't take it back, but i can leave it alone," paul d said.
挪。走。跑。藏。偷。然后不停地前进。只有一次，他有可能待在一个地方———和一个女人，或者说和一个家在一起———超过几个月的时间。那唯一的一次差不多有两年，是同那个特拉华的女织工一起度过的。特拉华是肯塔基州普拉斯基县以外对待黑人最野蛮的地方，当然，佐治亚的监狱营地就甭提了。
同所有这些黑人相比，宠儿大不一样。她的光芒，她的新鞋，都令他烦恼。也许只是他没有烦扰她的事实令他烦恼。要么就是巧合。她现身了，而且恰好发生在那天，塞丝和他结束了争吵，一 起去公共场合玩得很开心———好像一家人似的。可以这么说，丹芙已经回心转意；塞丝在开心地笑；他得到了许诺，会有一份固定的工作；124号除净了鬼魂。已经开始像一种生活了。可是他妈的!一个能喝水的女人病倒了，给带进屋来，康复了，然后就再没挪过窝儿。
他想把她撵走，可是塞丝让她进来了，他又无权把她赶出一所不属于他的房子。打败一个鬼是一码事，可把一个无助的黑人姑娘扔到三k党魔爪下的地方去，则完全是另一码事。那恶龙在俄亥俄随心所欲地游弋，极度渴求黑人的血，否则就无法生存。
坐在饭桌旁，嚼着饭后的金雀花草，保罗·d决定安顿安顿她。同城里的黑人们商量一下，给她找个地儿住。
他刚刚有了这个念头，宠儿就被自己从面包布丁里挑出来的一颗葡萄干噎住了。她向后倒去，摔出椅子，掐着脖子翻来滚去。塞丝去捶她的背，丹芙将她的手从脖子上掰开。宠儿趴在地上，一边呕吐，一边艰难地捯气。
等到她平静下来，丹芙擦去了秽物。宠儿说道：
“现在去睡吧。
”
“到我屋里来，”丹芙说，“我会在上边好好看着你的。
”
没有比这更好的时机了。丹芙为了设法让宠儿和她合住一室，都快急疯了。睡在她上铺并不容易，得担心着她是否还会犯病、长睡不醒，或者（上帝保佑，千万可别这样）下床漫步出院，像她漫步进来时那样。她们在那里可以更随便地说话：在夜里，当塞丝和保罗·d睡着以后；或是白天，在他们俩都没到家的时候。甜蜜、荒唐的谈话里充满了半截话、白日梦和远比理解更令人激动的误解。
姑娘们离开以后，塞丝开始收拾饭桌。她把盘子堆在一盆水旁边。
“她什么地方得罪你啦？
”
保罗·d皱了皱眉头，没说什么。
“我们为丹芙好好地打了一架。也得为她来上一回吗？
”塞丝问道。
“我只是不明白干吗摽在一起。明摆着，她为什么抓着你不放，可是你为什么也抓着她不放，这个我就搞不懂了。
”
塞丝扔下盘子，盯着他。
“谁抓着谁不放关你什么事？养活她并不费事。我从餐馆捡回一点剩的就行了。她跟丹芙又是个伴儿。这个你知道，我也知道你知道，那你还牙痒痒什么？
”
“我也拿不准。是我心里的一种滋味。
”
“那好，你干吗不尝尝这个呢？尝尝这个滋味：有了一张床睡，人家却绞尽脑汁琢磨，你每天该干些什么来挣它。尝尝这个滋味。要是这还不够，再尝尝做一个黑女人四处流浪、听天由命的滋味。尝尝这个吧。
”
“那些滋味我全清楚，塞丝。我又不是昨天才出娘胎的，我这辈子还从来没错待过一个女人呢。
”
“那这世上也就独你一个。
”塞丝回答道。
“不是俩？
”
“不是。不是俩。
”
“可黑尔又怎么你啦？黑尔总和你在一起。他从不撇下你。
”
“没撇下我他撇下谁了？
”
“我不知道，反正不是你。这是事实。
”
“那么他更坏，他撇下了他的孩子。
”
“你可不能这么说。
”
“他没在那儿。他本来说他会在那儿，可他没在。
”
“他在那儿。
”
“那他干吗不出来？我为什么还得把我的宝贝们送走，自己留在后头找他？
”
“他没法从厩楼里出来。
”
“厩楼？什么厩楼？
”
“你头顶上的那个。在牲口棚里。
”
慢慢地，慢慢地，花了尽可能多的时间，塞丝挪向桌子。
“他看见了？
”
“他看见了。
”
“他告诉你的？
”
“你告诉我的。
”
“什么？
”
“我来这儿那天。你说他们抢了你的奶水。我一直不知道是什么把他搞得一团糟。就是那个，我估计。我只知道有什么事让他崩溃了。那么多年的星期六、星期天和晚上的加班加点都没影响过他。可那天他在牲口棚里见到的什么事情，把他像根树枝一样一折两断。
”
“他看见了？
”塞丝抱紧两肘，好像怕它们飞走似的。
“他看见了。肯定的。
”
“他看见了那些家伙对我干的事，还让他们接着喘气？他看见了？他看见了？他看见了？
”
“嘿!嘿!听着。你听我说。一个男人不是一把该死的斧头，去他妈的砍掉、劈掉、剁掉日子里的每一分钟。是倒霉事找的他。他砍不倒这些事，因为它们属于内心。
”
塞丝踱来踱去，在灯光里踱来踱去。
“地下联络员说：最迟星期天。他们抢走了我的奶水，可他看见了却没下来？星期天到了，可他没到。星期一到了，可还是没见黑尔。我以为他是死了，才没来；然后我以为是他们抓住了他，才没来。后来我想，不对，他没死，因为他要是死了，我该知道；再后来，你过了这么多年找到这儿来，也没说他死了，因为你也不知道，所以我想，好吧，他不过是给自己找到了更好的生路。因为要是他在附近的什么地方，就算不来找我，他也肯定会来找贝比·萨格斯的。可我根本没料到他看见了。
”
“事到如今，又有什么关系呢？
”
“假如他活着，而且看见了，他就永远不会迈进我的门。黑尔不会。
”
“他崩溃了，塞丝。
”保罗·d抬眼看着她，叹了口气，“你全知道也好。我最后一次看见他的时候，他正坐在搅乳机旁。他涂了自己一脸的牛油。
”
什么事都没有发生，她因此而心怀感激。一般来说，她能马上看到她耳闻的画面。可是她没看到保罗·d讲的事情。脑子里什么都没出现。小心翼翼、小心翼翼地，她跳向一个适当的问题。
“他说了什么吗？
”
“没有。
”
“一个字没说？
”
“一个字没说。
”
“你对他说话了吗？你什么也没对他说？总得有句话！
”
“我不能，塞丝。我就是……不能。
”
“为什么？！
”
“我嘴上戴着个马嚼子。
”
塞丝打开前门，坐在门廊台阶上。没有太阳的天空变为蓝色，可她依然能辨认出远处草地上黝黑的树影。她来回摇着头，听凭她那不听话的大脑摆布。它为什么来者不拒、照单全收呢？不拒绝苦难，不拒绝悔恨，不拒绝腐烂不堪的可憎的画面？像个贪婪的孩子，它什么都抢。哪怕就一次，它能不能说一声：不要了谢谢？我刚吃完，多一口也塞不下了？我塞满了他妈的两个长着青苔般牙齿的家伙，一个吮着我的乳房，另一个摁着我，他们那知书达礼的老师一边看着一边作记录。到现在我还满脑子都是那事呢，见鬼!我可不能回头再往里添了。再添上我的丈夫，他在我头顶上的厩楼里观看———藏在近旁———藏在一个他自以为没人来找他的地方，朝下俯看着我根本不能看的事情。而且不制止他们———眼睁睁地让它发生。然而我那贪婪的大脑说，噢谢谢，我太想再要些了———于是我又添了些。可我一这么做，就再也停不住了。又添上了这个：我的丈夫蹲在搅乳机旁抹牛油，抹得满脸尽是牛油疙瘩，因为他们抢走的奶水占据了他的脑子。对他来说，干脆让全世界都知道算了。当时他要是真的彻底崩溃，那他现在也肯定死了。要是保罗·d因为咬着铁嚼子，看见他却不能救他或安慰他，那么保罗·d肯定还有更多的事能告诉我，而我的大脑还会立即接受，永远不说：不要了谢谢。我可不想知道，也没必要记住那些。我还有别的事情要做呢：比如操心，操心明天，操心丹芙，操心宠儿，操心衰老和生病，更不用说爱了。
可是她的大脑对未来不感兴趣。它满载着过去，而且渴望着更多的过去，但不给她留下一点空间，让她去想象，甚至去计划下一天。浑似那个野葱地里的午后———那时她能看见的最远的未来仅仅是一步之遥。别的人都发疯了，她为什么不能？别人的大脑都停了下来，掉转身去找新的东 西，黑尔肯定就是这样。那该有多么甜蜜啊：他们两个，背靠牛奶棚，蹲在搅乳机旁，心不在焉地往脸上猛扔冰凉的、疙疙瘩瘩的牛油。感觉牛油的滑腻和黏稠———揉进头发，看着它从手指缝中挤出。就停在那里，会是怎样的解脱啊。关上。锁住。挤牛油。可她的三个孩子正在去俄亥俄的路上，躺在毯子下面嚼着糖水奶嘴，那是什么牛油游戏都无法改变的。
保罗·d迈出门槛，抚摸着她的肩膀。
“我没打算告诉你那个。
”
“我没打算听。
”
“我没法收回来，但我能把它搁下。
”保罗·d说。