amy sat quietly after her song, then repeated the last line before she stood, left the lean-to andwalked off a little ways to lean against a young ash. when she came back the sun was in the valleybelow and they were way above it in blue kentucky light. "'you ain't dead yet, lu? lu?""not yet.""make you a bet. you make it through the night, you make it all the way." amy rearranged theleaves for comfort and knelt down to massage the swollen feet again. "give these one more realgood rub," she said, and when sethe sucked air through her teeth, she said, "shut up. you got tokeep your mouth shut."careful of her tongue, sethe bit down on her lips and let the good hands go to work to the tune of"so bees, sing soft and bees, sing low." afterward, amy moved to the other side of the lean-towhere, seated, she lowered her head toward her shoulder and braided her hair, saying, "don't upand die on me in the night, you hear? i don't want to see your ugly black face hankering over me.
if you do die, just go on off somewhere where i can't see you, hear?""i hear," said sethe. i'll do what i can, miss."sethe never expected to see another thing in this world, so when she felt toes prodding her hip ittook a while to come out of a sleep she thought was death. she sat up, stiff and shivery, while amylooked in on her juicy back.
"looks like the devil," said amy. "but you made it through.
come down here, jesus, lu made it through. that's because of me. i'm good at sick things. canyou walk, you think?""i have to let my water some kind of way.""let's see you walk on em."it was not good, but it was possible, so sethe limped, holding on first to amy, then to a sapling.
"was me did it. i'm good at sick things ain't i?""yeah," said sethe, "you good.""we got to get off this here hill. come on. i'll take you down to the river. that ought to suit you.
me, i'm going to the pike. take me straight to boston. what's that all over your dress?""milk.""you one mess."sethe looked down at her stomach and touched it. the baby was dead. she had not died in thenight, but the baby had. if that was the case, then there was no stopping now. she would get thatmilk to her baby girl if she had to swim.
"ain't you hungry?" amy asked her.
"i ain't nothing but in a hurry, miss.""whoa. slow down. want some shoes?""say what?""i figured how," said amy and so she had. she tore two pieces from sethe's shawl, filled them withleaves and tied them over her feet, chattering all the while.
"how old are you, lu? i been bleeding for four years but i ain't having nobody's baby. won't catch me sweating milk cause...""i know," said sethe. "you going to boston."at noon they saw it; then they were near enough to hear it. by late afternoon they could drink fromit if they wanted to. four stars were visible by the time they found, not a riverboat to stow setheaway on, or a ferryman willing to take on a fugitive passenger — nothing like that — but a wholeboat to steal. it had one oar, lots of holes and two bird nests.
"there you go, lu. jesus looking at you."sethe was looking at one mile of dark water, which would have to be split with one oar in a uselessboat against a current dedicated to the mississippi hundreds of miles away. it looked like home toher, and the baby (not dead in the least) must have thought so too. as soon as sethe got close to theriver her own water broke loose to join it. the break, followed by the redundant announcement oflabor, arched her back.
"what you doing that for?" asked amy. "ain't you got a brain in your head? stop that right now. isaid stop it, lu. you the dumbest thing on this here earth. lu! lu!"sethe couldn't think of anywhere to go but in. she waited for the sweet beat that followed the blastof pain. on her knees again, she crawled into the boat. it waddled under her and she had justenough time to brace her leaf-bag feet on the bench when another rip took her breath away.
panting under four summer stars, she threw her legs over the sides, because here come the head, asamy informed her as though she did not know it — as though the rip was a breakup of walnut logsin the brace, or of lightning's jagged tear through a leather sky.
it was stuck. face up and drowning in its mother's blood. amy stopped begging jesus and began tocurse his daddy.
"push!" screamed amy.
"pull," whispered sethe.
and the strong hands went to work a fourth time, none too soon, for river water, seeping throughany hole it chose, was spreading over sethe's hips. she reached one arm back and grabbed the ropewhile amy fairly clawed at the head. when a foot rose from the river bed and kicked the bottom ofthe boat and sethe's behind, she knew it was done and permitted herself a short faint. coming to,she heard no cries, just amy's encouraging coos. nothing happened for so long they both believedthey had lost it. sethe arched suddenly and the afterbirth shot out. then the baby whimpered andsethe looked. twenty inches of cord hung from its belly and it trembled in the cooling evening air.
amy wrapped her skirt around it and the wet sticky women clambered ashore to see what, indeed,god had in mind.
spores of bluefern growing in the hollows along the riverbank float toward the water in silver-bluelines hard to see unless you are in or near them, lying right at the river's edge when the sunshotsare low and drained. often they are mistook for insects — but they are seeds in which the wholegeneration sleeps confident of a future. and for a moment it is easy to believe each one has one —will become all of what is contained in the spore: will live out its days as planned. this moment ofcertainty lasts no longer than that; longer, perhaps, than the spore itself.
on a riverbank in the cool of a summer evening two women struggled under a shower of silveryblue. they never expected to see each other again in this world and at the moment couldn't careless. but there summer night surrounded by bluefern they did something togetherappropriatelyandwe(on) ll.(a) a pateroller passing would have sniggered to see two throw-away people,two lawless outlaws — a slave and a barefoot whitewoman with unpinned hair — wrapping a tenminute-old baby in the rags they wore. but no pateroller came and no preacher. the water suckedand swallowed itself beneath them. there was nothing to disturb them at their work. so they did itappropriately and well.
twilight came on and amy said she had to go; that she wouldn't be caught dead in daylight on abusy river with a runaway. after rinsing her hands and face in the river, she stood and lookeddown at the baby wrapped and tied to sethe's chest.
"she's never gonna know who i am. you gonna tell her? who brought her into this here world?"she lifted her chin, looked off into the place where the sun used to be. "you better tell her. youhear? say miss amy denver. of boston."sethe felt herself falling into a sleep she knew would be deep. on the lip of it, just before goingunder, she thought, "that's pretty. denver. real pretty."it was time to lay it all down. before paul d came and sat on her porch steps, words whisperedin the keeping room had kept her going. helped her endure the chastising ghost; refurbished thebaby faces of howard and buglar and kept them whole in the world because in her dreams she sawonly their parts in trees; and kept her husband shadowy but there — somewhere. now halle's facebetween the butter press and the churn swelled larger and larger, crowding her eyes and makingher head hurt. she wished for baby suggs' fingers molding her nape, reshaping it, saying, "lay emdown, sethe. sword and shield. down. down. both of em down. down by the riverside. swordand shield. don't study war no more. lay all that mess down. sword and shield." and under thepressing fingers and the quiet instructive voice, she would. her heavy knives of defense againstmisery, regret, gall and hurt, she placed one by one on a bank where dear water rushed on below.
nine years without the fingers or the voice of baby suggs was too much. and words whispered inthe keeping room were too little. the butter-smeared face of a man god made none sweeter thandemanded more: an arch built or a robe sewn. some fixing ceremony. sethe decided to go to theclearing, back where baby suggs had danced in sunlight.
before 124 and everybody in it had closed down, veiled over and shut away; before it had become the plaything of spirits and the home of the chafed, 124 had been a cheerful, buzzing house wherebaby suggs, holy, loved, cautioned, fed, chastised and soothed. where not one but two potssimmered on the stove; where the lamp burned all night long. strangers rested there while childrentried on their shoes. messages were left there, for whoever needed them was sure to stop in oneday soon. talk was low and to the point — for baby suggs, holy, didn't approve of extra.
"everything depends on knowing how much," she said, and "good is knowing when to stop."it was in front of that 124 that sethe climbed off a wagon, her newborn tied to her chest, and feltfor the first time the wide arms of her mother-in-law, who had made it to cincinnati. who decidedthat, because slave life had "busted her legs, back, head, eyes, hands, kidneys, womb and tongue,"she had nothing left to make a living with but her heart — which she put to work at once.
accepting no title of honor before her name, but allowing a small caress after it, she became anunchurched preacher, one who visited pulpits and opened her great heart to those who could use it.
in winter and fall she carried it to ame's and baptists, holinesses and sanctifieds, the church ofthe redeemer and the redeemed. uncalled, unrobed, un anointed, she let her great heart beat intheir presence. when warm weather came, baby suggs, holy, followed by every black man,woman and child who could make it through, took her great heart to the clearing — a wide-openplace cut deep in the woods nobody knew for what at the end of a path known only to deer andwhoever cleared the land in the first place. in the heat of every saturday afternoon, she sat in theclearing while the people waited among the trees. after situating herself on a huge flat-sided rock,baby suggs bowed her head and prayed silently. the company watched her from the trees. theyknew she was ready when she put her stick down. then she shouted, "let the children come!" andthey ran from the trees toward her.
爱弥唱完歌，安静地坐着，又重复了最后一句才站起来，然后离开披屋，走出几步，靠在一棵小白杨上。她回来的时候，太阳已落入下面的山谷，而她们两个高高在上，沐浴着肯塔基的蓝色光芒。
“你还没死吧，露？露？
”
“还没呢。
”
“跟你打个赌。你要是挺过这一夜，你就能挺过去了。
”爱弥重新把树叶放得舒服些，又跪下来按摩塞丝的脚，“再好好揉揉它们。
”塞丝倒吸了一口凉气。爱弥说道：
“闭嘴。你给我闭上你的嘴。”
塞丝小心着舌头，咬住嘴唇，让那双好手跟着“小蜜蜂，轻轻唱，小蜜蜂，低声唱”的调子继续工作。工作结束后，爱弥到披屋的另一边坐下，一边歪着头编辫子，一边说：
“可别给我死在夜里，听见没有？我可不想看见你这张又丑又黑的脸勾我的魂儿。你如果真的要死了，就到我看不见的地方去死，听见了没有？
”
“听见了，”塞丝道，“我会尽力而为的，小姐。
”
塞丝没指望能再睁眼看到这个世界，所以当她感觉到有脚指头踢着她的屁股时，她费了好一会儿工夫才从她以为是死亡的沉睡中醒过来。她坐起来，身体僵硬，打着哆嗦；爱弥正在查看她黏糊糊的后背。
“看起来糟透了，”爱弥说，“不过你挺过来了。来瞧瞧吧，耶稣，露挺过来了。那是因为我。
我多会治病啊。你觉得能走吗？
”
“怎么着我也得去放点水。
”
“咱们来瞧瞧你的脚走路吧。
”
并不太好，却已经可能了，于是塞丝一瘸一拐地走起来，先是扶着爱弥，然后是拄着一棵小树。
“是我干的。我治病挺在行，是不是？
”
“是的，”塞丝说，“你真棒。
”
“我们得下山了。走吧。我把你带到山下的河边。那就跟你对路了。我嘛，我得到派克去。那里直通波士顿。你这满身都是些什么呀？
”
“奶水。
”
“你真是一塌糊涂。
”
塞丝低头看着自己的肚子，摸了摸。孩子死了。她没死在夜里，可孩子死了。如果真是那样，现在就更不能停下来了。就是游过去，她也得把奶水带给她的小女儿。
“你不饿吗？
”爱弥问她。
“我只想赶路，小姐。
”
“哇。慢点。想穿鞋吗？
”
“你说什么？
”
“我想想办法。
”爱弥说着，然后就想出了个主意。她从塞丝的披肩上撕下两片，包上树叶，绑在她的脚上，同时一直说个不停。
“你多大了，露？我都流了四年血了，可还没怀上谁的孩子。你根本看不见我淌奶水，因为……”
“我知道，”塞丝说，“你要去波士顿。
”
正午时分她们看见了那条河；然后她们走得更近，听见了奔流的水声。到傍晚她们就能喝上它的水了，如果愿意的话。四颗星星在空中闪现；这时候她们发现没有一条船能把塞丝运走，也没有 一个摆渡的愿意搭载一个逃犯———没有比那更要命的了———可是有一整条船可以偷。这条船有一支桨、许多窟窿，以及两个鸟巢。
“你可以走了，露。耶稣瞧着你呢。
”
塞丝正望着一段幽暗的河水，那朝着数百英里外的密西西比河奔涌而去的河水，注定要被一条逆流而上的废弃小船的船桨划开了。小船在她看来像个家，那婴儿（根本没死）也一定这么想。一走近这条河，塞丝自己的羊水就涌出来与河水汇聚。先是挣裂，然后是多余的生产的信号，让她弓起了腰。
“你在那儿干什么呢？
”爱弥问道，“你还有脑子没有？赶紧停下来。我说快停下来，露。你是这世界上最蠢的东西。露!露!”
塞丝想不出什么地方好去，只想上船。她等待着阵痛后甜蜜的悸动。再次用膝盖爬行，她爬上了小船。船在她身下晃动，她刚把裹着树叶口袋的脚放到长凳上，就被另一阵撕裂的疼痛逼得喘不过气来。在夏日的四颗星星下面，她气喘吁吁地大叉开双腿，因为脑袋钻了出来；爱弥赶紧向她报告，好像她自己不知道似的———好像撕裂就是折断核桃树干，就是闪电将皮革的天空一撕两半。
婴儿卡住了。它脸朝上，让妈妈的血淹没了。爱弥停止祈求耶稣，开始诅咒耶稣他爹。
“使劲!”爱弥尖叫道。
“拽呀。
”塞丝低声说。
那双有力的手第四次发挥威力了，但不是立竿见影，因为河水从所有窟窿里钻进来，漫过了塞丝的屁股。塞丝的一只手伸到背后，一把抓住船缆，同时爱弥轻轻地钳住了脑袋。当河床里露出一只小脚，踢着船底和塞丝的屁股时，塞丝知道完事了，就允许自己昏迷了一会儿。醒过来后，她没听见哭声，只听见爱弥在“咕咕”地逗弄那孩子。这么长时间没有动静，她们两个都觉得，她们已失去了她。塞丝突然弓起身子，胎盘胎膜一齐流出体外。然后婴儿哭了起来。塞丝望着她。挂在她肚子上的脐带有二十英寸长；那小家伙在凉爽的夜风中颤抖着。爱弥用裙子包住她。湿漉漉、黏糊糊的两个女人艰难地爬上岸，去看看上帝到底是怎么想的。
蓝羊齿的孢子在河岸的凹地里生长，它们漂向河水的银蓝色行列是很难见到的，除非你就在凹地里，或是离得很近，当夕阳西下、光线渐疏时恰好躺在河岸的边缘。它们往往被误认作小飞虫———然而它们是正在沉睡的整整一代对未来充满信心的种子。而片刻之间人们又很容易相信，每粒种子都拥有一个未来———都会成为孢子中所孕育的一切：像预期的那样安享天年。这确信的一刻不过持续了片刻；也许，倒比孢子本身更为长久。
在一个夏夜微凉的河岸上，两个女人在银蓝色的光芒下挣扎着。她们根本没想过在这个世界上还有重逢的机会，而且在那个时刻也毫不在意。可是，在一个夏夜，在蓝羊齿中间，她们一道把一件事情做得很恰当、很好。如果有个过路的纠察看到这样两个被遗弃的人，两个无法无天的亡命徒———一个奴隶和一个散发跣足的白女人———用她们穿的破衣裳包着一个刚刚出生十分钟的婴儿，他肯定会哧哧窃笑。可是既没有纠察，也没有牧师。河水在她们身下吮吸、吞噬着自己。她们工作的时候没有任何干扰。于是她们把事情做得很恰当、很好。
曙光来临，爱弥说她得走了；她不能大白天在人来人往的河边跟一个逃犯一起让人一把抓住。
她在河里洗净了手和脸，然后站起身来，低头看着系在塞丝胸前襁褓中的婴儿。
“她永远也不会知道我是谁。你会对她讲吗？是谁把她带到这个世界上来的？
”她扬起下巴，把目光转向太阳曾经驻足的地方，“你最好告诉她。你听见了吗？就说是爱弥·丹芙小姐。波士顿人。
”
塞丝感觉到自己正在睡去，而且知道这一次会睡得很沉。在梦的边缘，在坠落之前，她想：这名字好听。丹芙。真好听。
是全部放下的时候了。在保罗·d到来并坐在她门廊的台阶上之前，一直是起居室里的喃喃低语给了她活下去的勇气。帮她忍受那个向她大施惩罚的鬼；为她重新擦亮霍华德和巴格勒儿时的脸庞，保持它们在这个世界上的完整，因为在梦里她只见到它们在树木中间支离破碎的样子；并且确保她的丈夫虽然形象模糊却仍旧存在———在某个地方。现在，黑尔的脸在榨牛油机和搅乳机之间越胀越大，越胀越大，挤满了她的眼睛，让她头痛欲裂。她渴望贝比·萨格斯还能用手指来捏着她的后颈，一边重塑它，一边说：
“放下吧，塞丝。剑和盾。放下吧。放下吧。两样都放下吧。放在河边吧。剑和盾。别再研究战争了。把这一切污七八糟的东西都放下吧。剑和盾。
”
在那紧压的手指和平静的教诲下，她会的。所有抵御苦难、悔恨、苦恼和伤痛的沉重的刀子，她将它们一把一把地放在岸上，清澈的河水在下面奔涌。
整整九年没有贝比·萨格斯的手指和声音，这太过分了。而且，仅仅在起居室里低语也太不够了。一张脸上涂满了牛油，上帝创造的那个男人可丝毫不比她的非分之求更甜蜜：一道筑起的拱门，或者一件缝好的礼袍。某种固有的仪式。塞丝决定到“林间空地”去，那里，贝比·萨格斯曾在阳光中舞蹈。
在124号和它里面的每个人一起关闭、掩藏和隔绝之前，在它成为鬼魂的玩物和愤怒的家园之前，它曾是一所生机勃勃、热闹非凡的房子，圣贝比·萨格斯在那里爱、告诫、供养、惩罚和安慰他人。那里，不是一只、而是两只锅在炉火上咝咝作响；那里，灯火彻夜通明。陌生人在那里歇脚的时候，孩子们试着他们的鞋子。口信留在那里，因为等待口信的人不久就会到那里过访。
谈话声很低而且点到即止———因为圣贝比·萨格斯不赞成废话。
“什么都靠分寸，”她说，“好就好在适可而止。
”
就是在那个124号跟前，胸前绑着新生儿的塞丝爬下一辆大车，第一次感受她的婆婆敞开的怀抱。贝比是先期抵达辛辛那提的，她认定，由于奴隶生活“摧毁了她的双腿、后背、脑袋、眼睛、双手、肾脏、子宫和舌头”，她什么都不剩了，只能靠心灵谋生———于是她立即付诸实践。她拒绝接受加在名字前的任何荣誉称号，只允许人们在名字后缀上一点东西以示爱戴，就这样她成为一位不入教的牧师，走上讲坛，把她伟大的心灵向那些需要的人们敞开。在冬天和秋天，她把心带给ame教徒和浸礼教徒，带给圣洁教会教友和神圣者会教友，带给救世主和赎罪者教会。不用人请，不穿圣袍，没有涂膏，她让自己伟大的心灵在人们面前搏动。天气转暖时，身后尾随着所有劫后余生的黑人男子、妇女和孩子，圣贝比·萨格斯把她伟大的心灵带到“林间空地”———那是密林深处、小路尽头的一块宽敞的空地，只有野鹿和早先的开垦者才会知道它的由来。每一个星期六下午，在酷暑中，她坐在空地上，而人们等在树林里。
贝比·萨格斯在一块平展整齐的巨石上坐好，低下头默默祈祷。大家在树林里望着她。
当她将手中的拐棍放下，他们知道，她已经准备就绪。然后她喊道：
“让孩子们过来!”他们就从树林里跑向她。