and she did. sitting there holding a small white tooth in the palm of her smooth smooth hand.

cried the way she wanted to when turtles came out of the water, one behind the other, right afterthe blood-red bird disappeared back into the leaves. the way she wanted to when sethe went tohim standing in the tub under the stairs. with the tip of her tongue she touched the salt water thatslid to the corner of her mouth and hoped denver's arm around her shoulders would keep themfrom falling apart.

the couple upstairs, united, didn't hear a sound, but below them, outside, all around 124 the snowwent on and on and on. piling itself, burying itself. higher. deeper.

at the back of baby suggs' mind may have been the thought that if halle made it, god dowhat he would, it would be a cause for celebration. if only this final son could do for himself whathe had done for her and for the three children john and ella delivered to her door one summernight. when the children arrived and no sethe, she was afraid and grateful. grateful that the part ofthe family that survived was her own grandchildren — the first and only she would know: twoboys and a little girl who was crawling already. but she held her heart still, afraid to formquestions: what about sethe and halle; why the delay? why didn't sethe get on board too?

nobody could make it alone. not only because trappers picked them off like buzzards or nettedthem like rabbits, but also because you couldn't run if you didn't know how to go. you could belost forever, if there wasn't nobody to show you the way.

so when sethe arrived — all mashed up and split open, but with another grandchild in her arms —the idea of a whoop moved closer to the front of her brain. but since there was still no sign ofhalle and sethe herself didn't know what had happened to him, she let the whoop lie-not wishingto hurt his chances by thanking god too soon.

it was stamp paid who started it. twenty days after sethe got to 124 he came by and looked at the baby he had tied up in his nephew's jacket, looked at the mother he had handed a piece of fried eelto and, for some private reason of his own, went off with two buckets to a place near the river'sedge that only he knew about where blackberries grew, tasting so good and happy that to eat themwas like being in church. just one of the berries and you felt anointed. he walked six miles to theriverbank; did a slide-run-slide down into a ravine made almost inaccessible by brush. he reachedthrough brambles lined with blood-drawing thorns thick as knives that cut through his shirt sleevesand trousers. all the while suffering mosquitoes, bees, hornets, wasps and the meanest lady spidersin the state. scratched, raked and bitten, he maneuvered through and took hold of each berry withfingertips so gentle not a single one was bruised. late in the afternoon he got back to 124 and puttwo full buckets down on the porch. when baby suggs saw his shredded clothes, bleeding hands,welted face and neck she sat down laughing out loud.

buglar, howard, the woman in the bonnet and sethe came to look and then laughed along withbaby suggs at the sight of the sly, steely old black man: agent, fisherman, boatman, tracker,savior, spy, standing in broad daylight whipped finally by two pails of blackberries. paying themno mind he took a berry and put it in the three week-old denver's mouth. the women shrieked.

"she's too little for that, stamp.""bowels be soup.""sickify her stomach."but the baby's thrilled eyes and smacking lips made them follow suit, sampling one at a time theberries that tasted like church. finally baby suggs slapped the boys' hands away from the bucketand sent stamp around to the pump to rinse himself. she had decided to do something with thefruit worthy of the man's labor and his love. that's how it began.

she made the pastry dough and thought she ought to tell ella and john to stop on by because threepies, maybe four, were too much to keep for one's own. sethe thought they might as well back itup with a couple of chickens. stamp allowed that perch and catfish were jumping into the boat —didn't even have to drop a line. from denver's two thrilled eyes it grew to a feast for ninety people.

124 shook with their voices far into the night. ninety people who ate so well, and laughed somuch, it made them angry. they woke up the next morning and remembered the meal-fried perchthat stamp paid handled with a hickory twig, holding his left palm out against the spit and pop ofthe boiling grease; the corn pudding made with cream; tired, overfed children asleep in the grass,tiny bones of roasted rabbit still in their hands — and got angry.

baby suggs' three (maybe four) pies grew to ten (maybe twelve). sethe's two hens became fiveturkeys. the one block of ice brought all the way from cincinnati — -over which they pouredmashed watermelon mixed with sugar and mint to make a punch — became a wagonload of icecakes for a washtub full of strawberry shrug, 124, rocking with laughter, goodwill and food forninety, made them angry. too much, they thought. where does she get it all, baby suggs, holy?

why is she and hers always the center of things? how come she always knows exactly what to do and when? giving advice; passing messages; healing the sick, hiding fugitives, loving, cooking,cooking, loving, preaching, singing, dancing and loving everybody like it was her job and hersalone.

now to take two buckets of blackberries and make ten, maybe twelve, pies; to have turkey enoughfor the whole town pretty near, new peas in september, fresh cream but no cow, ice and sugar,batter bread, bread pudding, raised bread, shortbread — it made them mad. loaves and fishes werehis powers — they did not belong to an ex slave who had probably never carried one hundredpounds to the scale, or picked okra with a baby on her back. who had never been lashed by a tenyear-old whiteboy as god knows they had. who had not even escaped slavery — had, in fact, beenbought out of it by a doting son and driven to the ohio river in a wagon — free papers foldedbetween her breasts (driven by the very man who had been her master, who also paid herresettlement fee — name of garner), and rented a house with two floors and a well from thebodwins — the white brother and sister who gave stamp paid, ella and john clothes, goods andgear for runaways because they hated slavery worse than they hated slaves.

it made them furious. they swallowed baking soda, the morning after, to calm the stomachviolence caused by the bounty, the reckless generosity on display at 124. whispered to each otherin the yards about fat rats, doom and uncalled-for pride.

the scent of their disapproval lay heavy in the air. baby suggs woke to it and wondered what itwas as she boiled hominy for her grandchildren. later, as she stood in the garden, chopping at thetight soil over the roots of the pepper plants, she smelled it again. she lifted her head and lookedaround. behind her some yards to the left sethe squatted in the pole beans. her shoulders weredistorted by the greased flannel under her dress to encourage the healing of her back. near her in abushel basket was the three-week-old baby. baby suggs, holy, looked up. the sky was blue andclear. not one touch of death in the definite green of the leaves. she could hear birds and, faintly,the stream way down in the meadow. the puppy, here boy, was burying the last bones fromyesterday's party. from somewhere at the side of the house came the voices of buglar, howard andthe crawling girl. nothing seemed amiss — yet the smell of disapproval was sharp. back beyondthe vegetable garden, closer to the stream but in full sun, she had planted corn. much as they'dpicked for the party, there were still ears ripening, which she could see from where she stood.

baby suggs leaned back into the peppers and the squash vines with her hoe. carefully, with theblade at just the right angle, she cut through a stalk of insistent rue. its flowers she stuck through asplit in her hat; the rest she tossed aside. the quiet clok clok clok of wood splitting reminded herthat stamp was doing the chore he promised to the night before. she sighed at her work and, amoment later, straightened up to sniff the disapproval once again. resting on the handle of the hoe,she concentrated. she was accustomed to the knowledge that nobody prayed for her — but thisfree floating repulsion was new. it wasn't whitefolks — that much she could tell — so it must becolored ones. and then she knew. her friends and neighbors were angry at her because she hadoverstepped, given too much, offended them by excess.

baby closed her eyes. perhaps they were right. suddenly, behind the disapproving odor, way wayback behind it, she smelled another thing. dark and coming. something she couldn't get at because the other odor hid it.

she squeezed her eyes tight to see what it was but all she could make out was high-topped shoesshe didn't like the look of. thwarted yet wondering, she chopped away with the hoe. what could itbe? this dark and coming thing. what was left to hurt her now? news of halle's death? no. shehad been prepared for that better than she had for his life. the last of her children, whom shebarely glanced at when he was born because it wasn't worth the trouble to try to learn features youwould never see change into adulthood anyway. seven times she had done that: held a little foot;examined the fat fingertips with her own — fingers she never saw become the male or femalehands a mother would recognize anywhere. she didn't know to this day what their permanent teethlooked like; or how they held their heads when they walked. did patty lose her lisp? what colordid famous' skin finally take? was that a cleft in johnny's chin or just a dimple that woulddisappear soon's his jawbone changed? four girls, and the last time she saw them there was no hairunder their arms. does ardelia still love the burned bottom of bread? all seven were gone or dead.

what would be the point of looking too hard at that youngest one? but for some reason they let herkeep him. he was with her — everywhere.

when she hurt her hip in carolina she was a real bargain (costing less than halle, who was tenthen) for mr. garner, who took them both to kentucky to a farm he called sweet home. becauseof the hip she jerked like a three-legged dog when she walked. but at sweet home there wasn't arice field or tobacco patch in sight, and nobody, but nobody, knocked her down. not once. lilliangarner called her jenny for some reason but she never pushed, hit or called her mean names. evenwhen she slipped in cow dung and broke every egg in her apron, nobody said youblackbitchwhat'sthematterwith-you and nobody knocked her down.

sweet home was tiny compared to the places she had been. mr. garner, mrs. garner, herself,halle, and four boys, over half named paul, made up the entire population. mrs. garner hummedwhen she worked; mr. garner acted like the world was a toy he was supposed to have fun with.

neither wanted her in the field — mr. garner's boys, including halle, did all of that — which wasa blessing since she could not have managed it anyway. what she did was stand beside thehumming lillian garner while the two of them cooked, preserved, washed, ironed, made candles,clothes, soap and cider;fed chickens, pigs, dogs and geese; milked cows, churned butter, renderedfat, laid fires. . . . nothing to it. and nobody knocked her down.

her hip hurt every single day — but she never spoke of it. only halle, who had watched hermovements closely for the last four years, knew that to get in and out of bed she had to lift herthigh with both hands, which was why he spoke to mr. garner about buying her out of there so shecould sit down for a change. sweet boy. the one person who did something hard for her: gave herhis work, his life and now his children, whose voices she could just make out as she stood in thegarden wondering what was the dark and coming thing behind the scent of disapproval. sweethome was a marked improvement. no question. and no matter, for the sadness was at her center,the desolated center where the self that was no self made its home. sad as it was that she did notknow where her children were buried or what they looked like if alive, fact was she knew moreabout them than she knew about herself, having never had the map to discover what she was like.

could she sing? (was it nice to hear when she did?) was she pretty? was she a good friend? couldshe have been a loving mother? a faithful wife? have i got a sister and does she favor me? if mymother knew me would she like me?

in lillian garner's house, exempted from the field work that broke her hip and the exhaustion thatdrugged her mind; in lillian garner's house where nobody knocked her down (or up), she listenedto the whitewoman humming at her work; watched her face light up when mr. garner came in andthought, it's better here, but i'm not. the garners, it seemed to her, ran a special kind of slavery,treating them like paid labor, listening to what they said, teaching what they wanted known. andhe didn't stud his boys. never brought them to her cabin with directions to "lay down with her,"like they did in carolina, or rented their sex out on other farms. it surprised and pleased her, butworried her too. would he pick women for them or what did he think was going to happen whenthose boys ran smack into their nature? some danger he was courting and he surely knew it. infact, his order for them not to leave sweet home,except in his company, was not so much becauseof the law, but the danger of men-bred slaves on the loose.

于是她哭了。坐在那里，用非常非常光洁的手掌攥着一颗小白牙，哭了起来。就像那回，她看见血红的小鸟消失在树叶间，然后乌龟一个跟着一个从水里爬出来的时候想做的那样。就像那回，她看见他站在楼梯下的澡盆里，而塞丝走向他的时候想做的那样。她用舌头舔了舔滑到嘴角的咸泪，希望丹芙搂住她双肩的胳膊能避免它们四分五裂。

楼上的那一对结合着，什么也没听见，然而在他们下面、外面，124号的四周，雪下了又下，下了又下。堆积着自己，埋葬着自己。越来越高。越来越深。

在贝比·萨格斯的思想深处可能一直存着这个想法：要是上帝发恩，黑尔能够虎口逃生，那就可以好好庆祝一番了。只要这个最小的儿子肯为他自己卖命，就像当初为她、随后又为三个孩子卖命那样。三个孩子是约翰和艾拉在一个夏夜送到她的门前的。他们到达的时候，塞丝却没到，这让她既害怕又感激。感激是因为活下来的那几个亲人是她自己的孙儿———最初几个，也是据她所知仅有的几个：两个男孩和一个都会爬了的小女孩。但是她的心还悬着，不敢去想这些问题：塞丝和黑尔怎么了？为何拖延？塞丝为什么不同时跟着上车？没有人能单靠自己成功。不仅因为追捕者会像老鹰一样把他们抓走，像捕兔子一样向他们撒网，还因为你如果不知道怎么走就跑不了。你可能会永远迷失，如果没有人给你带路的话。

所以塞丝抵达的时候———浑身都被捣烂、割裂，怀里却抱着另一个孙女———高声欢呼的念头在她脑子里又进了一步。可是，由于仍然不见黑尔的踪影，而塞丝本人又不知道他的下落，她咽住了叫声———不希望因过早地谢了上帝而减少他的机会。

是斯坦普·沛德开始的。塞丝到达124号二十天之后，他来看望他曾用外甥的外套包裹起来的婴儿，看望他曾递给过一块炸鳝鱼的母亲，然后为了某些个人缘故，拎着两只桶去了河沿一个只有他自己知道的地方。那儿长着黑莓，味道鲜美可喜，吃起来仿佛置身教堂一样。只需一颗莓子，你就会觉得像是涂了膏。他走了六英里路来到河畔，半滑半跑地下到一道因灌木丛生而难以接近的深沟。他在荆棘丛中摸索着，一排排刀刃般嗜血的利刺划破了他的衬衫袖子和裤子。同时他还一直忍受着蚊子、蜜蜂、大黄蜂、黄蜂和本州最毒的母蜘蛛。他浑身都被划破、擦伤和叮咬，却干得很巧妙，用指尖那样轻地夹住每颗莓子，没有碰损一颗。下午的晚些时候，他回到124号，把两只装得满满的桶放在门廊上。贝比·萨格斯看到他撕成一条一条的衣裳、血淋淋的双手、伤痕累累的脸和脖子，坐下来放声大笑。

巴格勒、霍华德、戴软帽的女人和塞丝都赶过来看，然后就同贝比·萨格斯一起笑话这个狡猾而刚强的老黑人：地下使者、渔翁、艄公、纤夫、救星、侦探；挨了两桶黑莓的鞭打后，他终于站在了光天化日之下。他对他们毫不在意，径自拿起一颗莓子，放进三个星期大的丹芙嘴里。

女人们尖叫起来。

“她还太小哪。斯坦普。

”

“肠子要化成汤儿了。

”

“会闹肚子的。

”

然而小宝宝激动的眼睛和吧嗒的嘴唇使得他们都跟着依样学样，一颗一颗地品尝着教堂味道的莓子。最后，贝比·萨格斯把男孩们的手从桶里打出去，打发斯坦普到压水井那里去冲洗。

她已经决定了，要用果子做件对得起这个男人的劳动和爱心的事情。就是那样开始的。

她揉好了做糕点的面团，觉得应该招呼艾拉和约翰来做客，因为三个或者四个馅饼对于一家人来说太多了。塞丝认为他们还可以再添上一对鸡。斯坦普说，鲈鱼和鲇鱼正在往船里头蹦呢———连线都不用放。

从丹芙的两只激动的眼睛开始，聚餐变成了一个九十人的宴会。

124号的喧闹声在深夜回荡。

九十个人吃得这么好，笑得这么欢，这反而让他们心生怒气。他们第二天早晨醒来，想起斯坦普·沛德用一根胡桃树枝穿着鲈鱼油炸，伸出左手掌挡住四处飞溅的滚沸的油星；想起用奶油做的玉米布丁；想起吃撑了的孩子们疲倦地睡倒在草窠里，手上还拿着烤兔肉的小骨头———于是生起气来。

贝比·萨格斯的三个（也许四个）馅饼变成了十个（也许十二个）。塞丝的两只母鸡变成了五只火鸡。大老远从辛辛那提一路运来的一块方冰———为了掺进他们用捣碎的西瓜拌上糖和薄荷做成的潘趣酒———变成了掺进一澡盆草莓酒的一大车冰块。

124号被笑声、诚意和九十人的饕餮摇动着，让他们生气。太过分了，他们想。凭什么都让她占全了，圣贝比·萨格斯？凭什么她和她的一切总是中心？凭什么她总是知道什么时候恰好该干什么？又出主意；又传口信；治病人，藏逃犯，爱，做饭，做饭，爱，布道，唱歌，跳舞，还热爱每一个人，就好像那是她独有的职业。

如今，又拿两桶黑莓做了十个或者十二个馅饼，吃掉了足够整个城镇吃的火鸡、九月的新鲜豌豆，不养牛却吃到了新鲜奶油，又是冰又是糖，还有奶油面包、面包布丁、发酵面包、起酥面包———这把他们气疯了。面包和鱼是上帝的权力———它们不属于一个大概从来没有往磅秤上搬过一百磅的重物，恐怕也没背着婴儿摘过秋葵的解放的奴隶。她从来没挨过一个十岁大的白崽子的皮鞭，可上帝知道，他们挨过。甚至没有逃脱过奴隶制———其实是被一个孝顺儿子买出来，再被一辆大车运到俄亥俄河边的———解放证书折放在双乳之间（恰恰是她的主人运送的她，还给了她安家费———名字叫加纳），从鲍德温家租了带二层楼外加一眼水井的一幢房子———是这对白人兄妹为斯坦普·沛德、艾拉和约翰提供了逃犯们用的衣服、物品和工具，因为他们比恨奴隶更恨奴隶制。

这使他们怒不可遏。第二天早晨，他们靠吞食小苏打来平息肚子里的翻江倒海，这纯粹是124号那场大方、轻率的慷慨表演造成的。他们在院子里互相嘀咕着肥耗子、报应以及多此一举的骄傲。

浓重的非难气味在空中凝滞。贝比·萨格斯在给孙儿们煮玉米粥的时候注意到它，不明白是怎么一回事。过了一会儿，她站在菜园里为胡椒秧捣碎硬土时，又闻到了那气味。她抬起头四面张望。在她身后向左几码远的地方，塞丝正蹲在豆角中间。她的肩膀被垫在裙子下面辅助治疗后背的涂了油膏的法兰绒弄得变了形。她近旁的一只蒲式耳箩筐里是三个星期大的婴儿。圣贝比·萨格斯举头仰望。天空湛蓝而晴朗。树叶明晰的绿色中没有一点死亡的迹象。她能听见鸟叫，还能隐约听见远处小溪流过草地的潺潺声。小狗“来，小鬼”正在啃昨天宴会剩下的最后几块骨头。房子附近什么地方传来巴格勒、霍华德和那都会爬了的女孩的声音。似乎什么都没出毛病———然而非难的味道异常刺鼻。在菜园后面更远的地方，离小溪更近、不过阳光充足的地方，她种下了玉米。尽管他们为宴会摘下了那么多，那儿仍有一穗穗玉米在成熟，她站在那里就可以看得见。贝比·萨格斯又弯腰为胡椒秧和黄瓜藤锄草。锄头的角度刚好合适，她小心地铲断一根顽固的芸香茎。芸香的花被她揪下来插进帽子的裂缝中；剩下的丢在一边。劈木头单调的哐哐哐的声音提醒了她，斯坦普正在干他昨天晚上答应的差事。她冲手里的活计叹了口气，过了一会儿，又直起腰，再一次去嗅那非难气味。她拄着锄头把，专心致志地嗅着。她已经习惯于没有人为她祈祷了———但这肆意飘荡的嫌恶却是新的。那不是白人———这一点她还能肯定———所以只能是黑人了。于是，她全明白了。是她的朋友和邻居在生她的气，因为她走得太远，施与得太多，由于不知节制而惹恼了他们。

贝比闭上眼睛。也许他们是对的。突然，就在非难的气味后面，后面很远很远的地方，她嗅到了另一种东西。黑压压地赶来。是一种她拿不准是什么的东西，因为非难的气味盖过了它。

她使劲挤着眼睛去看它到底是什么，但她能看清楚的只是一双样式不讨她喜欢的高靿鞋。

既沮丧又惶惑，她用锄头继续锄着地。会是什么呢？这个黑压压赶来的东西。现在还剩什么能来伤害她呢？黑尔的死讯？不。她已经为那个作好了准备，比为他活着作的准备还要充分。那是她最后一个孩子，生下时她几乎没瞟上一眼，因为犯不上费心思去认清他的模样，你反正永远也不可能看着他长大成人。她已经干了七回了：抓起一只小脚；用自己的指尖检查那些胖乎乎的指尖———那些手指，她从没见过它们长成母亲在哪儿都能认出的男人或女人的手。她至今不知道他们换过的牙是什么样子；他们走路时头怎么放。帕蒂的大舌头好了么？菲莫斯的皮肤最终是什么颜色的？约翰尼的下巴上到底是一个裂缝呢，还是仅仅一个酒窝而已，等下颚骨一长开就会消失？四个女孩，她最后看到她们的时候她们腋下都还没长毛。阿黛丽亚还爱吃煳面包底儿吗？整整七个，都走了，或是死了。如此看重那个最小的又有什么意义呢？可是，不知为了什么缘故，他们允许她留下了他。他一直跟着她———到每一个地方。

她在卡罗来纳时屁股受过伤，这对于加纳先生来说可真是笔划得来的交易（价钱比当时只有十岁的黑尔还低），他把他们俩一起带到肯塔基，到了一个他称做“甜蜜之家”的农庄上。因为屁股，她走起路来像只三条腿的狗似的一瘸一拐。可是在“甜蜜之家”，看不见一块稻田或者烟叶地，而且更没有人把打翻在地。一次也没有。不知为什么，丽莲·加纳叫她珍妮，不过她从来没有推搡过她、打过她或者骂过她。甚至当她被牛粪滑倒，摔碎了围裙里所有的鸡蛋的时候，也没有人说“你个黑母狗，你犯什么病了”，更没有人把她打翻在地。

“甜蜜之家”同她以前待过的许多地方比起来实在很小。加纳先生、加纳太太、她本人、黑尔，还有四个一多半都叫保罗的男孩子，构成了全部的人口。加纳太太干活的时候爱哼歌儿；加纳先生呢，则表现得似乎世界就是他的一个好玩的玩具。谁都不让她下田———加纳先生的男孩们，包括黑尔，包了那些活儿———也是件幸运事，因为反正她也干不了。她只管站在哼歌儿的丽莲·加纳身边，两个人一起做饭、腌菜、浆洗、熨烫；做蜡烛、衣裳、肥皂和苹果汁；喂鸡、猪、狗和鹅；挤牛奶、搅牛油、熬猪油、生火……不算回事。而且没有人把她打翻在地。

她的屁股每天都疼———可她从来没提起过。唯有黑尔，在最后的四年里一直仔细地观察她的动作，知道了她上下床必须用两手搬起大腿才行；就是为了这个，他才跟加纳先生说起要赎她出去，好让她坐下来有个变化。多体贴的孩子啊。是他，为她做了件艰苦的事情：把他的劳动、他的生活给了她，如今也把他的孩子们给了她，现在，她站在菜园里纳闷非难的气味后面那黑压压赶来的东西是什么的时候，就刚好能够听见他们的声音。

“甜蜜之家”是一个显著的进步。毫无疑问。其实也无所谓，因为悲哀就在她的中心，那丧失自我的自我栖居的荒凉的中心。那悲哀，就好比她不知道自己的孩子们埋在哪里，或者即便活着也不知是什么模样。事实上，她比了解自己更了解他们，因为从来没有过一丝线索，帮助她发现自己是个什么样子。

她会唱歌吗？（她唱得好听吗？）她漂亮吗？她是个好朋友吗？她本来可以成为一个慈爱的母亲吗？可以成为一个忠贞的妻子吗？我有个姐姐吗，她宠我吗？假如我妈妈认识我她会喜欢我吗？