carson mccullers - the heart is a lonely hunter-第22章

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fatter　than　before；　but　the　dreamy　smile　on　his　face　was　just　


the　same。　Singer　had　some　packages　in　his　arms　and　the　big　
Greek　gave　them　his　first　attention。　His　presents　were　a　scarlet　
dressing…gown；　soft　bedroom　slippers；　and　two　monogrammed　
nightshirts。　Antonapoulos　looked　beneath　all　the　tissue　papers　
in　the　boxes　very　carefully。　When　he　saw　that　nothing　good　to　
eat　had　been　concealed　there；　he　dumped　the　gifts　disdainfully　
on　his　bed　and　did　not　bother　with　them　any　more。　
The　room　was　large　and　sunny。　Several　beds　were　spaced　in　a　
row　together。　Three　old　men　played　a　game　of　slapjack　in　a　
corner。　They　did　not　notice　Singer　or　Antonapoulos；　and　the　
two　friends　sat　alone　on　the　other　side　of　the　room。　
It　seemed　to　Singer　that　years　had　passed　since　they　had　been　
together。　There　was　so　much　to　say　that　his80　

hands　could　not　shape　the　signs　with　speed　enough。　His　green　
eyes　burned　and　sweat　glittered　on　his　forehead。　The　old　
feeling　of　gaiety　and　bliss　was　so　quick　in　him　again　that　he　
could　not　control　himself。　
Antonapoulos　kept　his　dark；　oily　eyes　on　his　friend　and　did　
not　move。　His　hands　fumbled　languidly　with　the　crotch　of　his　
trousers。　Singer　told　him；　among　other　things；　about　the　
visitors　who　had　been　coming　to　see　him。　He　told　his　friend　
that　they　helped　take　his　mind　away　from　his　lonesomeness。　
He　told　Antonapoulos　that　they　were　strange　people　and　
always　talking—but　that　he　liked　to　have　them　come。　He　drew　
quick　sketches　of　Jake　Blount　and　Mick　and　Doctor　Copeland。　
Then　as　soon　as　he　saw　mat　Antonapoulos　was　not　interested　
Singer　crumpled　the　sketches　and　forgot　about　them。　When　
the　attendant　came　in　to　say　that　their　time　was　up；　Singer　had　
not　finished　half　of　the　things　he　wanted　to　say。　But　he　left　the　
room　very　tired　and　happy。　
The　patients　could　receive　their　friends　only　on　Thursday　and　
Sunday。　On　the　days　when　he　could　not　be　with　
Antonapoulos；　Singer　walked　up　and　down　in　his　room　at　the　
hotel。　
His　second　visit　to　his　friend　was　like　the　first；　except　that　the　
old　men　in　the　room　watched　them　listlessly　and　did　not　play　
slapjack。　
After　much　trouble　Singer　obtained　permission　to　take　
Antonapoulos　out　with　him　for　a　few　hours。　He　planned　each　


detail　of　the　little　excursion　in　advance。　They　drove　out　into　
the　country　in　a　taxi；　and　then　at　four…thirty　they　went　to　the　
dining…room　at　the　hotel。　Antonapoulos　greatly　enjoyed　his　
extra　meal。　He　ordered　half　the　dishes　on　the　menu　and　ate　
very　greedily。　But　when　he　had　finished　he　would　not　leave。　
He　held　to　the　table。　Singer　coaxed　him　and　the　cab　driver　
wanted　to　use　force。　Antonapoulos　sat　stolidly　and　made　
obscene　gestures　when　they　came　too　close　to　him。　At　last　
Singer　bought　a　bottle　of　whiskey　from　the　hotel　manager　and　
lured　him　into　the　taxi　again。　When　Singer　threw　the　
unopened　bottle　out　of　the　window　Antonapoulos　wept　with　
disappointment　and　offense。　The　end　of　their　little　excursion　
made　Singer　very　sad。　
His　next　visit　was　the　last　one；　for　his　two　weeks'　vacation　
was　almost　over。　Antonapoulos　had　forgotten　what

81　
had　happened　before。　They　sat　in　their　same　corner　of　the　
room。　The　minutes　slipped　by　quickly。　Singer's　hands　talked　
desperately　and　his　narrow　face　was　very　pale。　At　last　it　was　
time　for　him　to　go。　He　held　his　friend　by　the　arm　and　looked　
into　his　face　in　the　way　that　he　used　to　do　when　they　parted　
each　day　before　work。　Antonapoulos　stared　at　him　drowsily　
and　did　not　move。　Singer　left　the　room　with　his　hands　stuffed　
hard　into　his　pockets。　
Soon　after　Singer　returned　to　his　room　at　the　boarding…house；　
Mick　and　Jake　Blount　and　Doctor　Copeland　began　to　come　
again。　Each　one　of　them　wanted　to　know　where　he　had　been　
and　why　he　had　not　let　them　know　about　his　plans。　But　Singer　
pretended　that　he　did　not　understand　their　questions；　and　his　
smile　was　inscrutable。　
One　by　one　they　would　come　to　Singer's　room　to　spend　the　
evening　with　him。　The　mute　was　always　thoughtful　and　
composed。　His　many…tinted　gentle　eyes　were　grave　as　a　
sorcerer's。　Mick　Kelly　and　Jake　Blount　and　Doctor　Copeland　
would　come　and　talk　in　the　silent　room—tor　they　felt　that　the　
mute　would　always　understand　whatever　they　wanted　to　say　to　

him。　And　maybe　even　more　than　that。Part　Two　

J。　ms　summer　was　different　from　any　other　time　Mick　could　
remember。　Nothing　much　happened　that　she　could　describe　to　
herself　in　thoughts　or　words—but　there　was　a　feeling　of　

change。　AH　the　time　she　was　excited。　In　the　morning　she　
couldn't　wait　to　get　out　of　bed　and　start　going　for　the　day。　And　
at　night　she　hated　like　hell　to　have　to　sleep　again。　
Right　after　breakfast　she　took　the　kids　out；　and　except　for　
meals　they　were　gone　most　of　the　day。　A　good　deal　of　the　time　
they　just　roamed　around　the　streets—with　her　pulling　Ralph's　
wagon　and　Bubber　following　along　behind。　Always　she　was　
busy　with　thoughts　and　plans。　Sometimes　she　would　look　up　
suddenly　and　they　would　be　way　off　in　some　part　of　town　she　
didn't　even　recognize。　And　once　or　twice　they　ran　into　Bill　on　
the　streets　and　she　was　so　busy　thinking　he　had　to　grab　her　by　
the　arm　to　make　her　see　him。　
Early　in　the　mornings　it　was　a　little　cool　and　their　shadows　
stretched　out　tall　on　the　sidewalk　in　front　of　them。　But　in　the　
middle　of　the　day　the　sky　was　always　blazing　hot。　The　glare　
was　so　bright　it　hurt　to　keep　your　eyes　open。　A　lot　of　times　the　
plans　about　the　things　that　were　going　to　happen　to　her　were　
mixed　up　with　ice　and　snow。　Sometimes　it　was　like　she　was　
out　in　Switzerland　and　all　the　mountains　were　covered　with　
snow　and　she　was　skating　on　cold；　greenish…colored　ice。　
Mister　Singer　would　be　skating　with　her。　And　maybe　Carole　
Lombard　or　Ar…turo　Toscanini　who　played　on　the　radio。　They　
would　be　skating　together　and　then　Mister　Singer　would　fall　
through

82


83　

the　ice　and　she　would　dive　in　without　regard　for　peril　and　
swim　under　the　ice　and　save　his　life。　That　was　one　of　the　plans　
always　going　on　in　her　mind。　
Usually　after　they　had　walked　awhile　she　would　park　Bubber　
and　Ralph　in　some　shady　place。　Bubber　was　a　swell　kid　and　
she　had　trained　him　pretty　good。　If　she　told　him　not　to　go　out　
of　hollering　distance　from　Ralph　she　wouldn't　ever　find　him　
shooting　marbles　with　kids　two　or　three　blocks　away。　He　
played　by　himself　near　the　wagon；　and　when　she　left　them　she　
didn't　have　to　worry　much。　She　either　went　to　the　library　and　
looked　at　the　National　Geographic　or　else　just　roamed　around　
and　thought　some　more。　If　she　had　any　money　she　bought　a　
dope　or　a　Milky　Way　at　Mister　Brannon's。　He　gave　kids　a　


reduction。　He　sold　them　nickel　things　for　three　cents。　
But　all　the　time—no　matter　what　she　was　doing—there　was　
music。　Sometimes　she　hummed　to　herself　as　she　walked；　and　
other　times　she　listened　quietly　to　the　songs　inside　her。　There　
were　all　kinds　of　music　in　her　thoughts。　Some　she　heard　over　
radios；　and　some　was　in　her　mind　already　without　her　ever　
having　heard　it　anywhere。　
In　the　night…time；　as　soon　as　the　kids　were　in　bed；　she　was　
free。　That　was　the　most　important　time　of　all。　A　lot　of　things　
happened　when　she　was　by　herself　and　it　was　dark。　Right　after　
supper　she　ran　out　of　the　house　again。　She　couldn't　tell　
anybody　about　the　things　she　did　at　night；　and　when　her　Mama　
asked　her　questions　she　would　answer　with　any　little　tale　that　
sounded　reasonable。　But　most　of　the　time　if　anybody　called　
her　she　just　ran　away　like　she　hadn't　heard。　That　went　for　
everybody　except　her　Dad。　There　was　something　about　her　
Dad's　voice　she　couldn't　run　away　from。　He　was　one　of　the　
biggest；　tallest　men　in　the　whole　town。　But　his　voice　was　so　
quiet　and　kindly　that　people　were　surprised　when　he　spoke。　
No　matter　how　much　of　a　hurry　she　was　in；　she　always　had　to　
stop　when　her　Dad　called。　
This　summer　she　realized　something　about　her　Dad　she　had　
never　known　before。　Up　until　then　she　had　never　thought　
about　him　as　being　a　real　separate　person。　A　lot　of　times　he　
would　call　her。　She　would　go　in　the　front　room　where　he　
worked　and　stand　by　him　a　couple　of　minutes—　but　when　she　
listened　to　him