carson mccullers - the heart is a lonely hunter-第28章

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back　to　her。　If　ever　she　heard　the　symphony　again　there　would　
be　other　parts　to　add　to　what　was　already　in　her　mind。　And　
maybe　if　she　could　hear　it　four　more　times；　just　four　more　
times；　she　would　know　it　all。　Maybe。　
Once　again　she　listened　to　this　opening　part　of　the　music。　
Then　the　notes　grew　slower　and　soft　and　it　was　like　she　was　
sinking　down　slowly　into　the　dark　ground。　
Mick　awoke　with　a　jerk。　The　air　had　turned　chilly；　and　as　she　
was　coming　up　out　of　the　sleep　she　dreamed　old　Etta　Kelly　
was　taking　all　the　cover。　'Gimme　some　blanket　
'　she　tried　to　say。　Then　she　opened　her　eyes。　The　sky　
was　very　black　and　all　the　stars　were　gone。　The　grass　was　wet。　
She　got　up　in　a　hurry　because　her　Dad　would　be　worried。　Then　
she　remembered　the　music。　She　couldn't　tell　whether　the　time　
was　midnight　or　three　in　the　morning；　so　she　started　beating　it　
for　home　in　a　rush。　The　air　had　a　smell　in　it　like　autumn。　The　
music　was　loud　and　quick　in　her　mind；　and　she　ran　faster　and　
faster　on　the　sidewalks　leading　to　the　home　block。　

B　

。　Y　OCTOBER　the　days　were　blue　and　cool。　Biff　Brannon　
changed　his　light　seersucker　trousers　for　dark…blue　serge　ones。　
Behind　the　counter　of　the　cafe　he　installed　a　machine　that　
made　hot　chocolate。　Mick　was　very　partial　to　hot　chocolate；　
and　she　came　in　three　or　four　times　a　week　to　drink　a　cup。　He　
served　it　to　her　for　a　nickel　instead　of　a　dime　and　he　wanted　to　
give　it　to　her　free。　He　watched　her　as　she　stood　behind　the　
counter　and　he　was　troubled　and　sad。　He　wanted　to　reach　out　
his　hand　and　touch　her　sunburned；　tousled　hair—but　not　as　he　
had　ever　touched　

a　woman。　In　him　there　was　an　uneasiness；　and　when　he　spoke　
to　her　his　voice　had　a　rough；　strange　sound。　
There　were　many　worries　on　his　mind。　For　one　thing；　Alice　
was　not　well。　She　worked　downstairs　as　usual　from　seven　in　
the　morning　until　ten　at　night；　but　she　walked　very　slowly　and　
brown　circles　were　beneath　her　eyes。　It　was　in　the　business　
that　she　showed　this　illness　most　plainly。　One　Sunday；　when　
she　wrote　out　the　day's　menu　on　the　typewriter；　she　marked　
the　special　dinner　with　chicken　a　la　king　at　twenty　cents　
instead　of　fifty；　and　did　not　discover　the　mistake　until　several　
customers　had　already　ordered　and　were　ready　to　pay。　Another　
time　she　gave　back　two　fives　and　three　ones　as　change　for　ten　
dollars。　Biff　would　stand　looking　at　her　for　a　long　time；　
rubbing　his　nose　thoughtfully　and　with　his　eyes　half…closed。　
They　did　not　speak　of　this　together。　At　night　he　worked　
downstairs　while　she　slept；　and　during　the　morning　she　
managed　the　restaurant　alone。　When　they　worked　together　he　
stayed　behind　the　cash　register　and　looked　after　the　kitchen　
and　the　tables；　as　was　their　custom。　They　did　not　talk　except　
on　matters　of　business；　but　Biff　would　stand　watching　her　
with　his　face　puzzled。　
Then　in　the　afternoon　of　the　eighth　of　October　there　was　a　
sudden　cry　of　pain　from　the　room　where　they　slept。　Biff　
hurried　upstairs。　Within　an　hour　they　had　taken　Alice　to　the　
hospital　and　the　doctor　had　removed　from　her　a　tumor　almost　
the　size　of　a　newborn　child。　And　then　within　another　hour　
Alice　was　dead。　
Biff　sat　by　her　bed　at　the　hospital　in　stunned　reflection。　He　
had　been　present　when　she　died。　Her　eyes　had　been　drugged　
and　misty　from　the　ether　and　then　they　hardened　like　glass。　
The　nurse　and　the　doctor　withdrew　from　the　room。　He　
continued　to　look　into　her　face。　Except　for　the　bluish　pallor　
there　was　little　difference。　He　noted　each　detail　about　her　as　
though　he　had　net　watched　her　every　day　for　twenty…one　years。　
Then　gradually　as　he　sat　there　his　thoughts　turned　to　a　picture　
that　had　long　been　stored　inside　him。　
The　cold　green　ocean　and　a　hot　gold　strip　of　sand。　The　little　
children　playing　on　the　edge　of　the　silky　line　of　foam。　The　


sturdy　brown　baby　girl；　the　thin　little　naked　boys；　the　half…
grown　children　running　and　calling　out　to　each　other104　

with　sweet；　shrill　voices。　Children　were　here　whom　he　knew；　
Mick　and　his　niece；　Baby；　and　there　were　also　strange　young　
faces　no　one　had　ever　seen　before。　Biff　bowed　his　head。　
After　a　long　while　he　got　up　from　his　chair　and　stood　in　the　
middle　of　the　room。　He　could　hear　his　sister…in…law；　Lucile；　
walking　up　and　down　the　hall　outside。　A　fat　bee　crawled　
across　the　top　of　the　dresser；　and　adroitly　Biff　caught　it　in　his　
hand　and　put　it　out　the　open　window。　He　glanced　at　the　dead　
face　one　more　time；　and　then　with　widowed　sedateness　he　
opened　the　door　mat　led　out　into　the　hospital　corridor。　
Late　the　next　morning　he　sat　sewing　in　the　room　upstairs。　
Why？　Why　was　it　that　in　cases　of　real　love　the　one　who　is　left　
does　not　more　often　follow　the　beloved　by　suicide？　Only　
because　the　living　must　bury　the　dead？　Because　of　the　
measured　rites　that　must　be　fulfilled　after　a　death？　Because　it　
is　as　though　the　one　who　is　left　steps　for　a　time　upon　a　stage　
and　each　second　swells　to　an　unlimited　amount　of　time　and　he　
is　watched　by　many　eyes？　Because　there　is　a　function　he　must　
carry　out？　Or　perhaps；　when　there　is　love；　the　widowed　must　
stay　for　the　resurrection　of　the　beloved—so　that　the　one　who　
has　gone　is　not　really　dead；　but　grows　and　is　created　for　a　
second　time　in　the　soul　of　the　living？　Why？　
Biff　bent　close　over　his　sewing　and　meditated　on　many　things。　
He　sewed　skillfully；　and　the　calluses　on　the　tips　of　his　fingers　
were　so　hard　that　he　pushed　the　needle　through　the　cloth　
without　a　thimble。　Already　the　mourning　bands　had　been　sewn　
around　the　arms　of　two　gray　suits；　and　now　he　was　on　the　last。　
The　day　was　bright　and　hot；　and　the　first　dead　leaves　of　the　
new　autumn　scraped　on　the　sidewalks。　He　had　gone　out　early。　
Each　minute　was　very　long。　Before　him　there　was　infinite　
leisure。　He　had　locked　the　door　of　the　restaurant　and　hung　on　
the　outside　a　white　wreath　of　lilies。　To　the　funeral　home　he　
went　first　and　looked　carefully　at　the　selection　of　caskets。　He　
touched　the　materials　of　the　linings　and　tested　the　strength　of　
the　frames。　
'What　is　the　name　of　the　crepe　of　this　one—Georgette？'

　105　The　undertaker　answered　his　questions　in　an　oily；　


unctuous　voice。　
'And　what　is　the　percentage　of　cremations　in　your　business？'　
Out　on　the　street　again　Biff　walked　with　measured　formality。　
From　the　west　there　was　a　warm　wind　and　the　sun　was　very　
bright。　His　watch　had　stopped；　so　he　turned　down　toward　the　
street　where　Wilbur　Kelly　had　recently　put　out　his　sign　as　
watchmaker。　Kelly　was　sitting　at　his　bench　in　a　patched　
bathrobe。　His　shop　was　also　a　bedroom；　and　the　baby　Mick　
pulled　around　with　her　in　a　wagon　sat　quietly　on　a　pallet　on　
the　floor。　Each　minute　was　so　long　that　in　it　there　was　ample　
time　for　contemplation　and　enquiry。　He　asked　Kelly　to　explain　
the　exact　use　of　jewels　in　a　watch。　He　noted　the　distorted　look　
of　Kelly's　right　eye　as　it　appeared　through　his　watchmaker's　
loupe。　They　talked　for　a　while　about　Chamberlain　and　
Munich。　Then　as　the　time　was　still　early　he　decided　to　go　up　
to　the　mute's　room。　
Singer　was　dressing　for　work。　Last　night　there　had　come　from　
him　a　letter　of　condolence。　He　was　to　be　a　pallbearer　at　the　
funeral。　Biff　sat　on　the　bed　and　they　smoked　a　cigarette　
together。　Singer　looked　at　him　now　and　then　with　his　green　
observant　eyes。　He　offered　him　a　drink　of　coffee。　Biff　did　not　
talk；　and　once　the　mute　stopped　to　pat　him　on　the　shoulder　and　
look　for　a　second　into　his　face。　When　Singer　was　dressed　they　
went　out　together。　
Biff　bought　the　black　ribbon　at　the　store　and　saw　the　preacher　
of　Alice's　church。　When　all　was　arranged　he　came　back　home。　
To　put　things　in　order—that　was　the　thought　in　his　mind。　He　
bundled　up　Alice's　clothes　and　personal　possessions　to　give　to　
Lucile。　He　thoroughly　cleaned　and　straightened　the　bureau　
drawers。　He　even　rearranged　the　shelves　of　the　kitchen　
downstairs　and　removed　the　gaily　colored　crSpe　streamers　
from　the　electric　fans。　Then　when　this　was　done　he　sat　in　the　
tub　and　bathed　himself　all　over。　And　the　morning　was　done。　
Biff　bit　the　thread　and　smoothed　the　black　band　on　the　sleeve　
of　his　coat。　By　now　Lucile　would　be　waiting　for　him。　He　and