carson mccullers - the heart is a lonely hunter-第54章

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everything　in　the　landscape　except　the　three　waltzing　


elephants。　But　did　it　matter　after　all？　
Biff　narrowed　his　eyes。　How　Singer　had　been　before　was　not　
important。　The　thing　that　mattered　was　the　way　Blount　and　
Mick　made　of　him　a　sort　of　home…made　God。　Owing　to　the　
fact　he　was　a　mute　they　were　able　to　give　him　all　the　qualities　
they　wanted　him　to　have。　Yes。　But　how　could　such　a　strange　
thing　come　about？　And　why？　
A　one…armed　man　came　hi　and　Biff　treated　him　to　a　whiskey　
on　the　house。　But　he　did　not　feel　like　talking　to　anyone。　
Sunday　dinner　was　a　family　meal。　Men　who　drank　beer　by　
themselves　on　weeknights　brought　their　wives　and　little　kids　
with　them　on　Sunday。　The　highchair　they　kept　in　the　back　was　
often　needed。　It　was　two…thirty　and　though　many　tables　were　
occupied　the　meal　was　almost　over。　Biff　had　been　on　his　feet　
for　the　past　four　hours　and　was　tired。　He　used　to　stand　for　
fourteen　or　sixteen　hours　and　not　notice　any　effects　at　all。　But　
now　he　had　aged。　Considerably。　There　was　no　doubt　about　it。　
Or　maybe　matured　was　the　word。　Not　aged—certainly　not—　
yet。　The　waves　of　sound　in　the　room　swelled　and　subsided　
against　his　ears。　Matured。　His　eyes　smarted　and　it　was　as　
though　some　fever　in　him　made　everything　too　bright　and　
sharp。　
He　called　to　one　of　the　waitresses：　'Take　over　for　me　will　you；　
please？　I'm　going　out。'　
The　street　was　empty　because　of　Sunday。　The　sun　shone　
bright　and　clear；　without　warmth。　Biff　held　the　collar　of　his　
coat　close　to　his　neck。　Alone　in　the　street　he　felt　out　of　pocket。　
The　wind　blew　cold　from　the　river。　He　should　turn　back　and　
stay　in　the　restaurant　where　he　belonged。　He　had　no　business　
going　to　the　place　where　he　was　headed。　For　the　past　four　
Sundays　he　had　done　this。　He　had　walked　in　the　neighborhood　
where　he　might　see　Mick。　And　there　was　something　about　it　
that　was—not　quite　right。　Yes。　Wrong。　He　walked　slowly　
down　the　sidewalk　opposite　the　house　

where　she　lived。　Last　Sunday　she　had　been　reading　the　funny　
papers　on　the　front　steps。　But　this　time　as　he　glanced　swiftly　
toward　the　house　he　saw　she　was　not　there。　But　tilted　the　brim　
of　his　felt　hat　down　over　his　eyes。　Perhaps　she　would　come　


into　the　place　later。　Often　on　Sunday　after　supper　she　came　for
a　hot　cocoa　and　stopped　for　a　while　at　the　table　where　Singer
was　sitting。　On　Sunday　she　wore　a　different　outfit　from　the
blue　skirt　and　sweater　she　wore　on　other　days。　Her　Sunday
dress　was　wine…colored　silk　with　a　dingy　lace　collar。　Once　she
had　had　on　stockings—with　runs　in　them。　Always　he　wanted
to　set　her　up　to　something；　to　give　to　her。　And　not　only　
a
sundae　or　some　sweet　to　eat—but　something　real。　That　was　all
he　wanted　for　himself—to　give　to　her。　Biff's　mouth　hardened。
He　had　done　nothing　wrong　but　in　him　he　felt　a　strange　guilt。
Why？　The　dark　guilt　in　all　men；　unreck…oned　and　without　
a
name。
On　the　way　home　Biff　found　a　penny　lying　half　concealed　by
rubbish　in　the　gutter。　Thriftily　he　picked　it　up；　cleaned　the
coin　with　his　handkerchief；　and　dropped　it　into　the　black
pocket　purse；　he　carried。　It　was　four　o'clock　when　he　reached
the　restaurant。　Business　was　stagnant。　There　was　not　a　single
customer　in　the　place。
Business　picked　up　around　five。　The　boy　he　had　recently　hired
to　work　part　time　showed　up　early。　The　boy's　name　was　Harry
Minowitz。　He　lived　in　the　same　neighborhood　with　Mick　and
Baby。　Eleven　applicants　had　answered　the　ad　in　the　paper；　but
Harry　seemed　to　be　best　bet。　He　was　well　developed　for　his
age；　and　neat。　Biff　had　noticed　the　boy's　teeth　while　talking　to
him　during　the　interview。　Teeth　were　always　a　good
indication。　His　were　large　and　very　clean　and　white。　Harry
wore　glasses；　but　that　would　not　matter　in　the　work。　His
mother　made　ten　dollars　a　week　sewing　for　a　tailor　down　the
street；　and　Harry　was　an　only　child。
'Well；'　Biff　said。　'You've　been　with　me　a　week；　Harry。　Think
you're　going　to　like　it？'　'Sure；　sir。　Sure　I　like　it。
'
Biff　turned　the　ring　on　his　finger。　'Let's　see。　What　time　do　you
get　off　from　school？'　〃Three　o'clock；　sir。'200


'Well；　that　gives　you　a　couple　of　hours　for　study　and
recreation。　Then　here　from　six　to　ten。　Does　that　leave　you
enough　time　for　plenty　of　sleep？
'
'Plenty。　I　don't　need　near　that　much。
'
'You　need　about　nine　and　a　half　hours　at　your　age；　son。　Pure；
wholesome　sleep。
'



He　felt　suddenly　embarrassed。　Maybe　Harry　would　think　it　
was　none　of　his　business。　Which　it　wasn't　anyway。　He　started　
to　turn　aside　and　then　thought　of　something。　

。You　go　to　Vocational？'　
Harry　nodded　and　rubbed　his　glasses　on　his　shirtsleeve。　
'Let's　see。　I　know　a　lot　of　girls　and　boys　there。　Alva　Richards　
—I　know　his　father。　And　Maggie　Henry。　And　a　
kid　named　Mick　Kelly'　He　felt　as　though　his　ears　
had　caught　afire。　He　knew　himself　to　be　a　fool。　He　wanted　to　
turn　and　walk　away　and　yet　he　only　stood　there；　smiling　and　
mashing　his　nose　with　his　thumb。　'You　know　her？'　he　asked　
faintly。　
'Sure；　I　live　right　next　door　to　her。　But　in　school　I'm　a　senior　
while　she's　a　freshman。'　
Biff　stored　this　meager　information　neatly　in　his　mind　to　be　
thought　over　later　when　he　was　alone。　'Business　will　be　quiet　
here　for　a　while；'　he　said　hurriedly。　Til　leave　it　with　you。　By　
now　you　know　how　to　handle　things。　Just　watch　any　
customers　drinking　beer　and　remember　how　many　they've　
drunk　so　you　won't　have　to　ask　them　and　depend　on　what　they　
say。　Take　your　time　making　change　and　keep　track　of　what　
goes　on。'　
Biff　shut　himself　in　his　room　downstairs。　This　was　the　place　
where　he　kept　his　files。　The　room　had　only　one　small　window　
and　looked　out　on　the　side　alley；　and　the　air　was　musty　and　
cold。　Huge　stacks　of　newspapers　rose　up　to　the　ceiling。　A　
home…made　filing　case　covered　one　wall。　Near　the　door　there　
was　an　old…fashioned　rocking…chair　and　a　small　table　laid　with　
a　pair　of　shears；　a　dictionary；　and　a　mandolin。　Because　of　the　
piles　of　newspaper　it　was　impossible　to　take　more　than　two　
steps　in　any　direction。　Biff　rocked　himself　in　the　chair　and　
languidly　plucked　the　strings　of　the　mandolin。　His　eyes　closed　
and　he　began　to　sing　in　a　doleful　voice：　
201


I　went　to　the　animal　fair。　


The　birds　and　the　beasts　were　there；　
And　the　old　baboon　by　the　light　of　the　moon　
Was　combing　his　auburn　hair。　
He　finished　with　a　chord　from　the　strings　and　the　last　sounds　
shivered　to　silence　in　the　cold　air。　
To　adopt　a　couple　of　little　children。　A　boy　and　a　girl。　About　
three　or　four　years　old　so　they　would　always　feel　like　he　was　
their　own　father。　Their　Dad。　Our　Father。　The　little　girl　like　
Mick　（or　Baby？）　at　that　age。　Round　cheeks　and　gray　eyes　and　
flaxen　hair。　And　the　clothes　he　would　make　for　her—pink　
crgpe　de　Chine　frocks　with　dainty　smocking　at　the　yoke　and　
sleeves。　Silk　socks　and　white　buckskin　shoes。　And　a　little　red…
velvet　coat　and　cap　and　muff　for　winter。　The　boy　was　dark　and　
black…haired。　The　little　boy　walked　behind　him　and　copied　the　
things　he　did。　In　the　summer　the　three　of　them　would　go　to　a　
cottage　on　the　Gulf　and　he　would　dress　the　children　in　their　
sun　suits　and　guide　them　carefully　into　the　green；　shallow　
waves。　And　then　they　would　bloom　as　he　grew　old。　Our　
Father。　And　they　would　come　to　him　with　questions　and　he　
would　answer　them。　
Why　not？　
Biff　took　up　his　mandolin　again。　'Tum…ti…tim…ti…tee；　ti…tee；　the　
wedd…ing　of　the　painted　doll'　The　mandolin　mocked　the　
refrain。　He　sang　through　all　the　verses　and　wagged　his　foot　to　
the　time。　Then　he　played　'K…K…K…Katie；'　and　'Love's　Old　
Sweet　Song。'　These　pieces　were　like　the　Agua　Florida　in　the　
way　they　made　him　remember。　Everything。　Through　the　first　
year　when　he　was　happy　and　when　she　seemed　happy　even　
too。　And　when　the　bed　came　down　with　them　twice　in　three　
months。　And　he　didn't　know　that　all　the　time　her　brain　was　
busy　with　how　she　could　save　a　nickle　or　squeeze　out　an　extra　
dime。　And　then　him　with　Rio　and　the　girls　at　her　place。　Gyp　
and　Madeline　and　Lou。　And　then　later　when　suddenly　he　lost　
it。　When　he　could　lie　with　a　woman　no　longer。　Mothero…eod！　
So　that　at　first　it　seemed　everything　was　gone。　
Lucile　always　understood　the　whole　set…up。