carson mccullers - the heart is a lonely hunter-第8章

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wanted　to　talk　

to　somebody　about　it；　because　maybe　if　he　told　all　the　facts　
out　loud　he　could　put　his　finger　on　the　thing　that　puzzled　him。　
The　poor　son…of…a…bitch　talking　and　talking　and　not　ever　
getting　anybody　to　understand　what　he　meant。　Not　knowing　
himself；　most　likely。　And　the　way　he　gravitated　around　the　
deaf…mute　and　picked　him　out　and　tried　to　make　him　a　free　
present　of　everything　in　him。　
Why？　
Because　in　some　men　it　is　in　them　to　give　up　everything　
personal　at　some　time；　before　it　ferments　and　poisons—throw　
it　to　some　human　being　or　some　human　idea。　They　have　to。　In　
some　men　it　is　in　them—The　text　is　'All　men　seek　for　Thee。'　
Maybe　that　was　why—maybe—He　was　a　Chinaman；　the　
fellow　had　said。　And　a　nigger　and　a　wop　and　a　Jew。　And　if　he　
believed　it　hard　enough　maybe　it　was　so。　Every　person　and　
every　thing　he　said　he　was
Biff　stretched　both　of　his　arms　outward　and　crossed　his　naked　
feet。　His　face　was　older　in　the　morning　light；　with　the　closed；　
shrunken　eyelids　and　the　heavy；　iron…like　beard　on　his　cheeks　
and　jaw。　Gradually　his　mouth　softened　and　relaxed。　The　hard；　
yellow　rays　of　the　sun　came　in　through　the　window　so　that　the　
room　was　hot　and　bright。　Biff　turned　wearily　and　covered　his　
eyes　with　his　hands。　And　he　was　nobody　but—Bartholomew　
—old　Biff　with　two　fists　and　a　quick　tongue—Mister　Brannon　
—by　himself。　

J。　HE　sun　woke　Mick　early；　although　she　had　stayed　out　mighty　
late　the　night　before。　It　was　too　hot　even　to　drink　coffee　for　
breakfast；　so　she　had　ice　water　with　syrup　in　it　and　cold　
biscuits。　She　messed　around　the　kitchen　for　a　while　and　then　
went　out　on　the　front　porch　to　read　the　funnies。　She　had　
thought　maybe　Mister　Singer　would　be　reading　the　paper　on　
the　porch　like　he　did　most　Sunday　mornings。　But　Mister　

Singer　was　not　there；　and　later　on　her　Dad　said　he　came　in　
very　late　the　night　before　and　had　company　in　his　room。　She　
waited　for　Mister　Singer　a　long　time。　All　the　other　boarders　
came　down　except　him。　Fi…28　

nally　she　went　back　in　the　kitchen　and　took　Ralph　out　of　his　
high　chair　and　put　a　clean　dress　on　him　and　wiped　off　his　face。　
Then　when　Bubber　got　home　from　Sunday　School　she　was　
ready　to　take　the　kids　out。　She　let　Bubber　ride　in　the　wagon　
with　Ralph　because　he　was　barefooted　and　the　hot　sidewalk　
burned　his　feet。　She　pulled　the　wagon　for　about　eight　blocks　
until　they　came　to　the　big；　new　house　that　was　being　built。　The　
ladder　was　still　propped　against　the　edge　of　the　roof；　and　she　
screwed　up　nerve　and　began　to　climb。　
'You　mind　Ralph；'　she　called　back　to　Bubber。　'Mind　the　gnats　
don't　sit　on　his　eyelids。'　
Five　minutes　later　Mick　stood　up　and　held　herself　very　
straight。　She　spread　out　her　arms　like　wings。　This　was　the　
place　where　everybody　wanted　to　stand。　The　very　top。　But　not　
many　kids　could　do　it。　Most　of　them　were　scared；　for　if　you　
lost　your　grip　and　rolled　off　the　edge　it　would　kill　you。　All　
around　were　the　roofs　of　other　houses　and　the　green　tops　of　
trees。　On　the　other　side　of　town　were　the　church　steeples　and　
the　smokestacks　from　the　mills。　The　sky　was　bright　blue　and　
hot　as　fire。　The　sun　made　everything　on　the　ground　either　
dizzy　white　or　black。　
She　wanted　to　sing。　All　the　songs　she　knew　pushed　up　toward　
her　throat；　but　there　was　no　sound。　One　big　boy　who　had　got　
to　the　highest　part　of　the　roof　last　week　let　out　a　yell　and　then　
started　hollering　out　a　speech　he　had　learned　at　High　School　
—'Friends；　Romans；　Countrymen；　Lend　me　your　ears！'　There　
was　something　about　getting　to　the　very　top　that　gave　you　a　
wild　feeling　and　made　you　want　to　yell　or　sing　or　raise　up　
your　arms　and　fly。　
She　felt　the　soles　of　her　tennis　shoes　slipping；　and　eased　
herself　down　so　that　she　straddled　the　peak　of　the　roof。　The　
house　was　almost　finished。　It　would　be　one　of　the　largest　
buildings　in　the　neighborhood—two　stories；　with　very　high　


ceilings　and　the　steepest　roof　of　any　house　she　had　ever　seen。　
But　soon　the　work　would　all　be　finished。　The　carpenters　
would　leave　and　the　kids　would　have　to　find　another　place　to　
play。　
She　was　by　herself。　No　one　was　around　and　it　was　quiet　and　
she　could　think　for　a　while。　She　took　from　the　pocket　of　her　
shorts　the　package　of　cigarettes　she　had　bought　the　night　
before。　She　breathed　in　the　smoke　slowly。　The　cigarette　gave　her　a　drunk　feeling　so　that　her　head　seemed　heavy　
and　loose　on　her　shoulders；　but　she　had　to　finish　it。　
M。K。—That　was　what　she　would　have　written　on　everything　
when　she　was　seventeen　years　old　and　very　famous。　She　
would　ride　back　home　in　a　red…and…white　Packard　automobile　
with　her　initials　on　the　doors。　She　would　have　M。K。　written　in　
red　on　her　handkerchiefs　and　underclothes。　Maybe　she　would　
be　a　great　inventor。　She　would　invent　little　tiny　radios　the　size　
of　a　green　pea　that　people　could　carry　around　and　stick　in　their　
ears。　Also　flying　machines　people　could　fasten　on　their　backs　
like　knapsacks　and　go　zipping　all　over　the　world。　After　that　
she　would　be　the　first　one　to　make　a　large　tunnel　through　the　
world　to　China；　and　people　could　go　down　in　big　balloons。　
Those　were　the　first　tilings　she　would　invent　They　were　
already　planned。　
When　Mick　had　finished　half　of　the　cigarette　she　smashed　it　
dead　and　flipped　the　butt　down　the　slant　of　the　roof。　Then　she　
leaned　forward　so　that　her　head　rested　on　her　arms　and　began　
to　hum　to　herself。　
It　was　a　funny　thing—but　nearly　all　the　time　there　was　some　
kind　of　piano　piece　or　other　music　going　on　in　the　back　of　her　
mind。　No　matter　what　she　was　doing　or　thinking　it　was　nearly　
always　there。　Miss　Brown；　who　boarded　with　them；　had　a　
radio　in　her　room；　and　all　last　winter　she　would　sit　on　the　
steps　every　Sunday　afternoon　and　listen　in　on　the　programs。　
Those　were　probably　classical　pieces；　but　they　were　the　ones　
she　remembered　best。　There　was　one　special　fellow's　music　
that　made　her　heart　shrink　up　every　time　she　heard　it。　
Sometimes　this　feEow's　music　was　like　little　colored　pieces　of　
crystal　candy；　and　other　times　it　was　the　softest；　saddest　thing　
she　had　ever　imagined　about。　
There　was　the　sudden　sound　of　crying。　Mick　sat　up　straight　


and　listened　The　wind　ruffled　the　fringe　of　hair　on　her　
forehead　and　the　bright　sun　made　her　face　white　and　damp。　
The　whimpering　continued；　and　Mick　moved　slowly　along　the　
sharp…pointed　roof　on　her　hands　and　knees。　When　she　reached　
the　end　she　leaned　forward　and　lay　on　her　stomach　so　that　her　
head　jutted　over　the　edge　and　she　could　see　the　ground　below。　
The　kids　were　where　she　had　left　them。　Bubber　was30　

squatting　over　something　on　the　ground　and　beside　him　was　a　
little　black；　dwarf　shadow。　Ralph　was　still　tied　in　the　wagon。　
He　was　just　old　enough　to　sit　up；　and　he　held　on　to　the　sides　of　
the　wagon；　with　his　cap　crooked　on　his　head；　crying。　
'Bubber！'　Mick　called　down。　'Find　out　what　that　Ralph　wants　
and　give　it　to　him。'　
Bubber　stood　up　and　looked　hard　into　the　baby's　face。　'He　
don't　want　nothing。'　
'Well；　give　him　a　good　shake；　then。'　
Mick　climbed　back　to　the　place　where　she　had　been　sitting　
before。　She　wanted　to　think　for　a　long　time　about　two　or　three　
certain　people；　to　sing　to　herself；　and　to　make　plans。　But　that　
Ralph　was　still　hollering　and　there　wouldn't　be　any　peace　for　
her　at　all。　
Boldly　she　began　to　climb　down　toward　the　ladder　propped　
against　the　edge　of　the　roof。　The　slant　was　very　steep　and　
there　were　only　a　few　blocks　of　wood　nailed　down；　very　far　
apart　from　each　other；　that　the　workmen　used　for　footholds。　
She　was　dizzy；　and　her　heart　beat　so　hard　it　made　her　tremble。　
Commandingly　she　talked　out　loud　to　herself：　'Hold　on　here　
with　your　hands　tight　and　then　slide　down　until　your　right　toe　
gets　a　grip　there　and　then　stay　close　and　wiggle　over　to　the　
left。　Nerve；　Mick；　you've　got　to　keep　nerve。'　
Coming　down　was　the　hardest　part　of　any　climbing。　It　took　her　
a　long　time　to　reach　the　ladder　and　to　feel　safe　again。　When　
she　stood　on　the　ground　at　last　she　seemed　much　shorter　and　
smaller　and　her　legs　felt　for　a　minute　like　they　would　crumple　
up　with　her。　She　hitched　her　shorts　and　jerked　the　belt　a　notch　
tighter