carson mccullers - the heart is a lonely hunter-第18部分

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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

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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

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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　her　mind　was　never　on　the84　

things　he　said　to　her。　Then　one　night　she　suddenly　realized　
about　her　Dad。　Nothing　unusual　happened　that　night　and　she　
didn't　know　what　it　was　that　made　her　understand。　Afterward　
she　felt　older　and　as　though　she　knew　him　as　good　as　she　
could　know　any　person。　
It　was　a　night　in　late　August　and　she　was　in　a　big　rush。　She　
had　to　be　at　this　house　by　nine　o'clock；　and　no　maybe　either。　
Her　Dad　called　and　she　went　into　the　front　room。　He　was　
sitting　slumped　over　his　workbench。　For　some　reason　it　never　
did　seem　natural　to　see　him　there。　Until　the　time　of　his　
accident　last　year　he　had　been　a　painter　and　carpenter。　Before　
daylight　every　morning　he　would　leave　the　house　in　his　


overalls；　to　be　gone　all　day。　Then　at　night　sometimes　he　
fiddled　around　with　clocks　as　an　extra　work。　A　lot　of　times　he　
had　tried　to　get　a　job　in　a　jewelry　store　where　he　could　sit　by　
himself　at　a　desk　all　day　with　a　clean　white　shirt　on　and　a　tie。　
Now　when　he　couldn't　carpenter　any　more　he　had　put　a　sign　at　
the　front　of　the　house　reading　'Clocks　and　Watches　Repaired　
Cheap。'　But　he　didn't　look　like　most　jewelers—the　ones　
downtown　were　quick；　dark　little　Jew　men。　Her　Dad　was　too　
tall　for　his　workbench；　and　his　big　bones　seemed　joined　
together　in　a　loose　way。　
Her　Dad　just　stared　at　her。　She　could　tell　he　didn't　have　any　
reason　for　calling。　He　only　wanted　real　bad　to　talk　to　her。　He　
tried　to　think　of　some　way　to　begin。　His　brown　eyes　were　too　
big　for　his　long；　thin　face；　and　since　he　had　lost　every　single　
hair　the　pale；　bald　top　of　his　head　gave　him　a　naked　look。　He　
stul　looked　at　her　without　speaking　and　she　was　in　a　hurry。　
She　had　to　be　at　that　house　by　nine　sharp　and　there　was　no　
time　to　waste。　Her　Dad　saw　she　was　in　a　hurry　and　he　cleared　
his　throat　
'I　got　something　for　you；'　he　said。　'Nothing　much；　but　maybe　
you　can　treat　yourself　with　it。'　
He　didn't　have　to　give　her　any　nickel　or　dime　just　because　he　
was　lonesome　and　wanted　to　talk。　Out　of　what　he　made　he　
only　kept　enough　to　have　beer　about　twice　a　week。　Two　
bottles　were　on　the　floor　by　his　chair　now；　one　empty　and　one　
just　opened。　And　whenever　he　drank　beer　he　liked　to　talk　to　
somebody。　Her　Dad　fumbled　with　his　belt　and　she　looked　
away。　This　summer　he　had　gotten　like　a　kid　about　hiding　those　
nickels　and　dimes　he　kept　for

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himself。　Sometimes　he　hid　them　in　his　shoes；　and　other　times　
in　a　little　slit　he　had　cut　in　his　belt。　She　only　halfway　wanted　
to　take　the　dime；　but　when　he　held　it　out　her　hand　was　just　
naturally　open　and　ready。　
'I　got　so　much　work　to　do　I　don't　know　where　to　begin；'　
he　said。　
That　was　just　the　opposite　to　the　truth；　and　he　knew　it　good　as　
she　did。　He　never　had　many　watches　to　fix；　and　when　he　
finished　he　would　fool　around　the　house　doing　any　little　job　
that　was　needed。　Then　at　night　he　sat　at　his　bench；　cleaning　


old　springs　and　wheels　and　trying　to　make　the　work　last　out　
until　bedtime。　Ever　since　he　broke　his　hip　and　couldn't　work　
steady　he　had　to　be　doing　something　
every　minute。　
'I　been　thinking　a　lot　tonight；'　her　Dad　said。　He　poured　out　his　
beer　and　sprinkled　a　few　grains　of　salt　on　the　back　of　his　hand。　
Then　he　licked　up　the　salt　and　took　a　swallow　
out　of　the　glass。　
She　was　in　such　a　hurry　that　it　was　hard　to　stand　still。　Her　Dad　
noticed　this。　He　tried　to　say　something—but　he　had　not　called　
to　tell　her　anything　special。　He　only　wanted　to　talk　with　her　
for　a　little　while。　He　started　to　speak　and　swallowed。　They　just　
looked　at　each　other。　The　quietness　grew　out　longer　and　
neither　of　them　could　say　a　word。　
That　was　when　she　realized　about　her　Dad。　It　wasn't　like　she　
was　learning　a　new　fact—she　had　understood　it　all　along　in　
every　way　except　with　her　brain。　Now　she　just　suddenly　knew　
that　she　knew　about　her　Dad。　He　was　lonesome　and　he　was　an　
old　man。　Because　none　of　the　kids　went　to　him　for　anything　
and　because　he　didn't　earn　much　money　he　felt　like　he　was　cut　
off　from