carson mccullers - the heart is a lonely hunter-第29部分

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words　were　formed　and　spoken　with　relief。　
The　fire　had　died　down。　Singer　was　playing　a　game　of　fools　
with　himself　at　the　table。　Jake　had　been　asleep。　He　awoke　with　
a　nervous　quiver。　He　raised　his　head　and　turned　to　Singer。　
'Yeah；'　he　said　as　though　in　answer　to　a　sudden　question。　
'Some　of　us　are　Communists。　But　not　all　
of　us。　Myself；　I'm　not　a　member　of　the　Communist　
Party。　Because　in　the　first　place　I　never　knew　but　one　of　them。　
You　can　bum　around　for　years　and　not　meet　Communists。　
Around　here　there's　no　office　where　you　can　go　up　and　say　
you　want　to　join—and　if　there　is　I　never　heard　of　it。　And　you　
just　don't　take　off　for　New　York　and　join。　As　I　say　I　never　
knew　but　one—and　he　was　a　seedy　little　teetotaler　whose　
breath　stunk。　We　had　a　fight。　Not　that　I　hold　that　against　the　
Communists。　The　main　fact　is　I　don't　think　so　much　of　Stalin　
and　Russia。　I　hate　every　damn　country　and　government　there　
is。　But　even　so　maybe　I　ought　to132　

joined　up　with　the　Communists　first　place。　I'm　not　certain　one　
way　or　the　other。　What　do　you　think？'　
Singer　wrinkled　his　forehead　and　considered。　He　reached　for　
his　silver　pencil　and　wrote　on　his　pad　of　paper　that　he　didn't　
know。　
'But　there's　this。　You　see；　we　just　can't　settle　down　after　
knowing；　but　we　got　to　act　And　some　of　us　go　nuts。　There's　
too　much　to　do　and　you　don't　know　where　to　start　It　makes　
you　crazy。　Even　me—I've　done　things　that　when　I　look　back　at　


them　they　don't　seem　rational　Once　I　started　an　organization　
myself。　I　picked　out　twenty　lint…heads　and　talked　to　them　until　
I　thought　they　knew。　Our　motto　was　one　word：　Action。　Huh！　
We　meant　to　start　riots—stir　up　all　the　big　trouble　we　could。　
Our　ultimate　goal　was　freedom—but　a　real　freedom；　a　great　
freedom　made　possible　only　by　the　sense　of　justice　of　the　
human　souL　Our　motto；　〃Action；〃　signified　the　razing　of　
capitalism。　In　the　constitution　（drawn　up　by　myself）　certain　
statutes　dealt　with　the　swapping　of　our　motto　from　〃Action〃　to　
〃Freedom〃　as　soon　as　our　work　was　through。'　
Jake　sharpened　the　end　of　a　match　and　picked　a　troublesome　
cavity　in　a　tooth。　After　a　moment　he　continued：　
〃Then　when　the　constitution　was　all　written　down　and　the　first　
followers　well　organized—then　I　went　out　on　a　hitch…hiking　
tour　to　organize　component　units　of　the　society。　Within　three　
months　I　came　back；　and　what　do　you　reckon　I　found？　What　
was　the　first　heroic　action？　Had　their　righteous　fury　overcome　
planned　action　so　that　they　had　gone　ahead　without　me？　Was　
it　destruction；　murder；　revolution？'　
Jake　leaned　forward　in　his　chair。　After　a　pause　he　said　
somberly：　
'My　friend；　they　had　stole　the　fifty…seven　dollars　and　thirty　
cents　from　the　treasury　to　buy　uniform　caps　and　free　Saturday　
suppers。　I　caught　them　sitting　around　the　conference　table；　
rolling　the　bones；　their　caps　on　their　heads；　and　a　ham　and　a　
gallon　of　gin　in　easy　reach。'　
A　timid　smile　from　Singer　followed　Jake's　outburst　of　
laughter。　After　a　while　the　smile　on　Singer's　face　grew　
strained　and　faded。　Jake　still　laughed。　The　vein　in　his　forehead　
swelled；　his　face　was　dusky　red。　He　laughed　too　long。　Singer　
looked　up　at　the　clock　and　indicated　the　time—　

half…past　twelve。　He　took　his　watch；　his　silver　pencil　and　pad；　
his　cigarettes　and　matches　from　the　mantel　and　distributed　
them　among　his　pockets。　It　was　dinner…time。　
But　Jake　still　laughed。　There　was　something　maniacal　in　the　
sound　of　his　laughter。　He　walked　about　the　room；　jingling　the　
change　in　his　pockets。　His　long；　powerful　arms　swung　tense　
and　awkward。　He　began　to　name　over　parts　of　his　coming　


meal。　When　he　spoke　of　food　his　face　was　fierce　with　gusto。　
With　each　word　he　raised　his　upper　lip　like　a　ravenous　animal。　
'Roast　beef　with　gravy。　Rice。　And　cabbage　and　light　bread。　
And　a　big　hunk　of　apple　pie。　I'm　famished。　Oh；　Johnny；　I　can　
hear　the　Yankees　coming。　And　speaking　of　meals；　my　friend；　
did　I　ever　tell　you　about　Mr。　Clark　Patterson；　the　gentleman　
who　owns　the　Sunny　Dixie　Show？　He's　so　fat　he　hasn't　seen　
his　privates　for　twenty　years；　and　all　day　he　sits　in　his　trailer　
playing　solitaire　and　smoking　reefers。　He　orders　his　meals　
from　a　short…order　joint　nearby　and　every　day　he　breaks　his　
fast　with'　
Jake　stepped　back　so　that　Singer　could　leave　the　room。　He　
always　hung　back　at　doorways　when　he　was　with　the　mute。　He　
always　followed　and　expected　Singer　to　lead。　As　they　
descended　the　stairs　he　continued　to　talk　with　nervous　
volubility。　He　kept　his　brown；　wide　eyes　on　Singer's　face。　
The　afternoon　was　soft　and　mild。　They　stayed　indoors。　Jake　
had　brought　back　with　them　a　quart　of　whiskey。　He　sat　
brooding　and　silent　on　the　foot　of　the　bed；　leaning　now　and　
then　to　fill　his　glass　from　the　bottle　on　the　floor。　Singer　was　at　
his　table　by　the　window　playing　a　game　of　chess。　Jake　had　
relaxed　somewhat。　He　watched　the　game　of　his　friend　and　felt　
the　mild；　quiet　afternoon　merge　with　the　darkness　of　evening。　
The　firelight　made　dark；　silent　waves　on　the　walls　of　the　room。　
But　at　night　the　tension　came　in　him　again。　Singer　had　put　
away　his　chess　men　and　they　sat　facing　each　other。　
Nervousness　made　Jake's　lips　twitch　raggedly　and　he　drank　to　
soothe　himself。　A　backwash　of　restlessness　and　desire　
overcame　him。　He　drank　down　the　whiskey　and　began　to　talk　
again　to　Singer。　The　words　swelled　with　him　and　gushed　from　
his　mouth。　He　walked　from　the　window　to　the　bed　and　back　
again—again　and　again。　And　at　last　the134　

deluge　of　swollen　words　took　shape　and　he　delivered　them　to　
the　mute　with　drunken　emphasis：　
'The　things　they　have　done　to　us！　The　truths　they　have　turned　
into　lies。　The　ideals　they　have　fouled　and　made　vile。　Take　
Jesus。　He　was　one　of　us。　He　knew。　When　He　said　that　it　is　
harder　for　a　camel　to　pass　through　the　eye　of　a　needle　than　for　
a　rich　man　to　enter　the　kingdom　of　God　—he　damn　well　meant　


just　what　he　said。　But　look　what　the　Church　has　done　to　Jesus　
during　the　last　two　thousand　years。　What　they　have　made　of　
him。　How　they　have　turned　every　word　he　spoke　for　their　own　
vile　ends。　Jesus　would　be　framed　and　in　jail　if　he　was　living　
today。　Jesus　would　be　one　who　really　knows。　Me　and　Jesus　
would　sit　across　the　table　and　I　would　look　at　him　and　he　
would　look　at　me　and　we　would　both　know　that　the　other　
knew。　Me　and　Jesus　and　Karl　Marx　could　all　sit　at　a　table　
and…
'And　look　what　has　happened　to　our　freedom。　The　men　who　
fought　the　American　Revolution　were　no　more　like　these　

D。A。R。　dames　than　I'm　a　pot…bellied；　perfumed　Pekingese　dog。　
They　meant　what　they　said　about　freedom。　They　fought　a　real　
revolution。　They　fought　so　that　this　could　be　a　country　where　
every　man　would　be　free　and　equal。　Huh！　And　that　meant　
every　man　was　equal　in　the　sight　of　Nature—with　an　equal　
chance。　This　didn't　mean　that　twenty　per　cent　of　the　people　
were　free　to　rob　the　other　eighty　per　cent　of　the　means　to　live。　
This　didn't　mean　for　one　rich　man　to　sweat　the　piss　out　of　ten　
thousand　poor　men　so　that　he　can　get　richer。　This　didn't　mean　
the　tyrants　were　free　to　get　this　country　in　such　a　fix　that　
millions　of　people　are　ready　to　do　anything—cheat；　lie；　or　
whack　off　their　right　arm—just　to　work　for　three　squares　and　
a　flop。　They　have　made　the　word　freedom　a　blasphemy。　You　
hear　me？　They　have　made　the　word　freedom　stink　like　a　skunk　
to　all　who　know。'　
The　vein　in　Jake's　forehead　throbbed　wildly。　His　mouth　
worked　convulsively。　Singer　sat　up；　alarmed；　Jake　tried　to　
speak　again　and　the　words　choked　in　his　mouth。　A　shudder　
passed　through　his　body。　He　sat　down　in　the　chair　and　pressed　
his　trembling　lips　with　his　fingers。　Then　he　said　huskily：　
'It's　this　way；　Singer。　Being　mad　is　no　good。　Nothing　we　can　
do　is　any　good。　That's　the　way　it　seems　to　me。　All　we　
。　

135　
can　do　is　go　around　telling　the　truth。　And　as　soon　as　enough　of　
the　don't　knows　have　learned　the　truth　then　there　won't　be　any　
use　for　fighting。　The　only　thing　for　us　to　do　is　let　them　know。　


All　that's　needed。　But　how？　Huh？'　
The　fire　shadows　lapped　against　the　walls。　The　dark；　shadowy　
waves　rose　higher　and　the　room　took　on　motion。　The　room　
rose　and　fell　and　all　balance　was　gone。　Alone　Jake　felt　himself　
sink　downward；　slowly　in　wavelike　motions　downward　into　a　
shadowed　ocean。　In　helplessness　and　terror　he　strained　his　
eyes；　but　he　could　see　nothing　except　the　dark　and　scarlet　
waves　that　roared　hungrily　over　him。　Then　at　last　he　made　out　
the　thing　which　he　sought。　The　mute's　face　was　faint　and　very　
far　away。　Jake　closed　his　eyes。　
The　next　morning　he　awoke　very　late。　Singer　had　been　gone　
for　hours。　There　was　bread；　cheese；　an　orange；　and　a　pot　of　
coffee　on　the　table。　When　he　had　finished　his　breakfast　it　was　
time　for　work。　He　walked　somberly；　his　head　bent；　across　the　
town　toward　his　room。　When　he　reached　the　neighborhood　
where　he　lived　he　passed　through　a　certain　narrow　street　that　
was　flanked　on　one　side　by　a　smoke…blackened　brick　
warehouse。　On　the　wall　of　this　building　there　was　something　
that　vaguely　distracted　him。　He　started　to　walk　on；　and　then　
his　attention　was　suddenly　held。　On　the　wall　a　message　was　
written　in　bright　red　chalk；　the　letters　drawn　thickly　and　
curiously　formed：　

Ye　shall　eat　the　flesh　of　the　mighty；　and　drink　the　blood　of　the　
princes　of　the　earth。　

He　read　the　message　twice　and　looked　anxiously　up　and　down　
the　street。　No　one　was　in　sight。　After　a　few　minutes　of　puzzled　
deliberation　he　took　from　his　pocket　a　thick　red　pencil　and　
wrote　carefully　beneath　the　inscription：　

Whoever　wrote　the　above　meet　me　here　tomorrow　at　noon；　
Wednesday；　November　29。　Or　the　next　day。　

At　twelve　o'clock　the　next　day　he　waited　before　the　wall。　
。
Now　and　then　he　walked　impatiently　to　the　corner　to　look　：　up
and　down　the　streets。　No　one　came。　After　an　hour　he　■　had　to
leave　for　the　show。136


The　next　day　he　waited；　also。
Then　on　Friday　there　was　a　long；　slow　winter　rain。　The　wall
was　sodden　and　the　messages　streaked　so　that　no　word　could
be　read。　The　rain　continued；　gray　and　bitter　and　cold。



ICK；'　Bubber　said。　'I　come　to　believe　we　all　gonna　drown。'　It　
was　true　that　it　like　to　ne