carson mccullers - the heart is a lonely hunter-第33部分

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out　the　doorway　and　picked　his　nose　with　his　thumb　in　a　
worried　way。　They　were　all　ready　to　pile　in　the　car　and　ride　
toward　the　highway　leading　south。　
'Wait　a　minute；'　Mick　said。　'Even　if　Bubber　is　seven　years　old　
he's　got　brains　enough　not　to　tell　us　where　he's　going　if　he　
wants　to　run　away。　That　about　Florida　is　just　a　trick。'　
'A　trick？'　her　Dad　said。　
'Yeah。　There　only　two　places　Bubber　knows　very　much　about。　
One　is　Florida　and　the　other　is　Atlanta。　Me　and　Bubber　and　
Ralph　have　been　on　the　Atlanta　road　many　a　time。　He　knows　
how　to　start　there　and　that's　where　he's　headed。　He　always　
talks　about　what　he's　going　to　do　when　he　gets　a　chance　to　go　
to　Atlanta。'　
They　went　out　to　the　automobile　again。　She　was　ready　to　
climb　into　the　back　seat　when　Portia　pinched　her　on　the　
elbow。　'You　know　what　Bubber　done？'　she　said　in　a　quiet　
voice。　'Don't　you　tell　nobody　else；　but　my　Bubber　done　also　
taken　my　gold　earrings　off　my　dresser。　I　never　thought　my　
Bubber　would　have　done　such　a　thing　to　me。'　
Mister　Brannon　started　the　automobile。　They　rode　slow；　
looking　up　and　down　the　streets　for　Bubber；　headed　toward　
the　Atlanta　road。　
It　was　true　that　in　Bubber　there　was　a　tough；　mean　streak。　He　
was　acting　different　today　than　he　had　ever　acted　before。　Up　
until　now　he　was　always　a　quiet　little　kid　who　never　really　
done　anything　mean。　When　anybody's　

feelings　were　hurt　it　always　made　him　ashamed　and　nervous。　


Then　how　come　he　could　do　all　the　things　he　had　done　today？　
They　drove　very　slow　out　the　Atlanta　road。　They　passed　the　
last　line　of　houses　and　came　to　the　dark　fields　and　woods。　All　
along　they　had　stopped　to　ask　if　anyone　had　seen　Bubber。　'Has　
a　little　barefooted　kid　in　corduroy　knickers　been　by　this　way？'　
But　even　after　they　had　gone　about　ten　miles　nobody　had　seen　
or　noticed　him。　The　wind　came　in　cold　and　strong　from　the　
open　windows　and　it　was　late　at　night。　
They　rode　a　little　farther　and　then　went　back　toward　town。　Her　
Dad　and　Mister　Brannon　wanted　to　look　up　all　the　children　in　
the　second　grade；　but　she　made　them　turn　around　and　go　back　
on　the　Atlanta　road　again。　All　the　while　she　remembered　the　
words　she　had　said　to　Bubber。　About　Baby　being　dead　and　
Sing　Sing　and　Warden　Lawes。　About　the　small　electric　chairs　
that　were　just　his　size；　and　Hell。　In　the　dark　the　words　had　
sounded　terrible。　
They　rode　very　slow　for　about　half　a　mile　out　of　town；　and　
then　suddenly　she　saw　Bubber。　The　lights　of　the　car　showed　
him　up　in　front　of　them　very　plain。　It　was　funny。　He　was　
walking　along　the　edge　of　the　road　and　he　had　his　thumb　out　
trying　to　get　a　ride。　Portia's　butcher　knife　was　stuck　in　his　belt；　
and　on　the　wide；　dark　road　he　looked　so　small　that　it　was　like　
he　was　five　years　old　instead　of　seven。　
They　stopped　the　automobile　and　he　ran　to　get　in。　He　couldn't　
see　who　they　were；　and　his　face　had　the　squint…eyed　look　it　
always　had　when　he　took　aim　with　a　marble。　Her　Dad　held　
him　by　the　collar。　He　hit　with　his　fists　and　kicked。　Then　he　
had　the　butcher　knife　in　his　hand。　Their　Dad　yanked　it　away　
from　him　just　in　time。　He　fought　like　a　little　tiger　in　a　trap；　but　
finally　they　got　him　into　the　car。　Their　Dad　held　him　in　his　lap　
on　the　way　home　and　Bubber　sat　very　stiff；　not　leaning　against　
anything。　
They　had　to　drag　him　into　the　house；　and　all　the　neighbors　and　
the　boarders　were　out　to　see　the　commotion。　They　dragged　
him　into　the　front　room　and　when　he　was　there　he　backed　off　
into　a　corner；　holding　his　fists　very　tight　and　with　his　squinted　
eyes　looking　from　one　person　to　the　other　Like　he　was　ready　
to　fight　the　whole　crowd。　
He　hadn't　said　one　word　since　they　came　into　the　house152　


until　he　began　to　scream：　〃Mick　done　it！　I　didn't　do　it　Mick　
done　it！'　
There　were　never　any　kind　of　yells　like　the　ones　Bub…ber　
made。　The　veins　in　his　neck　stood　out　and　his　fists　were　hard　
as　little　rocks。　
'You　can't　get　me！　Nobody　can　get　me！'　he　kept　yelling。　
Mick　shook　him　by　the　shoulder。　She　told　him　the　things　she　
had　said　were　stories。　He　finally　knew　what　she　was　saying　
but　he　wouldn't　hush。　It　looked　like　nothing　could　stop　that　
screaming。　
'I　hate　everybody！　I　hate　everybody！'　
They　all　just　stood　around。　Mister　Brannon　rubbed　his　nose　
and　looked　down　at　the　floor。　Then　finally　he　went　out　very　
quietly。　Mister　Singer　was　the　only　one　who　seemed　to　know　
what　it　was　all　about。　Maybe　this　was　because　he　didn't　hear　
that　awful　noise。　His　face　was　still　calm；　and　whenever　
Bubber　looked　at　him　he　seemed　to　get　quieter。　Mister　Singer　
was　different　from　any　other　man；　and　at　times　like　this　it　
would　be　better　if　other　people　would　let　him　manage。　He　had　
more　sense　and　he　knew　things　that　ordinary　people　couldn't　
know。　He　just　looked　at　Bubber；　and　after　a　while　the　kid　
quieted　down　enough　so　that　their　Dad　could　get　him　to　bed。　
In　the　bed　he　lay　on　his　face　and　cried。　He　cried　with　long；　big　
sobs　that　made　him　tremble　all　over。　He　cried　for　an　hour　and　
nobody　in　the　three　rooms　could　sleep。　Bill　moved　to　the　
living…room　sofa　and　Mick　got　into　bed　with　Bubber。　He　
wouldn't　let　her　touch　him　or　snug　up　to　him。　Then　after　
another　hour　of　crying　and　hiccoughing　he　went　to　sleep。　
She　was　awake　a　long　time。　In　the　dark　she　put　her　arms　
around　him　and　held　him　very　close。　She　touched　him　all　over　
and　kissed　him　everywhere。　He　was　so　soft　and　little　and　there　
was　this　salty；　boy　smell　about　him。　The　love　she　felt　was　so　
hard　that　she　had　to　squeeze　him　to　her　until　her　arms　were　
tired。　In　her　mind　she　thought　about　Bubber　and　music　
together。　It　was　like　she　could　never　do　anything　good　enough　
for　him。　She　would　never　hit　him　or　even　tease　him　again。　She　
slept　all　night　with　her　arms　around　his　head。　Then　in　the　
morning　when　she　woke　up　he　was　gone。　But　after　that　night　
there　was　not　much　of　a　chance　for　


her　to　tease　him　any　more—her　or　anybody　else。　After　he　shot　
Baby　the　kid　was　not　ever　like　little　Bubber　again。　He　always　
kept　his　mouth　shut　and　he　didn't　fool　around　with　anybody。　
Most　of　the　time　he　just　sat　in　the　back　yard　or　in　the　coal　
house　by　himself。　It　got　closer　and　closer　toward　Christmas　
time。　She　really　wanted　a　piano；　but　naturally　she　didn't　say　
anything　about　that。　She　told　everybody　she　wanted　a　Micky　
Mouse　watch。　When　they　asked　Bubber　what　he　wanted　from　
Santa　Claus　he　said　he　didn't　want　anything。　He　hid　his　
marbles　and　jack…knife　and　wouldn't　let　anyone　touch　his　story　
books。　
After　that　night　nobody　called　him　Bubber　any　more。　The　big　
kids　in　the　neighborhood　started　calling　him　Baby…Killer　
Kelly。　But　he　didn't　speak　much　to　any　person　and　nothing　
seemed　to　bother　him。　The　family　called　him　by　his　real　name　
—George。　At　first　Mick　couldn't　stop　calling　him　Bubber　and　
she　didn't　want　to　stop。　But　it　was　funny　how　after　about　a　
week　she　just　naturally　called　him　George　like　the　others　did。　
But　he　was　a　different　kid—　George—going　around　by　
himself　always　like　a　person　much　older　and　with　nobody；　not　
even　her；　knowing　what　was　really　in　his　mind。　
She　slept　with　him　on　Christmas　Eve　night。　He　lay　in　the　dark　
without　talking。　'Quit　acting　so　peculiar；'　she　said　to　him。　'Less　
talk　about　the　wise　men　and　the　way　the　children　in　Holland　
put　out　their　wooden　shoes　instead　of　hanging　up　their　
stockings。'　
George　wouldn't　answer。　He　went　to　sleep。　
She　got　up　at　four　o'clock　in　the　morning　and　waked　
everybody　in　the　family。　Their　Dad　built　a　fire　in　the　front　
room　and　then　let　them　go　into　the　Christmas　tree　and　see　
what　they　got。　George　had　an　Indian　suit　and　Ralph　a　rubber　
doll。　The　rest　of　the　family　just　got　clothes。　She　looked　all　
through　her　stocking　for　the　Mickey　Mouse　watch　but　it　
wasn't　there。　Her　presents　were　a　pair　of　brown　Oxford　shoes　
and　a　box　of　cherry　candy。　While　it　was　still　dark　she　and　
George　went　out　on　the　sidewalk　and　cracked　nigger…toes　and　
shot　firecrackers　and　ate　up　the　whole　two…layer　box　of　cherry　
candy。　And　by　the　time　it　was　daylight　they　were　sick　to　the　
stomach　and　tired　out。　She　lay　down　on　die　sofa。　She　shut　her　
eyes　and　went　into　the　inside　room。154　


EIGHT　o'clock　Doctor　Copeland　sat　at　his　desk；　studying　a　
sheaf　of　papers　by　the　bleak　morning　light　from　the　window。　
Beside　him　the　tree；　a　thick…fringed　cedar；　rose　up　dark　and　
green　to　the　ceiling。　Since　the　first　year　he　began　to　practice　
he　had　given　an　annual　party　on　Christmas　Day；　and　now　all　
was　in　readiness。　Rows　of　benches　and　chairs　lined　the　walls　
of　the　front　rooms。　Throughout　the　house　there　was　the　sweet　
spiced　odor　of　newly　baked　cake　and　steaming　coffee。　In　the　
office　with　him　Portia　sat　on　a　bench　against　the　wall；　her　
hands　cupped　beneath　her　chin；　her　body　bent　almost　double。　
'Father；　you　been　scrouched　over　the　desk　since　five　o'clock。　
You　got　no　business　to　be　up。　You　ought　to　stayed　in　bed　until　
time　for　the　to…do。'　
Doctor　Copeland　moistened　his　thick　lips　with　his　tongue。　So　
much　was　on　his　mind　that　he　had　no　attention　to　give　to　
Portia。　Her　presence　fretted　him。　
At　last　he　turned　to　her　irritably。　'Why　do　you　sit　there　
moping？'　
'I　just　got　worries；'　she　said。　'For　one　thing；　I　worried　about　our　
Willie。'　
'William？'　
'You　see　he　been　writing　me　regular　ever　Sunday。　The　letter　
will　get　here　on　Monday　or　Tuesday。　But　last　week　he　didn't　
write。　Course　I　not　really　anxious。　Willie—he　always　so　good…
natured　and　sweet　I　know　he　going　to　be　all　right。　He　been　
transferred　from　the　prison　to　the　chain　gang　and　they　going　to　
work　up　somewhere　north　of　Atlanta。　Two　weeks　ago　he　
wrote　this　here　letter　to　say　they　going　to　attend　a　church　
service　today；　and　he　done　asked　me　to　send　him　his　suit　of　
clothes　and　his　red　tie。'　
。Is　that　all　William　said？'　
'He　written　that　this　Mr。　B。　F。　Mason　is　at　the　prison；　too。　And　
that　he　run　into　Buster　Johnson—he　a　boy　Willie　used　to　
know。　And　also　he　done　asked　me　to　please　send　him　his　harp　
because　he　can't　be　happy　without　he　got　his　harp　to　play　on。　I　
done　sent　everthing。　Also　a　checker　set　and　a　white…iced　cake。　
But　I　sure　hope　I　hears　from　him　in　the　next　few　days。'　

155　


Doct