carson mccullers - the heart is a lonely hunter-第39部分

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corn　whirled　inside　the　case　like　giant　flakes　of　snow。　The　


smell　from　the　store　was　warm　and　familiar。　Peanut　hulls　were　
trampled　on　the　floor。　
Singer　passed　on　down　the　street。　He　had　to　weave　his　way　
carefully　in　the　crowds　to　keep　from　being　jostled。　The　streets　
were　strung　with　red　and　green　electric　lights　because　of　the　
holidays。　People　stood　in　laughing　groups　with　their　arms　
about　each　other。　Young　fathers　nursed　cold　and　crying　babies　
on　their　shoulders。　A　Salvation　Army　girl　in　her　red…and…blue　
bonnet　tinkled　a　bell　on　the　corner；　and　when　she　looked　at　
Singer　he　felt　obliged　to　drop　a　coin　into　the　pot　beside　her。　
There　were　beggars；　both　Negro　and　white；　who　held　out　caps　
or　crusty　hands。　The　neon　advertisements　cast　an　orange　glow　
on　the　faces　of　the　crowd。　
He　reached　the　corner　where　he　and　Antonapoulos　had　once　
seen　a　mad　dog　on　an　August　afternoon。　Then　he　passed　the　
room　above　the　Army　and　Navy　Store　where178　

Antonapoulos　had　had　his　picture　taken　every　pay…day。　He　
carried　many　of　the　photographs　in　his　pocket　now。　He　turned　
west　toward　the　river。　Once　they　had　taken　a　picnic　lunch　and　
crossed　the　bridge　and　eaten　in　a　field　on　Hie　other　side。　
Singer　walked　along　the　main　street　for　about　an　hour。　In　all　
the　crowd　he　seemed　the　only　one　alone。　At　last　he　took　out　
his　watch　and　turned　toward　the　house　where　he　lived。　
Perhaps　one　of　the　people　would　come　this　evening　to　his　
room。　He　hoped　so。　
He　mailed　Antonapoulos　a　large　box　of　presents　for　
Christmas。　Also　he　presented　gifts　to　each　of　the　four　people　
and　to　Mrs。　Kelly。　For　all　of　them　together　he　had　bought　a　
radio　and　put　it　on　the　table　by　the　window。　Doctor　Copeland　
did　not　notice　the　radio。　Biff　Brannon　noticed　it　immediately　
and　raised　his　eyebrows。　Jake　Blount　kept　it　turned　on　all　the　
time　he　was　there；　at　the　same　station；　and　as　he　talked　he　
seemed　to　be　shouting　above　the　music；　for　the　veins　stood　out　
on　his　forehead。　Mick　Kelly　did　not　understand　when　she　saw　
the　radio。　Her　face　was　very　red　and　she　asked　him　over　and　
over　if　it　was　really　his　and　whether　she　could　listen。　She　
worked　with　a　dial　for　several　minutes　before　she　got　it　to　the　
place　that　suited　her。　She　sat　leaning　forward　in　her　chair　with　
her　hands　on　her　knees；　her　mouth　open　and　a　pulse　beating　


very　fast　in　her　temple。　She　seemed　to　listen　all　over　to　
whatever　it　was　she　heard。　She　sat　there　the　whole　afternoon；　
and　when　she　grinned　at　him　once　her　eyes　were　wet　and　she　
rubbed　them　with　her　fists。　She　asked　him　if　she　could　come　
in　and　listen　sometimes　when　he　was　at　work　and　he　nodded　
yes。　So　for　the　next　few　days　whenever　he　opened　the　door　he　
found　her　by　the　radio。　Her　hand　raked　through　her　short　
rumpled　hair　and　there　was　a　look　in　her　face　he　had　never　
seen　before。　
One　night　soon　after　Christmas　all　four　of　the　people　chanced　
to　visit　him　at　the　same　time。　This　had　never　happened　before。　
Singer　moved　about　the　room　with　smiles　and　refreshments　
and　did　his　best　in　the　way　of　politeness　to　make　his　guests　
comfortable。　But　something　was　wrong。　
Doctor　Copeland　would　not　sit　down。　He　stood　in　the　

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doorway；　hat　in　hand；　and　only　bowed　coldly　to　the　others。　
They　looked　at　him　as　though　they　wondered　why　he　was　
there。　Jake　Blount　opened　the　beers　he　had　brought　with　him　
and　the　foam　spilled　down　on　his　shirtfront。　Mick　Kelly　
listened　to　the　music　from　the　radio。　Biff　Brannon　sat　on　the　
bed；　his　knees　crossed；　his　eyes　scanning　the　group　before　him　
and　then　becoming　narrow　and　fixed。　
Singer　was　bewildered。　Always　each　of　them　had　so　much　to　
say。　Yet　now　that　they　were　together　they　were　silent。　When　
they　came　in　he　had　expected　an　outburst　of　some　kind。　In　a　
vague　way　he　had　expected　this　to　be　the　end　of　something。　
But　in　the　room　there　was　only　a　feeling　of　strain。　His　hands　
worked　nervously　as　though　they　were　pulling　things　unseen　
from　the　air　and　binding　them　together。　
Jake　Blount　stood　beside　Doctor　Copeland。　'I　know　your　face。　
We　run　into　each　other　once　before—on　the　steps　outside。'　
Doctor　Copeland　moved　his　tongue　precisely　as　though　he　
clipped　out　his　words　with　scissors。　'I　was　not　aware　that　we　
were　acquainted；'　he　said。　Then　his　stiff　body　seemed　to　
shrink。　He　stepped　back　until　he　was　just　outside　the　threshold　
of　the　room。　
Biff　Brannon　smoked　his　cigarette　composedly。　The　smoke　
lay　in　thin　layers　across　the　room。　He　turned　to　Mick　and　


when　he　looked　at　her　a　blush　reddened　his　face。　He　half…
closed　his　eyes　and　in　a　moment　his　face　was　bloodless　once　
more。　'And　how　are　you　getting　on　with　your　business　now？'　
'What　business？'　Mick　asked　suspiciously。　
'Just　the　business　of　living；'　he　said。　'School—and　so　forth。'　
'O。K。；　I　reckon；'　she　said。　
Each　one　of　them　looked　at　Singer　as　though　in　expectation。　
He　was　puzzled。　He　offered　refreshments　and　smiled。　
Jake　rubbed　his　lips　with　the　palm　of　his　hand。　He　left　off　
trying　to　make　conversation　with　Doctor　Copeland　and　sat　
down　on　the　bed　beside　Biff。　'You　know　who　it　is　that　used　to　
write　those　bloody　warnings　in　red　chalk　on　the　fences　and　
walls　around　the　mills？'180　

181　

。No；'　Biff　said。　'What　bloody　warnings？'　
'Mostly　from　the　Old　Testament　I　been　wondering　about　that　for　
a　long　time。'　
Each　person　addressed　his　words　mainly　to　the　mute。　Their　
thoughts　seemed　to　converge　in　him　as　the　spokes　of　a　wheel　lead　
to　the　center　hub。　
The　cold　has　been　very　unusual；'　BifE　said　finally。　The　other　day　
I　was　looking　through　some　old　records　and　I　found　that　in　the　
year　1919　the　thermometer　got　down　to　ten　degrees　Fahrenheit。　
It　was　only　sixteen　degrees　this　morning；　and　that's　the　coldest　
since　the　big　freeze　that　year。'　
There　were　icicles　hanging　off　the　roof　of　the　coal　house　this　
morning；'　Mick　said。　
cWe　didn't　take　in　enough　money　last　week　to　meet　the　payroll；'　
Jake　said。　
They　discussed　the　weather　some　more。　Each　one　seemed　to　be　
waiting　for　the　others　to　go。　Then　on　an　impulse　they　all　rose　to　
leave　at　the　same　time。　Doctor　Cope…land　went　first　and　the　
others　followed　him　immediately。　When　they　were　gone　Singer　
stood　alone　in　the　room；　and　as　he　did　not　understand　the　
situation　he　wanted　to　forget　it　He　decided　to　write　to　
Antonapoulos　that　night　
The　fact　that　Antonapoulos　could　not　read　did　not　prevent　
Singer　from　writing　to　him。　He　had　always　known　that　his　friend　
was　unable　to　make　out　the　meaning　of　words　on　paper；　but　as　
the　months　went　by　he　began　to　imagine　that　perhaps　he　had　
been　mistaken；　that　perhaps　Antonapoulos　only　kept　his　
knowledge　of　letters　a　secret　from　everyone。　Also；　it　was　possible　

there　might　be　a　deaf…mute　at　the　asylum　who　could　read　his　
letters　and　then　explain　them　to　his　friend。　He　thought　of　several　
justifications　for　his　letters；　for　he　always　felt　a　great　need　to　
write　to　his　friend　when　he　was　bewildered　or　sad。　Once　written；　
however；　these　letters　were　never　mailed。　He　cut　out　the　comic　
strips　from　the　morning　and　evening　papers　and　sent　them　to　his　
friend　each　Sunday。　And　every　month　he　mailed　a　postal　money　
order。　But　the　long　letters　he　wrote　to　Antonapoulos　
accumulated　in　his　pockets　until　he　would　destroy　them。　
When　the　four　people　had　gone；　Singer　slipped　on　his　

warm　gray　overcoat　and　his　gray　felt　hat　and　left　his　room。　He　always　
wrote　his　letters　at　the　store。　Also；　he　had　promised　to　deliver　a　
certain　piece　of　work　the　next　morning；　and　he　wanted　to　finish　it　
now　so　that　there　would　be　no　question　of　delay。　The　night　was　sharp　
and　frosty。　The　moon　was　full　and　rimmed　with　a　golden　light。　The　
rooftops　were　black　against　the　starlit　sky。　As　he　walked　he　thought　
of　ways　to　begin　his　letter；　but　he　had　already　reached　the　store　
before　the　first　sentence　was　clear　in　his　mind。　He　let　himself　into　the　
dark　store　with　his　key　and　switched　on　the　front　lights。　
He　worked　at　the　very　end　of　the　store。　A　cloth　curtain　separated　his　
place　from　the　rest　of　the　shop　so　that　it　was　like　a　small　private　
room。　Besides　his　workbench　and　chair　there　was　a　heavy　safe　in　the　
corner；　a　lavatory　with　a　greenish　mirror；　and　shelves　full　of　boxes　
and　worn…out　clocks。　Singer　rolled　up　the　top　of　his　bench　and　
removed　from　its　felt　case　the　silver　platter　he　had　promised　to　have　
ready。　Although　the　store　was　cold　he　took　off　his　coat　and　turned　up　
the　blue…striped　cuffs　of　his　shirt　so　that　they　would　not　get　in　his　
way。　
For　a　long　time　he　worked　at　the　monogram　in　the　center　of　the　
platter。　With　delicate；　concentrated　strokes　he　guided　the　scriver　on　
the　silver。　As　he　worked　his　eyes　had　a　curiously　penetrating　look　of　
hunger。　He　was　thinking　of　his　letter　to　his　friend　Antonapoulos。　
Midnight　had　passed　before　the　work　was　finished。　When　he　put　the　
platter　away　his　forehead　was　damp　with　excitement。　He　cleared　his　
bench　and　began　to　write。　He　loved　to　shape　words　with　a　pen　on　
paper　and　he　formed　the　letters　with　as　much　care　as　if　the　paper　had　
been　a　plate　of　silver。　
My　Only　Friend：　
I　see　from　our　magazine　that　the　Society　meets　this　year　at　a　
convention　in　Macon。　They　will　have　speakers　and　a　four…course　
banquet。　I　imagine　it。　Remember　we　always　planned　to　attend　one　of　
the　conventions　but　we　never　did。　I　wish　now　that　we　had。　I　wish　we　
were　going　to　this　one　and　I　have　imagined　how　it　would　be。　But　of　
course　I　could　never　go　without　you。　They　will　come　from　many　
states　and　they　will　all　be　full　of　words　and　long　dreams　from　the182　


heart。　There　is　also　to　be　a　special　service　at　one　of　the　
churches　and　some　kind　of　a　contest　with　a　gold　medal　for　the　
prize。　I　write　that　I　imagine　all　this。　I　both　do　and　do　not。　My　
hands　have　been　still　so　long　that　it　is　difficult　to　remember　
how　it　is。　And　when　I　imagine　the　convention　I　think　of　all　the　
guests　being　like　you；　my　Friend。　
I　stood　before　our　home　the　other　day。　Other　people　live　in　it　
now。　Do　you　remember　the　big　oak　tree　in　front？　The　
branches　were　cut　back　so　as　not　to　interfere　with　the　
telephone　wires　and　the　tree　died。　The　limbs　are　rotten　and　
there　is　a　hollow　place　in　the　trunk。　Also；　th