carson mccullers - the heart is a lonely hunter-第43部分

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glad　to　leave　the　kitchen　and　take　his　stand　by　the　cash
register　again。
Lucile　and　Baby　came　for　Sunday　dinner。　The　little　Md　was
not　so　good　now。　The　bandage　was　still　on　her　head　and　the
doctor　said　it　could　not　come　off　until　next　month。　The
binding　of　gauze　in　place　of　the　yellow　curls　made　her　head
look　naked。
'Say　hello　to　Uncle　Biff；　Hon；'　Lucile　prompted。
Baby　bridled　fretfully。　'Hello　to　Unca　Biff　Hon；'　she　gassed。
She　put　up　a　struggle　when　Lucile　tried　to　take　off　her　Sunday
coat。　'Now　you　just　behave　yourself；'　Lucile　kept　saying。　〃You
got　to　take　it　off　or　you'll　catch　pneumonia　when　we　go　out
again。。　Now　you　just　behave　yourself。
'
Biff　took　the　situation　in　charge。　He　soothed　Baby　with　a　ball
of　candy　gum　and　eased　the　coat　from　her　shoulders。　Her
dress　had　lost　its　set　in　the　struggle　with　Lucile。　He
straightened　it　so　that　the　yoke　was　in　line　across　her　chest　He
retied　her　sash　and　crushed　the　bow　to　just　the　right　shape
with　his　fingers。　Then　he　patted　Baby　on　her　little　behind。　'We
got　some　strawberry　ice　cream　today；'　he　said。
'Bartholomew；　you'd　make　a　mighty　good　mother。
'
Thanks；'　Biff　said。　That's　a　compliment'
We　just　been　to　Sunday　School　and　church。　Baby；　say　the
verse　from　the　Bible　you　learned　for　your　Uncle　Biff。
'
The　kid　hung　back　and　pouted。　'Jesus　wept；'　she　said　finally。
The　scorn　that　she　put　in　the　two　words　made　it　sound　like　
a
terrible　thing。
'Want　to　see　Louis？'　Biff　asked。　'He's　back　in　the　kitchen。
'
'I　wanna　see　Willie。　I　wanna　hear　WMe　play　the　harp。
'
〃Now；　Baby；　you're　just　trying　yourself；'　Lucile　said　im

patiently。　'You　know　good　and　well　that　Willie's　not　here。
Willie　was　sent　off　to　the　penitentiary。
'
'But　Louis；'　Biff　said。　'He　can　play　the　harp；　too。　Go　tell　him　to
get　the　ice　cream　ready　and　play　you　a　tune。
'
Baby　went　toward　the　kitchen；　dragging　one　heel　on　the　floor。



Lucile　laid　her　hat　on　the　counter。　There　were　tears　in　her　
eyes。　'You　know　I　always　said　this：　If　a　child　is　kept　clean　and　
well　cared　for　and　pretty　then　that　child　will　usually　be　sweet　
and　smart。　But　if　a　child's　dirty　and　ugly　then　you　can't　expect　
anything　much。　What　I'm　trying　to　get　at　is　that　Baby　is　so　
shamed　over　losing　her　hair　and　that　bandage　on　her　head　that　
it　just　seems　like　it　makes　her　cut　the　buck　all　the　time。　She　
won't　practice　her　elocution—she　won't　do　a　thing。　She　feels　
so　bad　I　just　can't　manage　her。'　
'If　you'd　quit　picking　with　her　so　much　she'd　be　all　right。'　
At　last　he　settled　them　in　a　booth　by　the　window。　Lucile　had　a　
special　and　there　was　a　breast　of　chicken　cut　up　fine；　cream　of　
wheat；　and　carrots　for　Baby。　She　played　with　her　food　and　
spilled　milk　on　her　little　frock。　He　sat　with　them　until　the　rush　
started。　Then　he　had　to　be　on　his　feet　to　keep　things　going　
smoothly。　
People　eating。　The　wide…open　mouths　with　the　food　pushed　in。　
What　was　it？　The　line　he　had　read　not　long　ago。　Life　was　only　
a　matter　of　intake　and　alimentation　and　reproduction。　The　
place　was　crowded。　There　was　a　swing　band　on　the　radio。　
Then　the　two　he　was　waiting　for　came　in。　Singer　entered　the　
door　first；　very　straight　and　swank　in　his　tailored　Sunday　suit。　
Blount　followed　along　just　behind　his　elbow。　There　was　
something　about　the　way　they　walked　that　struck　him。　They　
sat　at　their　table；　and　Blount　talked　and　ate　with　gusto　while　
Singer　watched　politely。　When　the　meal　was　finished　they　
stopped　by　the　cash　register　for　a　few　minutes。　Then　as　they　
went　out　he　noticed　again　there　was　something　about　their　
walking　together　that　made　him　pause　and　question　himself。　
What　could　it　be？　The　suddenness　with　which　the　memory　
opened　up　deep　down　in　his　mind　was　a　shock。　The　big　deafmute　moron　whom　Singer　used　to　walk　with　sometimes　on　the　
way　to　work。　The　sloppy　Greek　who　made　candy　for　Charles　
Parker。198　

The　Greek　always　walked　ahead　and　Singer　followed。　He　had　
never　noticed　them　much　because　they　never　came　into　the　
place。　But　why　had　he　not　remembered　this？　Of　all　times　he　
had　wondered　about　the　mute　to　neglect　such　an　angle。　See　
everything　in　the　landscape　except　the　three　waltzing　


elephants。　But　did　it　matter　after　all？　
Biff　narrowed　his　eyes。　How　Singer　had　been　before　was　not　
important。　The　thing　that　mattered　was　the　way　Blount　and　
Mick　made　of　him　a　sort　of　home…made　God。　Owing　to　the　
fact　he　was　a　mute　they　were　able　to　give　him　all　the　qualities　
they　wanted　him　to　have。　Yes。　But　how　could　such　a　strange　
thing　come　about？　And　why？　
A　one…armed　man　came　hi　and　Biff　treated　him　to　a　whiskey　
on　the　house。　But　he　did　not　feel　like　talking　to　anyone。　
Sunday　dinner　was　a　family　meal。　Men　who　drank　beer　by　
themselves　on　weeknights　brought　their　wives　and　little　kids　
with　them　on　Sunday。　The　highchair　they　kept　in　the　back　was　
often　needed。　It　was　two…thirty　and　though　many　tables　were　
occupied　the　meal　was　almost　over。　Biff　had　been　on　his　feet　
for　the　past　four　hours　and　was　tired。　He　used　to　stand　for　
fourteen　or　sixteen　hours　and　not　notice　any　effects　at　all。　But　
now　he　had　aged。　Considerably。　There　was　no　doubt　about　it。　
Or　maybe　matured　was　the　word。　Not　aged—certainly　not—　
yet。　The　waves　of　sound　in　the　room　swelled　and　subsided　
against　his　ears。　Matured。　His　eyes　smarted　and　it　was　as　
though　some　fever　in　him　made　everything　too　bright　and　
sharp。　
He　called　to　one　of　the　waitresses：　'Take　over　for　me　will　you；　
please？　I'm　going　out。'　
The　street　was　empty　because　of　Sunday。　The　sun　shone　
bright　and　clear；　without　warmth。　Biff　held　the　collar　of　his　
coat　close　to　his　neck。　Alone　in　the　street　he　felt　out　of　pocket。　
The　wind　blew　cold　from　the　river。　He　should　turn　back　and　
stay　in　the　restaurant　where　he　belonged。　He　had　no　business　
going　to　the　place　where　he　was　headed。　For　the　past　four　
Sundays　he　had　done　this。　He　had　walked　in　the　neighborhood　
where　he　might　see　Mick。　And　there　was　something　about　it　
that　was—not　quite　right。　Yes。　Wrong。　He　walked　slowly　
down　the　sidewalk　opposite　the　house　

where　she　lived。　Last　Sunday　she　had　been　reading　the　funny　
papers　on　the　front　steps。　But　this　time　as　he　glanced　swiftly　
toward　the　house　he　saw　she　was　not　there。　But　tilted　the　brim　
of　his　felt　hat　down　over　his　eyes。　Perhaps　she　would　come　


into　the　place　later。　Often　on　Sunday　after　supper　she　came　for
a　hot　cocoa　and　stopped　for　a　while　at　the　table　where　Singer
was　sitting。　On　Sunday　she　wore　a　different　outfit　from　the
blue　skirt　and　sweater　she　wore　on　other　days。　Her　Sunday
dress　was　wine…colored　silk　with　a　dingy　lace　collar。　Once　she
had　had　on　stockings—with　runs　in　them。　Always　he　wanted
to　set　her　up　to　something；　to　give　to　her。　And　not　only　
a
sundae　or　some　sweet　to　eat—but　something　real。　That　was　all
he　wanted　for　himself—to　give　to　her。　Biff's　mouth　hardened。
He　had　done　nothing　wrong　but　in　him　he　felt　a　strange　guilt。
Why？　The　dark　guilt　in　all　men；　unreck…oned　and　without　
a
name。
On　the　way　home　Biff　found　a　penny　lying　half　concealed　by
rubbish　in　the　gutter。　Thriftily　he　picked　it　up；　cleaned　the
coin　with　his　handkerchief；　and　dropped　it　into　the　black
pocket　purse；　he　carried。　It　was　four　o'clock　when　he　reached
the　restaurant。　Business　was　stagnant。　There　was　not　a　single
customer　in　the　place。
Business　picked　up　around　five。　The　boy　he　had　recently　hired
to　work　part　time　showed　up　early。　The　boy's　name　was　Harry
Minowitz。　He　lived　in　the　same　neighborhood　with　Mick　and
Baby。　Eleven　applicants　had　answered　the　ad　in　the　paper；　but
Harry　seemed　to　be　best　bet。　He　was　well　developed　for　his
age；　and　neat。　Biff　had　noticed　the　boy's　teeth　while　talking　to
him　during　the　interview。　Teeth　were　always　a　good
indication。　His　were　large　and　very　clean　and　white。　Harry
wore　glasses；　but　that　would　not　matter　in　the　work。　His
mother　made　ten　dollars　a　week　sewing　for　a　tailor　down　the
street；　and　Harry　was　an　only　child。
'Well；'　Biff　said。　'You've　been　with　me　a　week；　Harry。　Think
you're　going　to　like　it？'　'Sure；　sir。　Sure　I　like　it。
'
Biff　turned　the　ring　on　his　finger。　'Let's　see。　What　time　do　you
get　off　from　school？'　〃Three　o'clock；　sir。'200


'Well；　that　gives　you　a　couple　of　hours　for　study　and
recreation。　Then　here　from　six　to　ten。　Does　that　leave　you
enough　time　for　plenty　of　sleep？
'
'Plenty。　I　don't　need　near　that　much。
'
'You　need　about　nine　and　a　half　hours　at　your　age；　son。　Pure；
wholesome　sleep。
'



He　felt　suddenly　embarrassed。　Maybe　Harry　would　think　it　
was　none　of　his　business。　Which　it　wasn't　anyway。　He　started　
to　turn　aside　and　then　thought　of　something。　

。You　go　to　Vocational？'　
Harry　nodded　and　rubbed　his　glasses　on　his　shirtsleeve。　
'Let's　see。　I　know　a　lot　of　girls　and　boys　there。　Alva　Richards　
—I　know　his　father。　And　Maggie　Henry。　And　a　
kid　named　Mick　Kelly'　He　felt　as　though　his　ears　
had　caught　afire。　He　knew　himself　to　be　a　fool。　He　wanted　to　
turn　and　walk　away　and　yet　he　only　stood　there；　smiling　and　
mashing　his　nose　with　his　thumb。　'You　know　her？'　he　asked　
faintly。　
'Sure；　I　live　right　next　door　to　her。　But　in　school　I'm　a　senior　
while　she's　a　freshman。'　
Biff　stored　this　meager　information　neatly　in　his　mind　to　be　
thought　over　later　when　he　was　alone。　'Business　will　be　quiet　
here　for　a　while；'　he　said　hurriedly。　Til　leave　it　with　you。　By　
now　you　know　how　to　handle　things。　Just　watch　any　
customers　drinking　beer　and　remember　how　many　they've　
drunk　so　you　won't　have　to　ask　them　and　depend　on　what　they　
say。　Take　your　time　making　change　and　keep　track　of　what　
goes　on。'　
Biff　shut　himself　in　his　room　downstairs。　This　was　the　place　
where　he　kept　his　files。　The　room　had　only　one　small　window　
and　looked　out　on　the　side　alley；　and　the　air　was　musty　and　
cold。　Huge　stacks　of　newspapers　rose　up　to　the　ceiling。　A　
home…made　filing　case　covered　one　wall。　Near　the　door　there　
was　an　old…fashioned　rocking…chair　and　a　small　table　laid　with　
a　pair　of　shears；　a　dictionary；　and　a　mandolin。　Because　of　the　
piles　of　newspaper　it　was　impossible　to　take　more　than　two　
steps　in　any　direction。　Biff　rocked　himself　in　the　chair　and　
languidly　plucked　the　strings　of　the　mandolin。　His　eyes　c