carson mccullers - the heart is a lonely hunter-第7部分

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would　leave　and　the　kids　would　have　to　find　another　place　to　
play。　
She　was　by　herself。　No　one　was　around　and　it　was　quiet　and　
she　could　think　for　a　while。　She　took　from　the　pocket　of　her　
shorts　the　package　of　cigarettes　she　had　bought　the　night　
before。　She　breathed　in　the　smoke　slowly。　The　cigarette　gave　her　a　drunk　feeling　so　that　her　head　seemed　heavy　
and　loose　on　her　shoulders；　but　she　had　to　finish　it。　
M。K。—That　was　what　she　would　have　written　on　everything　
when　she　was　seventeen　years　old　and　very　famous。　She　
would　ride　back　home　in　a　red…and…white　Packard　automobile　
with　her　initials　on　the　doors。　She　would　have　M。K。　written　in　
red　on　her　handkerchiefs　and　underclothes。　Maybe　she　would　
be　a　great　inventor。　She　would　invent　little　tiny　radios　the　size　
of　a　green　pea　that　people　could　carry　around　and　stick　in　their　
ears。　Also　flying　machines　people　could　fasten　on　their　backs　
like　knapsacks　and　go　zipping　all　over　the　world。　After　that　
she　would　be　the　first　one　to　make　a　large　tunnel　through　the　
world　to　China；　and　people　could　go　down　in　big　balloons。　
Those　were　the　first　tilings　she　would　invent　They　were　
already　planned。　
When　Mick　had　finished　half　of　the　cigarette　she　smashed　it　
dead　and　flipped　the　butt　down　the　slant　of　the　roof。　Then　she　
leaned　forward　so　that　her　head　rested　on　her　arms　and　began　
to　hum　to　herself。　
It　was　a　funny　thing—but　nearly　all　the　time　there　was　some　
kind　of　piano　piece　or　other　music　going　on　in　the　back　of　her　
mind。　No　matter　what　she　was　doing　or　thinking　it　was　nearly　
always　there。　Miss　Brown；　who　boarded　with　them；　had　a　
radio　in　her　room；　and　all　last　winter　she　would　sit　on　the　
steps　every　Sunday　afternoon　and　listen　in　on　the　programs。　
Those　were　probably　classical　pieces；　but　they　were　the　ones　
she　remembered　best。　There　was　one　special　fellow's　music　
that　made　her　heart　shrink　up　every　time　she　heard　it。　
Sometimes　this　feEow's　music　was　like　little　colored　pieces　of　
crystal　candy；　and　other　times　it　was　the　softest；　saddest　thing　
she　had　ever　imagined　about。　
There　was　the　sudden　sound　of　crying。　Mick　sat　up　straight　


and　listened　The　wind　ruffled　the　fringe　of　hair　on　her　
forehead　and　the　bright　sun　made　her　face　white　and　damp。　
The　whimpering　continued；　and　Mick　moved　slowly　along　the　
sharp…pointed　roof　on　her　hands　and　knees。　When　she　reached　
the　end　she　leaned　forward　and　lay　on　her　stomach　so　that　her　
head　jutted　over　the　edge　and　she　could　see　the　ground　below。　
The　kids　were　where　she　had　left　them。　Bubber　was30　

squatting　over　something　on　the　ground　and　beside　him　was　a　
little　black；　dwarf　shadow。　Ralph　was　still　tied　in　the　wagon。　
He　was　just　old　enough　to　sit　up；　and　he　held　on　to　the　sides　of　
the　wagon；　with　his　cap　crooked　on　his　head；　crying。　
'Bubber！'　Mick　called　down。　'Find　out　what　that　Ralph　wants　
and　give　it　to　him。'　
Bubber　stood　up　and　looked　hard　into　the　baby's　face。　'He　
don't　want　nothing。'　
'Well；　give　him　a　good　shake；　then。'　
Mick　climbed　back　to　the　place　where　she　had　been　sitting　
before。　She　wanted　to　think　for　a　long　time　about　two　or　three　
certain　people；　to　sing　to　herself；　and　to　make　plans。　But　that　
Ralph　was　still　hollering　and　there　wouldn't　be　any　peace　for　
her　at　all。　
Boldly　she　began　to　climb　down　toward　the　ladder　propped　
against　the　edge　of　the　roof。　The　slant　was　very　steep　and　
there　were　only　a　few　blocks　of　wood　nailed　down；　very　far　
apart　from　each　other；　that　the　workmen　used　for　footholds。　
She　was　dizzy；　and　her　heart　beat　so　hard　it　made　her　tremble。　
Commandingly　she　talked　out　loud　to　herself：　'Hold　on　here　
with　your　hands　tight　and　then　slide　down　until　your　right　toe　
gets　a　grip　there　and　then　stay　close　and　wiggle　over　to　the　
left。　Nerve；　Mick；　you've　got　to　keep　nerve。'　
Coming　down　was　the　hardest　part　of　any　climbing。　It　took　her　
a　long　time　to　reach　the　ladder　and　to　feel　safe　again。　When　
she　stood　on　the　ground　at　last　she　seemed　much　shorter　and　
smaller　and　her　legs　felt　for　a　minute　like　they　would　crumple　
up　with　her。　She　hitched　her　shorts　and　jerked　the　belt　a　notch　
tighter。　Ralph　was　still　crying；　but　she　paid　the　sound　no　
attention　and　went　into　the　new；　empty　house。　
Last　month　they　had　put　a　sign　out　in　front　saying　that　no　
children　were　allowed　on　the　lot。　A　gang　of　kids　had　been　


scuffling　around　inside　the　rooms　one　night；　and　a　girl　who　
couldn't　see　in　the　dark　had　run　into　a　room　that　hadn't　been　
floored　and　fallen　through　and　broken　her　leg。　She　was　still　at　
the　hospital　in　a　plaster　parish　cast。　Also；　another　time　some　
tough　boys　wee…weed　all　over　one　of　the　walls　and　wrote　
some　pretty　bad　words。　But　no　matter　how　many　Keep　Out　
signs　were　put　up；　they　couldn't　run

　31


kids　away　until　the　house　had　been　painted　and　finished　and　
people　had　moved　in。　
The　rooms　smelled　of　new　wood；　and　when　she　walked　the　
soles　of　her　tennis　shoes　made　a　flopping　sound　that　echoed　
through　all　the　house。　The　air　was　hot　and　quiet。　She　stood　
still　in　the　middle　of　the　front　room　for　a　while；　and　then　she　
suddenly　thought　of　something。　She　fished　in　her　pocket　and　
brought　out　two　stubs　of　chalk—one　green　and　the　other　red。　
Mick　drew　the　big　block　letters　very　slowly。　At　the　top　she　
wrote　EDISON；　and　under　that　she　drew　the　names　of　DICK　
TRACY　and　MUSSOLINI。　Then　in　each　corner　with　the　
largest　letters　of　all；　made　with　green　and　outlined　in　red；　she　
wrote　her　initials—M。K。　When　that　was　done　she　crossed　
over　to　the　opposite　wall　and　wrote　a　very　bad　word—　
PUSSY；　and　beneath　that　she　put　her　initials；　too。　
She　stood　in　the　middle　of　the　empty　room　and　stared　at　what　
she　had　done。　The　chalk　was　still　in　her　hands　and　she　did　not　
feel　really　satisfied。　She　was　trying　to　think　of　the　name　of　
this　fellow　who　had　written　this　music　she　heard　over　the　
radio　last　whiter。　She　had　asked　a　girl　at　school　who　owned　a　
piano　and　took　music　lessons　about　him；　and　the　girl　asked　her　
teacher。　It　seemed　this　fellow　was　just　a　kid　who　had　lived　in　
some　country　in　Europe　a　good　while　ago。　But　even　if　he　was　
just　a　young　kid　he　had　made　up　all　these　beautiful　pieces　for　
the　piano　and　for　the　violin　and　for　a　band　or　orchestra　too。　In　
her　mind　she　could　remember　about　six　different　tunes　from　
the　pieces　of　his　she　had　heard。　A　few　of　them　were　kind　of　
quick　and　tinkling；　and　another　was　like　that　smell　in　the　
springtime　after　a　rain。　But　they　all　made　her　somehow　sad　
and　excited　at　the　same　time。　
She　hummed　one　of　the　tunes；　and　after　a　while　in　the　hot；　
empty　house　by　herself　she　felt　the　tears　come　in　her　eyes。　Her　


throat　got　tight　and　rough　and　she　couldn't　sing　any　more。　
Quickly　she　wrote　the　fellow's　name　at　the　very　top　of　the　list　
—MOTSART。　
Ralph　was　tied　in　the　wagon　just　as　she　had　left　him。　He　sat　up　
quiet　and　still　and　his　fat　little　hands　held　on　to　the　sides。　
Ralph　looked　like　a　little　Chinese　baby　with　his　square　black　
bangs　and　bis　black　eyes。　The　sun　was　in　his32　

face；　and　that　was　why　he　had　been　hollering。　Bubber　was　
nowhere　around。　When　Ralph　saw　her　coming　he　began　
tuning　up　to　cry　again。　She　pulled　the　wagon　into　the　shade　by　
the　side　of　the　new　house　and　took　from　her　shirt　pocket　a　
blue…colored　jelly　bean。　She　stuck　the　candy　in　the　baby's　
warm；　soft　mouth。　
'Put　that　in　your　pipe　and　smoke　it；'　she　said　to　him。　In　a　way　it　
was　a　waste；　because　Ralph　was　still　too　little　to　get　the　real　
good　flavor　out　of　candy。　A　clean　rock　would　be　about　the　
same　to　him；　only　the　little　fool　would　swallow　it。　He　didn't　
understand　any　more　about　taste　than　he　did　about　talking。　
When　you　said　you　were　so　sick　and　tired　of　dragging　him　
around　you　had　a　good　mind　to　throw　him　in　the　river；　it　was　
the　same　to　him　as　if　you　had　been　loving　him。　Nothing　much　
made　any　difference　to　him。　That　was　why　it　was　such　an　
awful　bore　to　haul　him　around。　
Mick　cupped　her　hands；　clamped　them　tight　together；　and　
blew　through　the　crack　between　her　thumbs。　Her　cheeks　
puffed　out　and　at　first　there　was　only　the　sound　of　air　rushing　
through　her　fists。　Then　a　high；　shrill　whistle　sounded；　and　
after　a　few　seconds　Bubber　came　out　from　around　the　corner　
of　the　house。　
She　rumpled　the　sawdust　out　of　Bubber's　hair　and　straightened　
Ralph's　cap。　This　cap　was　the　finest　thing　Ralph　had。　It　was　
made　out　of　lace　and　all　embroidered。　The　ribbon　under　bis　
chin　was　blue　on　one　side　and　white　on　the　other；　and　over　
each　ear　there　were　big　rosettes。　His　head　had　got　too　big　for　
the　cap　and　the　embroidery　scratched；　but　she　always　put　it　on　
him　when　she　took　him　out。　Ralph　didn't　have　any　real　baby　
carriage　like　most　folks'　babies　did；　or　any　summer　bootees。　
He　had　to　be　dragged　around　in　a　tacky　old　wagon　she　had　got　
for　Christmas　three　years　before。　But　the　fine　cap　gave　him　


face。
There　was　nobody　on　the　street；　for　it　was　late　Sunday
morning　and　very　hot。　The　wagon　screeched　and　rattled。
Bubber　was　barefooted　and　the　sidewalk　was　so　hot　it　burned
his　feet。　The　green　oak　trees　made　cool…looking　black　shadows
on　the　ground；　but　that　was　not　shade　enough。


'Get　up　in　the　wagon；'　she　told　Bubber。　'And　let　Ralph　sit　in
your　lap。
'
'I　can　walk　all　right。
'
The　long　summer…time　always　gave　Bubber　the　colic。　He
didn't　have　on　a　shirt　and　his　ribs　were　sharp　and　white。　The
sun　made　him　pale　instead　of　brown；　and　his　little　titties　were
like　blue　raisins　on　his　chest。
'I　don't　mind　pulling　you；'　Mick　said。　'Get　on　in。
'
*O。K。
'
Mick　dragged　the　wagon　slowly　because　she　was　not　in　any
hurry　to　get　home。　She　began　talking　to　the　kids。　But　it　was
really　more　like　saying　things　to　herself　than　words　said　to
them。
'This　is　a　funny　thing—the　dreams　I've　been　having　lately。　It's
like　I'm　swimming。　But　instead　of　water　I'm　pushing　out　my
arms　and　swimming　through　great　big　crowds　of　people。　The
crowd　is　a　hundred　times　bigger　than　in　Kresses'　store　on
Saturday　afternoon。　The　biggest　crowd　in　the　world。　And
sometimes　I'm　yelling　and　swimming　through　people；
knocking　them　all　down　wherever　I　go—　and　other　times　Fm
on　the　ground　and　people　are　trompling　all　ov