高山上的呼喊-go tell it on the mountain-第5部分

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　　“Speak　up；　John；’　said　the　teacher；　gently。
　　On　the　edge　of　tears；　he　mumbled　his　name　and　waited。　The　principal；　a　woman　with　whitehair　and　an　iron　face；　looked　down　at　him。
　　‘You’re　a　very　bright　boy；　John　Grimes；’　she　said。　‘Keep　up　the　good　work。’
　　Then　she　walked　out　of　the　room。
　　That　moment　gave　him；　from　that　time　on；　if　not　a　weapon　at　least　a　shield；　he　apprehendedtotally；　without　belief　or　understanding；　that　he　had　in　himself　a　power　that　other　people　lacked；that　he　could　use　this　to　save　himself；　to　raise　himself；　and　that；　perhaps；　with　this　power　he　mightone　day　win　that　love　which　he　so　longed　for。　This　was　not；　in　John；　a　faith　subject　to　death　oralteration；　nor　yet　a　hope　subject　to　destruction；　it　was　his　identity；　and　part；　therefore；　of　thatwickedness　for　which　his　father　beat　him　and　to　which　he　clung　in　order　to　withstand　his　father。
　　His　father’s　arm；　rising　and　falling；　might　make　him　cry；　and　that　voice　might　cause　him　totremble；　yet　his　father　could　never　be　entirely　the　victor；　for　John　cherished　something　that　hisfather　could　not　reach。　It　was　his　hatred　and　his　intelligence　that　he　cherished；　the　one　feeding　theother。　He　lived　for　the　day　when　his　father　would　be　dying　and　he；　John；　would　curse　him　on　hisdeath…bed。　And　this　was　why；　though　he　had　been　born　in　faith　and　had　been　surrounded　all　his　lifeby　the　saints　and　by　their　prayers　and　their　rejoicing；　and　though　the　tabernacle　in　which　theyworshipped　was　more　pletely　real　to　him　that　the　several　precarious　homes　in　which　he　and　hisfamily　had　lived；　John’s　heart　was　hardened　against　the　Lord。　His　father　was　God’s　minister；　theambassador　of　the　King　of　Heaven；　and　John　could　not　bow　before　the　throne　of　grace　without　firstkneeling　to　his　father。　On　his　refusal　to　do　this　had　his　life　depended；　and　John’s　secret　heart　hadflourished　in　its　wickedness　until　the　day　his　sin　first　overtook　him。
　　In　the　midst　of　all　his　wonderings　he　fell　asleep　again；　and　when　he　woke　up　this　time　and　got　outof　bed　his　father　had　gone　to　the　factory；　where　he　would　work　for　half　a　day。　Roy　was　sitting　inthe　kitchen；　quarrelling　with　their　mother。　The　baby；　Ruth；　sat　in　her　high　chair　banging　on　the　traywith　an　oatmeal…covered　spoon。　This　meant　that　she　was　in　a　good　mood；　she　would　not　spend　theday　howling；　for　reasons　known　only　to　herself；　allowing　no　one　but　her　mother　to　touch　her。
　　Sarah　was　quiet；　not　chattering　to…day；　or　at　any　rate　not　yet；　and　stood　near　the　stove；　arms　folded；staring　at　Roy　with　the　flat　black　eyes；　her　father’s　eyes；　that　made　her　look　so　old。
　　　Their　mother；　her　head　tied　up　in　an　old　rag；　sipped　black　coffee　and　watched　Roy。　Thepale　end…of…winter　sunlight　filled　the　room　and　yellowed　all　their　faces；　and　John；　drugged　andmorbid　and　wondering　how　it　was　that　he　had　slept　again　and　had　been　allowed　to　sleep　so　long；saw　them　for　a　moment　like　figures　on　a　screen；　an　effect　that　the　yellow　light　intensified。　Theroom　was　narrow　and　dirty；　nothing　could　alter　its　dimensions；　no　labor　could　ever　make　it　clean。
　　Dirt　was　in　the　walls　and　the　floorboards；　and　triumphed　beneath　the　sink　where　the　cockroachesspawned；　was　in　the　fine　ridges　of　the　pots　and　pans；　scoured　daily；　burnt　black　on　the　bottom；hanging　above　the　stove；　was　in　the　wall　against　which　they　hung；　and　revealed　itself　where　thepaint　had　cracked　and　leaned　outents；　the　paper…thin　undersidewebbed　with　black。　Dirt　was　in　every　corner；　angle；　crevice　of　the　monstrous　stove；　and　livedbehind　it　in　delirious　munion　with　the　corrupted　wall。　Dirt　was　in　the　baseboard　that　Johnscrubbed　every　Sunday；　and　roughened　the　cupboard　shelves　that　held　the　cracked　and　gleamingdishes。　Under　this　dark　weight　the　walls　leaned；　under　it　the　ceiling；　with　a　great　crack　likelightning　in　its　center；　sagged。　The　windows　gleamed　like　beaten　gold　or　silver；　but　now　John　saw；in　the　yellow　light；　how　fine　dust　veiled　their　doubtful　glory。　Dirt　crawled　in　the　gray　mop　hungout　of　the　windows　to　dry。　John　thought　with　shame　and　horror；　yet　in　angry　hardness　of　heart：　Hewho　is　filthy；　let　him　be　filthy　still。　Then　he　looked　at　his　mother；　seeing；　as　though　she　weresomeone　else；　the　dark；　hard　lines　running　downward　from　her　eyes；　and　the　deep；　perpetual　scowlin　her　forehead；　and　the　downturned；　tightened　mouth；　and　the　strong；　thin；　brown；　and　bonyhands；　and　the　phrase　turned　against　him　like　a　two…edged　sword；　for　was　it　not　he；　in　his　falsepride　and　his　evil　imagination；　who　was　filthy？　Through　a　storm　of　tears　that　did　not　reach　hiseyes；　he　stared　at　the　yellow　room；　and　the　room　shifted；　the　light　of　the　sun　darkened；　and　hismother’s　face　changed。　He　face　became　the　face　that　he　gave　her　in　his　dreams；　the　face　that　hadbeen　hers　in　a　photograph　he　had　seen　once；　long　ago；　a　photograph　taken　before　he　was　born。　Thisface　was　young　and　proud；　uplifted；　with　a　smile　that　made　the　wide　mouth　beautiful　and　glowedin　the　enormous　eyes。　It　was　the　face　of　a　girl　who　knew　that　no　evikl　could　undo　her；　and　whocould　laugh；　surely；　as　his　mother　did　not　laugh　now。　Between　the　two　faces　there　stretched　adarkness　and　a　mystery　that　John　feared；　and　that　sometimes　caused　him　to　hate　her。
　　Now　she　saw　him　and　she　asked；　breaking　off　her　conversation　with　Roy：　‘You　hungry；little　sleepyhead？’
　　‘Well！　About　time　you　was　getting　up；’　said　Sarah。
　　He　moved　to　the　table　and　sat　down；　feeling　the　most　bewildering　panic　of　his　life；　a　needto　touch　things；　the　table　and　chairs　and　the　walls　of　the　room；　to　make　certain　that　the　roomexisted　and　that　he　was　in　the　room。　He　did　not　look　at　his　mother；　who　stood　up　and　went　to　thestove　to　heat　his　breakfast。　But　he　asked；　in　order　to　say　something　to　her；　and　to　hear　his　ownvoice：
　　‘What　we　got　for　breakfast？’
　　He　realized；　with　some　shame；　that　he　was　hoping　she　had　prepared　a　special　breakfast　forhim　on　his　birthday。
　　‘What　you　think　we　got　for　breakfast？’　Roy　asked　scornfully。　‘You　got　a　special　cravingfor　something？’
　　　John　looked　at　him。　Roy　was　not　in　a　good　mood。
　　‘I　ain’t　said　nothing　to　you；’　he　said。
　　‘Oh；　I　beg　your　pardon；’　said　Roy；　in　the　shrill；　little…girl　tone　he　knew　John　hated。
　　‘What’s　the　matter　with　you　to…day？’　John　asked；　angry；　and　trying　at　the　same　time　to　lendhis　voice　as　husky　a　pitch　as　possible。
　　‘Don’t　you　let　Roy　bother　you；’　said　their　mother。　‘He　cross　as　two　sticks　this　morning。’
　　‘Yeah；’　said　John；　‘I　reckon。’　He　and　Roy　watched　each　other。　Then　his　plate　was　putbefore　him：　hominy　grits　and　a　scrap　of　bacon。　He　wanted　to　cry；　like　a　child：　‘But；　Mama；　it’s　mybirthday！’　He　kept　his　eyes　on　his　plate　and　began　to　eat。
　　‘You　can　talk　about　your　Daddy　all　you　want　to；’　said　his　mother；　picking　up　her　battlewith　Roy；　‘but　one　thing　you　can’t　say—you　can’t　say　he　ain’t　always　done　his　best　to　be　a　fatherto　you　and　to　see　to　it　that　you　ain’t　never　gone　hungry。’
　　‘I　been　hungry　plenty　of　times；’　Roy　said；　proud　to　be　able　to　score　this　point　against　hismother。
　　‘Wasn’t　his　fault；　then。　Wasn’t　because　he　wasn’t　trying　to　feed　you。　Than　man　shoveledsnow　in　zero　weather　when　he　ought’ve　been　in　bed　just　to　put　food　in　your　belly。’
　　‘Wasn’t　just　my　belly；’　said　Roy　indignantly。　‘He　got　a　belly；　too；　I　know—it’s　a　shame　theway　that　man　eats。　I　sure　ain’t　asked　him　to　shovel　no　snow　for　me。’　But　he　dropped　his　eyes；suspecting　a　flaw　in　his　argument。　‘I　just　don’t　want　him　beating　on　me　all　the　time；’　he　said　atlast。　‘I　ain’t　no　dog。’
　　She　sighed；　and　turned　slightly　away；　looking　out　of　the　window。　‘Your　Daddy　beats　you；’
　　she　said；　‘because　he　loves　you。’
　　Roy　laughed。　‘That　ain’t　the　kind　of　love　I　understand；　old　lady。　What　you　reckon　he’d　doif　he　didn’t　love　me？’
　　‘He’d　let　you　go　right　on；’　she　flashed；　‘right　on　down　to　hell　where　it　looks　like　you　is　justdetermined　to　go　anyhow！　Right　on；　Mister　Man；　till　somebody　puts　a　knife　in　you；　or　takes　youoff　to　jail！’
　　‘Mama；’　John　asked　suddenly；　‘is　Daddy　a　good　man？’
　　He　had　not　known　that　he　was　going　to　ask　the　question；　and　he　watched　in　astonishment　asher　mouth　tightened　and　her　eyes　grew　dark。
　　‘That　ain’t　no　kind　of　question；’　she　said　mildly。　‘You　don’t　know　no　better　men；　do　you？’
　　‘Looks　to　me　like　he’s　a　mighty　good　man；’　said　Sarah。　‘He　sure　is　praying　all　the　time。’
　　‘You　children　is　young；’　their　mother　said；　ignoring　Sarah　and　sitting　down　again　at　thetable；　‘and　you　don’t　know　how　lucky　you　is　to　have　a　father　what　worries　about　you　and　tries　tosee　to　it　that　you　e　up　right。’
　　‘Yeah；’　said　Roy；　‘we　don’t　know　how　lucky　we　is　to　have　a　father　what　don’t　want　you　togo　to　movies；　and　don’t　want　you　to　play　in　the　streets；　and　don’t　want　you　to　have　no　friends；　and　he　don’t　want　this　and　he　don’t　want　that；　and　he　don’t　want　you　to　do　nothing。　We　so　lucky　tohave　a　father　who　just　wants　us　to　go　to　church　and　read　the　Bible　and　beller　like　a　fool　in　front　ofthe　altar　and　stay　home　all　nice　and　quiet；　like　a　little　mouse。　Boy；　we　sure　is　lucky；　all　right。　Don’tknow　what　I　done　to　be　so　lucky。’
　　She　laughed。　‘You　going　to　find　out　one　day；’　she　said；　‘you　mark　my　words。’
　　‘Yeah；’　said　Roy。
　　‘But　it’ll　be　too　late；　then；’　she　said。　‘It’ll　be　too　late　when　you　e　to　be　…　sorry。’　Hervoice　had　changed。　For　a　moment　her　eyes　met　John’s　eyes；　and　John　was　frightened。。　He　felt　thather　words；　after　the　strange　fashion　God　sometimes　chose　to　speak　to　men；　were　dictated　byHeaven　and　were　meant　for　him。　He　was　fourteen—was　it　too　lat？　And　thus　uneasiness　wasreinforced　by　the　impression；　which　at　that　moment　he　realized　had　been　his　all　along；　that　hismother　was　not　saying　everything　she　meant。　What；　he　wondered；　did　she　say　to　Aunt　Florencewhen　they　talked　together？　Or　to　his　father？　What　were　her　thoughts？　Her　face　would　never　tell。
　　And　yet；　looking　down　at　him　in　a　moment　that　was　like　a　secret；　passing　sign；　her　face　did　tellhim。　Her　thoughts　were　bitter。
　　‘I　don’t　care；’　Roy　said；　rising。　‘When　I　have　children　I　ain’t　going　to　treat　them　like　this。’
　　John　watched　his　mother；　she　watched　Roy。　‘I’m　sure　this　ain’t　no　way　to