星期四，蟋蟀鼓噪着，剥去了蓝色的天空在上午十一点是白热的。天气这么热，塞丝的穿着特别不舒服，可这是她十八年来头一回外出社交，她觉得有必要穿上她唯一的一条好裙子，尽管它沉得要命；还要戴上一顶帽子。当然要戴帽子。她不想在遇见琼斯女士或艾拉时还包着头，像是去上班。这条纯羊毛收针的裙子是贝比•萨格斯的一件圣诞礼物，那个热爱她的白女人鲍德温小姐送的。丹芙和保罗•D谁也没觉得这种场合需要特别的衣着，所以在大热天里还好受些。
丹芙的软帽总是碰着垫肩；保罗•D敞开马甲，没穿外套，把衬衫袖子卷到胳膊肘上。他们并没有彼此拉着手，可是他们的影子却拉着。塞丝朝左看了看，他们三个是手拉着手滑过灰尘的。
也许他是对的。一种生活。她看着他们携手的影子，为自己这身去教堂的打扮而难为情。前前后后的人会认为她是在摆架子，是让大家知道自己与众不同，因为她住在一栋两层楼房里；让大家知道自己更不屈不挠，因为她既能做又能经受他们认为她不能做也不能经受的事情。她很高兴丹芙拒绝了打扮一番的要求———哪怕重新编一下辫子。然而丹芙不愿付出任何努力，给这次出行增加一点愉快气氛。她同意去了———闷闷不乐地———但她的态度是“去呗。试试哄我高兴起来”。高兴的是保罗•D。他向二十英尺之内的每一个人打招呼，拿天气以及天气对他的影响开玩笑，向乌鸦们呱呱回嘴大叫，并且头一个去嗅凋萎的玫瑰花。自始至终，不论他们在干什么———无论是丹芙在擦额头上的汗、停下来系鞋带，还是保罗•D在踢石子、伸手去捏一个妈妈肩上的娃娃的脸蛋———从他们脚下向左投射的三个人影都一直拉着手。除了塞丝，没有人注意到，而她一旦认定了那是个好兆头，便停下来看了又看。一种生活。也许吧。
贮木场围栏的上上下下有玫瑰在衰败。十二年前种下它们的那个锯木工———也许是为了让他的工作场所显得友好，为了消除以锯树为生的罪恶感———对它们的繁荣感到震惊；它们如此迅速地爬满了栅栏，把贮木场同旁边开阔的田野隔开；田野上，无家可归的人在那里过夜，孩子们在那里跑来跑去，一年一度，杂耍艺人在那里搭起帐篷。玫瑰愈临近死亡，气味便愈发浓烈，所有参加狂欢节的人都把节日同腐败玫瑰的臭气联系起来。这气味让他们有点头晕，而且异常干渴，却丝毫没有熄灭大路上络绎不绝的黑人们的热情。有的走在路肩的青草上，其余的则躲闪着路中央那些扬起灰尘、吱吱扭扭的大车。所有人都像保罗•D一样情绪高涨，连濒死玫瑰的气味（保罗•D使之引人注目）都不能抑制。他们挤进栏索入口的时候，像灯一样被点着了，都激动得屏住了呼吸，因为就要无拘无束地观看白人了：变魔术的、当小丑的、无头的或是双头的、二十英尺高或是二十英寸高的、一吨重的、全部文身的、吃玻璃的、吞火的、吐出打结的绸带的、筑金字塔的、耍蛇的，还有练把式的。
这一切都写在广告上，识字的念出来，不识字的就在一旁听着；尽管事实上都是些胡说八道，他们的兴致依然丝毫不减。招徕生意的骂着他们和他们的孩子（“小黑鬼免费!”），然而他马甲上的食物和裤子上的窟窿使得那些叫骂显得无伤大雅。无论如何，为了他们也许再不会得到的乐趣，这个代价太小了。如果是为了观看白人们大出自己的洋相，两分钱加上一次侮辱花得值。所以，虽然这次狂欢节连平庸都够不上（那就是为什么一个“黑星期四”得到认可），它还是给了四百名黑人观众一个一个又一个的刺激。
“一吨女士”向他们吐唾沫，可她的大块头降低了实际效果，于是她小眼睛里无能的卑劣让他们过足了瘾。
“天方夜谭舞女”把通常十五分钟的表演减到三分钟———这让孩子们不胜感激，因为他们等不及她下面的那个“阿布蛇魔术师”了。
在脚蹬女式高靿鞋的白人小姑娘掌管的柜台上，丹芙要了夏至草汁、甘草汁、薄荷汁和柠檬汁。糖水进肚，神清气爽，身旁又围了一群人———那些人并不青睐她，实际上不时地称呼她“喂，丹芙”———丹芙很高兴开始觉得保罗•D或许不算太坏。说实话，他是有点特别之处———他们仨站住一起看侏儒舞的时候———使得其他黑人的目光和蔼、温柔起来，丹芙从不记得在他们脸上见到过那种表情。有几个人甚至冲她妈妈点头、微笑，显然，没有人能够抗拒同保罗•D分享他的快乐。当巨人和侏儒跳舞，还有双头人自言自语的时候，他乐得直拍大腿。他给丹芙买了她要的每一样东西，还有好多她没要的。他好说歹说把塞丝哄进她不愿进的帐篷。把她不想吃的糖果塞满她的嘴。当“非洲野人”舞着棒子哇哇乱叫时，保罗•D告诉每一个人他早在罗厄诺克时就认识这家伙了。
保罗•D结识了几个人，跟他们谈了他想找什么样的工作。塞丝对她得到的微笑也回之一笑。丹芙沉醉在喜悦中。在回家的路上，尽管投到了他们前面，三个人的影子依然手牵着手。
一个穿戴齐整的女人从水中走出来。她好不容易才够到干燥的溪岸，上了岸就立即靠着一棵桑树坐下来。整整一天一夜，她就坐在那里，将头自暴自弃地歇在树干上，草帽檐都压断了。身上哪儿都疼，肺疼得最厉害。她浑身精湿，呼吸急促，一直在同自己发沉的眼皮较量。白天的轻风吹干她的衣裙；晚风又把衣裙吹皱。没有人看见她出现，也没有人碰巧从这里经过。即便有人路过，多半也会踌躇不前。不是因为她身上湿淋淋的，也不是因为她打着瞌睡或者发出哮喘似的声音，而是因为她同时一直在微笑。第二天，她花了整整一个上午从地上爬起来，穿过树林，经过一座高大的黄杨木神殿进入田野，向石板色房子的宅院走来。她再一次筋疲力尽，就近坐下———坐在离124号的台阶不远的一个树桩上。这时她睁开双眼已经不那么费劲了，能坚持整整两分钟还要多。她那周长不足一个茶碟的脖子一直弯着，下巴摩擦着她裙衣上镶的花边。
只有那些在非庆祝场合也喝香槟酒的女人才那副模样：断了檐的草帽总是歪戴着；在公共场所跟人随便点头；鞋带也不系好。但是她们的皮肤可不如这个在124号的台阶附近喘息的女人。她的皮肤是新的，没有皱纹，而且光滑，连手上的指节都一样。
狂欢节结束时已临近黄昏，黑人们要是走运就搭车回家———不然就得步行。这时那个女人又睡着了。阳光直射在她整个脸颊上，所以塞丝、丹芙和保罗•D在归途中拐过弯来，只看见一条黑裙子和下边两只鞋带散开的鞋，而“来，小鬼”却无影无踪了。
“瞧，“丹芙道，”那是什么？
”
这时，由于某种一时说不清的缘由，塞丝刚刚走近得能看到那张脸，膀胱就涨满了。她说了句，“噢，请原谅”，便小跑着绕到124号的后面。自打她还是个小女孩、由那个指出她母亲的八岁女孩照看的时候起，她还从来没出过这么难以控制的紧急事故。她没有能够赶到厕所，只好在厕所门前就撩起裙子，没完没了地尿了起来。跟匹马似的，她心想，可是尿着尿着她又想，不对，更像生丹芙时在那只小船上的羊水泛滥。那么多水，急得爱弥说道：
“憋住，露。你要是没完没了，我们会沉船的。
”可是从一个开了口的子宫里涌出的羊水不可能止住，现在的尿也不可能止住。她希望保罗•D不会那么体贴地来找她，以免让他看见她蹲在自己家的厕所门前，滋出一个深得让人不好意思看的泥坑。她正纳闷狂欢节能否添上一个新怪物呢，尿停了。她整好衣服跑回门廊。
人不见了。三个人都进了屋———保罗•D和丹芙站在那个陌生人面前，看着她一杯接一杯地喝水。
“她说她渴了，”保罗•D说。他摘下帽子。
“看来是真渴了。
”
那个女人端着一只带斑纹的锡杯大口吞水，吞完了就递过来再要。丹芙一共给她满了四回，这个女人也一饮而尽了四回，仿佛刚刚穿过了沙漠。她喝完之后下巴上沾了点水，但她没有抹去，而是用惺忪的眼睛盯着塞丝。喂养得很糟，塞丝想，而且比衣着显得更年轻———脖子上的花边挺不错，还戴了顶贵妇人的帽子。她的皮肤上没什么瑕疵，只在脑门上有三竖道精致而纤细的划痕，乍看上去就像头发，婴儿的头发，还没有长浓，没有搓成她帽子底下大团的黑毛线。
“你是从这儿附近来的吗？”塞丝问她。
Chapter 13
She shook her head no and reached down to take off her shoes.
She pulled her dress up to the knees and rolled down her stockings.
When the hosiery was tucked into the shoes, Sethe saw that her feet were like her hands, soft andnew. She must have hitched a wagon ride, thought Sethe. Probably one of those West Virginiagirls looking for something to beat a life of tobacco and sorghum. Sethe bent to pick up the shoes.
"What might your name be?" asked Paul D.
"Beloved," she said, and her voice was so low and rough each one looked at the other two. Theyheard the voice first — later the name.
"Beloved. You use a last name, Beloved?" Paul D asked her.
"Last?" She seemed puzzled. Then "No," and she spelled it for them, slowly as though the letterswere being formed as she spoke them.
Sethe dropped the shoes; Denver sat down and Paul D smiled. He recognized the carefulenunciation of letters by those, like himself, who could not read but had memorized the letters oftheir name. He about to ask who her people were but thought better of it. A young coloredwomandriftin(was) g was drifting from ruin. He had been in Rochester four years ago and seenfive women arriving with fourteen female children. All their men — brothers, uncles, fathers,husbands, sons — had been picked off one by one by one. They had a single piece of paperdirecting them to a preacher on DeVore Street. The War had been over four or five years then, butnobody white or black seemed to know it. Odd clusters and strays of Negroes wandered the backroads and cowpaths from Schenectady to Jackson. Dazed but insistent, they searched each otherout for word of a cousin, an aunt, a friend who once said, "Call on me. Anytime you get nearChicago, just call on me." Some of them were running from family that could not support them,some to family; some were running from dead crops, dead kin, life threats, and took-over land.
Boys younger than Buglar and Howard; configurations and blends of families of women andchildren, while elsewhere, solitary, hunted and hunting for, were men, men, men. Forbidden public transportation, chased by debt and filthy "talking sheets," they followed secondary routes, scannedthe horizon for signs and counted heavily on each other. Silent, except for social courtesies, whenthey met one another they neither described nor asked about the sorrow that drove them from oneplace to another. The whites didn't bear speaking on. Everybody knew.
So he did not press the young woman with the broken hat about where from or how come. If shewanted them to know and was strong enough to get through the telling, she would. What occupiedthem at the moment was what it might be that she needed. Underneath the major question, eachharbored another. Paul D wondered at the newness of her shoes. Sethe was deeply touched by hersweet name; the remembrance of glittering headstone made her feel especially kindly toward her.
Denver, however, was shaking. She looked at this sleepy beauty and wanted more.
Sethe hung her hat on a peg and turned graciously toward the girl. "That's a pretty name, Beloved.
Take off your hat, why don't you, and I'll make us something. We just got back from the carnivalover near Cincinnati. Everything in there is something to see." Bolt upright in the chair, in themiddle of Sethe's welcome, Beloved had fallen asleep again.
"Miss. Miss." Paul D shook her gently. "You want to lay down a spell?"She opened her eyes to slits and stood up on her soft new feet which, barely capable of their job,slowly bore her to the keeping room. Once there, she collapsed on Baby Suggs' bed. Denverremoved her hat and put the quilt with two squares of color over her feet. She was breathing like asteam engine.
"Sounds like croup," said Paul D, closing the door.
"Is she feverish? Denver, could you tell?""No. She's cold.""Then she is. Fever goes from hot to cold.""Could have the cholera," said Paul D.
"Reckon ?""All that water. Sure sign.""Poor thing. And nothing in this house to give her for it. She'll just have to ride it out. That's ahateful sickness if ever there was one.""She's not sick!" said Denver, and the passion in her voice made them smile.
Four days she slept, waking and sitting up only for water. Denver tended her, watched her sound sleep, listened to her labored breathing and, out of love and a breakneck possessiveness thatcharged her, hid like a personal blemish Beloved's incontinence. She rinsed the sheets secretly,after Sethe went to the restaurant and Paul D went scrounging for barges to help unload. Sheboiled the underwear and soaked it in bluing, praying the fever would pass without damage. Sointent was her nursing, she forgot to eat or visit the emerald closet. "Beloved?" Denver wouldwhisper. "Beloved?" and when the black eyes opened a slice all she could say was "I'm here. I'mstill here."Sometimes, when Beloved lay dreamy-eyed for a very long time, saying nothing, licking her lipsand heaving deep sighs, Denver panicked. "What is it?" she would ask.
"Heavy," murmured Beloved. "This place is heavy.""Would you like to sit up?""No," said the raspy voice.
It took three days for Beloved to notice the orange patches in the darkness of the quilt. Denver waspleased because it kept her patient awake longer. She seemed totally taken with those faded scrapsof orange, even made the effort to lean on her elbow and stroke them. An effort that quicklyexhausted her, so Denver rearranged the quilt so its cheeriest part was in the sick girl's sight line.
Patience, something Denver had never known, overtook her. As long as her mother did notinterfere, she was a model of compassion, turning waspish, though, when Sethe tried to help.
"Did she take a spoonful of anything today?" Sethe inquired. "She shouldn't eat with cholera.""You sure that's it? Was just a hunch of Paul D's.""I don't know, but she shouldn't eat anyway just yet.""I think cholera people puke all the time.""That's even more reason, ain't it?""Well she shouldn't starve to death either, Denver.""Leave us alone, Ma'am. I'm taking care of her.""She say anything?""I'd let you know if she did."Sethe looked at her daughter and thought, Yes, she has been lonesome. Very lonesome.
"Wonder where Here Boy got off to?" Sethe thought a change of subject was needed.
"He won't be back," said Denver.
"How you know?""I just know." Denver took a square of sweet bread off the plate. Back in the keeping room,Denver was about to sit down when Beloved's eyes flew wide open. Denver felt her heart race. Itwasn't that she was looking at that face for the first time with no trace of sleep in it, or that the eyeswere big and black. Nor was it that the whites of them were much too white — blue-white. It wasthat deep down in those big black eyes there was no expression at all. "Can I get you something?"
她摇头否认，又伸手去脱鞋。她把裙子提到膝盖，然后搓下长统袜。当她把袜子塞进鞋窠，塞丝看到她的脚像她的手一样，又软又嫩。她肯定搭了辆大车，塞丝想。大概是那种西弗吉尼亚的姑娘，来寻找比烟草和高粱的生活更胜一筹的东西。塞丝弯腰拾起鞋子。
“你叫什么名字？
”保罗•D问。
“宠儿。
”她答道，嗓门又低又粗，他们仨不禁互相看了看。他们先听见的是喉音———然后才是名字。
“宠儿。你有个姓吗，宠儿？
”保罗•D问她。
“姓？”她好像糊涂了。然后她说“没有”，又为他们拼写了名字，慢得好像字母是从她嘴里发明的。
塞丝失手掉了鞋子；丹芙坐下来；而保罗•D微笑起来。他听出了拼字母时那种小心翼翼的发音，所有像他一样目不识丁、只会背自己名字字母的人都那样念。他本想打听一下她的家人是谁，但还是忍住了。一个流浪的黑人姑娘是从毁灭中漂泊而来的。他四年前去过罗彻斯特，在那儿看见五个女人，带着十四个女孩从别处来。她们所有的男人———兄弟、叔伯、父亲、丈夫、儿子———都一个一个又一个地被枪杀了。她们拿着一张纸片到德沃尔街的一个牧师那里去。那时战争已经结束四五年了，可是白人黑人似乎都不晓得。临时搭伙的和失散的黑人们在从斯克内克塔迪到杰克逊的乡间道路和羊肠小径上游荡。他们茫然而坚定，相互打听着一个表兄、一个姑母、一个说过“来找我吧。什么时候你到芝加哥附近，就来找我吧”的朋友的消息。在他们中间，有些是从食不果腹的家里出逃的；有些是逃回家去；也有些是在逃离不育的庄稼、亡亲、生命危险和被接管的土地。有比霍华德和巴格勒还小的男孩；有妇孺之家组合和混合在一起结成的大家庭；而与此同时孤独地沦落他乡、被捕捉和追赶的，是男人，男人，男人。禁止使用公共交通，被债务和肮脏的“罪犯档案”追逐着，他们只好走小路，在地平线上搜寻标记，并且严重地彼此依赖。除了一般性的礼节，他们见面时是沉默的，既不诉说也不过问四处驱赶他们的悲伤。白人是根本不能提起的。谁都清楚。
所以他没有逼问那个弄破了帽子的年轻姑娘，她是从哪里、怎么来的。如果她想让他们知道，而且也能坚强地讲完，她会讲的。他们此刻想的是，她可能需要什么。在这个关键问题之外，每个人都藏着另一个问题。保罗•D发现她的鞋是崭新的，觉得蹊跷。塞丝被她那甜美的名字深深打动了；关于闪闪发光的墓石的记忆，使她备感亲切。丹芙，却在颤抖。她望着这个瞌睡美人，想得更多。
塞丝把帽子挂在木钉上，慈爱地转向那个姑娘。
“是个可爱的名字，宠儿。干吗不摘下你的帽子？让我来给大家做点吃的。我们刚从辛辛那提附近的狂欢节上回来。那儿什么都值得一瞧。
”
塞丝正在表示欢迎，宠儿笔直地嵌在椅子里，又一次进入了梦乡。
“小姐!小姐!”保罗•D轻轻摇了摇她。
“你想躺一会儿吗？
”
她把眼睛睁开一条缝，站起身来，勉强迈动柔嫩的、不胜重负的双脚，缓缓地走进起居室。一进屋，她就栽倒在贝比•萨格斯的床上。丹芙摘下她的帽子，把带着两方色块的被子盖上她的脚。她像个蒸汽机似的喘起气来。
“听着像哮吼。
”保罗•D说着关上门。
“她发烧吗？丹芙，你摸摸她烧吗？
”
“不烧。她冰凉。
”
“那么她在烧。发烧都是从热到冷。
”
“可能是霍乱。
”保罗•D说。
“是猜的？
”
“那么多水。明显的症状。
”
“可怜见的。这房子里没有什么能治她的病。她只能自己挺过去。那种病才可怕呢。
”
“她没病!”丹芙说道。她声音里的激动把他们逗笑了。
她一睡就是四天，只为了喝水才苏醒和坐起来。丹芙照料着她，看她酣睡，听她吃力地呼吸，而且，出于爱和一种膨胀的、要命的占有欲，像隐瞒个人缺陷一样掩饰宠儿的失禁。在塞丝去餐馆、保罗•D四处找驳船去帮忙卸货的时候，她偷偷地洗了床单。她把内衣煮了泡在上蓝剂里，祈求高烧退去，不留下任何损害。她照料得这样专心致志，竟忘了吃饭，忘了去那间祖母绿密室。
“宠儿？
”丹芙会小声地叫。
“宠儿？
”可是当那对黑眼睛张开一条缝时，她能说的也只是：
“我在这儿。我还在这儿。
”
有时候，如果宠儿睡眼蒙眬地躺上很长时间，一言不发，舔舔嘴唇，再深深地叹着气，丹芙就慌了。
“怎么啦？
”她会问。
“沉重，”宠儿嘟囔道，“这地方真沉重。
”
“你想坐起来吗？
”
“不，”那粗声粗气的声音说。
宠儿花了三天时间才注意到暗色被子上的橙色补丁。丹芙非常满意，因为这使她的病人醒的时间更长。她似乎完全被那褪了色的橙红色碎片吸引住了，甚至费劲地靠胳膊肘支撑着身体，去抚摩它们。这很快使她疲惫不堪，于是丹芙重新安排好被子，让它最有活力的那部分留在病姑娘的视线里。
耐心，这丹芙闻所未闻的东西，占据了她。只要她的妈妈不来干涉，她就是个同情体贴的楷模，可是一旦塞丝企图帮点忙，她就立即变得暴躁起来。
“她今天吃了什么东西吗？
”塞丝询问道。
“她得了霍乱，不该吃东西。
”
“你能肯定吗？只不过是保罗•D瞎猜的。
”
“我不知道，可不管怎么说，她现在就是不该吃东西。
”
“我以为得霍乱的人什么时候都在呕吐。
”
“那不吃就更有理由了，对吧？
”
“可她也不该活活饿死呀，丹芙。
”
“甭管我们，太太。我在照看她。
”
“她说过什么吗？
”
“她说了我会告诉你的。
”
塞丝看着女儿，心想：是的，她一直孤独。非常孤独。
“奇怪，‘来，小鬼’到哪儿去了？
”塞丝认为有必要换个话题。
“它不会回来了。
”丹芙说。
“你怎么知道的？
”
“我就知道。
”丹芙从盘子里拿起一块甜面包。
丹芙回到起居室，刚要坐下，宠儿的眼睛一下子睁圆了。丹芙感到心跳加快。倒不是因为她头一回看见这张脸睡意全无，也不是因为那双眼睛又大又黑，也不是因为眼白过分地白———白得发蓝。是因为在那双又大又黑的眼睛深处根本没有表情。
“我能给你拿点什么吗？”
Chapter 14
Beloved looked at the sweet bread in Denver's hands and Denver held it out to her. She smiledthen and Denver's heart stopped bouncing and sat down — -relieved and easeful like a travelerwho had made it home.
From that moment and through everything that followed, sugar could always be counted on toplease her. It was as though sweet things were what she was born for. Honey as well as the wax itcame in, sugar sandwiches, the sludgy molasses gone hard and brutal in the can, lemonade, taffyand any type of dessert Sethe brought home from the restaurant. She gnawed a cane stick to flaxand kept the strings in her mouth long after the syrup had been sucked away. Denver laughed,Sethe smiled and Paul D said it made him sick to his stomach.
Sethe believed it was a recovering body's need — -after an illness — for quick strength. But it wasa need that went on and on into glowing health because Beloved didn't go anywhere. There didn'tseem anyplace for her to go. She didn't mention one, or have much of an idea of what she wasdoing in that part of the country or where she had been. They believed the fever had caused hermemory to fail just as it kept her slow-moving. A young woman, about nineteen or twenty, andslender, she moved like a heavier one or an older one, holding on to furniture, resting her head inthe palm of her hand as though it was too heavy for a neck alone.
