Denver sat on the bed smiling and providing the music.
She had never seen Beloved this happy. She had seen her pouty lips open wide with the pleasure ofsugar or some piece of news Denver gave her. She had felt warm satisfaction radiating fromBeloved's skin when she listened to her mother talk about the old days.
But gaiety she had never seen. Not ten minutes had passed since Beloved had fallen backward tothe floor, pop-eyed, thrashing and holding her throat. Now, after a few seconds lying in Denver'sbed, she was up and dancing.
"Where'd you learn to dance?" Denver asked her.
"Nowhere. Look at me do this." Beloved put her fists on her hips and commenced to skip on barefeet. Denver laughed.
"Now you. Come on," said Beloved. "You may as well just come on." Her black skirt swayed fromside to side.
Denver grew ice-cold as she rose from the bed. She knew she was twice Beloved's size but shefloated up, cold and light as a snowflake.
Beloved took Denver's hand and placed another on Denver's shoulder. They danced then. Roundand round the tiny room and it may have been dizziness, or feeling light and icy at once, that madeDenver laugh so hard. A catching laugh that Beloved caught. The two of them, merry as kittens,swung to and fro, to and fro, until exhausted they sat on the floor. Beloved let her head fall back on the edge of the bed while she found her breath and Denver saw the tip of the thing she always sawin its entirety when Beloved undressed to sleep. Looking straight at it she whispered, "Why youcall yourself Beloved?"Beloved closed her eyes. "In the dark my name is Beloved."Denver scooted a little closer. "What's it like over there, where you were before? Can you tell me?""Dark," said Beloved. "I'm small in that place. I'm like this here."She raised her head off the bed, lay down on her side and curled up.
Denver covered her lips with her fingers. "Were you cold?"Beloved curled tighter and shook her head. "Hot. Nothing to breathe down there and no room tomove in.""You see anybody?""Heaps. A lot of people is down there. Some is dead.""You see Jesus? Baby Suggs?""I don't know. I don't know the names." She sat up.
"Tell me, how did you get here?""I wait; then I got on the bridge. I stay there in the dark, in the daytime, in the dark, in the daytime.
It was a long time.""All this time you were on a bridge?""No. After. When I got out.""What did you come back for?"Beloved smiled. "To see her face.""Ma'am's? Sethe?""Yes, Sethe."Denver felt a little hurt, slighted that she was not the main reason for Beloved's return. "Don't youremember we played together by the stream?""I was on the bridge," said Beloved. "You see me on the bridge?" "No, by the stream. The waterback in the woods.""Oh, I was in the water. I saw her diamonds down there. I could touch them.""What stopped you?""She left me behind. By myself," said Beloved. She lifted her eyes to meet Denver's and frowned,perhaps. Perhaps not. The tiny scratches on her forehead may have made it seem so.
Denver swallowed. "Don't," she said. "Don't. You won't leave us, will you?""No. Never. This is where I am."Suddenly Denver, who was sitting cross-legged, lurched forward and grabbed Beloved's wrist.
"Don't tell her. Don't let Ma'am know who you are. Please, you hear?""Don't tell me what to do. Don't you never never tell me what to do.""But I'm on your side, Beloved.""She is the one. She is the one I need. You can go but she is the one I have to have." Her eyesstretched to the limit, black as the all night sky.
"I didn't do anything to you. I never hurt you. I never hurt anybody," said Denver.
"Me either. Me either.""What you gonna do?""Stay here. I belong here.""I belong here too.""Then stay, but don't never tell me what to do. Don't never do that.""We were dancing. Just a minute ago we were dancing together. Let's.""I don't want to." Beloved got up and lay down on the bed. Their quietness boomed about on thewalls like birds in panic. Finally Denver's breath steadied against the threat of an unbearable loss.
"Tell me," Beloved said. "Tell me how Sethe made you in the boat.""She never told me all of it," said Denver.
"Tell me."
他想对我开讲了，她暗忖道。他想让我去问问他当时的感觉———舌头让铁嚼子坠住是多么难受，吐唾沫的需要又是多么强烈、不能自已。那个滋味她早就知道了，在“甜蜜之家”以前待的地方她就一次又一次地目睹过。男人，男孩，小女孩，女人。嘴唇向后勒紧那一刻注入眼里的疯狂。嚼子卸下之后的许多天里，嘴角一直涂着鹅油，可是没有什么来抚慰舌头，或者将疯狂从眼中除去。
塞丝抬头朝保罗•D的眼中望去，看那里是否留下了什么痕迹。
“我小时候见过的那些人，”她说，“他们套过嚼子后看上去总是那么疯狂。谁知道他们因为什么给他们上嚼子，反正那一套根本行不通，因为它套上的是一种从前没有过的疯狂。我看你的时候，却看不见那个。你的眼睛里哪儿都没有那样的疯狂。
”
“有把它放进去的法子，就有拿出来的法子。两个办法我都知道，我还没想好哪种更糟呢。
”他在她身旁坐下。塞丝打量着他。在昏暗的日光里，他瘦骨嶙峋的古铜色面孔让她的心趋于平静。
“想跟我讲讲吗？
”她问他。
“我不知道。我从来没讲过。跟谁都没讲过。有时候唱唱，可我从来没跟谁讲过。
”
“说吧。我听得了。
”
“也许吧。也许你听得了。我只是不敢肯定我能说出来。我的意思是，能说得准确，因为并不是嚼子的问题———不是那么回事。
”
“那是什么呢？
”塞丝问道。
“公鸡，”他说，“路过公鸡时，我看见它们那样看着我。
”
塞丝笑了。
“在那棵松树上？
”
“对。”保罗•D同她一起笑了，“上边肯定落了有五只公鸡，还有起码五十只母鸡。
”
“‘先生’也在？
”
“一开始还没看到。可是我走了不到二十步就瞧见它了。它从栅栏上走下来，坐在木盆上。
”
“它喜欢那个木盆。
”塞丝说着，心中暗想：不好，现在停不下来了。
“可不是吗？像个宝座似的。知道么，是我把它从鸡蛋壳里提溜出来的。要不是我，它早憋死了。那一只老母鸡走开时，身后跟了一大群刚孵出的小鸡崽。就剩下这一个鸡蛋了。好像是个空壳，可后来我看见它在动弹，就把它敲开了，出来的就是‘先生’，脚有点瘸，一身的毛病。我眼看着那个狗崽子长大，在院子里横行霸道。
”
“它总是那么可恨。
”塞丝道。
“对，它倒是挺可恨的。又好斗又凶恶。曲曲弯弯的脚尽瞎扑腾。冠子有我巴掌那么大，通红通红的。它就坐在木盆上看着我。我敢发誓，它在微笑。本来我满脑子想的都是刚才看见的黑尔。
我根本就没想起来那个马嚼子。只有黑尔，还有在他之前的西克索，可是当我看见‘先生’的时候，我知道了，那里面也有我。不光是他们，也有我。一个疯了，一个卖了，一个失踪了，一个烧死了，还有我，舌头舔着铁嚼子，两手反绑在背后。也有我，最后一个‘甜蜜之家’的男人。
“‘先生’，它看起来那样……自由。比我强。比我更壮实，更厉害。那个狗崽子，当初自己连壳儿都挣不开，可它仍然是个国王，而我……”保罗•D停住了，用左手扼住右手。他就那样久久地攥着，直到它和世界都平息下来，让他讲下去。
“‘先生’还可以是、一直是它自己。可我就不许是我自己。就算你拿它做了菜，你也是在炖一只叫‘先生’的公鸡。可是我再也不能是保罗•D了，活着死了都一样。
‘学校老师’把我改变了。
我成了另外一样东西，不如一只太阳地里坐在木盆上的小鸡崽。
”
塞丝把手放在他的膝盖上摩挲着。
保罗•D才刚刚开始，他告诉她的只不过是个开头，可她把手指放上他的膝盖，柔软而抚慰，让他就此打住。也好。也好。再多说可能会把他们两个都推上绝境，再也回不来。他将把其余的留在它们原该待的地方：在他胸口埋藏的烟草罐里；那胸口，曾经有一颗鲜红的心跳动。罐子的盖子已经锈死了。现在他不会在这个甜蜜而坚强的女人面前把它撬开，如果让她闻见里面的东西，他会无地自容的。而知道他的胸膛里并没有一颗像“先生”的鸡冠一样鲜红的心在跳荡，也会使她受到伤害。
塞丝紧按劳动布和他膝盖嶙峋的曲线，摩挲着，摩挲着。她希望这会像平息自己一样平息他。
就像在昏暗的餐馆厨房里揉面团。在厨子到来之前，站在不比一条长凳的长更宽的地方，在牛奶罐的左后侧，揉着面团。揉着，揉着面团。像那样开始一天的击退过去的严肃工作，再好不过了。
楼上，宠儿在跳舞。轻轻的两步，两步，再跳一步，滑步，滑步，高视阔步。
丹芙坐在床上，笑着提供音乐伴奏。
她从来没见过宠儿这样快活。宠儿的嘴平时总是撅着，只是吃起糖来或者丹芙告诉她件什么事时才高兴地咧开。在聆听妈妈讲述过去的日子时，丹芙也曾经感受到宠儿通身发出的心满意足的温暖气息。但从未见过她快活。仅仅十分钟之前，宠儿还四仰八叉地倒在地板上，眼球突出，掐住自己的喉咙扭来扭去。现在，在丹芙床上躺了没几秒钟，她已经起来跳舞了。
“你在哪儿学的跳舞？
”丹芙问她。
“在哪儿都没学过。瞧我这一招儿。
”宠儿把拳头放在屁股上，开始光着脚蹦跶。丹芙大笑起来。
“该你了。来吧，”宠儿道，“你最好也来吧。
”她的黑裙子左右摇摆。
丹芙从床上站起来，觉得浑身变得冰冷。她知道自己有宠儿两个大，可她竟然飘了起来，好像一片雪花一样冰凉而轻盈。
宠儿一只手拉起丹芙的手，另一只放上丹芙的肩头。于是她们跳起舞来。在小屋里一圈又一圈地转着，不知是因为眩晕，还是因为一下子感到轻盈和冰冷，丹芙纵声大笑起来。这富于感染力的笑声也感染了宠儿。她们两个像小猫一样快活，悠来荡去，悠来荡去，直到疲惫不堪地坐倒在地。
宠儿把头靠在床沿上，上气不接下气；这时丹芙看见了那个东西的一端。宠儿解衣就寝的时候她总能看见它的全部。她直盯着它，悄声问：
“你干吗管自己叫宠儿？”
宠儿合上眼睛。
“在黑暗中我的名字就叫宠儿。”
丹芙凑近一些。
“那边什么样儿，你过去待的地方？能告诉我吗？”
“漆黑，”宠儿说，“在那里我很小。就像这个样子。”她把头从床沿上抬起来，侧身躺下，蜷成一团。
丹芙用手指遮住嘴唇。
“你在那儿冷吗？”
宠儿蜷得更紧，摇摇头。
“滚热。下边那儿没法呼吸，也没地方待。”
“你看见什么人了吗？”
“成堆成堆的。那儿有好多人，有些是死人。”
“你看见耶稣了吗？还有贝比•萨格斯？”
“我不知道，我没听说过这些名字。”她坐了起来。
“告诉我，你是怎么来这儿的？”
“我等啊等，然后就上了桥。我在那里待了一晚上，一白天，一晚上，一白天。好长时间。”
“这么长时间你一直在桥上？”
“不是。那是后来。我出来以后的事。”
“你回来干啥？”
宠儿莞尔一笑。
“看她的脸。”
“太太的？塞丝？”
“对，塞丝。”
丹芙觉得有点受伤害、受轻视，因为她不是宠儿回来的主要原因。
“你不记得我们一起在小溪边玩了？”
“我在桥上，”宠儿说，“你看见我在桥上了？”
“不，在小溪边上。后边树林里的小溪。”
“哦，我在水里。我就是在下面看见了她的钻石。我都能摸着它们。”
“那你怎么没摸？”
“她把我丢在后面了。就剩下我一个人。”宠儿说道。她抬眼去看丹芙的眼睛，也许皱了皱眉头。也许没皱。可能是她前额上细细的抓痕让情形看来如此。
丹芙咽了口唾沫。
“别，”她说，“别。你不会离开我们，是吗？”
“不会。永远不会。这就是我待的地方。”
突然，架着腿坐着的丹芙一下子探过身去，抓住宠儿的手腕。
“别跟她说。别让太太知道你是谁。求求你，听见了吗？”
“别跟我说该怎么做。永远永远也别跟我说该怎么做。”
“可我站在你一边呀，宠儿。”
“她才是呢。她才是我需要的。你可以走开，可我绝对不能没有她。”她的眼睛拼命大睁着，仿佛整个夜空一样漆黑。
“我没怎么着你呀。我从没伤害过你。我从没伤害过任何人。”丹芙说。
“我也没有。我也没有。”
“你要干什么呢？”
“留在这儿。我属于这儿。”
“我也属于这儿。”
“那就待着吧，可是永远别跟我说该怎么做。永远别这样。”
“我们刚才在跳舞。就一分钟以前，我们还在一起跳舞呢。咱们再跳一会儿吧。”
“我不想跳了。”宠儿起身到床上躺下。她们的沉默像慌乱的小鸟在墙上乱撞。终于，在这个无法承受的丧失带来的威胁面前，丹芙稳住了呼吸。
“给我讲讲，”宠儿说道，“给我讲讲塞丝在船上怎么生的你。”
“她从来没有从头到尾给我讲过。”丹芙说。
“给我讲吧。”
Chapter 18
Denver climbed up on the bed and folded her arms under her apron. She had not been in the treeroom once since Beloved sat on their stump after the carnival, and had not remembered that shehadn't gone there until this very desperate moment. Nothing was out there that this sister-girl didnot provide in abundance: a racing heart, dreaminess, society, danger, beauty. She swallowedtwice to prepare for the telling, to construct out of the strings she had heard all her life a net to holdBeloved.
"She had good hands, she said. The whitegirl, she said, had thin little arms but good hands. Shesaw that right away, she said. Hair enough for five heads and good hands, she said. I guess thehands made her think she could do it: get us both across the river. But the mouth was what kept herfrom being scared. She said there ain't nothing to go by with whitepeople. You don't know howthey'll jump. Say one thing, do another. But if you looked at the mouth sometimes you could tellby that. She said this girl talked a storm, but there wasn't no meanness around her mouth. She tookMa'am to that lean-to and rubbed her feet for her, so that was one thing. And Ma'am believed shewasn't going to turn her over. You could get money if you turned a runaway over, and she wasn'tsure this girl Amy didn't need money more than anything, especially since all she talked about wasgetting hold of some velvet.""What's velvet?""It's a cloth, kind of deep and soft.""Go ahead.""Anyway, she rubbed Ma'am's feet back to life, and she cried, she said, from how it hurt. But itmade her think she could make it on over to where Grandma Baby Suggs was and...""Who is that?""I just said it. My grandmother.""Is that Sethe's mother?""No. My father's mother.""Go ahead.""That's where the others was. My brothers and.., the baby girl. She sent them on before to wait forher at Grandma Baby's. So she had to put up with everything to get there. And this here girl Amyhelped."Denver stopped and sighed. This was the part of the story she loved. She was coming to it now,and she loved it because it was all about herself; but she hated it too because it made her feel like abill was owing somewhere and she, Denver, had to pay it. But who she owed or what to pay it witheluded her. Now, watching Beloved's alert and hungry face, how she took in every word, askingquestions about the color of things and their size, her downright craving to know, Denver began tosee what she was saying and not just to hear it: there is this nineteen-year-old slave girl — a yearolder than her self — walking through the dark woods to get to her children who are far away. Sheis tired, scared maybe, and maybe even lost. Most of all she is by herself and inside her is anotherbaby she has to think about too. Behind her dogs, perhaps; guns probably; and certainly mossyteeth. She is not so afraid at night because she is the color of it, but in the day every sound is a shotor a tracker's quiet step. Denver was seeing it now and feeling it — through Beloved. Feeling howit must have felt to her mother. Seeing how it must have looked. And the more fine points shemade, the more detail she provided, the more Beloved liked it. So she anticipated the questions bygiving blood to the scraps her mother and grandmother had told herwand a heartbeat. Themonologue became, iri fact, a duet as they lay down together, Denver nursing Beloved's interestlike a lover whose pleasure was to overfeed the loved. The dark quilt with two orange patches wasthere with them because Beloved wanted it near her when she slept. It was smelling like grass andfeeling like hands — the unrested hands of busy women: dry, warm, prickly. Denver spoke,Beloved listened, and the two did the best they could to create what really happened, how it reallywas, something only Sethe knew because she alone had the mind for it and the time afterward toshape it: the quality of Amy's voice, her breath like burning wood. The quick-change weather up inthose hills — -cool at night, hot in the day, sudden fog. How recklessly she behaved with thiswhitegirlNa recklessness born of desperation and encouraged by Amy's fugitive eyes and hertenderhearted mouth.
丹芙爬上床，把胳膊叠放在围裙下面。自从狂欢节过后宠儿坐在他们的树桩上那一天起，她一次也没去过那间树屋，而且直到这个绝望的时刻才想起来，她已冷落它这么久了。那儿没有什么这个姐姐姑娘不能大量地提供：狂跳的心，梦幻，交往，危险，美。她咽了两口唾沫，准备讲故事，准备用她有生以来听到的所有线索织成一张网，去抓住宠儿。
“她说，她有双好手。她说，那个白人姑娘胳膊精细，却有双好手。她说，她一下子就发现了。她说，头发足够五个脑袋用的，还有双好手。我猜想，是那双好手让她觉得她能成功：把我们俩都弄过河。是那张嘴，让她一直不觉得害怕。她说，你根本搞不清白人是怎么回事。你不知道他们会拉什么屎。说一套，做一套。可有的时候，你能从嘴角上看出来。她说，这个姑娘说起话来像下暴雨，可是她嘴周围没有残忍。她把太太带到那间披屋，还帮她揉脚，就是一个例子。太太相信她不会把自己交出去。交出一个逃跑的黑奴你会得到一笔赏金的。她敢肯定这个姑娘最需要的就是钱，尤其是，她说来说去全是去弄天鹅绒之类的。
”
“天鹅绒是什么？
”
“是一种布料，又密又软。
”
“说下去。
”
“不管怎么说，她把太太的脚给揉活了；她说她哭了，太疼了。可是那让她觉得她能挨到贝比•萨格斯奶奶那儿，而且……”
“那是谁？
”
“我刚才说了。我奶奶。
”
“是塞丝的妈妈么？
”
“不是。我爸爸的妈妈。
”
“说下去。
”
“其他人都在那儿。有我的两个哥哥，还有……那个小女婴。她先把他们送了出去，让他们在贝比•萨格斯那儿等她。所以她为了赶到那里什么苦都得吃。这个爱弥姑娘帮了大忙。
”
丹芙停下来，叹了口气。这是故事里她最爱的部分。马上就要说到这段了。她之所以爱这段，是因为它讲的全是她自己；可她又恨这段，因为这让她觉得好像有一笔债欠下了，而还债的是她，丹芙。然而她究竟欠的是谁的债，又拿什么来偿还，她不懂。此刻，注视着宠儿警觉而饥渴的脸，看她怎样捕捉每一个词、打听东西的颜色和大小，注意到她明白无误的了解真相的渴望，丹芙不仅听见，也开始看见自己正在讲述的一切：这个十九岁的黑奴姑娘———比自己大一岁———正穿过幽暗的树林去找远方的孩子们。她累了，可能有点害怕，甚至还可能迷了路。问题的关键是，她孤身一人，而且腹中还怀着个让她牵肠挂肚的婴儿。她身后也许有狗，也许有枪；当然，肯定有生了青苔的牙齿。在夜里她倒不那么害怕，因为夜色就是她的肤色，可是到了白天，每一个动静都可能是一声枪响，或者一个追捕者悄悄接近的脚步声。
此刻丹芙看到了，也感受到了———借助宠儿。感受到她妈妈当时的真实感受。看到当时的真实景象。而且好点子出得越多，提供的细节越多，宠儿就越爱听。于是她通过向妈妈、奶奶给她讲的故事注入血液———和心跳，预先设想出问题和答案。当她们两个一起躺下的时候，独角戏实际上变成了二重唱，由丹芙来满足宠儿的嗜好，表现得好像一个情人，他的乐趣就是过分娇惯他的心上人。带着两块橘黄色补丁的深色被子也和她们在一起，因为宠儿睡觉的时候执意要它在身边。它闻着像草，摸起来像手———忙碌的女人从不消停的手：干燥，温暖，多刺。丹芙说着，宠儿听着，两个人尽最大的努力去重现事情的真相，而到底是怎么回事，只有塞丝知道，因为只有她一个人有心思去琢磨，事后又有空将它勾勒出来：爱弥的音质，她那燃烧的木头似的呼吸。丘陵地带那多变的天气———凉爽的夜晚，酷热的白天，骤降的雾。她和这个白人姑娘一道，是那样毫无顾忌———因绝望而生，又受到爱弥那亡命徒一般的目光和善良的嘴纵容的毫无顾忌。
Chapter 19
"You ain't got no business walking round these hills, miss." "Looka here who's talking. I got morebusiness here 'n you got. They catch you they cut your head off. Ain't nobody after me but I knowsomebody after you." Amy pressed her fingers into the soles of the slavewoman's feet. "Whosebaby that?" Sethe did not answer.
