当初为什么带上丹芙和宠儿，这事现在不再迷惑她了———看来是一时冲动，以及寻求保护的模糊愿望使然。姑娘们救了她，宠儿更是激动得像个两岁孩子。
就仿佛火焰熄灭或者敞开窗子放进清风时消散的一股微弱的燃烧气味，有关这个姑娘的抚摸同样与那小鬼魂酷似的疑虑也烟消云散了。那本来也不过是一次小小的不安———还没有强大到让她抛开现在从心中涌出的勃勃雄心：她要保罗•D。不管他说了什么、知道了什么，她的生活中不能没有他。她来到“林间空地”，不仅仅是为了纪念黑尔，也为了找个答案；现在她找到了。
对，是信任和重新记忆，是他在炉子前面拥住她的时候她所相信的那种可能性。他的重量，他的棱角；他那真实的胡子；弓起的后背，训练有素的手。他那期待的眼睛和威风凛凛的人性力量。他那与她心心相印的灵魂。她的故事是可以忍受的，因为它同样也属于他———可以诉说，推敲，再诉说。彼此不知道的那些事情———谁都无法诉诸语言的事情———没关系，总有一天会水落石出的：他们打发他衔着铁嚼子去了什么地方；她那“都会爬了？
”的宝贝儿的死亡多么完美。
她想回去了———越快越好。给无所事事的姑娘们安排点活儿干，充实一下她们胡思乱想的头脑。她匆匆穿过由于太阳偏移而凉下来的绿色长廊时，忽然觉得两个姑娘仿佛姊妹一般相像。她们那令人惊奇的顺从和绝对可靠，在她脑海倏然闪过。塞丝理解丹芙。孤独使得她干什么都遮遮掩掩的———我行我素。成年累月的闹鬼以难以置信的方式使她变得迟钝，也以难以置信的方式使她变得敏锐。结果就出了这么一个塞丝誓死保护的、胆小而又固执的女儿。另一个，宠儿，她了解得少 一些，或者说根本不了解———只知道她为了塞丝什么都肯干，还有，丹芙和她喜欢彼此做伴。现在她想，她知道个中原委了。她们以和谐的方式挥霍和攫取着她们自己的感情。一个愿意给予，另一个则乐于获取。她们先是守在环绕着“林间空地”的树林中间，然后在塞丝被扼住时带着尖叫和亲吻冲进来———反正她就是这样向自己解释的，因为她既没发现两个姑娘之间有竞争，也没发现一个在主宰另一个。她一心想的只是她要给保罗•D准备的晚饭———很难办，也非办不可———她要去和一个温柔的男人一道开创她的更新、更强大的生活。做些四面烤焦的小土豆崽儿，多撒上点胡椒粉；桂皮炖豆角；糖醋凉拌黄瓜。要么把刚掰下来的玉米跟葱一起用黄油炸。甚至，再做个暄软的面包。
还没走进厨房，她就开始盘算里面的东西，满脑子都是自己设计的食谱，没有马上看见白楼梯下摆着的一只木澡盆和里面坐着的保罗•D。她冲他笑笑，他也回以一笑。
“夏天早过去了。
”她说。
“进来吧。
”
“去去去。姑娘们就在我后边。
”
“我什么也没听见哪。
”
“我得做饭了，保罗•D。”
“我也做。
”他站起来，把她搂在怀里，不放她走。他身上的水将她的裙子都沾湿了。他的下颚贴着她的耳朵。她的下巴挨着他的肩膀。
“你要做什么饭？
”
“我想弄点豆角。
”
“嗯，不错。
”
“炸点玉米？
”
“很好。
”
不成问题，她当然能做到。就像她刚到124号那天———毫无疑问，她的奶水足够所有的孩子吃。
Chapter 24
Beloved came through the door and they ought to have heard hertread, but they didn't.
Breathing and murmuring, breathing and murmuring. Beloved heard them as soon as the doorbanged shut behind her. She jumped at the slam and swiveled her head toward the whisperscoming from behind the white stairs. She took a step and felt like crying. She had been so close,then closer. And it was so much better than the anger that ruled when Sethe did or thoughtanything that excluded herself. She could bear the hours — -nine or ten of them each day but one— -when Sethe was gone. Bear even the nights when she was close but out of sight, behind wallsand doors lying next to him. But now — even the daylight time that Beloved had counted on,disciplined herself to be content with, was being reduced, divided by Sethe's willingness to payattention to other things. Him mostly. Him who said something to her that made her run out intothe woods and talk to herself on a rock. Him who kept her hidden at night behind doors. And himwho had hold of her now whispering behind the stairs after Beloved had rescued her neck and wasready now to put her hand in that woman's own.
Beloved turned around and left. Denver had not arrived, or else she was waiting somewhereoutside. Beloved went to look, pausing to watch a cardinal hop from limb to branch. She followedthe blood spot shifting in the leaves until she lost it and even then she walked on, backward, stillhungry for another glimpse.
She turned finally and ran through the woods to the stream. Standing close to its edge she watchedher reflection there. When Denver's face joined hers, they stared at each other in the water.
"You did it, I saw you," said Denver.
"What?""I saw your face. You made her choke.""I didn't do it.""You told me you loved her.""I fixed it, didn't I? Didn't I fix her neck?""After. After you choked her neck.""I kissed her neck. I didn't choke it. The circle of iron choked it.""I saw you." Denver grabbed Beloved's arm.
"Look out, girl," said Beloved and, snatching her arm away, ran ahead as fast as she could alongthe stream that sang on the other side of the woods.
Left alone, Denver wondered if, indeed, she had been wrong. She and Beloved were standing inthe trees whispering, while Sethe sat on the rock. Denver knew that the Clearing used to be whereBaby Suggs preached, but that was when she was a baby. She had never been there herself toremember it. 124 and the field behind it were all the world she knew or wanted.
Once upon a time she had known more and wanted to. Had walked the path leading to a real otherhouse. Had stood outside the window listening. Four times she did it on her own — crept awayfrom 124 early in the afternoon when her mother and grandmother had their guard down, justbefore supper, after chores; the blank hour before gears changed to evening occupations. Denverhad walked off looking for the house other children visited but not her. When she found it she wastoo timid to go to the front door so she peeped in the window. Lady Jones sat in a straight-backedchair; several children sat cross-legged on the floor in front of her. Lady Jones had a book. Thechildren had slates. Lady Jones was saying something too soft for Denver to hear. The childrenwere saying it after her. Four times Denver went to look. The fifth time Lady Jones caught her and said, "Come in the front door, Miss Denver. This is not a side show." So she had almost a wholeyear of the company of her peers and along with them learned to spell and count. She was seven,and those two hours in the afternoon were precious to her. Especially so because she had done it onher own and was pleased and surprised by the pleasure and surprise it created in her mother andher brothers. For a nickel a month, Lady Jones did what whitepeople thought unnecessary if notillegal: crowded her little parlor with the colored children who had time for and interest in booklearning. The nickel, tied to a handkerchief knot, tied to her belt, that she carried to Lady Jones,thrilled her. The effort to handle chalk expertly and avoid the scream it would make; the capital w,the little i, the beauty of the letters in her name, the deeply mournful sentences from the BibleLady Jones used as a textbook. Denver practiced every morning; starred every afternoon. She wasso happy she didn't even know she was being avoided by her classmates — that they made excusesand altered their pace not to walk with her. It was Nelson Lord — the boy as smart as she was —who put a stop to it; who asked her the question about her mother that put chalk, the little i and allthe rest that those afternoons held, out of reach forever. She should have laughed when he said it,or pushed him down, but there was no meanness in his face or his voice. Just curiosity. But thething that leapt up in her when he asked it was a thing that had been lying there all along. Shenever went back. The second day she didn't go, Sethe asked her why not. Denver didn't answer.
She was too scared to ask her brothers or anyone else Nelson Lord's question because certain oddand terrifying feelings about her mother were collecting around the thing that leapt up inside her.
Later on, after Baby Suggs died, she did not wonder why Howard and Buglar had run away. Shedid not agree with Sethe that they left because of the ghost. If so, what took them so long? Theyhad lived with it as long as she had. But if Nelson Lord was right — no wonder they were sulky,staying away from home as much as they could.
Meanwhile the monstrous and unmanageable dreams about Sethe found release in theconcentration Denver began to fix on the baby ghost. Before Nelson Lord, she had been barelyinterested in its antics. The patience of her mother and grandmother in its presence made herindifferent to it. Then it began to irritate her, wear her out with its mischief. That was when shewalked off to follow the children to Lady Jones' house-school. Now it held for her all the anger,love and fear she didn't know what to do with. Even when she did muster the courage to askNelson Lord's question, she could not hear Sethe's answer, nor Baby Suggs' words, nor anything atall thereafter. For two years she walked in a silence too solid for penetration but which gave hereyes a power even she found hard to believe. The black nostrils of a sparrow sitting on a branchsixty feet above her head, for instance. For two years she heard nothing at all and then she heardclose thunder crawling up the stairs. Baby Suggs thought it was Here Boy padding into places henever went. Sethe thought it was the India-rubber ball the boys played with bounding down thestairs.
"Is that damn dog lost his mind?" shouted Baby Suggs.
"He's on the porch," said Sethe. "See for yourself.""Well, what's that I'm hearing then?"Sethe slammed the stove lid. "Buglar! Buglar! I told you all not to use that ball in here." Shelooked at the white stairs and saw Denver at the top.
"She was trying to get upstairs.""What?" The cloth she used to handle the stove lid was balled in Sethe's hand.
"The baby," said Denver. "Didn't you hear her crawling?"What to jump on first was the problem: that Denver heard anything at all or that the crawling-already? baby girl was still at it but more so, The return of Denver's hearing, cut off by an answershe could not hear to hear, cut on by the sound of her dead sister trying to climb the stairs, signaledanother shift in the fortunes of the people of 124. From then on the presence was full of spite.
Instead of sighs and accidents there was pointed and deliberate abuse. Buglar and Howard grewfurious at the company of the women in the house, and spent in sullen reproach any time they hadaway from their odd work in town carrying water and feed at the stables. Until the spite became sopersonal it drove each off. Baby Suggs grew tired, went to bed and stayed there until her big oldheart quit. Except for an occasional request for color she said practically nothing — until theafternoon of the last day of her life when she got out of bed, skipped slowly to the door of thekeeping room and announced to Sethe and Denver the lesson she had learned from her sixty yearsa slave and ten years free: that there was no bad luck in the world but white people. "They don'tknow when to stop," she said, and returned to her bed, pulled up the quilt and left them to hold thatthought forever. Shortly afterward Sethe and Denver tried to call up and reason with the babyghost, but got nowhere. It took a man, Paul D, to shout it off, beat it off and take its place forhimself. And carnival or no carnival, Denver preferred the venomous baby to him any day. Duringthe first days after Paul D moved in, Denver stayed in her emerald closet as long as she could,lonely as a mountain and almost as big, thinking everybody had somebody but her; thinking even aghost's company was denied her. So when she saw the black dress with two unlaced shoes beneathit she trembled with secret thanks. Whatever her power and however she used it, Beloved was hers.
Denver was alarmed by the harm she thought Beloved planned for Sethe, but felt helpless to thwartit, so unrestricted was her need to love another. The display she witnessed at the Clearing shamedher because the choice between Sethe and Beloved was without conflict. Walking toward thestream, beyond her green bush house, she let herself wonder what if Beloved really decided tochoke her mother. Would she let it happen? Murder, Nelson Lord had said. "Didn't your motherget locked away for murder? Wasn't you in there with her when she went?"It was the second question that made it impossible for so long to ask Sethe about the first. Thething that leapt up had been coiled in just such a place: a darkness, a stone, and some other thingthat moved by itself. She went deaf rather than hear the answer, and like the little four o'clocks thatsearched openly for sunlight, then closed themselves tightly when it left, Denver kept watch for thebaby and withdrew from everything else. Until Paul D came. But the damage he did came undonewith the miraculous resurrection of Beloved.
宠儿进了门。他们本该听见她的脚步声，却没有听见。
呼吸急促，窃窃私语，呼吸急促，窃窃私语。门刚在身后撞上，宠儿就听见了他们的声音。砰的一响让她跳起来，然后她把脑袋扭过去，听明白楼梯后面的低语声。她迈了一步，差点哭出来。
她本来已经离塞丝这样近了，刚才又更近了一步。塞丝做或想与她无关的事情时席卷她的那种愤怒，同这个可有天壤之别。她能够忍受塞丝出门的那些个钟头———每天九十个小时，一星期中只有一天例外。甚至能忍受她在墙壁和门板后面躺在他身边的那些夜晚，她离得很近，却不在视野里。可是现在———甚至宠儿所指望的、强迫自己知足的白天时间也被压缩了，也被塞丝关注其他事物的愿望给弄得支离破碎。主要怪他。是他说得她跑到树林里，坐在石头上自言自语。是他夜里把她藏在门后头。现在又是他霸占着她，在楼梯后面嘀嘀咕咕，就在宠儿刚刚救治了她的脖子、准备好把手放进那女人自己的手里之后不久。
宠儿转身离去。丹芙还没到，要么就是还等在外面什么地方。宠儿出去找她，半路上停下来，看一只红雀从树梢飞向树枝。她的眼睛跟着这个血点在树叶间穿行，直到找不见它，她才倒退着走开，仍然渴望再看上一眼。
她终于回转身，穿过树林跑向小溪。站在岸边，她望着自己的倒影。当丹芙的脸也映在她的旁边，她们在水中面面相觑。
“是你干的，我看见了。
”丹芙道。
“什么？
”
“我看见你的脸了。是你让她噎住的。
”
“不是我干的。
”
“你跟我说过你爱她。
”
“是我治好的，不是吗？不是我把她的脖子治好的吗？
”
“那是后来。在你掐了她脖子之后。
”
“我吻了她的脖子。我没掐。是铁圈掐的。
”
“我看见你了。
”丹芙抓住宠儿的胳膊。
“当心，姑娘。
”宠儿说着，抽出胳膊，沿着在树林一侧歌唱的小溪竭尽全力地奔跑。
丹芙独自一人留在那里，心中纳罕，自己是否的确误会了。她和宠儿当时站在树林中交头接耳，而塞丝坐在石头上。丹芙知道“林间空地”曾是贝比•萨格斯布道的地方，不过那时候她还是个婴儿。她从不记得自己后来到过那里。
124号和它后面的田野是她了解和需要的全部世界。
从前有过一段时间，她了解得更多，也更愿意了解。她曾经沿着小径走向另一座真实的房子。
曾经在窗下偷听。她独自干过四回———偷偷离开124号，在午后，当她妈妈和奶奶放松了警惕，家务活已经干完，而晚饭又没开始；充分利用与晚上的职责换档的一小时空闲。丹芙曾经溜号去找那座其他孩子能去、而她却不能去的房子。她找到的时候，胆小得不敢到前门去，只好扒着窗户往里偷看。琼斯女士端坐在直背椅上；几个孩子盘腿坐在她面前的地板上。琼斯女士拿着一本书。孩子们拿着石板。琼斯女士在说着什么，可是声音太小了，丹芙什么也听不见。孩子们跟着她说。丹芙去看了四次。第五次，琼斯女士抓住了她，说：
“从前门进来，丹芙小姐。这可不是儿戏。
”
于是她有几乎整整一年时间可以和同学们相伴，和他们一起学习拼写和算术。她那时七岁，那些下午的两个钟头一直为她所珍视。尤其可贵的是，她做下这件事全靠自己，还因为让妈妈和哥哥们喜出望外而喜出望外。每月收费五分钱，琼斯女士做了白人们认为即便合法也毫无必要的事情：
让她的小客厅里挤满那些有时间也有兴趣读书的黑孩子。带给琼斯女士的五分钱系在手绢里，拴在腰带上，这让丹芙热血沸腾。她学着尽量老练地使用粉笔，以免发出尖声；欣赏大写的W、小写的i、自己名字里字母的美，还有琼斯女士用作课本的《圣经》里深切哀怆的句子。丹芙每天早上温习功课，每天下午去一显身手。她是这样快乐，都不知道自己在被同学们回避着———他们找借口、改变步调，不跟她走到一起。是内尔森•洛德———那个跟她一样聪明的男孩———终止了这一切；他问起了关于她妈妈的问题，使得粉笔、小写i和那些下午包含的其余内容变得永远不可企及。他问问题的时候，她本该一笑置之，或者把他推个跟头，可是他的脸上和声音里都没有恶意，只有好奇。然而他提问时在她心里跳将起来的东西，事实上蛰伏已久了。
她再也没有回去。第二天她没去上学，塞丝问她为什么。丹芙没有回答。她害怕得不敢找她的哥哥或是别的什么人去问内尔森•洛德的问题，因为关于她妈妈的某种古怪而可怕的感觉，正在那从她心里跳将起来的东西周围聚集。后来，贝比•萨格斯去世后，她已不再奇怪，霍华德和巴格勒为什么要出走。她不同意塞丝的解释，说什么是因为鬼才离开的。如果真是这样，他们为什么耽搁这么久呢？他们同它一起生活的时间跟她一样长。但是，如果内尔森•洛德说得对———那就怪不得他们要那么闷闷不乐，尽可能远地离开家了。
与此同时，丹芙开始专心致志地对付那个小鬼魂，于是，有关塞丝的不可开交的噩梦获得了解脱。在内尔森•洛德提问以前，她很少对它的胡闹感兴趣。既然她妈妈和奶奶对鬼魂的出没表现得相当耐心，她便对它漠不关心了。后来，它开始惹恼她，用恶作剧搞得她疲惫不堪。那正是她走出门、跟着孩子们去琼斯女士的家庭学校上学的时候。于是，她所有的愤怒、爱和恐惧都系于小鬼魂一身，她对此完全不知如何是好。甚至当她真的鼓起勇气去问内尔森•洛德问过的问题时，她也听不见塞丝的回答，听不见贝比•萨格斯的回答，听不见此后的任何一句话。整整两年时间，她一直在一种坚实得无法穿透的寂静之中度过，但她的眼睛却因而得到了一种她自己都不敢置信的力量。比如，她看得见一只蹲在头顶上六十英尺高树枝上的麻雀的两个黑鼻孔。她有整整两年什么都听不见；然后，就突然听见了近处爬楼梯的轰响。贝比•萨格斯以为是“来，小鬼”走进了它从来不去的地方。塞丝以为是儿子玩的印第安橡皮球滚下了楼梯。
“是那该死的狗发昏了吗？
”贝比•萨格斯嚷道。
“它在门廊呢，”塞丝道，“不信你自己去看。
”
“那我听到的是什么呀？
”
塞丝砰地盖上炉盖。
“巴格勒！巴格勒！我跟你们俩都说过，不许在这儿玩球。
”她看了看白楼梯，见丹芙站在顶层。
“她在学着爬楼梯。
”
“什么？
”开炉盖用的垫布在塞丝手里攥成一团。
“那个小孩，”丹芙说，“你没听见她在爬吗？
”
首先跳出的是这样一个问题：到底是丹芙真的听见了什么动静，还是那个“都会爬了？
”的小女儿仍旧在这里肆虐，变本加厉？
丹芙的听觉被一声她不忍听到的回答切断，又被她死去的姐姐试图爬楼梯的响动接上，它的恢复标志着124号里面的人们命运的又一次转折。从那时起，鬼魂的出没就充满了恶意。不再是叹息和意外事故了，而是变成了直截了当和蓄意为之的摧残。巴格勒和霍华德对于跟女人们一起住在房子里感到怒不可遏，如果不去城里干送水和喂牲口的临时工作，他们便时时刻刻都闷闷不乐地怪罪她们。直到最后，这恶意变成了过分的个人攻击，把他们两个统统赶走。贝比•萨格斯累了，在床上长卧不起，直到她那伟大而苍老的心停止跳动。除了不定期的对色彩的要求，她实际上一语不发———直到她生命中最后一天的那个下午，她下了床，慢悠悠地颠到起居室门口，向塞丝和丹芙宣告她从六十年奴隶生涯和十年自由人的日子中学到的一课：这世界上除了白人没有别的不幸。“他们不懂得适可而止。
