Then it came — another yank — from the left this time and less forceful than the first because ofthe mud it passed through.
It started like the chain-up but the difference was the power of the chain. One by one, from Hi Manback on down the line, they dove. Down through the mud under the bars, blind, groping. Some hadsense enough to wrap their heads in their shirts, cover their faces with rags, put on their shoes.
Others just plunged, simply ducked down and pushed out, fighting up, reaching for air. Some lostdirection and their neighbors, feeling the confused pull of the chain, snatched them around. Forone lost, all lost. The chain that held them would save all or none, and Hi Man was the Delivery.
They talked through that chain like Sam Morse and, Great God, they all came up. Like theunshriven dead, zombies on the loose, holding the chains in their hands, they trusted the rain andthe dark, yes, but mostly Hi Man and each other.
Past the sheds where the dogs lay in deep depression; past the two guard shacks, past the stable ofsleeping horses, past the hens whose bills were bolted into their feathers, they waded. The moondid not help because it wasn't there. The field was a marsh, the track a trough. All Georgia seemedto be sliding, melting away. Moss wiped their faces as they fought the live-oak branches thatblocked their way. Georgia took up all of Alabama and Mississippi then, so there was no state lineto cross and it wouldn't have mattered anyway. If they had known about it, they would haveavoided not only Alfred and the beautiful feldspar, but Savannah too and headed for the SeaIslands on the river that slid down from the Blue Ridge Mountains. But they didn't know.
Daylight came and they huddled in a copse of redbud trees. Night came and they scrambled up tohigher ground, praying the rain would go on shielding them and keeping folks at home. They werehoping for a shack, solitary, some distance from its big house, where a slave might be making ropeor heating potatoes at the grate. What they found was a camp of sick Cherokee for whom a rosewas named. Decimated but stubborn, they were among those who chose a fugitive life rather thanOklahoma. The illness that swept them now was reminiscent of the one that had killed half theirnumber two hundred years earlier. In between that calamity and this, they had visited George III in London, published a newspaper, made baskets, led Oglethorpe through forests, helped AndrewJackson fight Creek, cooked maize, drawn up a constitution, petitioned the King of Spain, beenexperimented on by Dartmouth, established asylums, wrote their language, resisted settlers, shotbear and translated scripture. All to no avail. The forced move to the Arkansas River, insisted uponby the same president they fought for against the Creek, destroyed another quarter of their alreadyshattered number.
That was it, they thought, and removed themselves from those Cherokee who signed the treaty, inorder to retire into the forest and await the end of the world. The disease they suffered now was amere inconvenience compared to the devastation they remembered. Still, they protected each otheras best they could. The healthy were sent some miles away; the sick stayed behind with the dead— to survive or join them.
The prisoners from Alfred, Georgia, sat down in semicircle near the encampment. No one cameand still they sat. Hours passed and the rain turned soft. Finally a woman stuck her head out of herhouse. Night and nothing happened. At dawn two men with barnacles covering theirbeautifulskinappro(came) ached them. No one spoke for a moment, then Hi Man raised his hand. TheCherokee saw the chains and went away. When they returned each carried a handful of small axes.
Two children followed with a pot of mush cooling and thinning in the rain.
Buffalo men, they called them, and talked slowly to the prisoners scooping mush and tapping awayat their chains. Nobody from a box in Alfred, Georgia, cared about the illness the Cherokee warnedthem about, so they stayed, all forty-six, resting, planning their next move. Paul D had no idea ofwhat to do and knew less than anybody, it seemed. He heard his co-convicts talk knowledgeably ofrivers and states, towns and territories. Heard Cherokee men describe the beginning of the worldand its end. Listened to tales of other Buffalo men they knew — three of whom were in the healthycamp a few miles away. Hi Man wanted to join them; others wanted to join him. Some wanted toleave; some to stay on. Weeks later Paul D was the only Buffalo man left — without a plan. All hecould think of was tracking dogs, although Hi Man said the rain they left in gave that no chance ofsuccess. Alone, the last man with buffalo hair among the ailing Cherokee, Paul D finally woke upand, admitting his ignorance, asked how he might get North. Free North. Magical North.
Welcoming, benevolent North. The Cherokee smiled and looked around. The flood rains of amonth ago had turned everything to steam and blossoms.
"That way," he said, pointing. "Follow the tree flowers," he said.
"Only the tree flowers. As they go, you go. You will be where you want to be when they aregone."So he raced from dogwood to blossoming peach. When they thinned out he headed for the cherryblossoms, then magnolia, chinaberry, pecan, walnut and prickly pear. At last he reached a field ofapple trees whose flowers were just becoming tiny knots of fruit. Spring sauntered north, but hehad to run like hell to keep it as his traveling companion. From February to July he was on thelookout for blossoms. When he lost them, and found himself without so much as a petal to guide him, he paused, climbed a tree on a hillock and scanned the horizon for a flash of pink or white inthe leaf world that surrounded him. He did not touch them or stop to smell. He merely followed intheir wake, a dark ragged figure guided by the blossoming plums.
The apple field turned out to be Delaware where the weaver lady lived. She snapped him up assoon as he finished the sausage she fed him and he crawled into her bed crying. She passed him offas her nephew from Syracuse simply by calling him that nephew's name. Eighteen months and hewas looking out again for blossoms only this time he did the looking on a dray.
It was some time before he could put Alfred, Georgia, Sixo, schoolteacher, Halle, his brothers,Sethe, Mister, the taste of iron, the sight of butter, the smell of hickory, notebook paper, one byone, into the tobacco tin lodged in his chest. By the time he got to 124 nothing in this world couldpry it open.
SHE MOVED HIM.
匣子里的人们一面听着水在壕沟里涨起来，一面当心着棉嘴蛇。他们蹲在泥水里，泥水里睡觉，泥水里撒尿。保罗•D以为自己在喊叫：他的嘴大张着，又能听见劈裂的喊声———不过那也可能是别人在喊。接着，他又以为自己在哭。有什么顺着他的脸颊流下来。他抬起两手去抹眼泪，看到的却是深棕色的泥浆。在他头顶上，小股的泥流穿透屋顶的木板滑下来。屋顶要是塌了，他想，它会像捻死一个臭虫似的把我压瘪。事情发生得这么快，他都来不及多想。有人在猛拽锁链———一下———猛得简直像要拉倒他的腿，让他摔进泥浆里。他始终没想清楚自己是怎么懂的———别人又是怎么懂的———可他的确懂了———他懂了———于是他用两只手狠命地拽左边的一截锁链，下一个也就知道了。水没过了他的脚踝，漫过了他睡觉的木板。然后就不再是水了。
壕沟在塌陷，泥浆从栅栏下面和栅栏中间涌进来。
他们等着———所有四十六个都在等着。没有人喊叫，尽管不少人肯定是在拼命忍住。泥浆没到了腿根，他抓住栅栏。这时，又来了———又是一下猛拉———这下是从左边来的，因为要穿过泥浆，比刚才那一下劲头小些。
行动开始时，很像穿上锁链，可是区别在于锁链的力量。一个接一个地，从“嗨师傅”往回，沿着这一排，他们扎了下去。潜到栅栏下的泥浆里，瞎着眼睛摸索着。几个有心计的把脑袋裹在衬衫里，用破布蒙住脸，穿上鞋。其余的就这么囫囵扎了下去，只管往下划开去，再奋力上来找空气。
有的迷失了方向，同伴感觉到锁链上慌张狼狈的乱扯，就四处去抓他们。因为一旦有一个迷失，大家就会全部迷失。将他们拴在一起的锁链，要么救出所有人，要么一个也救不了，于是，“嗨师傅”
成了救星。他们通过链子说话，就像山姆•摩斯一样，老天哪，他们全出来了。他们手执 锁链，如同未经忏悔的死者和逍遥法外的僵尸，他们信赖豪雨和黑夜，是的，但最信任的是“嗨师傅”，是他们自己。
他们走过狗窝棚，狗无精打采地趴在那里；走过两个看守室，走过马沉睡着的马厩，走过把嘴埋进羽毛的母鸡，他们跋涉着。月亮没帮上忙，因为它不在场。田野是一片沼泽，道路是一条水沟。整个佐治亚似乎都在下沉、融化。他们企图拨开挡道的橡树枝，倒被蹭了一脸青苔。那时的佐治亚还包括整个亚拉巴马和密西西比，所以没有州界可过，其实它们本来也没什么用处。要是他们知道的话，他们不仅会逃离阿尔弗雷德和美丽的长石矿，还会避开萨凡纳，而直奔位于滑下蓝岭的河流上的海群岛。然而他们不知道。
白天来了，他们在紫荆树丛中挤作一团。夜幕降临，他们爬起身登上高地，祈求雨会继续掩护他们，把人们困在家里。他们希望找到一个孤零零的小棚子，离主人的大房子有一定距离，里面可能有个黑奴在搓绳子或者在炉架上烤土豆。他们找到的是一营生病的切罗基人，一种玫瑰就是因他们而得名的。
人口大批死亡之后，切罗基人仍然很顽固，宁愿去过一种逃犯的生涯，也不去俄克拉何马。
现在席卷他们的这场疾病让人想起二百年前曾经要了他们半数性命的那一场。在这两场灾祸之间，他们去拜见了伦敦的乔治三世，出版了一份报纸，造出了篮子，把奥格尔索普带出了森林，帮助安德鲁•杰克逊与克里克人作战，烹调玉米，制定宪法，上书西班牙国王，被达特茅斯学院用来做实验，建立避难所，为自己的语言发明文字，抵抗殖民者，猎熊，翻译经文。然而都是徒劳无功。他们协助攻打克里克人的那同一个总统一声令下，他们就被迫迁往阿肯色河，已经残缺不全的队伍因此又损失了四分之一。
到此为止吧，他们想，然后，他们从那些签了条约的切罗基人中分离出来，以便退隐森林，等待世界末日。他们现在遭受的疾病同他们所记得的那次灭顶之灾相比，不过是头痛脑热而已。然而，他们仍旧竭尽全力互相保护。健康的被送到几英里开外的地方；生病的和死者一起留在后面———要么活下来，要么加入死者的行列。
从佐治亚州阿尔弗雷德来的犯人们在营房附近坐成一个半圆。没有人来，他们就一直坐在那里。几个小时过去，雨小了些。终于，一个女人从房子里探出脑袋。一夜无事。黎明时分，两个美丽皮肤上遮着贝壳的男人朝他们走来。一时没有人开口，然后“嗨师傅”举起了手。两个切罗基人看见锁链就走了。他们回来的时候每人抱着一抱小斧头。随后，两个孩子抬来一罐让雨淋得又凉又稀的玉米糊糊。
他们称呼新来的人为野牛人，慢声慢气地同这些盛着粥、砸着锁链的囚犯们说起话来。在佐治亚州阿尔弗雷德的匣子里待过的这些人，对切罗基人让他们提防的那种疾病都毫不在乎，于是他们留了下来，所有四十六个，一边歇息，一边盘算下一步。保罗•D根本不知道该干什么，而且好像比谁知道得都少。他听同犯们很渊博地谈起河流、州省、城镇和疆域。听切罗基人煞有介事地描述世界的起始和终结。听他们讲所知道的关于别的野牛人的故事———其中有三个就待在几英里外的健康营里。
“嗨师傅”想去与他们会合，其他人想跟着“嗨师傅”。有一些人想离开，一些人想留下。几星期过后，保罗•D成了唯一剩下的野牛人———一点打算也没有。他满脑子想的只有循着踪迹追来的猎犬，尽管“嗨师傅”说过，有了他们经历的那场大雨，追踪根本没有成功的可能。作为最后一个长野牛毛的男人，孤单的保罗•D终于在生病的切罗基人中间觉醒了，承认自己的无知，打听他怎么才能去北方。自由的北方。神奇的北方。好客、仁慈的北方。那切罗基人微笑四顾。一个月前的那场暴雨使一切都在蒸腾和盛开。
“那条路。
”他指着说。
“跟着树上的花儿走，”他说道，“只管跟着树上的花儿走。它们去哪儿你去哪儿。它们消失的时候，你就到了你要去的地方。
”
于是，他从山茱萸跑向盛开的桃花。桃花稀疏、消失时，他就奔向樱桃花；然后是木兰花、苦楝花、山核桃花、胡桃花和刺梨花。最后他来到一片苹果树林，花儿刚刚结出小青果。春天信步北上，可是他得拼命地奔跑才能赶上这个旅伴。从二月到七月他一直在找花儿。当他找不见它们，发现再也没有一片花瓣来指引他，他便停下来，爬上土坡上的一棵树，在地平线上极力搜寻环绕的叶海中一点粉红或白色的闪动。他从未抚摸过它们，也没有停下来闻上一闻。他只是簇簇梅花指引下的一个黝黑、褴褛的形象，紧紧追随着它们的芳痕。
那片苹果地，原来就是那个女织工居住的特拉华。他刚刚吃完她给的香肠，她就一下子搂住了他，然后，他哭着爬上她的床。她让他假装成她在希拉库斯的外甥，直接用那外甥的名字称呼他。
十八个月后，他再次出来找花儿，不过这回他是坐着大车找的。
过了好一段时间，他才把佐治亚的阿尔弗雷德、西克索、“学校老师”、黑尔、他的哥哥们、塞丝、“先生”、铁嚼子的滋味、牛油的情景、胡桃的气味、笔记本的纸，一个一个地锁进他胸前的烟草罐里。等他来到124号的时候，这个世界上已没有任何东西能够撬开它了。
她赶走了他。
Chapter 27
Not the way he had beat off the baby's ghost — all bang and shriek with windows smashed andicily iars rolled in a heap. But she moved him nonetheless, and Paul D didn't know how to stop itbecause it looked like he was moving himself. Imperceptibly, downright reasonably, he wasmoving out of 124.
The beginning was so simple. One day, after supper, he sat in the rocker by the stove, bone-tired,river-whipped, and fell asleep. He woke to the footsteps of Sethe coming down the white stairs tomake breakfast.
"I thought you went out somewhere," she said.
Paul D moaned, surprised to find himself exactly where he was the last time he looked.
"Don't tell me I slept in this chair the whole night."Sethe laughed. "Me? I won't say a word to you.""Why didn't you rouse me?""I did. Called you two or three times. I gave it up around midnight and then I thought you went outsomewhere."He stood, expecting his back to fight it. But it didn't. Not a creak or a stiff joint anywhere. In facthe felt refreshed. Some things are like that, he thought, good-sleep places. The base of certain treeshere and there; a wharf, a bench, a rowboat once, a haystack usually, not always bed, and here,now, a rocking chair, which was strange because in his experience furniture was the worst placefor a good-sleep sleep.
The next evening he did it again and then again. He was accustomed to sex with Sethe just aboutevery day, and to avoid the confusion Beloved's shining caused him he still made it his business totake her back upstairs in the morning, or lie down with her after supper. But he found a way and areason to spend the longest part of the night in the rocker. He told himself it must be his back —something supportive it needed for a weakness left over from sleeping in a box in Georgia.
It went on that way and might have stayed that way but one evening, after supper, after Sethe, hecame downstairs, sat in the rocker and didn't want to be there. He stood up and realized he didn'twant to go upstairs either. Irritable and longing for rest, he opened the door to Baby Suggs' roomand dropped off to sleep on the bed the old lady died in. That settled it — so it seemed. It becamehis room and Sethe didn't object — her bed made for two had been occupied by one for eighteenyears before Paul D came to call. And maybe it was better this way, with young girls in the houseand him not being her true-to-life husband. In any case, since there was no reduction in his before-breakfast or after-supper appetites, he never heard her complain.
It went on that way and might have stayed that way, except one evening, after supper, after Sethe,he came downstairs and lay on Baby Suggs' bed and didn't want to be there.
He believed he was having house-fits, the glassy anger men sometimes feel when a woman's housebegins to bind them, when they want to yell and break something or at least run off. He knew allabout that — felt it lots of times — in the Delaware weaver's house, for instance. But always heassociated the house-fit with the woman in it. This nervousness had nothing to do with the woman,whom he loved a little bit more every day: her hands among vegetables, her mouth when shelicked a thread end before guiding it through a needle or bit it in two when the seam was done, theblood in her eye when she defended her girls (and Beloved was hers now) or any coloredwomanfrom a slur. Also in this house-fit there was no anger, no suffocation, no yearning to be elsewhere.
He just could not, would not, sleep upstairs or in the rocker or, now, in Baby Suggs' bed. So hewent to the storeroom.
It went on that way and might have stayed that way except one evening, after supper, after Sethe,he lay on a pallet in the storeroom and didn't want to be there. Then it was the cold house and itwas out there, separated from the main part of 124, curled on top of two croaker sacks full of sweetpotatoes, staring at the sides of a lard can, that he realized the moving was involuntary. He wasn'tbeing nervous; he was being prevented.
So he waited. Visited Sethe in the morning; slept in the cold room at night and waited.
She came, and he wanted to knock her down.
不是他打跑婴儿鬼魂的那种方式———又摔又叫，砸碎了窗户，果酱罐滚作一堆。可她仍然赶走了他，而保罗•D不知道怎样制止她，因为看起来像是他自己搬走的。不知不觉地，完全合情合理地，他在搬出124号。
事情的开头简单极了。一天，晚饭以后，他坐在炉边的摇椅上，腰酸腿疼，出汗出得好像刚从水里捞出来，就那样睡着了。塞丝走下白楼梯来做早饭的声音吵醒了他。
“我以为你到外头什么地方去了。
”她说。
保罗•D哼了哼，吃惊地发现自己还待在原来待的地方。
“别跟我说我在这张椅子上睡了一整夜。
”
塞丝笑了起来。
“我吗？我什么也不会跟你说的。
”
“你怎么没把我叫起来？
”
“我叫了。叫了你两三遍呐。到了半夜我才决定拉倒，我以为你上外头什么地方去了。
”
他站起来，以为后背会很难受。可是没有。哪里都没有咯吱作响，也没感到关节麻木。实际上他倒觉得振奋。有些东西就是那样，他想，真是个睡觉的好地方。随便什么地方的树脚下；一个码头，一条长椅，有一次是只小船，通常是一垛干草堆，不总是床；可现在这回，居然是一把摇椅，很是莫名其妙，因为凭他的经验，要睡个好觉，家具可是最糟糕的地方了。
第二天晚上他又这样睡了，接着又睡了一夜。他已经习惯了几乎每天和塞丝性交，为了避免自己被宠儿的光芒迷惑，他仍然自觉地每天早晨回到楼上与塞丝云雨一番，或者晚饭以后和她一起躺倒。然而为了在摇椅上过夜，他找到了一个办法，一个理由。他告诉自己，肯定是因为他的后背———在佐治亚的匣子里落下的后遗症，使它需要什么东西支撑。
这种状况继续着，而且本可以一直保持下去，可是一天晚上，晚饭后，他跟塞丝性交后走下楼梯、坐到摇椅上，却不想在那儿待着了。他站起来，发觉自己也并不想上楼去。他心烦意乱又渴望休息，便打开门进了贝比•萨格斯的房间，到老太太死去的那张床上倒头便睡。事情就这么结了———看来如此。它成了他的房间，塞丝并不介意———她的双人床在保罗•D来到之前的十八年里都是她一个人睡。也许这样更好，家里有年轻姑娘，而他又不是自己的结发丈夫。不管怎么说，因为他并没有就此减少早饭以前和晚饭以后的欲望，所以他一直没听见她有过怨言。
这种状况继续着，而且本可以一直保持下去，可是一天晚上，晚饭后，他与塞丝性交过后走下楼梯，躺到贝比•萨格斯的床上，却不想在那儿待着了。他以为自己患了那种房屋恐惧症，当一个女人的房子开始束缚男人，当他们想吼叫、砸点东西或者至少跑掉的时候，他们有时会感觉到那种呆滞无神的愤怒。他了解得一清二楚———感受过许多回———比如在特拉华女织工的房子里。然而，他总是把房屋恐惧症和房子里的女人联系起来。这次的紧张可跟这个女人毫无关系，他一天比一天更爱她：她那双收拾蔬菜的手，她那在穿针之前舔一下线头或者缝补完以后把线咬成两段的嘴，她那保护她的姑娘们（宠儿现在也是她的了）或者任何黑人妇女不受侮辱时充血的眼睛。
