宠儿不理睬保罗•D；她的端详是给塞丝的。她没穿外套，没戴围巾，头上什么都没有，可是手里捧着一条长披肩。她伸出胳膊，想给塞丝围上。
“傻丫头，”塞丝说道，“在外面什么都没戴的是你呀。
”然后她离开保罗•D，在他面前接过披肩，围在宠儿的头和肩膀上。她说着，“你得学会懂点事”，然后用左臂搂住宠儿。这时候雪花不飞了。保罗•D觉得，宠儿来之前自己身上被塞丝靠过的部位变得冰冷冰冷的。他跟在两个女人身后一码左右，一路克制着满腔怒火。等到看见窗户上丹芙在灯光下的剪影，他忍不住想：
“你又是哪拨儿的呢？
”
是塞丝解决的。出乎意料，她安全妥当地一举解决了所有问题。
“这回我可知道你今儿晚上不睡在外边了，对吗，保罗•D？”她朝他笑道；烟囱像个帮腔的患难之交似的冲着从天上射进来的寒流直咳嗽。窗框在一阵严冬的寒风里战栗着。
保罗•D从盘子中的炖肉上抬起眼睛。
“你上楼来睡吧。到你该待的地方，”她说，“……而且待下去吧。
”
从桌子一头宠儿那边向他爬过来的缕缕恶意，在塞丝温暖的微笑里变得无关痛痒。
曾经有一次（唯一的一次），保罗•D感激过一个女人。那次，他爬出树林，被饥饿和孤独折磨得直对眼儿，就去敲他在威尔明顿的黑人区见到的第一扇后门。他告诉开门的女人，他愿意给她劈柴，只要她肯施舍给他一点东西吃。她上上下下地打量他。
“等一小会儿。
”她说着，把门开得大一点。她喂了他猪肉香肠，对一个快饿死的人来说那是最糟糕的东西，可是他和他的肚子都没意见。然后，他见到了她卧室里的白棉布床单和两只枕头，忍不住飞快地抹了抹眼睛，以免让她看到一个男人平生头一回感激的眼泪。土地、草地、泥地、谷壳、树叶、干草、蜘蛛网、贝壳———所有这些东西他都睡过。从来没想象过白棉布床单。他呻吟着倒上去，多亏那个女人帮忙，他才有借口是跟她而不是跟她的床单做爱。那天晚上，吃饱了肉，耽于奢侈，他发誓永不离开她。要想把他赶下那张床，她非得杀了他不行。十八个月后，当他被“北极银行和铁路公司”买去时，他依然感激那次与床单的结识。
如今他第二次心怀感激。他觉得自己仿佛被人从一面悬崖峭壁上摘下来，放到坚实的地面上。
在塞丝的床上，他知道自己对付得了那两个傻丫头———只要塞丝将她的意愿公开。他尽量抻开身体，望着雪花在他脚上方流过窗户，现在，那把他带到餐馆后面巷子里的疑虑，很容易解除了：他对自己的期望很高，太高了。他所说的怯懦，别人叫做人之常情。
塞丝钻进保罗•D的臂弯，回想起他在街上求她为他怀个孩子时的那副面孔。虽然她当时大笑着拉起他的手，可还是着实吓了一跳。她很快想到，如果那真是他想要的，性交会有多么愉快，然而她主要是被再次要个孩子的想法吓坏了。需要足够过硬、足够麻利、足够强壮，还得那样操心———重来一遍。必须再多活那么久。噢主啊，她暗道，救救我吧。除非无忧无虑，否则母爱可是要命的。他要她怀孕干什么？为了抓住她？为了给这段路留个记号？反正他没准到处都有孩子呢。流浪了十八年，他肯定跟人下了几个。不对。他反感她已经有的孩子们，是这么回事。是一个孩子，她纠正了自己。一个孩子，再加上她视如己出的宠儿，那就是他反感的。他反感与姑娘们共享她。听她们三个笑着他不理解的东西。破不开她们之间使用的暗号。甚至恐怕还有花在她们而不是他身上的时间。他们怎么说也算个家庭，可他不是一家之主。
你能帮我把这个缝上么，宝贝？
当然。等我弄完这件衬裙再说。她还穿着来的时候穿的那件，谁都需要变个花样。
还剩下一点馅饼么？
我记得丹芙吃了最后一张。
没有怨言，甚至不介意他现在在房子周围四处乱睡，直到今天晚上，她才大发善心制止了这种夜不归宿的行为。
塞丝叹了口气，把手放在他的胸脯上。她知道，为了避免怀孕，自己一直在不让他尽兴，这使她感到有点不好意思。但是她自己的孩子足够了。假如她的儿子们有朝一日回家来，丹芙和宠儿又一直住下去———嗯，这正好是朝思暮想的情景，不是吗？就在她看到路边携手的影子之后，生活面貌有了多大的变化啊!还有那一刻，一看见那裙子和鞋子坐在前院，她就失禁了。甚至不用看那在阳光中燃烧的脸。她已经梦想多年了。
保罗•D的胸脯在她的手底下一起一伏，一起一伏。
丹芙洗完碗，在桌旁坐下。宠儿自打塞丝和保罗•D离开屋子就没挪过地方，坐在那儿吮着自己的食指。丹芙盯着她的脸看了一会儿，然后说道：
“她喜欢他住在这儿。
”
宠儿继续用手指抠着嘴。
“让他滚蛋。
”她说。
“他走了她会跟你发火的。
”
宠儿把大拇指也伸进嘴里，拔出一颗后槽牙。几乎没有血，可是丹芙还是叫道：
“噢———你不疼吗？
”
宠儿看着牙，心想：终于来了。下一回该是她的一只胳膊、一只手、一个脚指头了。她身上的零件也许会一点一点地，也许一股脑全掉下去。或者哪一天早晨，在丹芙醒来之前、塞丝上班之后，她会四分五裂。她独自一人的时候，很难让脑袋待在脖子上，腿安在屁股上。在她记不得的事情中有这么一件：她第一次得知她会在哪天醒来，发现自己已成为一堆碎片。她做过两个梦：一次是自己爆炸，一次是被吞噬。当她的牙脱落的时候———一块多余的碎片，一排中最后的那颗———她认为毁灭已经开始了。
“肯定是颗智齿，”丹芙道，“不疼么？
”
“疼。”
“那你怎么不哭？
”
“什么？
”
“疼的话，你怎么不哭？
”
Chapter 31
And she did. Sitting there holding a small white tooth in the palm of her smooth smooth hand.
Cried the way she wanted to when turtles came out of the water, one behind the other, right afterthe blood-red bird disappeared back into the leaves. The way she wanted to when Sethe went tohim standing in the tub under the stairs. With the tip of her tongue she touched the salt water thatslid to the corner of her mouth and hoped Denver's arm around her shoulders would keep themfrom falling apart.
The couple upstairs, united, didn't hear a sound, but below them, outside, all around 124 the snowwent on and on and on. Piling itself, burying itself. Higher. Deeper.
AT THE BACK of Baby Suggs' mind may have been the thought that if Halle made it, God dowhat He would, it would be a cause for celebration. If only this final son could do for himself whathe had done for her and for the three children John and Ella delivered to her door one summernight. When the children arrived and no Sethe, she was afraid and grateful. Grateful that the part ofthe family that survived was her own grandchildren — the first and only she would know: twoboys and a little girl who was crawling already. But she held her heart still, afraid to formquestions: What about Sethe and Halle; why the delay? Why didn't Sethe get on board too?
Nobody could make it alone. Not only because trappers picked them off like buzzards or nettedthem like rabbits, but also because you couldn't run if you didn't know how to go. You could belost forever, if there wasn't nobody to show you the way.
So when Sethe arrived — all mashed up and split open, but with another grandchild in her arms —the idea of a whoop moved closer to the front of her brain. But since there was still no sign ofHalle and Sethe herself didn't know what had happened to him, she let the whoop lie-not wishingto hurt his chances by thanking God too soon.
It was Stamp Paid who started it. Twenty days after Sethe got to 124 he came by and looked at the baby he had tied up in his nephew's jacket, looked at the mother he had handed a piece of fried eelto and, for some private reason of his own, went off with two buckets to a place near the river'sedge that only he knew about where blackberries grew, tasting so good and happy that to eat themwas like being in church. Just one of the berries and you felt anointed. He walked six miles to theriverbank; did a slide-run-slide down into a ravine made almost inaccessible by brush. He reachedthrough brambles lined with blood-drawing thorns thick as knives that cut through his shirt sleevesand trousers. All the while suffering mosquitoes, bees, hornets, wasps and the meanest lady spidersin the state. Scratched, raked and bitten, he maneuvered through and took hold of each berry withfingertips so gentle not a single one was bruised. Late in the afternoon he got back to 124 and puttwo full buckets down on the porch. When Baby Suggs saw his shredded clothes, bleeding hands,welted face and neck she sat down laughing out loud.
Buglar, Howard, the woman in the bonnet and Sethe came to look and then laughed along withBaby Suggs at the sight of the sly, steely old black man: agent, fisherman, boatman, tracker,savior, spy, standing in broad daylight whipped finally by two pails of blackberries. Paying themno mind he took a berry and put it in the three week-old Denver's mouth. The women shrieked.
"She's too little for that, Stamp.""Bowels be soup.""Sickify her stomach."But the baby's thrilled eyes and smacking lips made them follow suit, sampling one at a time theberries that tasted like church. Finally Baby Suggs slapped the boys' hands away from the bucketand sent Stamp around to the pump to rinse himself. She had decided to do something with thefruit worthy of the man's labor and his love. That's how it began.
She made the pastry dough and thought she ought to tell Ella and John to stop on by because threepies, maybe four, were too much to keep for one's own. Sethe thought they might as well back itup with a couple of chickens. Stamp allowed that perch and catfish were jumping into the boat —didn't even have to drop a line. From Denver's two thrilled eyes it grew to a feast for ninety people.
124 shook with their voices far into the night. Ninety people who ate so well, and laughed somuch, it made them angry. They woke up the next morning and remembered the meal-fried perchthat Stamp Paid handled with a hickory twig, holding his left palm out against the spit and pop ofthe boiling grease; the corn pudding made with cream; tired, overfed children asleep in the grass,tiny bones of roasted rabbit still in their hands — and got angry.
Baby Suggs' three (maybe four) pies grew to ten (maybe twelve). Sethe's two hens became fiveturkeys. The one block of ice brought all the way from Cincinnati — -over which they pouredmashed watermelon mixed with sugar and mint to make a punch — became a wagonload of icecakes for a washtub full of strawberry shrug, 124, rocking with laughter, goodwill and food forninety, made them angry. Too much, they thought. Where does she get it all, Baby Suggs, holy?
Why is she and hers always the center of things? How come she always knows exactly what to do and when? Giving advice; passing messages; healing the sick, hiding fugitives, loving, cooking,cooking, loving, preaching, singing, dancing and loving everybody like it was her job and hersalone.
Now to take two buckets of blackberries and make ten, maybe twelve, pies; to have turkey enoughfor the whole town pretty near, new peas in September, fresh cream but no cow, ice and sugar,batter bread, bread pudding, raised bread, shortbread — it made them mad. Loaves and fishes wereHis powers — they did not belong to an ex slave who had probably never carried one hundredpounds to the scale, or picked okra with a baby on her back. Who had never been lashed by a tenyear-old whiteboy as God knows they had. Who had not even escaped slavery — had, in fact, beenbought out of it by a doting son and driven to the Ohio River in a wagon — free papers foldedbetween her breasts (driven by the very man who had been her master, who also paid herresettlement fee — name of Garner), and rented a house with two floors and a well from theBodwins — the white brother and sister who gave Stamp Paid, Ella and John clothes, goods andgear for runaways because they hated slavery worse than they hated slaves.
It made them furious. They swallowed baking soda, the morning after, to calm the stomachviolence caused by the bounty, the reckless generosity on display at 124. Whispered to each otherin the yards about fat rats, doom and uncalled-for pride.
The scent of their disapproval lay heavy in the air. Baby Suggs woke to it and wondered what itwas as she boiled hominy for her grandchildren. Later, as she stood in the garden, chopping at thetight soil over the roots of the pepper plants, she smelled it again. She lifted her head and lookedaround. Behind her some yards to the left Sethe squatted in the pole beans. Her shoulders weredistorted by the greased flannel under her dress to encourage the healing of her back. Near her in abushel basket was the three-week-old baby. Baby Suggs, holy, looked up. The sky was blue andclear. Not one touch of death in the definite green of the leaves. She could hear birds and, faintly,the stream way down in the meadow. The puppy, Here Boy, was burying the last bones fromyesterday's party. From somewhere at the side of the house came the voices of Buglar, Howard andthe crawling girl. Nothing seemed amiss — yet the smell of disapproval was sharp. Back beyondthe vegetable garden, closer to the stream but in full sun, she had planted corn. Much as they'dpicked for the party, there were still ears ripening, which she could see from where she stood.
Baby Suggs leaned back into the peppers and the squash vines with her hoe. Carefully, with theblade at just the right angle, she cut through a stalk of insistent rue. Its flowers she stuck through asplit in her hat; the rest she tossed aside. The quiet clok clok clok of wood splitting reminded herthat Stamp was doing the chore he promised to the night before. She sighed at her work and, amoment later, straightened up to sniff the disapproval once again. Resting on the handle of the hoe,she concentrated. She was accustomed to the knowledge that nobody prayed for her — but thisfree floating repulsion was new. It wasn't whitefolks — that much she could tell — so it must becolored ones. And then she knew. Her friends and neighbors were angry at her because she hadoverstepped, given too much, offended them by excess.
Baby closed her eyes. Perhaps they were right. Suddenly, behind the disapproving odor, way wayback behind it, she smelled another thing. Dark and coming. Something she couldn't get at because the other odor hid it.
She squeezed her eyes tight to see what it was but all she could make out was high-topped shoesshe didn't like the look of. Thwarted yet wondering, she chopped away with the hoe. What could itbe? This dark and coming thing. What was left to hurt her now? News of Halle's death? No. Shehad been prepared for that better than she had for his life. The last of her children, whom shebarely glanced at when he was born because it wasn't worth the trouble to try to learn features youwould never see change into adulthood anyway. Seven times she had done that: held a little foot;examined the fat fingertips with her own — fingers she never saw become the male or femalehands a mother would recognize anywhere. She didn't know to this day what their permanent teethlooked like; or how they held their heads when they walked. Did Patty lose her lisp? What colordid Famous' skin finally take? Was that a cleft in Johnny's chin or just a dimple that woulddisappear soon's his jawbone changed? Four girls, and the last time she saw them there was no hairunder their arms. Does Ardelia still love the burned bottom of bread? All seven were gone or dead.
What would be the point of looking too hard at that youngest one? But for some reason they let herkeep him. He was with her — everywhere.
When she hurt her hip in Carolina she was a real bargain (costing less than Halle, who was tenthen) for Mr. Garner, who took them both to Kentucky to a farm he called Sweet Home. Becauseof the hip she jerked like a three-legged dog when she walked. But at Sweet Home there wasn't arice field or tobacco patch in sight, and nobody, but nobody, knocked her down. Not once. LillianGarner called her Jenny for some reason but she never pushed, hit or called her mean names. Evenwhen she slipped in cow dung and broke every egg in her apron, nobody said youblackbitchwhat'sthematterwith-you and nobody knocked her down.
Sweet Home was tiny compared to the places she had been. Mr. Garner, Mrs. Garner, herself,Halle, and four boys, over half named Paul, made up the entire population. Mrs. Garner hummedwhen she worked; Mr. Garner acted like the world was a toy he was supposed to have fun with.
Neither wanted her in the field — Mr. Garner's boys, including Halle, did all of that — which wasa blessing since she could not have managed it anyway. What she did was stand beside thehumming Lillian Garner while the two of them cooked, preserved, washed, ironed, made candles,clothes, soap and cider;fed chickens, pigs, dogs and geese; milked cows, churned butter, renderedfat, laid fires. . . . Nothing to it. And nobody knocked her down.
Her hip hurt every single day — but she never spoke of it. Only Halle, who had watched hermovements closely for the last four years, knew that to get in and out of bed she had to lift herthigh with both hands, which was why he spoke to Mr. Garner about buying her out of there so shecould sit down for a change. Sweet boy. The one person who did something hard for her: gave herhis work, his life and now his children, whose voices she could just make out as she stood in thegarden wondering what was the dark and coming thing behind the scent of disapproval. SweetHome was a marked improvement. No question. And no matter, for the sadness was at her center,the desolated center where the self that was no self made its home. Sad as it was that she did notknow where her children were buried or what they looked like if alive, fact was she knew moreabout them than she knew about herself, having never had the map to discover what she was like.
Could she sing? (Was it nice to hear when she did?) Was she pretty? Was she a good friend? Couldshe have been a loving mother? A faithful wife? Have I got a sister and does she favor me? If mymother knew me would she like me?
