保罗•D看看女孩，又看看塞丝。塞丝笑吟吟地说：
“瞧，这就是我的丹芙。这是‘甜蜜之家’的保罗•D，亲爱的。
”
“早安，D先生。
”
“加纳，宝贝儿。保罗•D.加纳。
”
“是，先生。
”
“很高兴见到你。我上次见你妈妈的时候，你正从她裙子里面往外拱呢。
”
“如今也一样，”塞丝笑道，“要是她还能钻回去的话。
”
丹芙站在最低一磴楼梯上，突然间又烫又羞。好久没有什么人（好心的白女人、牧师、演说家或是报社记者———他们眼中的反感证明他们同情的声音不过是谎言）来坐在她们家的桌子旁边了。远在贝比奶奶去世以前，整整十二年时间里，从没有过任何一种来访者，当然也就没有朋友。
没有黑人。当然更没有头发这么长的榛色男人，更没有笔记本，没有炭煤，没有橙子，没有一大堆问题。没有妈妈愿意与之交谈的人，甚至光着脚也居然情愿与之交谈的人。妈妈看起来好像———实际上装成———个小姑娘，而不是丹芙一直熟识的那个安静的、王后般的女人。那个从不旁视的女人，看到一个人就在索亚餐馆门前被母马踢死也不把脸扭开的女人；看到一只母猪开始吃自己的幼崽时也不把脸扭开的女人。就是那一次，“来，小鬼”被婴儿的鬼魂提起来狠狠地扔到墙上，摔得它断了两条腿，眼睛错位，浑身抽搐，嚼碎了自己的舌头，她的妈妈也仍然没有把脸扭开。她抄起一把榔头把狗打昏，擦去血迹和唾沫，把眼睛按回脑袋，接好腿骨。后来它痊愈了，成了哑巴，走路摇摇摆摆的，不仅因为弯曲的腿，更因为不中用的眼睛。无论冬夏，不分晴雨，什么也不能说服它再走进这房子一次。
Chapter 3
Now here was this woman with the presence of mind to repair a dog gone savage with painrocking her crossed ankles and looking away from her own daughter's body. As though the size ofit was more than vision could bear. And neither she nor he had on shoes. Hot, shy, now Denverwas lonely. All that leaving: first her brothers, then her grandmother — serious losses since therewere no children willing to circle her in a game or hang by their knees from her porch railing.
None of that had mattered as long as her mother did not look away as she was doing now, makingDenver long, downright long, for a sign of spite from the baby ghost.
"She's a fine-looking young lady," said Paul D. "Fine-looking.
Got her daddy's sweet face.""You know my father?""Knew him. Knew him well.""Did he, Ma'am?" Denver fought an urge to realign her affection.
"Of course he knew your daddy. I told you, he's from Sweet Home."Denver sat down on the bottom step. There was nowhere else gracefully to go. They were atwosome, saying "Your daddy" and "Sweet Home" in a way that made it clear both belonged tothem and not to her. That her own father's absence was not hers. Once the absence had belonged toGrandma Baby — a son, deeply mourned because he was the one who had bought her out of there.
Then it was her mother's absent husband. Now it was this hazelnut stranger's absent friend. Onlythose who knew him ("knew him well") could claim his absence for themselves. Just as only thosewho lived in Sweet Home could remember it, whisper it and glance sideways at one another whilethey did. Again she wished for the baby ghost — its anger thrilling her now where it used to wearher out. Wear her out.
"We have a ghost in here," she said, and it worked. They were not a twosome anymore. Hermother left off swinging her feet and being girlish. Memory of Sweet Home dropped away fromthe eyes of the man she was being girlish for. He looked quickly up the lightning-white stairsbehind her.
"So I hear," he said. "But sad, your mama said. Not evil.""No sir," said Denver, "not evil. But not sad either.""What then?""Rebuked. Lonely and rebuked.""Is that right?" Paul D turned to Sethe.
"I don't know about lonely," said Denver's mother. "Mad, maybe, but I don't see how it could belonely spending every minute with us like it does.""Must be something you got it wants."Sethe shrugged. "It's just a baby.""My sister," said Denver. "She died in this house."Paul D scratched the hair under his jaw. "Reminds me of that headless bride back behind SweetHome. Remember that, Sethe? Used to roam them woods regular.""How could I forget? Worrisome . . .""How come everybody run off from Sweet Home can't stop talking about it? Look like if it was sosweet you would have stayed.""Girl, who you talking to?"Paul D laughed. "True, true. She's right, Sethe. It wasn't sweet and it sure wasn't home." He shookhis head.
"But it's where we were," said Sethe. "All together. Comes back whether we want it to or not." Sheshivered a little. A light ripple of skin on her arm, which she caressed back into sleep. "Denver,"she said, "start up that stove. Can't have a friend stop by and don't feed him.""Don't go to any trouble on my account," Paul D said.
"Bread ain't trouble. The rest I brought back from where I work. Least I can do, cooking fromdawn to noon, is bring dinner home. You got any objections to pike?""If he don't object to me I don't object to him."At it again, thought Denver. Her back to them, she jostled the kindlin and almost lost the fire.
"Why don't you spend the night, Mr. Garner? You and Ma'am can talk about Sweet Home all nightlong."Sethe took two swift steps to the stove, but before she could yank Denver's collar, the girl leanedforward and began to cry.
"What is the matter with you? I never knew you to behave this way.""Leave her be," said Paul D. "I'm a stranger to her.""That's just it. She got no cause to act up with a stranger. Oh baby, what is it? Did somethinghappen?"But Denver was shaking now and sobbing so she could not speak.
The tears she had not shed for nine years wetting her far too womanly breasts.
"I can't no more. I can't no more.""Can't what? What can't you?""I can't live here. I don't know where to go or what to do, but I can't live here. Nobody speaks tous. Nobody comes by. Boys don't like me. Girls don't either.""Honey, honey.""What's she talking 'bout nobody speaks to you?" asked Paul D. "It's the house. People don't — ""It's not! It's not the house. It's us! And it's you!""Denver!""Leave off, Sethe. It's hard for a young girl living in a haunted house. That can't be easy.""It's easier than some other things.""Think, Sethe. I'm a grown man with nothing new left to see or do and I'm telling you it ain't easy.
Maybe you all ought to move. Who owns this house?"Over Denver's shoulder Sethe shot Paul D a look of snow. "What you care?""They won't let you leave?""No.""Sethe.""No moving. No leaving. It's all right the way it is.""You going to tell me it's all right with this child half out of her mind?"Something in the house braced, and in the listening quiet that followed Sethe spoke.
"I got a tree on my back and a haint in my house, and nothing in between but the daughter I amholding in my arms. No more running — from nothing. I will never run from another thing on thisearth. I took one journey and I paid for the ticket, but let me tell you something, Paul D Garner: itcost too much! Do you hear me? It cost too much. Now sit down and eat with us or leave us be."Paul D fished in his vest for a little pouch of tobacco — concentrating on its contents and the knotof its string while Sethe led Denver into the keeping room that opened off the large room he wassitting in. He had no smoking papers, so he fiddled with the pouch and listened through the opendoor to Sethe quieting her daughter. When she came back she avoided his look and went straight toa small table next to the stove. Her back was to him and he could see all the hair he wanted withoutthe distraction of her face.
"What tree on your back?""Huh." Sethe put a bowl on the table and reached under it for flour.
"What tree on your back? Is something growing on your back?
I don't see nothing growing on your back.""It's there all the same.""Who told you that?""Whitegirl. That's what she called it. I've never seen it and never will. But that's what she said itlooked like. A chokecherry tree. Trunk, branches, and even leaves. Tiny little chokecherry leaves.
But that was eighteen years ago. Could have cherries too now for all I know."Sethe took a little spit from the tip of her tongue with her forefinger. Quickly, lightly she touchedthe stove. Then she trailed her fingers through the flour, parting, separating small hills and ridgesof it, looking for mites. Finding none, she poured soda and salt into the crease of her folded handand tossed both into the flour. Then she reached into a can and scooped half a handful of lard.
Deftly she squeezed the flour through it, then with her left hand sprinkling water, she formed thedough.
就是这个女人，当年有本事去修理一只疼得撒野的狗，现在正架起腿晃悠着，将视线从她自己女儿的身体上移开，好像视野里根本容不下她的身量似的。而且她和他谁都没有穿鞋。又发烫，又害羞，现在丹芙是孤独的。所有那些离去的———先是哥哥们，然后是奶奶———都是惨重的损失，因为再没有小孩愿意围着她做游戏，或者弯着腿倒挂在她家门廊的栏杆上悠来荡去了。那些都没有关系，只要她妈妈别再像现在这样把脸扭开，搞得丹芙渴望，由衷地渴望一个来自那个婴儿鬼魂的怨恨的表示。
“她是个好看的姑娘，”保罗•D说，“好看。脸蛋像她爹一样甜。
”
“你认识我爸爸？
”
“认识。相当认识。
”
“是吗，太太？
”丹芙尽量避免油然而生的好感。
“他当然认识你的爸爸。我不是跟你说了吗，他是‘甜蜜之家’的人。
”
丹芙在最低一磴楼梯上坐下。再没有别的地方好去了。他们成了一对，说着什么“你的爸爸”和“甜蜜之家”，用的全是那种显然属于他们而不属于她的方式。就是说，她自己父亲的失踪不关她的事。失踪首先是属于贝比奶奶的———一个儿子，被深切地哀悼着，因为是他把她从那里赎出来的。其次，他是妈妈失踪的丈夫。现在他又是这个榛色陌生人的失踪的朋友。只有那些认识他的人（“相当认识”）有权利说起他的失踪。就好像只有那些住在“甜蜜之家”的人才能记得他，悄声谈起他，一边说一边互相用眼角交换目光。她又一次盼望那个小鬼魂———它那现在令她兴奋的愤怒，曾经让她疲惫不堪。让她疲惫不堪。
她说道：
“我们这儿有个鬼。
”这句话立即起了作用。他们不再是一对了。她妈妈不再悠着脚作女孩状了。对“甜蜜之家”的记忆从她为之作女孩状的男人眼中一滴一滴漏走。他猛抬头，瞥了一眼她身后明亮的白楼梯。
“我听说了，”他说，“可那是悲伤，你妈妈说的。不是邪恶。
”
“不，先生，”丹芙道，“不是邪恶，可也不是悲伤。
”
“那是什么呢？
”
“冤屈。孤独和冤屈。
”
“是这样吗？
”保罗•D转头问塞丝。
“我拿不准是不是孤独，”丹芙的母亲说道，“愤怒倒有可能，可是它这样时时刻刻跟我们在一块儿，我看不出它怎么会孤独。
”
“你肯定有什么它想要的东西。
”
塞丝耸耸肩膀。
“它只不过是个娃娃。
”
“是我姐姐，”丹芙说，“她死在这房子里。
”
保罗•D抓了抓下巴上的胡子。
“让我想起了‘甜蜜之家’后面的那个无头新娘。还记得吗，塞丝？老在那片树林里游荡。
”
“怎么忘得了呢？怪烦人的……”
“为什么每个从‘甜蜜之家’逃走的人都不能不谈它？要是真这么甜蜜的话，看来你们应该留在那儿。”
“丫头，你这是跟谁说话呢？
”
保罗•D哈哈大笑。
“的确，的确。她说得对，塞丝。那儿并不甜蜜，当然也不是个家。”他摇了摇头。
“可那是我们待过的地方，”塞丝说，“大家都在一起。不管愿不愿意，总会想起来。
”她微微哆嗦了一下。胳膊表面皱起了一块，她连忙抚平。
“丹芙，”她说道，“生炉子。不能来了朋友倒不招待他。
”
“甭为我费事了。
”保罗•D说。
“烤面包不费什么事。再有就是我从工作的餐馆带回来的东西。从一大早忙活到晌午，我起码能把晚饭带回家。你不讨厌吃梭鱼吧？
”
“要是他不讨厌我，我也不讨厌他。
”
又来了，丹芙心想。她背对着他们，拐了一下柴火，差点碰灭了火。
“你干吗不在这儿过夜，加纳先生？那样你和太太就能整夜谈‘甜蜜之家’了。”
塞丝三步并作两步赶到火炉边，可还没抓住丹芙的衣领，那姑娘就向前挣去，哭了起来。
“你怎么了？我从没见过你这么不懂事。
”
“甭管她了。
”保罗•D说，“我是个生人。
”
“说的就是这个。她没理由对生人不礼貌。噢，宝贝，怎么回事？到底怎么啦？
”
可是丹芙这会儿正在颤抖，由于抽泣说不出话来。九年来从未落过的泪水，打湿了她过于女人味的胸脯。
“我再不能了，我再不能了。
”
“不能干吗？你不能干吗？
”
“我不能住在这儿了。我也不知道去哪儿、干什么，可我不能在这儿住了。没有人跟我们说话。没有人来。男孩子不喜欢我。女孩子也不喜欢我。
”
“亲爱的，亲爱的。
”
“她说没人跟你们说话是什么意思？
”保罗•D问道。
“是这座房子。人家不———”
“不是!不是这房子!是我们!是你!”
“丹芙!”
“得了，塞丝。一个小姑娘，住在闹鬼的房子里，不易。不易。
”
“比有些事还容易呢。
”
“想想看，塞丝。我是个大老爷们，什么事没见过没做过，可我跟你说这不易。也许你们都该搬走。这房子是谁的？
”
塞丝目光越过丹芙的肩头，冷冷地看了保罗•D一眼。
“你操哪门子心？
”
“他们不让你走？
”
“不是。
”
“塞丝。
”
“不搬。不走。这样挺好。
”
“你是想说这孩子半疯不傻的没关系，是吗？
”
屋子里的什么东西绷紧了，在随后的等待的寂静中，塞丝说话了。
“我后背上有棵树，家里有个鬼，除了怀里抱着的女儿我什么都没有了。不再逃了———从哪儿都不逃了。我再也不从这个世界上的任何地方逃走了。我逃跑过一回，我买了票，可我告诉你，保罗•D.加纳：它太昂贵了!你听见了吗？它太昂贵了。现在请你坐下来和我们吃饭，要不就走开。
”
保罗•D从马甲里掏出一个小烟口袋———专心致志地研究起里面的烟丝和袋口的绳结来；同时，塞丝领着丹芙进了从他坐着的大屋开出的起居室。他没有卷烟纸，就一边拨弄烟口袋玩，一边听敞开的门那边塞丝安抚她的女儿。回来的时候，她回避着他的注视，径直走到炉边的小案子旁。她背对着他，于是他不用注意她脸上的心烦意乱，就能尽意欣赏她的全部头发。
“你后背上的什么树？
”
“哦。”塞丝把一只碗放在案子上，到案子下面抓面粉。
“你后背上的什么树？有什么长在你的后背上吗？我没看见什么长在你背上。
”
“还不是一样。
”
“谁告诉你的？
”
“那个白人姑娘。她就是这么说的。我从没见过，也永远不会见到了。可她说就是那个样子。
一棵苦樱桃树。树干，树枝，还有树叶呢。小小的苦樱桃树叶。可那是十八年前的事了。我估计现在连樱桃都结下了。
”
塞丝用食指从舌尖蘸了点唾沫，很快地轻轻碰了一下炉子。然后她用十指在面粉里划道儿，把面粉扒拉开，分成一小堆一小堆的，找小虫子。她什么都没找到，就往蜷起的手掌沟里撒苏打粉和盐，再都倒进面粉。她又找到一个罐头盒，舀出半手心猪油。她熟练地把面粉和着猪油从手中挤出，然后再用左手一边往里洒水，就这样她揉成了面团。
Chapter 4
"I had milk," she said. "I was pregnant with Denver but I had milk for my baby girl. I hadn'tstopped nursing her when I sent her on ahead with Howard and Buglar."Now she rolled the dough out with a wooden pin. "Anybody could smell me long before he sawme. And when he saw me he'd see the drops of it on the front of my dress. Nothing I could doabout that. All I knew was I had to get my milk to my baby girl. Nobody was going to nurse herlike me. Nobody was going to get it to her fast enough, or take it away when she had enough anddidn't know it. Nobody knew that she couldn't pass her air if you held her up on your shoulder,only if she was lying on my knees. Nobody knew that but me and nobody had her milk but me. Itold that to the women in the wagon. Told them to put sugar water in cloth to suck from so when Igot there in a few days she wouldn't have forgot me. The milk would be there and I would be therewith it.""Men don't know nothing much," said Paul D, tucking his pouch back into his vest pocket, "butthey do know a suckling can't be away from its mother for long.""Then they know what it's like to send your children off when your breasts are full.""We was talking 'bout a tree, Sethe.""After I left you, those boys came in there and took my milk.
That's what they came in there for. Held me down and took it. I told Mrs. Garner on em. She hadthat lump and couldn't speak but her eyes rolled out tears. Them boys found out I told on em.
Schoolteacher made one open up my back, and when it closed it made a tree. It grows there still.""They used cowhide on you?""And they took my milk.""They beat you and you was pregnant?""And they took my milk!"The fat white circles of dough lined the pan in rows. Once more Sethe touched a wet forefinger tothe stove. She opened the oven door and slid the pan of biscuits in. As she raised up from the heatshe felt Paul D behind her and his hands under her breasts. She straightened up and knew, butcould not feel, that his cheek was pressing into the branches of her chokecherry tree.
Not even trying, he had become the kind of man who could walk into a house and make thewomen cry. Because with him, in his presence, they could. There was something blessed in hismanner. Women saw him and wanted to weep — to tell him that their chest hurt and their kneesdid too. Strong women and wise saw him and told him things they only told each other: that waypast the Change of Life, desire in them had suddenly become enormous, greedy, more savage thanwhen they were fifteen, and that it embarrassed them and made them sad; that secretly they longedto die — to be quit of it — that sleep was more precious to them than any waking day. Young girls sidled up to him to confess or describe how well-dressed the visitations were that had followedthem straight from their dreams. Therefore, although he did not understand why this was so, hewas not surprised when Denver dripped tears into the stovefire. Nor, fifteen minutes later, aftertelling him about her stolen milk, her mother wept as well. Behind her, bending down, his body anarc of kindness, he held her breasts in the palms of his hands. He rubbed his cheek on her back andlearned that way her sorrow, the roots of it; its wide trunk and intricate branches. Raising hisfingers to the hooks of her dress, he knew without seeing them or hearing any sigh that the tearswere coming fast. And when the top of her dress was around her hips and he saw the sculpture herback had become, like the decorative work of an ironsmith too passionate for display, he couldthink but not say, "Aw, Lord, girl." And he would tolerate no peace until he had touched everyridge and leaf of it with his mouth, none of which Sethe could feel because her back skin had beendead for years. What she knew was that the responsibility for her breasts, at last, was in somebodyelse's hands.
