124 was so full of strong feeling perhaps she was oblivious to the loss of anything at all. There wasa time when she scanned the fields every morning and every evening for her boys. When she stoodat the open window, unmindful of flies, her head cocked to her left shoulder, her eyes searching to the right for them. Cloud shadow on the road, an old woman, a wandering goat untethered andgnawing bramble — each one looked at first like Howard — no, Buglar. Little by little she stoppedand their thirteen-year-old faces faded completely into their baby ones, which came to her only insleep. When her dreams roamed outside 124, anywhere they wished, she saw them sometimes inbeautiful trees, their little legs barely visible in the leaves.
Sometimes they ran along the railroad track laughing, too loud, apparently, to hear her becausethey never did turn around. When she woke the house crowded in on her: there was the door wherethe soda crackers were lined up in a row; the white stairs her baby girl loved to climb; the cornerwhere Baby Suggs mended shoes, a pile of which were still in the cold room; the exact place onthe stove where Denver burned her fingers. And of course the spite of the house itself. There wasno room for any other thing or body until Paul D arrived and broke up the place, making room,shifting it, moving it over to someplace else, then standing in the place he had made.
So, kneeling in the keeping room the morning after Paul D came, she was distracted by the twoorange squares that signaled how barren 124 really was.
He was responsible for that. Emotions sped to the surface in his company. Things became whatthey were: drabness looked drab; heat was hot. Windows suddenly had view. And wouldn't youknow he'd be a singing man.
丹芙知道妈妈讲完了———至少目前如此。塞丝的眼睛缓缓地眨了一下，下嘴唇慢慢抿上来盖住上嘴唇；然后是鼻孔里的一声叹息，就像一点烛火的熄灭———标志着她的讲述到此为止。
“嗯，我想那个娃娃有计划。
”丹芙说。
“什么计划？
”
“我不知道，可是那件搂着你的裙子肯定有说道。
”
“也许吧，”塞丝道，“也许它真的有计划。
”
无论她们曾经如何，或者本该如何，保罗•D都不可挽回地搅乱了她们的生活。他用一张桌子和雄性的怒吼，使124号失去了在当地享有恶名的资格。丹芙早已学会了将黑人们压在她们身上的谴责引以为荣；他们把闹鬼者想当然地说成一个不知餍足的恶鬼，她也感到满意。他们谁都不知道闹鬼的真正乐趣，不是怀疑，而是洞悉事物背后有事物的乐趣。她的哥哥们知道，可他们给吓着了；贝比奶奶知道，可她因此悲伤起来。谁都不会品味鬼魂相伴的安全感。甚至塞丝也不喜欢。她只不过是逆来顺受———权当面对天气的突然变化。
可是现在它走了。在榛色男人的那阵吼叫的狂风中飞走了。丹芙的世界骤然萧索，只剩下林中一间七英尺高的祖母绿密室。她的妈妈有秘密———她不愿讲的事情，讲了一半的事情。瞧，丹芙也有。而且她的是香甜的———好像铃兰花香水一般香甜。
保罗•D到来之前，塞丝很少去想那条白裙子，他来了以后，她又想起了丹芙的解释：
计划。与保罗•D初夜之后的第二天早晨，塞丝刚想到这个词可能意味着什么就笑了。那是她整整十八年没再享受过的奢侈，而且这辈子也只有那么一次。在那之前、之后，她的全部努力都用于尽快挨过痛苦，而不是逃避痛苦。她作出的一整套计划———逃离“甜蜜之家”———如此彻底地失败了，所以她再也不会舍命另作图谋了。
然而那个早晨，她在保罗•D身边醒来，女儿几年前用过的那个词又闯进了她的脑海；她想起丹芙看见的那个跪在她身边的东西，也想起了被他拥在火炉前的时候牢牢抓住她的那种信任和记忆的诱惑。到底可不可以呢？可不可以去感觉？可不可以去依赖点什么呢？
躺在他身边听着他的呼吸，她想不清楚，所以她小心翼翼地、小心翼翼地下了床。
跪在她常去说话和思考的起居室里，塞丝豁然开朗，明白了为什么贝比•萨格斯那样迫切地渴求色彩。屋里没有任何颜色，只有被子上的两块橙色补丁，使得颜色的匮乏更为怵目惊心。
房间的墙壁是石板色的，地板是土黄色的，木头碗柜就是它本来的颜色，窗帘是白色的，而主要角色，铁床上铺的被子，是由蓝色的哔叽碎块和黑色、棕色、灰色的呢绒碎块拼成的———节俭与朴素所能允许的所有晦暗和柔和的色调。在这素净的背景上，两块橙色的补丁显得野性十足———好像伤口里的勃勃生气。
塞丝看看自己的手，又看看两只深绿色的袖子，心想，房子里的颜色少得多么可怜，而她并未像贝比那样惦念它们，又是多么不可思议。故意的，她暗道，肯定是故意的，因为她女儿墓石上的粉红颗粒是她记得的最后一样颜色。从那以后，她就变得像母鸡一样色盲了。每天清晨她负责做水果排、土豆和蔬菜，厨子做汤、肉和所有别的。她却没有任何印象，告诉她自己记住过一只嫩苹果或者一个黄南瓜。每个黎明她都看到曙光，却从未辨认或留心过它的色彩。这不大对头。仿佛有一天她看见了红色的婴儿的血，另一天看见了粉红色的墓石的颗粒，色彩就到此为止了。
时时刻刻有强烈的感情占据着124号，也许她对任何一种丧失都无动于衷了。有一个时期，她每天早晚都要眺望田野，找自己的儿子。她站在敞开的窗前，不理会苍蝇，头偏向左肩，眼睛却往右搜寻他们。路上的云影，一个老妇，一只没拴绳子、啃食荆棘的迷途山羊———每一个乍看上去都像霍华德———不，像巴格勒。渐渐地她不再找了，他们十三岁的脸完全模糊成儿时的模样，只在她的睡梦中出现。她的梦在124号外面随心所欲地漫游。她有时在美丽的树上看见他们，他们的小腿儿在叶子中间隐约可见。有时他们嘻嘻哈哈地沿着铁轨奔跑，显然是笑得太响了才听不见她的叫声，所以他们从不回头。等她醒来，房子又扑面而至：苏打饼干碎末曾经在旁边排成一行的那扇门；她的小女儿喜欢爬的白楼梯；过去贝比•萨格斯补鞋的那个角落———现在冷藏室里还有一堆鞋呢；炉子上烫伤了丹芙手指的那个位置。当然，还有房子本身的怨毒。再容不下别的什么东西、别的什么人了，直到保罗•D到来，打乱这个地方，腾出空间，撵走它，把它赶到别处，然后他自己占据了腾出来的空间。
因此，保罗•D到来的第二天早晨，她跪在起居室里，被那标志着124号实为颜色匮乏的不毛之地的两方橙色搞得心烦意乱。
这都怪他。在他陪伴下，情感纷纷浮出水面。一切都恢复了本来面目：单调看着单调了；热的热起来。窗户里忽然有了风景。还有，你想不到吧，他还是个爱唱歌的男人呢。
Chapter 10
Little rice, little bean,No meat in between.
Hard work ain't easy,Dry bread ain't greasy.
He was up now and singing as he mended things he had broken the day before. Some old pieces ofsong he'd learned on the prison farm or in the War afterward. Nothing like what they sang at SweetHome, where yearning fashioned every note.
The songs he knew from Georgia were flat-headed nails for pounding and pounding and pounding.
Lay my bead on the railroad line,Train come along, pacify my mind.
If I had my weight in lime,I'd whip my captain till he went stone blind.
five-cent nickel, Ten-cent dime,Busting rocks is busting time.
But they didn't fit, these songs. They were too loud, had too much power for the little house choreshe was engaged in — resetting table legs; glazing.
He couldn't go back to "Storm upon the Waters" that they sang under the trees of Sweet Home, sohe contented himself with mmmmmmmmm, throwing in a line if one occurred to him, and whatoccurred over and over was "Bare feet and chamomile sap,/ Took off my shoes; took off my hat."It was tempting to change the words (Gimme back my shoes; gimme back my hat), because hedidn't believe he could live with a woman — any woman — for over two out of three months. Thatwas about as long as he could abide one place. After Delaware and before that Alfred, Georgia,where he slept underground and crawled into sunlight for the sole purpose of breaking rock,walking off when he got ready was the only way he could convince himself that he would nolonger have to sleep, pee, eat or swing a sledge hammer in chains. But this was not a normalwoman in a normal house. As soon as he had stepped through the red light he knew that, comparedto 124, the rest of the world was bald. After Alfred he had shut down a generous portion of hishead, operating on the part that helped him walk, eat, sleep, sing. If he could do those things —with a little work and a little sex thrown in — he asked for no more, for more required him todwell on Halle's face and Sixo laughing. To recall trembling in a box built into the ground.
Grateful for the daylight spent doing mule work in a quarry because he did not tremble when hehad a hammer in his hands. The box had done what Sweet Home had not, what working like an assand living like a dog had not: drove him crazy so he would not lose his mind.
By the time he got to Ohio, then to Cincinnati, then to Halle Suggs' mother's house, he thought hehad seen and felt it all. Even now as he put back the window frame he had smashed, he could notaccount for the pleasure in his surprise at seeing Halle's wife alive, barefoot with uncovered hair— walking around the corner of the house with her shoes and stockings in her hands. The closedportion of his head opened like a greased lock.
"I was thinking of looking for work around here. What you think?""Ain't much. River mostly. And hogs.""Well, I never worked on water, but I can pick up anything heavy as me, hogs included.""Whitepeople better here than Kentucky but you may have to scramble some.""It ain't whether I scramble; it's where. You saying it's all right to scramble here?""Better than all right.""Your girl, Denver. Seems to me she's of a different mind." "Why you say that?""She's got a waiting way about her. Something she's expecting and it ain't me.""I don't know what it could be.""Well, whatever it is, she believes I'm interrupting it.""Don't worry about her. She's a charmed child. From the beginning.""Is that right?""Uh huh. Nothing bad can happen to her. Look at it. Everybody I knew dead or gone or dead andgone. Not her. Not my Denver. Even when I was carrying her, when it got clear that I wasn't goingto make it — which meant she wasn't going to make it either — she pulled a whitegirl out of thehill. The last thing you'd expect to help. And when the schoolteacher found us and came busting inhere with the law and a shotgun — ""Schoolteacher found you?""Took a while, but he did. Finally.""And he didn't take you back?""Oh, no. I wasn't going back there. I don't care who found who. Any life but not that one. I went tojail instead. Denver was just a baby so she went right along with me. Rats bit everything in therebut her."Paul D turned away. He wanted to know more about it, but jail talk put him back in Alfred,Georgia.
"I need some nails. Anybody around here I can borrow from or should I go to town?""May as well go to town. You'll need other things."One night and they were talking like a couple. They had skipped love and promise and wentdirectly to "You saying it's all right to scramble here?"To Sethe, the future was a matter of keeping the past at bay. The "better life" she believed she andDenver were living was simply not that other one.
The fact that Paul D had come out of "that other one" into her bed was better too; and the notion ofa future with him, or for that matter without him, was beginning to stroke her mind. As for Denver, the job Sethe had of keeping her from the past that was still waiting for her was all that mattered.
PLEASANTLY TROUBLED, Sethe avoided the keeping room and Denver's sidelong looks. Asshe expected, since life was like that — it didn't do any good. Denver ran a mighty interferenceand on the third day flat-out asked Paul D how long he was going to hang around.
The phrase hurt him so much he missed the table. The coffee cup hit the floor and rolled down thesloping boards toward the front door.
"Hang around?" Paul D didn't even look at the mess he had made.
"Denver! What's got into you?" Sethe looked at her daughter, feeling more embarrassed thanangry.
Paul D scratched the hair on his chin. "Maybe I should make tracks.""No!" Sethe was surprised by how loud she said it. "He know what he needs," said Denver.
"Well, you don't," Sethe told her, "and you must not know what you need either. I don't want tohear another word out of you.""I just asked if — ""Hush! You make tracks. Go somewhere and sit down."Denver picked up her plate and left the table but not before adding a chicken back and more breadto the heap she was carrying away.
Paul D leaned over to wipe the spilled coffee with his blue handkerchief.
"I'll get that." Sethe jumped up and went to the stove. Behind itvarious cloths hung, each in some stage of drying. In silence she wiped the floor and retrieved thecup. Then she poured him another cupful, and set it carefully before him. Paul D touched its rimbut didn't say anything — as though even "thank you" was an obligation he could not meet and thecoffee itself a gift he could not take.
Sethe resumed her chair and the silence continued. Finally she realized that if it was going to bebroken she would have to do it.
"I didn't train her like that."Paul D stroked the rim of the cup.
"And I'm as surprised by her manners as you are hurt by em."Paul D looked at Sethe. "Is there history to her question?""History? What you mean?""I mean, did she have to ask that, or want to ask it, of anybody else before me?"
一点米，一点豆，就是不给肉。
干重活，累断腿，面包没油水。
现在他起床了，一边修理前一天打坏的东西，一边唱着歌。他在监狱农场和后来战争期间学的那几首老歌。根本不像他们在“甜蜜之家”唱的，在“甜蜜之家”，热望铸成了每一个音符。
他从佐治亚学来的歌是平头钉子，教人敲呀敲的只管敲。
我的头枕在铁道上，火车来碾平我的思想。
我要是变成石灰人，肯定抽瞎我的队长。
五分钱钢镚，一毛钱银角，砸石头就是砸时光。
但是太不合时宜了，这些歌。对于他正在从事的那点家务活———重安桌子腿、装修玻璃窗———来说，它们太响亮、太有劲了。
他已唱不出过去在“甜蜜之家”树下唱的《水上暴风雨》了，所以他满足于“呣，呣，呣”，想起一句就加进去一句，那一遍又一遍出现的总是：
“光着脚丫，春黄菊，脱我的鞋，脱我的帽。
”
改词很吸引人（还我的鞋，还我的帽），因为他不相信自己能和一个女人———任何女人———在一起住太久，三个月里不能超过两个月。离开特拉华之后，他在一个地方大概只能逗留这么长时间。再以前是佐治亚的阿尔弗雷德，在那里，他睡在地下，只在砸石头时才爬到阳光里。
只有准备好随时走掉，才能使他相信，他不必再带着锁链睡觉、拉屎、吃饭和抡大锤了。
然而这不是一个寻常房子里的寻常女人。他刚一走过红光就知道，比起124号，世界上其他地方都不过是童山秃岭。逃离阿尔弗雷德后，他封闭了相当一部分头脑，只使用帮他走路、吃饭、睡觉和唱歌的那部分。只要能做这几件事———再加进一点工作和一点性交———他就别无所求，否则他就会耽溺于黑尔的面孔和西克索的大笑。就会忆起在地下囚笼里的颤抖。即使在采石场的阳光下当牛做马他也不胜感激，因为一旦手握大锤他就不再哆嗦了。那牢笼起了“甜蜜之家”都没起到的作用，起了驴一般劳动、狗一般生活都没起到的作用：把他逼疯，使他不至于自己疯掉。
后来他去了俄亥俄，去了辛辛那提，直到站在黑尔•萨格斯的母亲的房子前，他仍然觉得没有什么事情自己没见过、没感受过。然而，甚至现在，当他重新安装被自己砸坏的窗框时，他也还是说不清见到黑尔的妻子时那种由衷的惊喜———她还活着，没戴头巾，赤着脚、手拿鞋袜从房子的拐角处走来。他头脑的关闭部分像上了油的锁一样打开了。
“我想在附近找个差事。你说呢？
”
“没多少可干的。主要是河。还有猪。
”
“嗯，我从来没干过水上的活儿，可是所有跟我一样沉的东西我都搬得动，猪也不在话下。
”
“这儿的白人比肯塔基的强，可你还是得将就点。
”
“问题不是我将不将就，是在哪儿将就。你是说在这儿还行？
”
“比还行要好。
”
“你那闺女，丹芙。我看她的脑袋瓜有点特别。
”
“你干吗这么说？
”
“她老像在等什么似的。她在盼着什么，可那不是我。
”
“我不知道那能是什么。
”
“唉，不管是什么，她认为我挺碍事的。
”
“别为她操心了。她是个乖孩子。从小就是。
”
“是这样吗？
”
“哎。她就是不会出事。你看哪。我认识的所有人都死了，去了，死去了。她就没事。我的丹芙就没事。就是在我怀着她的时候，我明显地不行了———就是说她也不行了———可她从山里拉来一个白人姑娘。你再也想不到的帮助。后来‘学校老师’找到了我们，带着法律和枪追到这儿来———”
“‘学校老师’找着你了？
”
“费了会儿工夫，但他还是找着了。终于找着了。
”
“可他没把你带回去？
”
“噢，没有。我可不回去。我才不管是谁找着了谁。哪种生活都行，就是那种不行。我进了监狱。丹芙还是个娃娃，所以跟我一起进去了。那儿的耗子什么都咬，就是不咬她。
”
保罗•D扭过身去。他倒想多知道一些，可是说起监狱，他又回到了佐治亚的阿尔弗雷德。
“我需要一些钉子。附近谁能借给我，还是我该进城一趟？
”
“不如进城吧。你可能还需要点别的东西。
”
一夜过去，他们已经像夫妻一样谈话了。他们跳过了爱情和誓言而直接到了：
“你是说在这儿将就还行？
”
在塞丝看来，未来就是将过去留在绝境。她为自己和丹芙认定的“更好的生活”绝对不能是那另一种。
保罗•D从“那另一种”来到她的床上，这也是一种更好的生活；是与他共享未来，还是因此拒绝他，这想法开始撩拨她的心。至于丹芙，塞丝有责任让她远离仍在那里等着她的过去，这是唯一至关重要的。
既愉快又为难，塞丝回避着起居室和丹芙的斜眼。正如她所料，既然生活就是这样———这个做法也根本不灵。丹芙进行了顽强的干涉，并在第三天老实不客气地问保罗•D他还要在这儿混多久。
这句话伤得他在饭桌上失了手。咖啡杯砸在地上，沿着倾斜的地板滚向前门。
“混？”保罗•D对他闯的那摊祸连看都没看。
“丹芙!你中了什么邪？
”塞丝看着女儿，与其说是生气，不如说是尴尬。
保罗•D搔了搔下巴上的胡子。
“也许我该开路了。
”
“不行!”塞丝被自己说话的音量吓了一跳。
“他知道他自己需要什么。
”丹芙说。
“可你不知道，”塞丝对她说，“你肯定也不知道你自己需要什么。我不想再从你嘴里听见一个字。”
“我只不过问了问———”
“住嘴!你开路去吧。到别处待着去。
”
丹芙端起盘子离开饭桌，可临走时又往她端走的那一堆上添了一块鸡后背和几片面包。保罗•D弯下腰，用他的蓝手帕去擦洒掉的咖啡。
“我来吧。
”塞丝跳起身走向炉子。炉子后面搭着好几块抹布，在不同程度地晾干。她默默地擦了地板，拾回杯子，然后又倒了一杯，小心地放到他面前。保罗•D碰了碰杯沿，但什么也没说———好像连声“谢谢”都是难尽的义务，咖啡更是件接受不起的礼物。
塞丝坐回她的椅子，寂静持续着。最后她意识到，必须由她来打破僵局。
“我可不是那样教她的。
”
保罗•D敲了一下杯沿。
“我对她的做法真感到吃惊，跟你觉得受的伤害差不多。”
保罗•D看着塞丝。
“她的问题有历史吗？”
“历史？你什么意思？”
“我是说，她是不是对我以前的每个人都要问，或者想要问那个？”
Chapter 11
Sethe made two fists and placed them on her hips. "You as bad as she is.""Come on, Sethe.""Oh, I am coming on. I am!""You know what I mean.""I do and I don't like it.""Jesus," he whispered.
"Who?" Sethe was getting loud again.
"Jesus! I said Jesus! All I did was sit down for supper! and I get cussed out twice. Once for beinghere and once for asking why I was cussed in the first place!""She didn't cuss.""No? Felt like it.""Look here. I apologize for her. I'm real — ""You can't do that. You can't apologize for nobody. She got to do that.""Then I'll see that she does." Sethe sighed. "What I want to know is, is she asking a question that'son your mind too?""Oh no. No, Paul D. Oh no.""Then she's of one mind and you another? If you can call what ever's in her head a mind, that is.""Excuse me, but I can't hear a word against her. I'll chastise her. You leave her alone."Risky, thought Paul D, very risky. For a used-to-be-slave woman to love anything that much wasdangerous, especially if it was her children she had settled on to love. The best thing, he knew, wasto love just a little bit; everything, just a little bit, so when they broke its back, or shoved it in acroaker sack, well, maybe you'd have a little love left over for the next one. "Why?" he asked her.
