However far she was from Sweet Home, there was no point in giving out her realname to the first person she saw. "Lu," said Sethe. "They call me Lu." "Well, Lu, velvet is like theworld was just born. Clean and new and so smooth. The velvet I seen was brown, but in Bostonthey got all colors. Carmine. That means red but when you talk about velvet you got to say'carmine.' " She raised her eyes to the sky and then, as though she had wasted enough time awayfrom Boston, she moved off saying, "I gotta go." Picking her way through the brush she holleredback to Sethe, "What you gonna do, just lay there and foal?" "I can't get up from here," said Sethe.
"What?" She stopped and turned to hear.
"I said I can't get up."Amy drew her arm across her nose and came slowly back to where Sethe lay. "It's a house backyonder," she said. "A house?""Mmmmm. I passed it. Ain't no regular house with people in it though. A lean-to, kinda.""How far?""Make a difference, does it? You stay the night here snake get you.""Well he may as well come on. I can't stand up let alone walk and God help me, miss, I can'tcrawl.""Sure you can, Lu. Come on," said Amy and, with a toss of hair enough for five heads, she movedtoward the path.
So she crawled and Amy walked alongside her, and when Sethe needed to rest, Amy stopped tooand talked some more about Boston and velvet and good things to eat. The sound of that voice,like a sixteen-year-old boy's, going on and on and on, kept the little antelope quiet and grazing.
During the whole hateful crawl to the lean to, it never bucked once.
Nothing of Sethe's was intact by the time they reached it except the cloth that covered her hair.
Below her bloody knees, there was no feeling at all; her chest was two cushions of pins. It was thevoice full of velvet and Boston and good things to eat that urged her along and made her think thatmaybe she wasn't, after all, just a crawling graveyard for a six-month baby's last hours.
The lean-to was full of leaves, which Amy pushed into a pile for Sethe to lie on. Then she gatheredrocks, covered them with more leaves and made Sethe put her feet on them, saying: "I know awoman had her feet cut off they was so swole." And she made sawing gestures with the blade ofher hand across Sethe's ankles. "Zzz Zzz Zzz Zzz.""I used to be a good size. Nice arms and everything. Wouldn't think it, would you? That wasbefore they put me in the root cellar. I was fishing off the Beaver once. Catfish in Beaver Riversweet as chicken. Well I was just fishing there and a nigger floated right by me. I don't likedrowned people, you? Your feet remind me of him. All swole like."Then she did the magic: lifted Sethe's feet and legs and massaged them until she cried salt tears.
"It's gonna hurt, now," said Amy. "Anything dead coming back to life hurts."A truth for all times, thought Denver. Maybe the white dress holding its arm around her mother'swaist was in pain. If so, it could mean the baby ghost had plans. When she opened the door, Sethewas just leaving the keeping room.
"I saw a white dress holding on to you," Denver said.
"White? Maybe it was my bedding dress. Describe it to me." "Had a high neck. Whole mess ofbuttons coming down the back.""Buttons. Well, that lets out my bedding dress. I never had a button on nothing.""Did Grandma Baby?"Sethe shook her head. "She couldn't handle them. Even on hershoes. What else?""A bunch at the back. On the sit-down part.""A bustle? It had a bustle?""I don't know what it's called.""Sort of gathered-like? Below the waist in the back?""Um hm.""A rich lady's dress. Silk?""Cotton, look like.""Lisle probably. White cotton lisle. You say it was holding on tome. How?""Like you. It looked just like you. Kneeling next to you whileyou were praying. Had its arm around your waist.""Well, I'll be.""What were you praying for, Ma'am?""Not for anything. I don't pray anymore. I just talk.""What were you talking about?""You won't understand, baby.""Yes, I will.""I was talking about time. It's so hard for me to believe in it.
Some things go. Pass on. Some things just stay. I used to think it wasmy rememory. You know. Some things you forget. Other things you never do. But it's not. Places,places are still there. If a house burns down, it's gone, but the place — the picture of it — stays,and not just in my rememory, but out there, in the world. What I remember is a picture floatingaround out there outside my head. I mean, even if I don't think it, even if I die, the picture of what Idid, or knew, or saw is still out there. Right in the place where it happened." "Can other people seeit?" asked Denver.
"Oh, yes. Oh, yes, yes, yes. Someday you be walking down the road and you hear something or seesomething going on. So clear. And you think it's you thinking it up. A thought picture. But no. It'swhen you bump into a rememory that belongs to somebody else.
Where I was before I came here, that place is real. It's never going away. Even if the whole farm— every tree and grass blade of it dies. The picture is still there and what's more, if you go there— you who never was there — if you go there and stand in the place where it was, it will happenagain; it will be there for you, waiting for you. So, Denver, you can't never go there. Never.
Because even though it's all over — over and done with — it's going to always be there waiting foryou. That's how come I had to get all my children out. No matter what."Denver picked at her fingernails. "If it's still there, waiting, that must mean that nothing ever dies."Sethe looked right in Denver's face. "Nothing ever does," she said.
"You never told me all what happened. Just that they whipped you and you run off, pregnant. Withme.""Nothing to tell except schoolteacher. He was a little man. Short.
Always wore a collar, even in the fields. A schoolteacher, she said.
That made her feel good that her husband's sister's husband had book learning and was willing tocome farm Sweet Home after Mr.
Garner passed. The men could have done it, even with Paul F sold.
But it was like Halle said. She didn't want to be the only white person on the farm and a womantoo. So she was satisfied when the schoolteacher agreed to come. He brought two boys with him.
Sons or nephews. I don't know. They called him Onka and had pretty manners, all of em. Talkedsoft and spit in handkerchiefs. Gentle in a lot of ways. You know, the kind who know Jesus by Hisfirst name, but out of politeness never use it even to His face. A pretty good farmer, Halle said. Notstrong as Mr. Garner but smart enough. He liked the ink I made. It was her recipe, but he preferredhow I mixed it and it was important to him because at night he sat down to write in his book. Itwas a book about us but we didn't know that right away. We just thought it was his manner to askus questions. He commenced to carry round a notebook and write down what we said. I still thinkit was them questions that tore Sixo up. Tore him up for all time."She stopped.
即便离开“甜蜜之家”再远，也没有必要向见到的第一个人说出真名实姓。
“露，”塞丝说，“他们叫我露。
”
“这么说吧，露，天鹅绒就像初生的世界。干净，新鲜，而且光滑极了。我见过的天鹅绒是棕色的，可在波士顿什么颜色的都有。胭脂。就是红的意思，可你在说天鹅绒的时候得说‘胭脂’。”她抬头望望天，然后，好像已经为与波士顿无关的事情浪费太多的时间了，她抬起脚，道：
“我得走了。”
她在树丛中择径而行，又回头向塞丝喊道：
“你想怎么办，就躺在那儿下崽吗？
”
“我起不来了。
”塞丝说。
“什么？
”她站住了，转身去听。
“我说我起不来了。
”
爱弥举起胳膊，横在鼻梁上面，慢慢走回塞丝躺着的地方。
“那边有间房子。
”她说。
“房子？
”
“呣———我路过的。不是一般的住人的房子。算个披屋吧。”
“有多远？
”
“有区别吗？你若是在这儿过夜，蛇会来咬你的。
”
“它爱来就来吧。我站都站不起来，更别说走路了；上帝可怜我，小姐，我根本爬不动。
”
“你当然行，露。来吧。
”爱弥说道，然后甩了甩够五个脑袋用的头发，朝小道走去。
于是塞丝爬着，爱弥在旁边走；如果她想歇会儿，爱弥也停下来，再说一点波士顿、天鹅绒和好吃的东西。她的声音好像一个十六岁的男孩子，说呀说呀说个不停，那只小羚羊就一直安静地吃草。在塞丝痛苦地爬向棚屋的整个过程中，它一下都没动。
她们到达的时候，塞丝已经体无完肤，只有包头发的布没被碰坏。她血淋淋的膝盖以下根本没有知觉；她的乳房成了两个插满缝衣针的软垫。是那充满天鹅绒、波士顿和好吃的东西的声音一直激励着她，使她觉得，她到底并不仅仅是那个六个月婴儿弥留之际的爬行的墓地。
披屋里满是树叶，爱弥把它们堆成一堆，让塞丝躺上去；然后她找来几块石头，又铺上些树叶给塞丝垫脚，一边说道：
“我知道有一个女人，让人把肿得不像样的两只脚给截掉了。
”她装成锯东西的样子，用手掌在塞丝的脚踝上比画：
“吱吱吱，吱吱吱，吱吱吱，吱吱吱。
”
“我以前身量挺好的。胳膊什么的，都挺好看。你想不到，是吧？那是他们把我关进地窖之前。那回我在比佛河上钓鱼来着。比佛河里的鲇鱼像鸡肉一样好吃。我正在那儿钓鱼呢，一个黑鬼从我身边漂了过去。我不喜欢淹死的人，你呢？你的脚让我又想起了他。全都肿起来了。
”
然后她来了个绝活儿：提起塞丝的腿脚按摩，疼得她哭出了咸涩的眼泪。
“现在该疼了，”爱弥说，“所有死的东西活过来时都会疼的。
”
永恒的真理，丹芙想道。也许用袖子绕着妈妈腰身的白裙子是痛苦的。倘若如此，这可能意味着那小鬼魂有计划。她打开门，这时塞丝正要离开起居室。
“我看见一条白裙子搂着你。
”丹芙说。
“白的？也许是我的睡裙。给我形容一下。
”
“有个高领。一大堆扣子从背上扣下来。
”
“扣子。那么说，不是我的睡裙。我的衣裳都不带扣子。
”
“贝比奶奶有吗？
”
塞丝摇摇头。
“她扣不上扣子。连鞋带都系不上。还有什么？
”
“后面有个鼓包。在屁股上。
”
“裙撑？有个裙撑？
”
“我不知道那叫什么。
”
“有点掐腰吗？就在后腰下边？
”
“呃，对。
”
“一个阔太太的裙子。绸子的？
”
“好像是棉布的。
”
“可能是莱尔线。白棉莱尔线。你说它搂着我？怎么回事？
”
“像你。它看上去就像是你。你祷告时就跪在你旁边。它的胳膊绕着你的腰。
”
“啊，我的天。
”
“你为什么祷告，太太？
”
“不为什么。我已经不再祷告了。我只是说话。
”
“那你说什么呢？
”
“你不会懂的，宝贝。
”
“不，我懂。
”
“我在说时间。对于我来说，时间太难以信任了。有些东西去了，一去不回头。有些东西却偏偏留下来。我曾经觉得那是我重现的记忆。你听着。有些东西你会忘记。有些东西你永远也忘不了。可是不然。地点，地点始终存在。如果一座房子烧毁，它就没了，但是那个地点———它的模样———留下来，不仅留在我重现的记忆里，而且就存在着，在这世界上。我的记忆是幅画，漂浮在我的脑海之外。我的意思是，即使我不去想它，即使我死了，关于我的所做、所知、所见的那幅画还存在。还在它原来发生的地点。
”
“别人看得见吗？
”丹芙问。
“噢，是的。噢，是的是的是的。哪天你走在路上，你会听到、看到一些事情。清楚极了。让你觉得是你自己编出来的。一幅想象的画。可是不然。那是你撞进了别人的重现的记忆。我来这儿之前待过的地方，那个地点是真的。它永远不会消失。哪怕整个农庄———它的一草一木———都死光，那幅画依然存在；更要命的是，如果你去了那里———你从来没去过———如果你去了那里，站在它存在过的地方，它还会重来一遍；它会为你在那里出现，等着你。所以，丹芙，你永远不能去那儿。永远不能。因为虽然一切都过去了———过去了，结束了———它还将永远在那里等着你。那就是为什么我必须把我的孩子们全都弄出来。千方百计。
”
丹芙抠着指甲。
“要是它还在那儿等着，那就是说什么都不死。
”
塞丝直盯着丹芙的脸。
“什么都不死。
”她说。
“你从来没有原原本本给我讲过一遍。只讲过他们拿鞭子抽你，你就逃跑了，怀着身孕。怀着我。”
“除了‘学校老师’没什么好讲的。他是个小个子。很矮。总戴着硬领，在田里也不例外。是个学校老师，她说。她丈夫的妹夫念过书，而且在加纳先生去世后愿意来经营‘甜蜜之家’，这让她感觉良好。本来农庄里的男人们能管好它，尽管保罗·F被卖掉了。但是正像黑尔说的，她不愿意做农庄上唯一的白人，又是个女人。所以‘学校老师’同意来的时候她很满意。他带了两个小子来。不是儿子就是侄子。我不清楚。他们叫他叔叔。举止讲究，仨人都是。轻声说话，痰吐在手绢里。在好多方面都很绅士。你知道，是那种知道耶稣小名，可出于礼貌，就是当着他的面也绝不叫出来的人。一个挺不错的农庄主，黑尔说。没有加纳先生那么壮实，可是够聪明的。他喜欢我做的墨水。那是她的制法，但他更喜欢我搅拌的；这对他很重要，因为晚上他要坐下来写他的书。是本关于我们的书，可是我们当时并不知道。我们只想到，他问我们问题是出于习惯。他由带着笔记本到处走、记下我们说的话入手。我一直觉得是那些问题把西克索给毁了。永远地毁了。”
她打住了。