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？”