But she knew their names. She knew, and covered her ears with her fists to keep from hearingthem come from his mouth.
Janey heated some milk and poured it in a bowl next to a plate of cornbread. After some coaxing,Baby Suggs came to the table and sat down. She crumbled the bread into the hot milk anddiscovered she was hungrier than she had ever been in her life and that was saying something.
"They going to miss this?""No," said Janey. "Eat all you want; it's ours.""Anybody else live here?""Just me. Mr. Woodruff, he does the outside chores. He comes by two, three days a week.""Just you two?""Yes, ma'am. I do the cooking and washing.""Maybe your people know of somebody looking for help.""I be sure to ask, but I know they take women at the slaughterhouse.""Doing what?""I don't know.""Something men don't want to do, I reckon.""My cousin say you get all the meat you want, plus twenty-five cents the hour. She make summer sausage."Baby Suggs lifted her hand to the top of her head. Money? Money? They would pay her moneyevery single day? Money?
"Where is this here slaughterhouse?" she asked.
Before Janey could answer, the Bodwins came in to the kitchen with a grinning Mr. Garner behind.
Undeniably brother and sister, both dressed in gray with faces too young for their snow-white hair.
"Did you give her anything to eat, Janey?" asked the brother.
"Yes, sir.""Keep your seat, Jenny," said the sister, and that good news got better.
When they asked what work she could do, instead of reeling off the hundreds of tasks she hadperformed, she asked about the slaughterhouse. She was too old for that, they said.
"She's the best cobbler you ever see," said Mr. Garner.
"Cobbler?" Sister Bodwin raised her black thick eyebrows. "Who taught you that?""Was a slave taught me," said Baby Suggs.
"New boots, or just repair?""New, old, anything.""Well," said Brother Bodwin, "that'll be something, but you'll need more.""What about taking in wash?" asked Sister Bodwin.
"Yes, ma'am.""Two cents a pound.""Yes, ma'am. But where's the in?""What?""You said 'take in wash.' Where is the 'in'? Where I'm going to be.""Oh, just listen to this, Jenny," said Mr. Garner. "These two angels got a house for you. Place theyown out a ways." It had belonged to their grandparents before they moved in town. Recently it. hadbeen rented out to a whole parcel of Negroes, who had left the state. It was too big a house for Jenny alone, they said (two rooms upstairs, two down), but it was the best and the only thing theycould do. In return for laundry, some seamstress work, a little canning and so on (oh shoes, too),they would permit her to stay there. Provided she was clean. The past parcel of colored wasn't.
Baby Suggs agreed to the situation, sorry to see the money go but excited about a house withstepsnever mind she couldn't climb them. Mr. Garner told the Bodwins that she was a right finecook as well as a fine cobbler and showed his belly and the sample on his feet. Everybody laughed.
"Anything you need, let us know," said the sister. "We don't hold with slavery, even Garner'skind.""Tell em, Jenny. You live any better on any place before mine?" "No, sir," she said. "No place.""How long was you at Sweet Home?""Ten year, I believe.""Ever go hungry?""No, sir.""Cold?""No, sir.""Anybody lay a hand on you?""No, sir.""Did I let Halle buy you or not?""Yes, sir, you did," she said, thinking, But you got my boy and I'm all broke down. You be rentinghim out to pay for me way after I'm gone to Glory.
Woodruff, they said, would carry her out there, they said, and all three disappeared through thekitchen door.
"I have to fix the supper now," said Janey.
"I'll help," said Baby Suggs. "You too short to reach the fire." It was dark when Woodruff clickedthe horse into a trot. He was a young man with a heavy beard and a burned place on his jaw thebeard did not hide.
"You born up here?" Baby Suggs asked him.
"No, ma'am. Virginia. Been here a couple years.""I see.""You going to a nice house. Big too. A preacher and his family was in there. Eighteen children.""Have mercy. Where they go?""Took off to Illinois. Bishop Allen gave him a congregation up there. Big.""What churches around here? I ain't set foot in one in ten years." "How come?""Wasn't none. I dislike the place I was before this last one, but I did get to church every Sundaysome kind of way. I bet the Lord done forgot who I am by now.""Go see Reverend Pike, ma'am. He'll reacquaint you.""I won't need him for that. I can make my own acquaintance.
What I need him for is to reacquaint me with my children. He can read and write, I reckon?""Sure.""Good, 'cause I got a lot of digging up to do." But the news they dug up was so pitiful she quit.
After two years of messages written by the preacher's hand, two years of washing, sewing,canning, cobbling, gardening, and sitting in churches, all she found out was that the Whitlow placewas gone and that you couldn't write to "a man named Dunn" if all you knew was that he wentWest. The good news, however, was that Halle got married and had a baby coming. She fixed onthat and her own brand of preaching, having made up her mind about what to do with the heart thatstarted beating the minute she crossed the Ohio River. And it worked out, worked out just fine,until she got proud and let herself be overwhelmed by the sight of her daughter-in-law and Halle'schildren — one of whom was born on the way — and have a celebration of blackberries that putChristmas to shame. Now she stood in the garden smelling disapproval, feeling a dark and comingthing, and seeing high-topped shoes that she didn't like the look of at all. At all.
WHEN THE four horsemen came — schoolteacher, one nephew, one slave catcher and a sheriff— the house on Bluestone Road was so quiet they thought they were too late. Three of themdismounted, one stayed in the saddle, his rifle ready, his eyes trained away from the house to theleft and to the right, because likely as not the fugitive would make a dash for it. Althoughsometimes, you could never tell, you'd find them folded up tight somewhere: beneath floorboards,in a pantry — once in a chimney. Even then care was taken, because the quietest ones, the onesyou pulled from a press, a hayloft, or, that once, from a chimney, would go along nicely for two orthree seconds. Caught red-handed, so to speak, they would seem to recognize the futility ofoutsmarting a whiteman and the hopelessness of outrunning a rifle. Smile even, like a child caught dead with his hand in the jelly jar, and when you reached for the rope to tie him, well, even thenyou couldn't tell. The very nigger with his head hanging and a little jelly-jar smile on his facecould all of a sudden roar, like a bull or some such, and commence to do disbelievable things. Grabthe rifle at its mouth; throw himself at the one holding it — anything. So you had to keep back apace, leave the tying to another. Otherwise you ended up killing what you were paid to bring backalive. Unlike a snake or a bear, a dead nigger could not be skinned for profit and was not worth hisown dead weight in coin.
Six or seven Negroes were walking up the road toward the house: two boys from the slavecatcher's left and some women from his right. He motioned them still with his rifle and they stoodwhere they were. The nephew came back from peeping inside the house, and after touching his lipsfor silence, pointed his thumb to say that what they were looking for was round back. The slavecatcher dismounted then and joined the others. Schoolteacher and the nephew moved to the left ofthe house; himself and the sheriff to the right. A crazy old nigger was standing in the woodpilewith an ax. You could tell he was crazy right off because he was grunting — making low, catnoises like. About twelve yards beyond that nigger was another one — a woman with a flower inher hat. Crazy too, probably, because she too was standing stock-still — but fanning her hands asthough pushing cobwebs out of her way. Both, however, were staring at the same place — a shed.
Nephew walked over to the old nigger boy and took the ax from him. Then all four started towardthe shed. Inside, two boys bled in the sawdust and dirt at the feet of a nigger woman holding ablood-soaked child to her chest with one hand and an infant by the heels in the other. She did notlook at them; she simply swung the baby toward the wall planks, missed and tried to connect asecond time, when out of nowheremin the ticking time the men spent staring at what there was tostare the old nigger boy, still mewing, ran through the door behind them and snatched the babyfrom the arch of its mother's swing. Right off it was clear, to schoolteacher especially, that therewas nothing there to claim. The three (now four — because she'd had the one coming when shecut) pickaninnies they had hoped were alive and well enough to take back to Kentucky, take backand raise properly to do the work Sweet Home desperately needed, were not. Two were lyingopen-eyed in sawdust; a third pumped blood down the dress of the main one — the womanschoolteacher bragged about, the one he said made fine ink, damn good soup, pressed his collarsthe way he liked besides having at least ten breeding years left. But now she'd gone wild, due tothe mishandling of the nephew who'd overbeat her and made her cut and run. Schoolteacher hadchastised that nephew, telling him to think — just think — what would his own horse do if youbeat it beyond the point of education. Or Chipper, or Samson. Suppose you beat the hounds pastthat point thataway. Never again could you trust them in the woods or anywhere else. You'd befeeding them maybe, holding out a piece of rabbit in your hand, and the animal would revert —bite your hand clean off. So he punished that nephew by not letting him come on the hunt. Madehim stay there, feed stock, feed himself, feed Lillian, tend crops. See how he liked it; see whathappened when you overbear creatures God had given you the responsibility of — the trouble itwas, and the loss. The whole lot was lost now. Five. He could claim the baby struggling in thearms of the mewing old man, but who'd tend her? Because the woman — something was wrongwith her. She was looking at him now, and if his other nephew could see that look he would learnthe lesson for sure: you just can't mishandle creatures and expect success.
但是她知道他们的名字。她知道。她用拳头堵住耳朵，不想听它们从他嘴里说出来。
简妮热了些牛奶，倒在一只碗里，又拿来了一盘玉米面包。贝比·萨格斯客气了几句，就来到桌旁坐下。她把面包捻碎，扔在热牛奶里，发现自己这辈子从来没这么饿过。这很说明问题。
“他们会在乎吗？
”
“不会，”简妮说，“想吃多少吃多少。这是我们吃的。
”
“还有谁住在这儿？
”
“就我。还有伍德拉夫先生，他干外面的活儿。他一个礼拜来两三天。
”
“就你们俩？
”
“是的，太太。我管做饭洗衣裳。
”
“也许你家里人知道有谁需要个帮手。
”
“我一定帮你打听，不过我知道屠宰场要个女的。
”
“干什么？
”
“我不知道。
”
“男人们不愿意干的活儿，我估计。
”
“我表姐说猪肉想要多少就有多少，外加每小时两毛五。她是做夏季香肠的。
”
贝比·萨格斯把手举到头顶。钱？钱？他们会每天都付给她钱？钱？
“这个屠宰场在哪儿？
”她问道。
简妮还没来得及回答，鲍德温兄妹就走进了厨房，身后跟着咧嘴直笑的加纳先生。毫无疑问，是兄妹俩，两人都穿着灰色衣服，在雪白的头发下面，他们的脸显得太年轻了。
“你给她东西吃了吗，简妮？
”哥哥问。
“给了，先生。
”
“别起来了，珍妮。
”妹妹说道，于是好消息变得更好了。
他们问她能干什么活儿，她没有把她完成过的几百样差事数落个遍，只顾打听那个屠宰场。她干那个太老了，他们说。
“她是你能见到的最好的鞋匠。
”加纳先生道。
“鞋匠？
”鲍德温妹妹挑起又黑又浓的眉毛，“谁教你的？
”
“是个奴隶教的我。
”贝比·萨格斯答道。
“是做新鞋子，还是光修补？
”
“新的旧的，什么都行。
”
“好嘛，”鲍德温哥哥说，“那可挺了不起，可你还得干点别的。
”
“拿回去浆洗怎么样？
”鲍德温妹妹问。
“行，太太。
”
“一磅两分钱。
”
“行，太太。可拿回哪儿去啊？
”
“什么？
”
“您说‘拿回去浆洗’。‘回’哪儿去啊？我要去的地方是哪儿？
”
“噢，听着，珍妮，”加纳先生说，“这两位天使有所房子给你。他们在城外有一处宅子。
”
那所房子在他们搬进城之前属于他们的祖父母。最近租住它的一大窝黑人刚刚离开了俄亥俄州。对于珍妮一个人来说，房子太大了，他们说（楼上两间，楼下两间），可这是他们能做到的最佳和唯一的选择。作为浆洗衣服、做些针线活儿、做罐头以及诸如此类（哦，还有鞋）的报酬，他们会允许她住在那里。规定她必须保持清洁。以前那一窝黑人可不怎么样。贝比·萨格斯接下了这份工作；失掉那份赚钱差事当然很难受，可一所带楼梯的房子令她激动不已———虽说她爬不了楼梯。加纳先生告诉鲍德温兄妹，她不仅做得一手好鞋，饭也做得不赖，说着，还亮出他的肚皮和脚上的样品。大家都大笑起来。
“你需要什么就说一声，”妹妹说，“我们不支持奴隶制，甚至加纳的那种。
”
“告诉他们，珍妮。在我家之前你住过更好的地方吗？
”
“没有，先生。
”她说，“没住过。
”
“你在‘甜蜜之家’待了多久？
”
“十年，我想是。
”
“挨过饿吗？
”
“没有，先生。
”
“受过冻吗？
”
“没有，先生。
”
“有人碰过你一个手指头吗？
”
“没有，先生。
”
“我让没让黑尔赎你？
”
“是的，先生。你让了。
”她说道，心里却暗想：可是你占着我的儿子，而我一无所有。我归天以后，他还得一直为了还债让你租来租去。
他们说，伍德拉夫会把她带出去，然后三个人就从厨房门口消失了。
“我得做晚饭了。
”简妮道。
“我来帮忙，”贝比·萨格斯说，“你太矮了，够不着火。
”
伍德拉夫把马抽得飞跑起来时天已经黑了。他是个胡子很重的年轻人，下巴上有一块胡子遮不住的烧伤。
“你是在这地方土生土长的吗？
”贝比·萨格斯问他。
“不是，太太。弗吉尼亚。来这儿两年了。
”
“原来是这样。
”
“你去的房子棒极了。又大。一个牧师和他一家曾经在那儿住过。十八个孩子呢。
”
“我的天。他们到哪儿去了？
”
“到伊利诺伊去了。艾伦主教让他去那儿管一个教区。大着呢。
”
“这一带有什么教堂吗？我有十年没迈进去过了。
”
“怎么会呢？
”
“我们那儿没教堂。我不喜欢我在最后这个地方之前待的那个地方，可我在那儿倒总有办法每个星期天去趟教堂。我敢说上帝现在肯定忘了我是谁了。
”
“去见见派克牧师，太太。他会重新把你介绍进去的。
”
“我用不着他介绍。我会自己介绍自己。我需要他做的是把我重新介绍给我的孩子们。我猜，他识文断字吧？
”
“当然。
”
“太好了，我要澄清好多事情。
”可是他们澄清的消息少得可怜，她不得不放弃了。在牧师替她写了两年的信之后，在两年的浆洗、缝补、做罐头、做鞋、种菜和去教堂之后，她发现的只是：惠特娄的地方已经没了，而且，也没法给“一个叫丹的男人”写信，如果你知道的只是他去了西部。不管怎么说，好消息总还有：黑尔结了婚，就快有个孩子了。从此，她便把精力集中在那件事，以及她自己用来布道的标志上面，决心用她那刚一过俄亥俄河就开始跳动的心来做点什么。而且它行得 通，很行得通，直到她开始骄傲，见到她的儿媳妇和黑尔的孩子们———其中一个出生在路上———就忘乎所以，还举办了一个让圣诞节逊色的黑莓庆祝会。现在她站在菜园里，嗅着非难气味，感觉到了一个黑压压赶来的东西，并看见了那双绝对不讨她喜欢的高靿鞋。绝对不喜欢。
四个骑马的人———“学校老师”、一个侄子、一个猎奴者和一个警官———到来的时候，蓝石路上的这所房子这么安静，他们以为自己来得太迟了。三个人下了马，一个留在鞍子上，枪上膛，眼睛从左到右扫视着房子，因为说不定有个逃犯会狗急跳墙的。尽管有些时候，你怎么也拿不准，你会发现他们在什么地方蜷缩着：地板下、壁橱里———有一次是在烟囱里。甚至那些时候，也得多加小心，即使最老实的那些，那些你从橱柜、干草堆，或者那回，从烟囱里拉出来的，也只会听两三秒钟的话。这么说吧，被当场捉获后，他们会假装认识到了哄骗白人的无益和逃脱枪口的无望，甚至还像小孩子手腕在果酱罐里被人牢牢抓住时那样笑。可当你拿绳子来捆他的时候，唉，甚至到那时候你也看不出来。就是那个垂头丧气、面带一丝果酱罐讪笑的黑鬼，会像头公牛一样冷不防大吼大叫起来，开始去做令人难以置信的事情。抓住枪管；扑向猎奴者———什么都干得出来。
所以你必须退后一步，让另一个人来捆。不然，末了你会杀了他，可你本来是被雇佣去活捉他的。
不像一条蛇或一只熊，一个丧了命的黑奴可不能剥了皮换钱，死尸也值不了几个子儿。
六七个黑人从大路上向房子走来：猎奴者的右边来了两个男孩，右边来了几个女人。他用枪指住他们，于是他们就地站着。那个侄子向房子里面偷看了一番，回来时手指碰了一下嘴唇示意安静，然后用拇指告诉他们，要找的人在后面。猎奴者于是下了马，跟其他人站到一起。
“学校老师”
和侄子向房子的左边挪去；他自己和警官去右边。一个疯疯癫癫的老黑鬼拿着把斧子站在木头堆里。你一眼就能看出他是个疯子，因为他在咕哝着———发出低沉的、猫一样的呼噜声。离他大约十二码远处是另一个黑鬼———一个帽子上戴花的女人。可能也是个疯子，因为她也一动不动地站着———只有手扇着，仿佛在把蜘蛛网从眼前拨开。然而，两个人都盯住了同一个地方———一间棚屋。侄子向那个老黑鬼走去，从他手里拿下斧子。然后四个人一起向棚屋走去。
里面，两个男孩在一个女黑鬼脚下的锯末和尘土里流血，女黑鬼用一只手将一个血淋淋的孩子搂在胸前，另一只手抓着一个婴儿的脚跟。她根本不看他们，只顾把婴儿摔向墙板，没撞着，又在作第二次尝试。这时，不知从什么地方———就在这群人紧盯着面前的一切的当儿———那个仍在低吼的老黑鬼从他们身后的屋门冲进来，将婴儿从她妈妈抡起的弧线中夺走。
事情马上一清二楚了，对“学校老师”来说尤其如此，那里没什么可索回的了。那三个（现在是四个———她逃跑途中又生了一个）小黑鬼，他们本来指望他们是活着的，而且完好得可以带回肯塔基，带回去正规培养，去干“甜蜜之家”亟待他们去干的农活，现在看来不行了。有两个大张着眼睛躺在锯末里；第三个的血正顺着那主要人物的裙子汩汩而下———“学校老师”四处夸耀的那个女人，他说她做得一手好墨水，熬得一手好汤，按他喜欢的方式给他熨衣领，而且至少还剩十年能繁殖。可是现在她疯了，都是因为侄子的虐待，他打得太狠，逼得她逃跑了。
“学校老师”训斥了那个侄子，让他想想———好好想想———如果打得超出了教育目的，你自己的马又会干出什么来。契伯和参孙也是一样。设想你那么过分地打了这两条猎狗。你就再也不能在林子里或者别的地方信任它们了。也许你下回喂它们，用手递过去一块兔肉，哪个畜生就会原形毕露———把你的手一口咬掉。所以他没让那个侄子来猎奴，以示惩罚。让他留在家里，喂牲口，喂自己，喂丽莲，照管庄稼。给他点颜色看看；看看你把上帝交给你负责的造物打得太狠了的下场———造成的麻烦，以及损失。现在所有这些人都丢了。五个哪。他可以索要那个在喵喵直叫的老头怀里挣扎的婴儿，可是谁来照料她呢？都怪那个女人———她出了毛病。此刻，她正盯着他；要是他的侄子能看见那种眼神，他肯定得到了教训：你就是不能一边虐待造物，一边还指望成功。