But it was Beloved who made demands. Anything she wanted she got, and when Sethe ran out ofthings to give her, Beloved invented desire. She wanted Sethe's company for hours to watch thelayer of brown leaves waving at them from the bottom of the creek, in the same place where, as alittle girl, Denver played in the silence with her. Now the players were altered. As soon as the thawwas complete Beloved gazed at her gazing face, rippling, folding, spreading, disappearing into theleaves below. She flattened herself on the ground, dirtying her bold stripes, and touched therocking faces with her own. She filled basket after basket with the first things warmer weather letloose in the ground — dandelions, violets, forsythia — presenting them to Sethe, who arrangedthem, stuck them, wound them all over the house. Dressed in Sethe's dresses, she stroked her skinwith the palm of her hand. She imitated Sethe, talked the way she did, laughed her laugh and usedher body the same way down to the walk, the way Sethe moved her hands, sighed through hernose, held her head. Sometimes coming upon them making men and women cookies or tackingscraps of cloth on Baby Suggs' old quilt, it was difficult for Denver to tell who was who. Then themood changed and the arguments began. Slowly at first. A complaint from Beloved, an apologyfrom Sethe. A reduction of pleasure at some special effort the older woman made. Wasn't it toocold to stay outside? Beloved gave a look that said, So what? Was it past bedtime, the light nogood for sewing? Beloved didn't move; said, "Do it," and Sethe complied. She took the best ofeverything — first. The best chair, the biggest piece, the prettiest plate, the brightest ribbon for herhair, and the more she took, the more Sethe began to talk, explain, describe how much she hadsuffered, been through, for her children, waving away flies in grape arbors, crawling on her kneesto a lean-to. None of which made the impression it was supposed to. Beloved accused her ofleaving her behind. Of not being nice to her, not smiling at her. She said they were the same, hadthe same face, how could she have left her? And Sethe cried, saying she never did, or meant to —-that she had to get them out, away, that she had the milk all the time and had the money too forthe stone but not enough. That her plan was always that they would all be together on the otherside, forever. Beloved wasn't interested. She said when she cried there was no one. That dead menlay on top of her. That she had nothing to eat. Ghosts without skin stuck their fingers in her andsaid beloved in the dark and bitch in the light. Sethe pleaded for forgiveness, counting, listingagain and again her reasons: that Beloved was more important, meant more to her than her ownlife. That she would trade places any day. Give up her life, every minute and hour of it, to takeback just one of Beloved's tears. Did she know it hurt her when mosquitoes bit her baby? That toleave her on the ground to run into the big house drove her crazy? That before leaving SweetHome Beloved slept every night on her chest or curled on her back? Beloved denied it. Sethe nevercame to her, never said a word to her, never smiled and worst of all never waved goodbye or evenlooked her way before running away from her.