the crickets were screaming on thursday and the sky, stripped of blue, was white hot ateleven in the morning. sethe was badly dressed for the heat, but this being her first social outing ineighteen years, she felt obliged to wear her one good dress, heavy as it was, and a hat. certainly ahat. she didn't want to meet lady jones or ella with her head wrapped like she was going to work.
the dress, a good-wool castoff, was a christmas present to baby suggs from miss bodwin, thewhitewoman who loved her. denver and paul d fared better in the heat since neither felt theoccasion required special clothing. denver's bonnet knocked against her shoulder blades; paul dwore his vest open, no jacket and his shirt sleeves rolled above his elbows. they were not holdinghands, but their shadows were. sethe looked to her left and all three of them were gliding over thedust holding hands. maybe he was right. a life. watching their hand holding shadows, she wasembarrassed at being dressed for church.
the others, ahead and behind them, would think she was putting on airs, letting them know thatshe was different because she lived in a house with two stories; tougher, because she could do andsurvive things they believed she should neither do nor survive. she was glad denver had resistedher urgings to dress up — rebraid her hair at least.
but denver was not doing anything to make this trip a pleasure. she agreed to go — sullenly —but her attitude was "go 'head. try and make me happy." the happy one was paul d. he saidhowdy to everybody within twenty feet. made fun of the weather and what it was doing to him,yelled back at the crows, and was the first to smell the doomed roses. all the time, no matter whatthey were doing — whether denver wiped perspiration from her forehead or stooped to retie hershoes; whether paul d kicked a stone or reached over to meddle a child's face leaning on its mother's shoulder — all the time the three shadows that shot out of their feet to the left held hands.
nobody noticed but sethe and she stopped looking after she decided that it was a good sign. a life.
could be.
up and down the lumberyard fence old roses were dying. the sawyer who had planted themtwelve years ago to give his workplace a friendly feel — something to take the sin out of slicingtrees for a living — was amazed by their abundance; how rapidly they crawled all over the stakeand-post fence that separated the lumberyard from the open field next to it where homeless menslept, children ran and, once a year, carnival people pitched tents. the closer the roses got to death,the louder their scent, and everybody who attended the carnival associated it with the stench of therotten roses. it made them a little dizzy and very thirsty but did nothing to extinguish the eagernessof the coloredpeople filing down the road. some walked on the grassy shoulders, others dodged thewagons creaking down the road's dusty center. all, like paul d, were in high spirits, which thesmell of dying roses (that paul d called to everybody's attention) could not dampen. as theypressed to get to the rope entrance they were lit like lamps. breathless with the excitement ofseeing white people loose: doing magic, clowning, without heads or with two heads, twenty feettall or two feet tall, weighing a ton, completely tattooed, eating glass, swallowing fire, spittingribbons, twisted into knots, forming pyramids, playing with snakes and beating each other up.
all of this was advertisement, read by those who could and heard by those who could not, and thefact that none of it was true did not extinguish their appetite a bit. the barker called them and theirchildren names ("pickaninnies free!") but the food on his vest and the hole in his pants rendered itfairly harmless. in any case it was a small price to pay for the fun they might not ever have again.
two pennies and an insult were well spent if it meant seeing the spectacle of whitefolks making aspectacle of themselves. so, although the carnival was a lot less than mediocre (which is why itagreed to a colored thursday), it gave the four hundred black people in its audience thrill uponthrill upon thrill.
one-ton lady spit at them, but her bulk shortened her aim and they got a big kick out of thehelpless meanness in her little eyes. arabian nights dancer cut her performance to three minutesinstead of the usual fifteen she normally did-earning the gratitude of the children, who couldhardly wait for abu snake charmer, who followed her.
denver bought horehound, licorice, peppermint and lemonade at table manned by a littlewhitegirl in ladies' high-topped shoes. soothed by sugar, surrounded by (a) a crowd of people who didnot find her the main attraction, who, in fact, said, "hey, denver," every now and then, pleased herenough to consider the possibility that paul d wasn't all that bad. in fact there was something abouthim — when the three of them stood together watching midget dance — that made the stares ofother negroes kind, gentle, something denver did not remember seeing in their faces. several evennodded and smiled at her mother, no one, apparently, able to withstand sharing the pleasure paul d.was having. he slapped his knees when giant danced with midget; when two-headed mantalked to himself. he bought everything denver asked for and much she did not. he teased setheinto tents she was reluctant to enter. stuck pieces of candy she didn't want between her lips. whenwild african savage shook his bars and said wa wa, paul d told everybody he knew him back in roanoke.
paul d made a few acquaintances; spoke to them about what work he might find. sethe returnedthe smiles she got. denver was swaying with delight. and on the way home, although leadingthem now, the shadows of three people still held hands.
a fully dressed woman walked out of the water. she barely gained the dry bank of thestream before she sat down and leaned against a mulberry tree. all day and all night she sat there,her head resting on the trunk in a position abandoned enough to crack the brim in her straw hat.
everything hurt but her lungs most of all. sopping wet and breathing shallow she spent those hourstrying to negotiate the weight of her eyelids. the day breeze blew her dress dry; the night windwrinkled it. nobody saw her emerge or came accidentally by. if they had, chances are they wouldhave hesitated before approaching her. not because she was wet, or dozing or had what soundedlike asthma, but because amid all that she was smiling. it took her the whole of the next morning tolift herself from the ground and make her way through the woods past a giant temple of boxwoodto the field and then the yard of the slate-gray house. exhausted again, she sat down on the firsthandy place — a stump not far from the steps of 124. by then keeping her eyes open was less of aneffort. she could manage it for a full two minutes or more. her neck, its circumference no widerthan a parlor-service saucer, kept bending and her chin brushed the bit of lace edging her dress.
women who drink champagne when there is nothing to celebrate can look like that: their strawhats with broken brims are often askew; they nod in public places; their shoes are undone. buttheir skin is not like that of the woman breathing near the steps of 124. she had new skin, linelessand smooth, including the knuckles of her hands. by late afternoon when the carnival was over,and the negroes were hitching rides home if they were lucky — walking if they were not — thewoman had fallen asleep again. the rays of the sun struck her full in the face, so that when sethe,denver and paul d rounded the curve in the road all they saw was a black dress, two unlaced shoesbelow it, and here boy nowhere in sight.
"look," said denver. "what is that?"and, for some reason she could not immediately account for, the moment she got close enough tosee the face, sethe's bladder filled to capacity. she said, "oh, excuse me," and ran around to theback of 124. not since she was a baby girl, being cared for by the eight year-old girl who pointedout her mother to her, had she had an emergency that unmanageable. she never made the outhouse.
right in front of its door she had to lift her skirts, and the water she voided was endless. like ahorse, she thought, but as it went on and on she thought, no, more like flooding the boat whendenver was born. so much water amy said, "hold on, lu. you going to sink us you keep that up."but there was no stopping water breaking from a breaking womb and there was no stopping now.
she hoped paul d wouldn't take it upon himself to come looking for her and be obliged to see hersquatting in front of her own privy making a mudhole too deep to be witnessed without shame.
just about the time she started wondering if the carnival would accept another freak, it stopped.
she tidied herself and ran around to the porch. no one was there. all three were insidepaul d anddenver standing before the stranger, watching her drink cup after cup of water.
"she said she was thirsty," said paul d. he took off his cap. "mighty thirsty look like."the woman gulped water from a speckled tin cup and held it out for more. four times denverfilled it, and four times the woman drank as though she had crossed a desert. when she wasfinished a little water was on her chin, but she did not wipe it away. instead she gazed at sethewith sleepy eyes. poorly fed, thought sethe, and younger than her clothes suggested — good laceat the throat, and a rich woman's hat. her skin was flawless except for three vertical scratches onher forehead so fine and thin they seemed at first like hair, baby hair before it bloomed and ropedinto the masses of black yarn under her hat.
"you from around here?" sethe asked her.
星期四，蟋蟀鼓噪着，剥去了蓝色的天空在上午十一点是白热的。天气这么热，塞丝的穿着特别不舒服，可这是她十八年来头一回外出社交，她觉得有必要穿上她唯一的一条好裙子，尽管它沉得要命；还要戴上一顶帽子。当然要戴帽子。她不想在遇见琼斯女士或艾拉时还包着头，像是去上班。这条纯羊毛收针的裙子是贝比·萨格斯的一件圣诞礼物，那个热爱她的白女人鲍德温小姐送的。丹芙和保罗·d谁也没觉得这种场合需要特别的衣着，所以在大热天里还好受些。
丹芙的软帽总是碰着垫肩；保罗·d敞开马甲，没穿外套，把衬衫袖子卷到胳膊肘上。他们并没有彼此拉着手，可是他们的影子却拉着。塞丝朝左看了看，他们三个是手拉着手滑过灰尘的。
也许他是对的。一种生活。她看着他们携手的影子，为自己这身去教堂的打扮而难为情。前前后后的人会认为她是在摆架子，是让大家知道自己与众不同，因为她住在一栋两层楼房里；让大家知道自己更不屈不挠，因为她既能做又能经受他们认为她不能做也不能经受的事情。她很高兴丹芙拒绝了打扮一番的要求———哪怕重新编一下辫子。然而丹芙不愿付出任何努力，给这次出行增加一点愉快气氛。她同意去了———闷闷不乐地———但她的态度是“去呗。试试哄我高兴起来”。高兴的是保罗·d。他向二十英尺之内的每一个人打招呼，拿天气以及天气对他的影响开玩笑，向乌鸦们呱呱回嘴大叫，并且头一个去嗅凋萎的玫瑰花。自始至终，不论他们在干什么———无论是丹芙在擦额头上的汗、停下来系鞋带，还是保罗·d在踢石子、伸手去捏一个妈妈肩上的娃娃的脸蛋———从他们脚下向左投射的三个人影都一直拉着手。除了塞丝，没有人注意到，而她一旦认定了那是个好兆头，便停下来看了又看。一种生活。也许吧。
贮木场围栏的上上下下有玫瑰在衰败。十二年前种下它们的那个锯木工———也许是为了让他的工作场所显得友好，为了消除以锯树为生的罪恶感———对它们的繁荣感到震惊；它们如此迅速地爬满了栅栏，把贮木场同旁边开阔的田野隔开；田野上，无家可归的人在那里过夜，孩子们在那里跑来跑去，一年一度，杂耍艺人在那里搭起帐篷。玫瑰愈临近死亡，气味便愈发浓烈，所有参加狂欢节的人都把节日同腐败玫瑰的臭气联系起来。这气味让他们有点头晕，而且异常干渴，却丝毫没有熄灭大路上络绎不绝的黑人们的热情。有的走在路肩的青草上，其余的则躲闪着路中央那些扬起灰尘、吱吱扭扭的大车。所有人都像保罗·d一样情绪高涨，连濒死玫瑰的气味（保罗·d使之引人注目）都不能抑制。他们挤进栏索入口的时候，像灯一样被点着了，都激动得屏住了呼吸，因为就要无拘无束地观看白人了：变魔术的、当小丑的、无头的或是双头的、二十英尺高或是二十英寸高的、一吨重的、全部文身的、吃玻璃的、吞火的、吐出打结的绸带的、筑金字塔的、耍蛇的，还有练把式的。
这一切都写在广告上，识字的念出来，不识字的就在一旁听着；尽管事实上都是些胡说八道，他们的兴致依然丝毫不减。招徕生意的骂着他们和他们的孩子（“小黑鬼免费!”），然而他马甲上的食物和裤子上的窟窿使得那些叫骂显得无伤大雅。无论如何，为了他们也许再不会得到的乐趣，这个代价太小了。如果是为了观看白人们大出自己的洋相，两分钱加上一次侮辱花得值。所以，虽然这次狂欢节连平庸都够不上（那就是为什么一个“黑星期四”得到认可），它还是给了四百名黑人观众一个一个又一个的刺激。
“一吨女士”向他们吐唾沫，可她的大块头降低了实际效果，于是她小眼睛里无能的卑劣让他们过足了瘾。
“天方夜谭舞女”把通常十五分钟的表演减到三分钟———这让孩子们不胜感激，因为他们等不及她下面的那个“阿布蛇魔术师”了。
在脚蹬女式高靿鞋的白人小姑娘掌管的柜台上，丹芙要了夏至草汁、甘草汁、薄荷汁和柠檬汁。糖水进肚，神清气爽，身旁又围了一群人———那些人并不青睐她，实际上不时地称呼她“喂，丹芙”———丹芙很高兴开始觉得保罗·d或许不算太坏。说实话，他是有点特别之处———他们仨站住一起看侏儒舞的时候———使得其他黑人的目光和蔼、温柔起来，丹芙从不记得在他们脸上见到过那种表情。有几个人甚至冲她妈妈点头、微笑，显然，没有人能够抗拒同保罗·d分享他的快乐。当巨人和侏儒跳舞，还有双头人自言自语的时候，他乐得直拍大腿。他给丹芙买了她要的每一样东西，还有好多她没要的。他好说歹说把塞丝哄进她不愿进的帐篷。把她不想吃的糖果塞满她的嘴。当“非洲野人”舞着棒子哇哇乱叫时，保罗·d告诉每一个人他早在罗厄诺克时就认识这家伙了。
保罗·d结识了几个人，跟他们谈了他想找什么样的工作。塞丝对她得到的微笑也回之一笑。丹芙沉醉在喜悦中。在回家的路上，尽管投到了他们前面，三个人的影子依然手牵着手。
一个穿戴齐整的女人从水中走出来。她好不容易才够到干燥的溪岸，上了岸就立即靠着一棵桑树坐下来。整整一天一夜，她就坐在那里，将头自暴自弃地歇在树干上，草帽檐都压断了。身上哪儿都疼，肺疼得最厉害。她浑身精湿，呼吸急促，一直在同自己发沉的眼皮较量。白天的轻风吹干她的衣裙；晚风又把衣裙吹皱。没有人看见她出现，也没有人碰巧从这里经过。即便有人路过，多半也会踌躇不前。不是因为她身上湿淋淋的，也不是因为她打着瞌睡或者发出哮喘似的声音，而是因为她同时一直在微笑。第二天，她花了整整一个上午从地上爬起来，穿过树林，经过一座高大的黄杨木神殿进入田野，向石板色房子的宅院走来。她再一次筋疲力尽，就近坐下———坐在离124号的台阶不远的一个树桩上。这时她睁开双眼已经不那么费劲了，能坚持整整两分钟还要多。她那周长不足一个茶碟的脖子一直弯着，下巴摩擦着她裙衣上镶的花边。
只有那些在非庆祝场合也喝香槟酒的女人才那副模样：断了檐的草帽总是歪戴着；在公共场所跟人随便点头；鞋带也不系好。但是她们的皮肤可不如这个在124号的台阶附近喘息的女人。她的皮肤是新的，没有皱纹，而且光滑，连手上的指节都一样。
狂欢节结束时已临近黄昏，黑人们要是走运就搭车回家———不然就得步行。这时那个女人又睡着了。阳光直射在她整个脸颊上，所以塞丝、丹芙和保罗·d在归途中拐过弯来，只看见一条黑裙子和下边两只鞋带散开的鞋，而“来，小鬼”却无影无踪了。
“瞧，“丹芙道，”那是什么？
”
这时，由于某种一时说不清的缘由，塞丝刚刚走近得能看到那张脸，膀胱就涨满了。她说了句，“噢，请原谅”，便小跑着绕到124号的后面。自打她还是个小女孩、由那个指出她母亲的八岁女孩照看的时候起，她还从来没出过这么难以控制的紧急事故。她没有能够赶到厕所，只好在厕所门前就撩起裙子，没完没了地尿了起来。跟匹马似的，她心想，可是尿着尿着她又想，不对，更像生丹芙时在那只小船上的羊水泛滥。那么多水，急得爱弥说道：
“憋住，露。你要是没完没了，我们会沉船的。
”可是从一个开了口的子宫里涌出的羊水不可能止住，现在的尿也不可能止住。她希望保罗·d不会那么体贴地来找她，以免让他看见她蹲在自己家的厕所门前，滋出一个深得让人不好意思看的泥坑。她正纳闷狂欢节能否添上一个新怪物呢，尿停了。她整好衣服跑回门廊。
人不见了。三个人都进了屋———保罗·d和丹芙站在那个陌生人面前，看着她一杯接一杯地喝水。
“她说她渴了，”保罗·d说。他摘下帽子。
“看来是真渴了。
”
那个女人端着一只带斑纹的锡杯大口吞水，吞完了就递过来再要。丹芙一共给她满了四回，这个女人也一饮而尽了四回，仿佛刚刚穿过了沙漠。她喝完之后下巴上沾了点水，但她没有抹去，而是用惺忪的眼睛盯着塞丝。喂养得很糟，塞丝想，而且比衣着显得更年轻———脖子上的花边挺不错，还戴了顶贵妇人的帽子。她的皮肤上没什么瑕疵，只在脑门上有三竖道精致而纤细的划痕，乍看上去就像头发，婴儿的头发，还没有长浓，没有搓成她帽子底下大团的黑毛线。
“你是从这儿附近来的吗？”塞丝问她。
