"your woman she never fix up your hair?" was clearly a question for sethe, since that's who shewas looking at.
"my woman? you mean my mother? if she did, i don't remember.
i didn't see her but a few times out in the fields and once when she was working indigo. by thetime i woke up in the morning, she was in line. if the moon was bright they worked by its light.
sunday she slept like a stick. she must of nursed me two or three weeks — that's the way theothers did. then she went back in rice and i sucked from another woman whose job it was. so toanswer you, no. i reckon not. she never fixed my hair nor nothing. she didn't even sleep in thesame cabin most nights i remember. too far from the line-up, i guess. one thing she did do. she picked me up and carried me behind the smokehouse. back there she opened up her dress front andlifted her breast and pointed under it. right on her rib was a circle and a cross burnt right in theskin. she said, 'this is your ma'am. this,' and she pointed. 'i am the only one got this mark now.
the rest dead. if something happens to me and you can't tell me by my face, you can know me bythis mark.' scared me so. all i could think of was how important this was and how i needed tohave something important to say back, but i couldn't think of anything so i just said what i thought.
'yes, ma'am,' i said. 'but how will you know me? how will you know me? mark me, too,' i said.
'mark the mark on me too.'" sethe chuckled.
"did she?" asked denver.
"she slapped my face.""what for?""i didn't understand it then. not till i had a mark of my own.""what happened to her?""hung. by the time they cut her down nobody could tell whether she had a circle and a cross ornot, least of all me and i did look."sethe gathered hair from the comb and leaning back tossed it into the fire. it exploded into starsand the smell infuriated them. "oh, my jesus," she said and stood up so suddenly the comb she hadparked in denver's hair fell to the floor.
"ma'am? what's the matter with you, ma'am?"sethe walked over to a chair, lifted a sheet and stretched it as wide as her arms would go. then shefolded, refolded and double folded it. she took another. neither was completely dry but the foldingfelt too fine to stop. she had to do something with her hands because she was rememberingsomething she had forgotten she knew. something privately shameful that had seeped into a slit inher mind right behind the slap on her face and the circled cross.
"why they hang your ma'am?" denver asked. this was the first time she had heard anything abouther mother's mother. baby suggs was the only grandmother she knew.
"i never found out. it was a lot of them," she said, but what was getting clear and clearer as shefolded and refolded damp laundry was the woman called nan who took her hand and yanked heraway from the pile before she could make out the mark. nan was the one she knew best, who wasaround all day, who nursed babies, cooked, had one good arm and half of another. and who useddifferent words. words sethe understood then but could neither recall nor repeat now. shebelieved that must be why she remembered so little before sweet home except singing anddancing and how crowded it was. what nan told her she had forgotten, along with the language she told it in. the same language her ma'am spoke, and which would never come back. but themessage — that was and had been there all along. holding the damp white sheets against her chest,she was picking meaning out of a code she no longer understood. nighttime. nan holding her withher good arm, waving the stump of the other in the air. "telling you. i am telling you, small girlsethe," and she did that. she told sethe that her mother and nan were together from the sea. bothwere taken up many times by the crew. "she threw them all away but you. the one from the crewshe threw away on the island. the others from more whites she also threw away. without names,she threw them. you she gave the name of the black man. she put her arms around him. the othersshe did not put her arms around. never. never. telling you. i am telling you, small girl sethe." assmall girl sethe, she was unimpressed. as grown-up woman sethe she was angry, but not certainat what. a mighty wish for baby suggs broke over her like surf. in the quiet following its splash,sethe looked at the two girls sitting by the stove: her sickly, shallow-minded boarder, her irritable,lonely daughter. they seemed little and far away.
"paul d be here in a minute," she said.
denver sighed with relief. for a minute there, while her mother stood folding the wash lost inthought, she clamped her teeth and prayed it would stop. denver hated the stories her mother toldthat did not concern herself, which is why amy was all she ever asked about. the rest was agleaming, powerful world made more so by denver's absence from it. not being in it, she hated itand wanted beloved to hate it too, although there was no chance of that at all. beloved took everyopportunity to ask some funny question and get sethe going. denver noticed how greedy she wasto hear sethe talk. now she noticed something more. the questions beloved asked: "where yourdiamonds?" "your woman she never fix up your hair?" and most perplexing: tell me yourearrings.
how did she know?
was shining and paul d didn't like it. women did what strawberry plants did before they shot outtheir thin vines: the quality of the green changed. then the vine threads came, then the buds. bythe time the white petals died and the mint-colored berry poked out, the leaf shine was gilded fightand waxy. that's how beloved looked — gilded and shining. paul d took to having sethe onwaking, so that later, when he went down the white stairs where she made bread under beloved'sgaze, his head was clear.
in the evening when he came home and the three of them were all there fixing the supper table, hershine was so pronounced he wondered why denver and sethe didn't see it. or maybe they did.
certainly women could tell, as men could, when one of their number was aroused. paul d lookedcarefully at beloved to see if she was aware of it but she paid him no attention at all — frequentlynot even answering a direct question put to her. she would look at him and not open her mouth.
five weeks she had been with them, and they didn't know any more about her than they did whenthey found her asleep on the stump.
they were seated at the table paul d had broken the day he arrived at 124. its mended legs stronger than before. the cabbage was all gone and the shiny ankle bones of smoked pork werepushed in a heap on their plates. sethe was dishing up bread pudding, murmuring her hopes for it,apologizing in advance the way veteran cooks always do, when something in beloved's face, somepetlike adoration that took hold of her as she looked at sethe, made paul d speak.
"ain't you got no brothers or sisters?"beloved diddled her spoon but did not look at him. "i don't have nobody.""what was you looking for when you came here?" he asked her.
"this place. i was looking for this place i could be in.""somebody tell you about this house?""she told me. when i was at the bridge, she told me.""must be somebody from the old days," sethe said. the days when 124 was a way station wheremessages came and then their senders. where bits of news soaked like dried beans in spring water— until they were soft enough to digest. "how'd you come? who brought you?"now she looked steadily at him, but did not answer.
he could feel both sethe and denver pulling in, holding their stomach muscles, sending out stickyspiderwebs to touch one another.
he decided to force it anyway.
"i asked you who brought you here?""i walked here," she said. "a long, long, long, long way. nobody bring me. nobody help me.""you had new shoes. if you walked so long why don't your shoes show it?""paul d, stop picking on her.""i want to know," he said, holding the knife handle in his fist like a pole.
"i take the shoes! i take the dress! the shoe strings don't fix!" she shouted and gave him a look somalevolent denver touched her arm.
"i'll teach you," said denver, "how to tie your shoes," and got a smile from beloved as a reward.
paul d had the feeling a large, silver fish had slipped from his hands the minute he grabbed hold of its tail. that it was streaming back off into dark water now, gone but for the glistening marking itsroute. but if her shining was not for him, who then? he had never known a woman who lit up fornobody in particular, who just did it as a general announcement. always, in his experience, thelight appeared when there was focus. like the thirty-mile woman, dulled to smoke while hewaited with her in the ditch, and starlight when sixo got there. he never knew himself to mistakeit. it was there the instant he looked at sethe's wet legs, otherwise he never would have been boldenough to enclose her in his arms that day and whisper into her back.
this girl beloved, homeless and without people, beat all, though he couldn't say exactly why,considering the coloredpeople he had run into during the last twenty years. during, before andafter the war he had seen negroes so stunned, or hungry, or tired or bereft it was a wonder theyrecalled or said anything. who, like him, had hidden in caves and fought owls for food; who, likehim, stole from pigs; who, like him, slept in trees in the day and walked by night; who, like him,had buried themselves in slop and jumped in wells to avoid regulators, raiders, paterollers,veterans, hill men, posses and merrymakers. once he met a negro about fourteen years old wholived by himself in the woods and said he couldn't remember living anywhere else. he saw awitless coloredwoman jailed and hanged for stealing ducks she believed were her own babies.
“你的女人她从来不给你梳头吗？
”这个问题显然是提给塞丝的，因为她正看着她。
“我的女人？你是说我的妈妈？就算她梳过，我也不记得了。我只在田里见过她几回，有一回她在种木蓝。早晨我醒来的时候，她已经入队了。要是有月亮，她们就在月光下干活。星期天她睡得像根木头。她肯定只喂了我两三个星期———人人都这么做。然后她又回去种稻子了，我就从另一个负责看孩子的女人那里吃奶。所以我回答你，没有。我估计没有。她从来没为我梳过头，也没干过别的。我记得她甚至总不跟我在同一间屋子里过夜。怕离队伍太远了，我猜是。有一件事她倒肯定干过。她来接我，把我带到熏肉房后面。就在那儿，她解开衣襟，提起乳房，指着乳房下面。
就在她肋骨上，有一个圆圈和一个十字，烙进皮肤里。
‘这是你的太太。这个，’她指着说，‘现在我是唯一有这个记号的。其他人都死了。如果我出了什么事，你又认不出我的脸，你会凭这个记号认 得我。’把我吓得够戗。我能想到的只是这有多么重要，还有我多么需要答上两句重要的话，可我什么都想不出来，所以我就说了我脑子里蹦出来的。
‘是，太太，’我说。
‘可是你怎么认出我来呢？
你怎么认出我来呢？也给我烙上吧，’我说。
‘把那个记号也烙在我身上。
’”塞丝格格地笑了起来。
“她烙了吗？
”丹芙问。
“她打了我一个耳光。
”
“那为什么？
”
“当时我也不明白。直到后来我有了自己的记号。
”
“她怎么样了？
”
“吊死了。等到他们把她放下来的时候，谁也看不清楚她身上是不是有圆圈和十字，我尤其不能，可我的确看了。
”塞丝从梳子上抓出头发，往后扔进炉火。头发炸成火星，那气味激怒了她们。“噢，我的耶稣。
”她说着一下子站起来，插在丹芙头发里的梳子掉在地上。
“太太？你怎么啦，太太？
”
塞丝走到一把椅子旁，拾起一张床单，尽她胳膊的长度抻开来。然后对叠，再叠，再对叠。她拿起另一张。都还没完全晾干，可是对叠的感觉非常舒服，她不想停下来。她手里必须干点什么，因为她又记起了某些她以为已经忘记的事情。事关耻辱的隐私，就在脸上挨的耳光和圆圈、十字之后，早已渗入她头脑的裂缝。
“他们干吗吊死你的太太？
”丹芙问。这是她头一回听到有关她妈妈的妈妈的事。贝比·萨格斯是她知道的唯一的祖母。
“我一直没搞明白。一共有好多人。
”她说道，但当她把潮湿的衣物叠了又叠时，越来越清晰的，是那个拉着她的手、在她认出那个记号之前把她从尸首堆里拽出来的名叫楠的女人。楠是她最熟悉的人，整天都在附近，给婴儿喂奶，做饭，一只胳膊是好的，另一只只剩了半截。楠说的是另一种不同的话，塞丝当时懂得，而现在却想不起来、不能重复的话。她相信，肯定是因为这个，她对“甜蜜之家”以前的记忆才这么少，只剩了唱歌、跳舞和拥挤的人群。楠对她讲的话，连同讲话时使用的语音，她都已忘记了。那也是她的太太使用的语言，一去不返了。但是其中的含义———却始终存在。她把潮湿的白床单抱在胸前，从她不再懂得的密码中分辨着那些含义。夜间，楠用完好的那条胳膊抓住她，在空中挥动着另一截残肢。
“告诉你，我来告诉你，小姑娘塞丝。
”然后她这么做了。楠告诉塞丝，她妈妈和楠是一起从海上来的。两个人都有好多次被水手带走。
“她把他们全扔了，只留下你。有个跟水手生的她丢在了岛上。其他许多跟白人生的她也都扔了。没起名字就给扔了。只有你，她给起了那个黑人的名字。她用胳膊抱了他。别的人她都没用胳膊去抱。从来没有。从来没有。告诉你，我在告诉你，小姑娘塞丝。
”
作为小姑娘塞丝，她并没有什么感觉。作为成年女子塞丝，她感到愤怒，却说不清楚为了什么。贝比·萨格斯的强烈愿望仿佛海浪冲击着她。浪过之后的寂静中，塞丝看着坐在炉边的两个姑娘：她的有病的、思想肤浅的寄宿者，她的烦躁、孤独的女儿。她们看起来又小又远。
“保罗·d一会儿就回来了。
”她说。
丹芙长长地舒了一口气。刚才，她妈妈站在那里出神地叠床单的时候，她咬紧牙关，祈盼着故事早点结束。丹芙讨厌她妈妈老讲那些与她无关的故事，因此她只问起爱弥。除此以外的世界是辉煌而强大的，没有了丹芙倒更是如此。她因自己不在其中而讨厌它，也想让宠儿讨厌它，尽管没有丝毫的可能。宠儿寻找一切可乘之机来问可笑的问题，让塞丝开讲。丹芙注意到了她是多么贪婪地想听塞丝说话。现在她又注意到了新的情况。是宠儿的问题：
“你的钻石在哪儿？
”“你的女人她从来不给你梳头吗？
”而最令人困惑的是：给我讲讲你的耳环。
她是怎么知道的？
宠儿光彩照人，可保罗·d并不喜欢。女人开始成长时，活像抽芽前的草莓类植物：先是绿色的质地渐渐地发生变化，然后藤萝的细丝长出，再往后是花骨朵。等到白色的花瓣凋零，薄荷色的莓子钻出，叶片的光辉就有了镀金的致密和蜡制的润泽。那就是宠儿的模样———周身镶金，光彩照人。保罗·d开始在醒来后与塞丝做爱，这样，过一会儿，当他走下白楼梯，看见她在宠儿的凝视下做面包时，他的头脑会是清晰的。
晚上，他回到家里，她们仨都在那儿摆饭桌时，她的光芒如此逼人，他奇怪塞丝和丹芙怎么看不见。或许她们看见了。如果女人们中间有一个春情萌动，她们当然能看得出来，就像男人一样。
保罗·d仔细地观察宠儿，看她是否有所察觉，可她对他一点也不留意———连直截了当的 提问都常常不作回答。她能做到看着他连嘴都不张。她和他们相处已经有五个星期，可他们对她的了解一点也不比他们发现她在树桩上睡着的那天更多。
他们在保罗·d到达124号当日曾经摔坏的桌子旁就坐。重新接好的桌腿比以前更结实。卷心菜都吃光了，熏猪肉油亮亮的踝骨在他们的盘子里堆成一堆。塞丝正在上面包布丁，嘟囔着她的祝愿，以老练的厨子惯用的方式事先向大家致歉。这时，宠儿脸上现出的某种东西———她眼盯塞丝时攫住她的某种宠物式的迷恋———使得保罗·d开口了。
“你就没啥兄弟姐妹吗？
”
宠儿摆弄着勺子，却没看他。
“我谁都没有。
”
“你来这儿到底是找什么呢？
”他问她。
“这个地方。我是在找这个我能待的地方。
”
“有谁给你讲过这房子吗？
”
“她讲给我的。我在桥上的时候，她讲给我的。
”
“肯定是早先的人。
”塞丝道。早先的那些日子里，124号是口信和捎信人的驿站。在124号，点滴的消息就像泡在泉水里的干豆子———直泡到柔软得可以消化。
“你怎么来的？谁带你来的？
”
现在她镇定地看着他，但没有回答。
他能感觉到塞丝和丹芙两人都后退了，收缩腹肌，放出黏糊糊的蛛网来相互触摸。他决定无论如何也要逼逼她。
“我问你是谁带你来这儿的？
”
“我走来的，”她说，“好长、好长、好长、好长的一条路。没人带我。没人帮我。
”
“你穿着新鞋。你要是走了这么长的路，怎么从鞋子上看不出来？
”
“保罗·d，别再挑她毛病了。
”
“我想知道。
”他说道，把刀把儿像根旗杆似的攥在手中。
“我拿了鞋子!我拿了裙子!这鞋带系不上!”她叫嚷着，那样恶毒地瞪了他一眼，丹芙不禁轻轻去摸她的胳膊。
“我来教你，”丹芙说，“怎么系鞋带。
”她得到了宠儿投来的一笑，作为奖赏。
保罗·d觉得，他刚抓住一条银亮亮的大鱼的尾巴，就让它从手边滑脱了。此刻它又游进黑暗的水中，隐没了，然而闪闪的鱼鳞标出了它的航线。可是她的光芒如果不是为他，又是为谁而发的呢？他见过的女人，没有一个不是为了某个特定的人容光焕发，而只是泛泛地展示一番。凭他的经验而论，总是先有了焦点，周围才现出光芒。就说“三十英里女子”吧，同他一起等在沟里的时候，简直迟钝得冒烟儿，可西克索一到，她就成了星光。他还从未发现自己搞错过。他头一眼看见塞丝的湿腿时就是这种情形，否则他那天绝不会鲁莽得去把她拥在怀中，对着她的脊背柔声软语。
这个无家无亲的姑娘宠儿，可真是出类拔萃，尽管把二十年来遇见过的黑人琢磨个遍，他都不能准确地说出为什么。战前、战后以及战争期间，他见过许多黑奴，晕眩、饥饿、疲倦或者被掠夺到了如此地步，让他们重新唤起记忆或说出任何事情都是个奇迹。像他一样，他们躺在山洞里，与猫头鹰争食；像他一样，他们偷猪食吃；像他一样，他们白天睡在树上，夜里赶路；像他一样，他们把身子埋进泥浆，跳到井里，躲开管理员、袭击者、刽子手、退役兵、山民、武装队和寻欢作乐的人们。有一次，他遇到一个大约十四岁的黑孩子独自在林子里生活，他说他不记得在别处住过。
他见过一个糊里糊涂的黑女人被抓起来、绞死，因为她偷了几只鸭子，误以为那是她自己的婴儿。
