they stayed that way for awhile because neither denver nor sethe knew how not to: how to stop and not love the look or feelof the lips that kept on kissing. then sethe, grabbing beloved's hair and blinking rapidly, separatedherself. she later believed that it was because the girl's breath was exactly like new milk that shesaid to her, stern and frowning, "you too old for that."she looked at denver, and seeing panic about to become something more, stood up quickly,breaking the tableau apart.
"come on up! up!" sethe waved the girls to their feet. as they left the clearing they looked prettymuch the same as they had when they had come: sethe in the lead, the girls a ways back. all silentas before, but with a difference. sethe was bothered, not because of the kiss, but because, justbefore it, when she was feeling so fine letting beloved massage away the pain, the fingers she wasloving and the ones that had soothed her before they strangled her had reminded her of somethingthat now slipped her mind. but one thing for sure, baby suggs had not choked her as first shethought. denver was right, and walking in the dappled tree-light, clearer-headed now — away from the enchantment of the clearing — sethe remembered the tou ch of those fingers that sheknew better than her own. they had bathed her in sections, wrapped her womb, combed her hair,oiled her nipples, stitched her clothes, cleaned her feet, greased her back and dropped just aboutanything they were doing to massage sethe's nape when, especially in the early days, her spiritsfell down under the weight of the things she remembered and those she did not: schoolteacherwriting in ink she herself had made while his nephews played on her; the face of the woman in afelt hat as she rose to stretch in the field. if she lay among all the hands in the world, she wouldknow baby suggs' just as she did the good hands of the whitegirl looking for velvet. but foreighteen years she had lived in a house full of touches from the other side. and the thumbs thatpressed her nape were the same. maybe that was where it had gone to. after paul d beat it out of124, maybe it collected itself in the clearing. reasonable, she thought.
why she had taken denver and beloved with her didn't puzzle her now — at the time it seemedimpulse, with a vague wish for protection. and the girls had saved her, beloved so agitated shebehaved like a two-year-old.
like a faint smell of burning that disappears when the fire is cut off or the window opened for abreeze, the suspicion that the girl's touch was also exactly like the baby's ghost dissipated. it wasonly a tiny disturbance anyway — not strong enough to divert her from the ambition welling in hernow: she wanted paul d. no matter what he told and knew, she wanted him in her life. more thancommemorating halle, that is what she had come to the clearing to figure out, and now it wasfigured. trust and rememory, yes, the way she believed it could be when he cradled her before thecooking stove. the weight and angle of him; the true-to-life beard hair on him; arched back,educated hands. his waiting eyes and awful human power. the mind of him that knew her own.
her story was bearable because it was his as well — to tell, to refine and tell again. the thingsneither knew about the other — the things neither had word-shapes for — well, it would come intime: where they led him off to sucking iron; the perfect death of her crawling-already? baby.
she wanted to get back — fast. set these idle girls to some work that would fill their wanderingheads. rushing through the green corridor, cooler now because the sun had moved, it occurred toher that the two were alike as sisters. their obedience and absolute reliability shot through withsurprise. sethe understood denver. solitude had made her secretive — self-manipulated. years ofhaunting had dulled her in ways you wouldn't believe and sharpened her in ways you wouldn'tbelieve either. the consequence was a timid but hard-headed daughter sethe would die to protect.
the other, beloved, she knew less, nothing, about — -except that there was nothing she wouldn'tdo for sethe and that denver and she liked each other's company. now she thought she knew why.
they spent up or held on to their feelings in harmonious ways. what one had to give the other waspleased to take. they hung back in the trees that ringed the clearing, then rushed into it withscreams and kisses when sethe choked — anyhow that's how she explained it to herself for shenoticed neither competition between the two nor domination by one. on her mind was the suppershe wanted to fix for paul d — something difficult to do, something she would do just so — tolaunch her newer, stronger life with a tender man. those litty bitty potatoes browned on all sides,heavy on the pepper; snap beans seasoned with rind; yellow squash sprinkled with vinegar andsugar. maybe corn cut from the cob and fried with green onions and butter. raised bread, even.
her mind, searching the kitchen before she got to it, was so full of her offering she did not seeright away, in the space under the white stairs, the wooden tub and paul d sitting in it. she smiledat him and he smiled back.
"summer must be over," she said.
"come on in here.""uh uh. girls right behind me.""i don't hear nobody.""i have to cook, paul d.""me too." he stood up and made her stay there while he held her in his arms. her dress soaked upthe water from his body. his jaw was near her ear. her chin touched his shoulder.
"what you gonna cook?""i thought some snap beans.""oh, yeah.""fry up a little corn?""yeah."there was no question but that she could do it. just like the day she arrived at 124 — sure enough,she had milk enough for all.
她们就那样持续了片刻，因为丹芙和塞丝都不知如何是好：如何去制止她，而不是去体味那两片嘴唇的形状，享受它们不停亲吻的感觉。然后，塞丝抓住宠儿的头发，迅速地眨着眼睛，让自己脱了身。她事后相信，肯定是由于那姑娘的气息与鲜奶一模一样，她才皱起眉头，生硬地说：
“别这样，你也老大不小的了。
”
她看了看丹芙，发现恐慌即将演变成别的祸事，便马上站起身，打破了这个戏剧性的场面。
“快起来!起来!”塞丝把姑娘们轰起来。她们离开“林间空地”时和来的时候差不多一样：塞丝领头，姑娘们远远跟在后面。大家都像来时一样沉默，却有所不同了。塞丝很困惑，不是因为亲吻，而是因为在亲吻之前，当她舒舒服服地让宠儿用按摩驱散疼痛时，那惹人喜爱的手指，还有那先是抚慰她、然后又扼住她脖子的手指，曾让她记起了什么，可一下子又想不起来了。不过有一点是毋庸置疑的，贝比·萨格斯并没有掐她，不像她开始以为的那样。丹芙说得对。远离了“林间空地”的妖术，走在斑斑驳驳的树影中，现在塞丝头脑清晰了———她记起了那些手指，她熟悉它们胜过熟悉自己的手指。它们曾经一部分一部分地擦洗她的身体，包裹她的阴部，梳理她的头发，往她的乳头上涂油，给她缝衣服，帮她洗净双脚，往她后背上抹油，还放下手里所有的活计来按摩她的后颈，尤其是在开头的日子里，那些时候，塞丝的精神在她记得和不记得的事情的重压下濒于崩溃：“学校老师”的侄子们玩弄她，而“学校老师”在一旁用她亲手制作的墨水记录下来；一个在田里直起身来的戴毡帽的女人，她的脸庞于塞丝脑际翩然浮现。即便在世界上所有的手中间，她也能认出贝比·萨格斯的那双，就如同认出寻找天鹅绒的白人姑娘的那双好手一样。然而，十八年来，她生活的房子一直充满了来自另一个世界的触摸，而那按住她后颈的拇指又与这触摸一模一样。也许它就是到那里去了。在保罗·d把它打出124号以后，它也许就是在“林间空地”上重振旗鼓的。合情合理，她想。
当初为什么带上丹芙和宠儿，这事现在不再迷惑她了———看来是一时冲动，以及寻求保护的模糊愿望使然。姑娘们救了她，宠儿更是激动得像个两岁孩子。
就仿佛火焰熄灭或者敞开窗子放进清风时消散的一股微弱的燃烧气味，有关这个姑娘的抚摸同样与那小鬼魂酷似的疑虑也烟消云散了。那本来也不过是一次小小的不安———还没有强大到让她抛开现在从心中涌出的勃勃雄心：她要保罗·d。不管他说了什么、知道了什么，她的生活中不能没有他。她来到“林间空地”，不仅仅是为了纪念黑尔，也为了找个答案；现在她找到了。
对，是信任和重新记忆，是他在炉子前面拥住她的时候她所相信的那种可能性。他的重量，他的棱角；他那真实的胡子；弓起的后背，训练有素的手。他那期待的眼睛和威风凛凛的人性力量。他那与她心心相印的灵魂。她的故事是可以忍受的，因为它同样也属于他———可以诉说，推敲，再诉说。彼此不知道的那些事情———谁都无法诉诸语言的事情———没关系，总有一天会水落石出的：他们打发他衔着铁嚼子去了什么地方；她那“都会爬了？
”的宝贝儿的死亡多么完美。
她想回去了———越快越好。给无所事事的姑娘们安排点活儿干，充实一下她们胡思乱想的头脑。她匆匆穿过由于太阳偏移而凉下来的绿色长廊时，忽然觉得两个姑娘仿佛姊妹一般相像。她们那令人惊奇的顺从和绝对可靠，在她脑海倏然闪过。塞丝理解丹芙。孤独使得她干什么都遮遮掩掩的———我行我素。成年累月的闹鬼以难以置信的方式使她变得迟钝，也以难以置信的方式使她变得敏锐。结果就出了这么一个塞丝誓死保护的、胆小而又固执的女儿。另一个，宠儿，她了解得少 一些，或者说根本不了解———只知道她为了塞丝什么都肯干，还有，丹芙和她喜欢彼此做伴。现在她想，她知道个中原委了。她们以和谐的方式挥霍和攫取着她们自己的感情。一个愿意给予，另一个则乐于获取。她们先是守在环绕着“林间空地”的树林中间，然后在塞丝被扼住时带着尖叫和亲吻冲进来———反正她就是这样向自己解释的，因为她既没发现两个姑娘之间有竞争，也没发现一个在主宰另一个。她一心想的只是她要给保罗·d准备的晚饭———很难办，也非办不可———她要去和一个温柔的男人一道开创她的更新、更强大的生活。做些四面烤焦的小土豆崽儿，多撒上点胡椒粉；桂皮炖豆角；糖醋凉拌黄瓜。要么把刚掰下来的玉米跟葱一起用黄油炸。甚至，再做个暄软的面包。
还没走进厨房，她就开始盘算里面的东西，满脑子都是自己设计的食谱，没有马上看见白楼梯下摆着的一只木澡盆和里面坐着的保罗·d。她冲他笑笑，他也回以一笑。
“夏天早过去了。
”她说。
“进来吧。
”
“去去去。姑娘们就在我后边。
”
“我什么也没听见哪。
”
“我得做饭了，保罗·d。”
“我也做。
”他站起来，把她搂在怀里，不放她走。他身上的水将她的裙子都沾湿了。他的下颚贴着她的耳朵。她的下巴挨着他的肩膀。
“你要做什么饭？
”
“我想弄点豆角。
”
“嗯，不错。
”
“炸点玉米？
”
“很好。
”
不成问题，她当然能做到。就像她刚到124号那天———毫无疑问，她的奶水足够所有的孩子吃。
