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双语·伤心咖啡馆之歌

所属教程:译林版·伤心咖啡馆之歌

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2022年05月11日

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The Ballad of the Sad Café

The town itself is dreary;not much is there except the cotton-mill, the two-room houses where the workers live, a few peach trees, a church with two colored windows, and a miserable main street only a hundred yards long. On Saturdays the tenants from the near-by farms come in for a day of talk and trade.Otherwise the town is lonesome, sad, and like a place that is far off and estranged from all other places in the world.The nearest train stop is Society City, and the Greyhound and White Bus Lines use the Forks Falls Road which is three miles away.The winters here are short and raw, the summers white with glare and fery hot.

If you walk along the main street on an August afternoon there is nothing whatsoever to do. The largest building, in the very center of the town, is boarded up completely and leans so far to the right that it seems bound to collapse at any minute.The house is very old.There is about it a curious, cracked look that is very puzzling until you suddenly realize that at one time, and long ago, the right side of the front porch had been painted, and part of the wall-but the painting was left unfnished and one portion of the house is darker and dingier than the other.The building looks completely deserted.Nevertheless, on the second foor there is one window which is not boarded;sometimes in the late afternoon when the heat is at its worst a hand will slowly open the shutter and a face will look down on the town.It is a face like the terrible dim faces known in dreams-sexless and white, with two gray crossed eyes which are turned inward so sharply that they seem to be exchanging with each otherone long and secret gaze of grief.The face lingers at the window for an hour or so, then the shutters are closed once more, and as likely as not there will not be another soul to be seen along the main street.These August afternoons-when your shift is fnished there is absolutely nothing to do;you might as well walk down to the Forks Falls Road and listen to the chain gang.

However, here in this very town there was once a café.And this old boarded-up house was unlike any other place for many miles around.There were tables with cloths and paper napkins, colored streamers from the electric fans, great gatherings on Saturday nights.The owner of the place was Miss Amelia Evans.But the person most responsible for the success and gaiety of the place was a hunchback called Cousin Lymon.One other person had a part in the story of this café—he was the former husband of Miss Amelia, a terrible character who returned to the town after a long term in the penitentiary, caused ruin, and then went on his way again.The café has long since been closed, but it is still remembered.

The place was not always a café.Miss Amelia inherited the building from her father, and it was a store that carried mostly feed, guano, and staples such as meal and snuff.Miss Amelia was rich.In addition to the store she operated a still three miles back in the swamp, and ran out the best liquor in the county.She was a dark, tall woman with bones and muscles like a man.Her hair was cut short and brushed back from the forehead, and there was about her sunburned face a tense, haggard quality.She might have been a handsome woman if, even then, she was not slightly cross-eyed.There were those who would have courted her, but Miss Amelia cared nothing for the love of men and was a solitary person.Her marriage had been unlike any other marriage ever contracted in this county-it was a strange and dangerous marriage, lasting only for ten days, that left the whole town wondering and shocked.Except for this queer marriage, Miss Amelia had lived her life alone.Oftenshe spent whole nights back in her shed in the swamp, dressed in overalls and gum-boots, silently guarding the low fre of the still.

With all things which could be made by the hands Miss Amelia prospered. She sold chitterlings and sausage in the town near-by.On fne autumn days, she ground sorghum, and the syrup from her vats was dark golden and delicately flavored.She built the brick privy behind her store in only two weeks and was skilled in carpentering.It was only with people that Miss Amelia was not at ease.People, unless they are willy-nilly or very sick, cannot be taken into the hands and changed overnight to something more worthwhile and profitable.So that the only use that Miss Amelia had for other people was to make money out of them.And in this she succeeded.Mortgages on crops and property, a sawmill, money in the bank-she was the richest woman for miles around.She would have been rich as a congressman if it were not for her one great failing, and that was her passion for lawsuits and the courts.She would involve herself in long and bitter litigation over just a trife.It was said that if Miss Amelia so much as stumbled over a rock in the road she would glance around instinctively as though looking for something to sue about it.Aside from these lawsuits she lived a steady life and every day was very much like the day that had gone before.With the exception of her ten-day marriage, nothing happened to change this until the spring of the year that Miss Amelia was thirty years old.

It was toward midnight on a soft quiet evening in April. The sky was the color of a blue swamp iris, the moon clear and bright.The crops that spring promised well and in the past weeks the mill had run a night shift.Down by the creek the square brick factory was yellow with light, and there was the faint, steady hum of the looms.It was such a night when it is good to hear from faraway, across the dark felds, the slow song of a Negro on his way to make love.Or when it is pleasant to sit quietly and pick a guitar, or simply to rest alone and think of nothing at all.The street that evening was deserted, but Miss Amelia's store was lighted and on the porchoutside there were fve people.One of these was Stumpy MacPhail, a foreman with a red face and dainty, purplish hands.On the top step were two boys in overalls, the Rainey twins-both of them lanky and slow, with white hair and sleepy green eyes.The other man was Henry Macy, a shy and timid person with gentle manners and nervous ways, who sat on the edge of the bottom step.Miss Amelia herself stood leaning against the side of the open door, her feet crossed in their big swamp boots, patiently untying knots in a rope she had come across.They had not talked for a long time.

One of the twins, who had been looking down the empty road, was the frst to speak.“I see something coming,”he said.

“A calf got loose,”said his brother.

The approaching fgure was still too distant to be clearly seen. The moon made dim, twisted shadows of the blossoming peach trees along the side of the road.In the air the odor of blossoms and sweet spring grass mingled with the warm, sour smell of the near-by lagoon.

“No. It's somebody's youngun,”said Stumpy MacPhail.

Miss Amelia watched the road in silence. She had put down her rope and was fngering the straps of her overalls with her brown bony hand.She scowled, and a dark lock of hair fell down on her forehead.While they were waiting there, a dog from one of the houses down the road began a wild, hoarse howl that continued until a voice called out and hushed him.It was not until the fgure was quite close, within the range of the yellow light from the porch, that they saw clearly what had come.

The man was a stranger, and it is rare that a stranger enters the town on foot at that hour. Besides, the man was a hunchback.He was scarcely more than four feet tall and he wore a ragged, rusty coat that reached only to his knees.His crooked little legs seemed too thin to carry the weight of his great warped chest and the hump that sat on his shoulders.He had a very large head, with deep-set blue eyes and a sharp little mouth.His face was both soft andsassy-at the moment his pale skin was yellowed by dust and there were lavender shadows beneath his eyes.He carried a lopsided old suitcase which was tied with a rope.

“Evening,”said the hunchback, and he was out of breath.

Miss Amelia and the men on the porch neither answered his greeting nor spoke. They only looked at him.

“I am hunting for Miss Amelia Evans.”

Miss Amelia pushed back her hair from her forehead and raised her chin.“How come?”

“Because I am kin to her,”the hunchback said.

The twins and Stumpy MacPhail looked up at Miss Amelia.

“That's me,”she said.“How do you mean‘kin'?”

“Because—”the hunchback began. He looked uneasy, almost as though he was about to cry.He rested the suitcase on the bottom step, but did not take his hand from the handle.“My mother was Fanny Jesup and she come from Cheehaw.She left Cheehaw some thirty years ago when she married her first husband.I remember hearing her tell how she had a half-sister named Martha.And back in Cheehaw today they tell me that was your mother.”

Miss Amelia listened with her head turned slightly aside. She ate her Sunday dinners by herself;her place was never crowded with a fock of relatives, and she claimed kin with no one.She had had a great-aunt who owned the livery stable in Cheehaw, but that aunt was now dead.Aside from her there was only one double frst cousin who lived in a town twenty miles away, but this cousin and Miss Amelia did not get on so well, and when they chanced to pass each other they spat on the side of the road.Other people had tried very hard, from time to time, to work out some kind of far-fetched connection with Miss Amelia, but with absolutely no success.

The hunchback went into a long rigmarole, mentioning names and places that were unknown to the listeners on the porch and seemed to have nothing to do with the subject.“So Fanny and Martha Jesup were half-sisters. And I am the son of Fanny's thirdhusband.So that would make you and I—”He bent down and began to unfasten his suitcase.His hands were like dirty sparrow claws and they were trembling.The bag was full of all manner of junk-ragged clothes and odd rubbish that looked like parts out of a sewing-machine, or something just as worthless.The hunchback scrambled among these belongings and brought out an old photograph.“This is a picture of my mother and her half-sister.”

Miss Amelia did not speak. She was moving her jaw slowly from side to side, and you could tell from her face what she was thinking about.Stumpy MacPhail took the photograph and held it out towards the light.It was a picture of two pale, withered-up little children of about two and three years of age.The faces were tiny white blurs, and it might have been an old picture in anyone's album.

Stumpy MacPhail handed it back with no comment.“Where you come from?”he asked.

The hunchback's voice was uncertain.“I was traveling.”

Still Miss Amelia did not speak. She just stood leaning against the side of the door, and looked down at the hunchback.Henry Macy winked nervously and rubbed his hands together.Then quietly he left the bottom step and disappeared.He is a good soul, and the hunchback's situation had touched his heart.Therefore he did not want to wait and watch Miss Amelia chase this newcomer off her property and run him out of town.The hunchback stood with his bag open on the bottom step;he sniffled his nose, and his mouth quivered.Perhaps he began to feel his dismal predicament.Maybe he realized what a miserable thing it was to be a stranger in the town with a suitcase full of junk, and claiming kin with Miss Amelia.At any rate he sat down on the steps and suddenly began to cry.

It was not a common thing to have an unknown hunchback walk to the store at midnight and then sit down and cry. Miss Amelia rubbed back her hair from her forehead and the men looked at each other uncomfortably.All around the town was very quiet.

At last one of the twins said:“I'll be damned if he ain't aregular Morris Finestein.”

Everyone nodded and agreed, for that is an expression having a certain special meaning. But the hunchback cried louder because he could not know what they were talking about.Morris Finestein was a person who had lived in the town years before.He was only a quick, skipping little Jew who cried if you called him Christ-killer, and ate light bread and canned salmon every day.A calamity had come over him and he had moved away to Society City.But since then if a man were prissy in any way, or if a man ever wept, he was known as a Morris Finestein.

“Well, he is afficted,”said Stumpy MacPhail.“There is some cause.”

Miss Amelia crossed the porch with two slow, gangling strides. She went down the steps and stood looking thoughtfully at the stranger.Gingerly, with one long brown forefnger, she touched the hump on his back.The hunchback still wept, but he was quieter now.The night was silent and the moon still shone with a soft, dear light-it was getting colder.Then Miss Amelia did a rare thing;she pulled out a bottle from her hip pocket and after polishing off the top with the palm of her hand she handed it to the hunchback to drink.Miss Amelia could seldom be persuaded to sell her liquor on credit, and for her to give so much as a drop away free was almost unknown.

“Drink,”she said.“It will liven your gizzard.”

The hunchback stopped crying, neatly licked the tears from around his mouth, and did as he was told. When he was finished, Miss Amelia took a slow swallow, warmed and washed her mouth with it, and spat.Then she also drank.The twins and the foreman had their own bottle they had paid for.

“It is smooth liquor,”Stumpy MacPhail said.“Miss Amelia, I have never known you to fail.”

The whisky they drank that evening(two big bottles of it)is important. Otherwise, it would be hard to account for what followed.Perhaps without it there would never have been a café.For the liquor of Miss Amelia has a special quality of its own.It is clean and sharp on the tongue, but once down a man it glows inside him for a long time afterward.And that is not all.It is known that if a message is written with lemon juice on a clean sheet of paper there will be no sign of it.But if the paper is held for a moment to the fre then the letters turn brown and the meaning becomes clear.Imagine that the whisky is the fre and that the message is that which is known only in the soul of a man-then the worth of Miss Amelia’s liquor can be understood.Things that have gone unnoticed, thoughts that have been harbored far back in the dark mind, are suddenly recognized and comprehended.A spinner who has thought only of the loom, the dinner pail, the bed, and then the loom again-this spinner might drink some on a Sunday and come across a marsh lily.And in his palm he might hold this fower, examining the golden dainty cup, and in him suddenly might come a sweetness keen as pain.A weaver might look up suddenly and see for the frst time the cold, weird radiance of midnight January sky, and a deep fright at his own smallness stop his heart.Such things as these, then, happen when a man has drunk Miss Amelia’s liquor.He may suffer, or he may be spent with joy-but the experience has shown the truth;he has warmed his soul and seen the message hidden there.

They drank until it was past midnight, and the moon was clouded over so that the night was cold and dark. The hunchback still sat on the bottom steps, bent over miserably with his forehead resting on his knee.Miss Amelia stood with her hands in her pockets, one foot resting on the second step of the stairs.She had been silent for a long time.Her face had the expression often seen in slightly cross-eyed persons who are thinking deeply, a look that appears to be both very wise and very crazy.At last she said:“I don't know your name.”

“I'm Lymon Willis,”said the hunchback.

“Well, come on in,”she said.“Some supper was left in thestove and you can eat.”

Only a few times in her life had Miss Amelia invited anyone to eat with her, unless she were planning to trick them in some way, or make money out of them. So the men on the porch felt there was something wrong.Later, they said among themselves that she must have been drinking back in the swamp the better part of the afternoon.At any rate she left the porch, and Stumpy MacPhail and the twins went on off home.She bolted the front door and looked all around to see that her goods were in order.Then she went to the kitchen, which was at the back of the store.The hunchback followed her, dragging his suitcase, sniffng, and wiping his nose on the sleeve of his dirty coat.

“Sit down,”said Miss Amelia.“I'll just warm up what's here.”

It was a good meal they had together on that night. Miss Amelia was rich and she did not grudge herself food.There was fried chicken(the breast of which the hunchback took on his own plate),mashed rootabeggars, collard greens, and hot, pale golden, sweet potatoes.Miss Amelia ate slowly and with the relish of a farm hand.She ate with both elbows on the table, bent over the plate, her knees spread wide apart and her feet braced on the rungs of the chair.As for the hunchback, he gulped down his supper as though he had not smelled food in months.During the meal one tear crept down his dingy cheek-but it was just a little leftover tear and meant nothing at all.The lamp on the table was well trimmed, burning blue at the edges of the wick, and casting a cheerful light in the kitchen.When Miss Amelia had eaten her supper she wiped her plate carefully with a slice of light bread, and then poured her own clear, sweet syrup over the bread.The hunchback did likewise-except that he was more fnicky and asked for a new plate.Having fnished, Miss Amelia tilted back her chair, tightened her fist, and felt the hard, supple muscles of her right arm beneath the clean, blue cloth of her shirtsleeves-an unconscious habit with her, at the close of a meal.Then she took the lamp from the table and jerked her head toward ;the staircase as an invitation for the hunchback to follow after her.

Above the store there were the three rooms where Miss Amelia had lived during all her life-two bedrooms with a large parlor in between. Few people had even seen these rooms, but it was generally known that they were well furnished and extremely clean.And now Miss Amelia was taking up with her a dirty little hunchbacked stranger, come from God knows where.Miss Amelia walked slowly, two steps at a time, holding the lamp high.The hunchback hovered so close behind her that the swinging light made on the staircase wall one great, twisted shadow of the two of them.Soon the premises above the store were dark as the rest of the town.

The next morning was serene, with a sunrise of warm purple mixed with rose. In the fields around the town the furrows were newly plowed, and very early the tenants were at work setting out the young, deep-green tobacco plants.The wild crows flew down close to the felds, making swift blue shadows on the earth.In town the people set out early with their dinner pails, and the windows of the mill were blinding gold in the sun.The air was fresh and the peach trees light as March clouds with their blossoms.

Miss Amelia came down at about dawn, as usual. She washed her head at the pump and very shortly set about her business.Later in the morning she saddled her mule and went to see about her property, planted with cotton, up near the Forks Falls Road.By noon, of course, everybody had heard about the hunchback who had come to the store in the middle of the night.But no one as yet had seen him.The day soon grew hot and the sky was a rich, midday blue.Still no one had laid an eye on this strange guest.A few people remembered that Miss Amelia's mother had had a half-sister-but there was some difference of opinion as to whether she had died or had run off with a tobacco stringer.As for the hunchback's claim, everyone thought it was a trumped-up business.And the town, knowing Miss Amelia, decided that surely she had put him out of the house after feeding him.But toward evening, when the sky hadwhitened, and the shift was done, a woman claimed to have seen a crooked face at the window of one of the rooms up over the store.Miss Amelia herself said nothing.She clerked in the store for a while, argued for an hour with a farmer over a plow shaft, mended some chicken wire, locked up near sundown, and went to her rooms.The town was left puzzled and talkative.

The next day Miss Amelia did not open the store, but stayed locked up inside her premises and saw no one. Now this was the day that the rumor started-the rumor so terrible that the town and all the country about were stunned by it The rumor was started by a weaver called Merlie Ryan.He is a man of not much account-sallow, shambling, and with no teeth in his head.He has the three-day malaria, which means that every third day the fever comes on him.So on two days he is dull and cross, but on the third day he livens up and sometimes has an idea or two, most of which are foolish.It was while Merlie Ryan was in his fever that he turned suddenly and said:

“I know what Miss Amelia done. She murdered that man for something in that suitcase.”

He said this in a calm voice, as a statement of fact. And within an hour the news had swept through the town.It was a fierce and sickly tale the town built up that day.In it were all the things which cause the heart to shiver-a hunchback, a midnight burial in the swamp, the dragging of Miss Amelia through the streets of the town on the way to prison, the squabbles over what would happen to her property-all told in hushed voices and repeated with some fresh and weird detail.It rained and women forgot to bring in the washing from the lines.One or two mortals, who were in debt to Miss Amelia, even put on Sunday clothes as though it were a holiday.People clustered together on the main street, talking and watching the store.

It would be untrue to say that all the town took part in this evil festival. There were a few sensible men who reasoned that Miss Amelia, being rich, would not go out of her way to murdera vagabond for a few trifles of junk.In the town there were even three good people, and they did not want this crime, not even for the sake of the interest and the great commotion it would entail;it gave them no pleasure to think of Miss Amelia holding to the bars of the penitentiary and being electrocuted in Atlanta.These good people judged Miss Amelia in a different way from what the others judged her.When a person is as contrary in every single respect as she was and when the sins of a person have amounted to such a point that they can hardly be remembered all at once-then this person plainly requires a special judgment.They remembered that Miss Amelia had been born dark and somewhat queer of face, raised motherless by her father who was a solitary man, that early in youth she had grown to be six feet two inches tall which in itself is not natural for a woman, and that her ways and habits of life were too peculiar ever to reason about.Above all, they remembered her puzzling marriage, which was the most unreasonable scandal ever to happen in this town.

So these good people felt toward her something near to pity. And when she was out on her wild business, such as rushing in a house to drag forth a sewing-machine in payment for a debt, or getting herself worked up over some matter concerning the law-they had toward her a feeling which was a mixture of exasperation, a ridiculous little inside tickle, and a deep, unnamable sadness.But enough of the good people, for there were only three of them;the rest of the town was making a holiday of this fancied crime the whole of the afternoon.

Miss Amelia herself, for some strange reason, seemed unaware of all this. She spent most of her day upstairs.When down in the store, she prowled around peacefully, her hands deep in the pockets of her overalls and head bent so low that her chin was tucked inside the collar of her shirt.There was no bloodstain on her anywhere.Often she stopped and just stood somberly looking down at the cracks in the floor, twisting a lock of her short-cropped hair, andwhispering something to herself.But most of the day was spent upstairs.

Dark came on. The rain that afternoon had chilled the air, so that the evening was bleak and gloomy as in wintertime.There were no stars in the sky, and a light, icy drizzle had set in.The lamps in the houses made mournful, wavering flickers when watched from the street.A wind had come up, not from the swamp side of the town but from the cold black pinewoods to the north.

The clocks in the town struck eight. Still nothing had happened.The bleak night, after the gruesome talk of the day, put a fear in some people, and they stayed home close to the fire.Others were gathered in groups together.Some eight or ten men had convened on the porch of Miss Amelia's store.They were silent and were indeed just waiting about.They themselves did not know what they were waiting for, but it was this:in times of tension, when some great action is impending, men gather and wait in this way.And after a time there will come a moment when all together they will act in unison, not from thought or from the will of any one man, but as though their instincts had merged together so that the decision belongs to no single one of them, but to the group as a whole.At such a time, no individual hesitates.And whether the matter will be settled peaceably, or whether the joint action will result in ransacking, violence, and crime, depends on destiny.So the men waited soberly on the porch of Miss Amelia's store, not one of them realizing what they would do, but knowing inwardly that they must wait, and that the time had almost come.

Now the door to the store was open. Inside it was bright and natural-looking.To the left was the counter where slabs of white meat, rock candy, and tobacco were kept.Behind this were shelves of salted white meat and meal.The right side of the store was mostly filled with farm implements and such.At the back of the store, to the left, was the door leading up the stairs, and it was open.And at the far right of the store there was another door which led to a littleroom that Miss Amelia called her offce.This door was also open.And at eight o'clock that evening Miss Amelia could be seen there sitting before her roll-top desk, figuring with a fountain pen and some pieces of paper.

The office was cheerfully lighted, and Miss Amelia did not seem to notice the delegation on the porch. Everything around her was in great order, as usual.This offce was a room well-known, in a dreadful way, throughout the country.It was there Miss Amelia transacted all business.On the desk was a carefully covered typewriter which she knew how to run, but used only for the most important documents.In the drawers were literally thousands of papers, all fled according to the alphabet.This offce was also the place where Miss Amelia received sick people, for she enjoyed doctoring and did a great deal of it.Two whole shelves were crowded with bottles and various paraphernalia.Against the wall was a bench where the patients sat.She could sew up a wound with a burnt needle so that it would not turn green.For burns she had a cool, sweet syrup.For unlocated sickness there were any number of different medicines which she had brewed herself from unknown recipes.They wrenched loose the bowels very well, but they could not be given to small children, as they caused bad convulsions;for them she had an entirely separate draught, gentler and sweet-flavored.Yes, all in all, she was considered a good doctor.Her hands, though very large and bony, had a light touch about them.She possessed great imagination and used hundreds of different cures.In the face of the most dangerous and extraordinary treatment she did not hesitate, and no disease was so terrible but what she would undertake to cure it.In this there was one exception.If a patient came with a female complaint she could do nothing.Indeed at the mere mention of the words her face would slowly darken with shame, and she would stand there craning her neck against the collar of her shirt, or rubbing her swamp boots together, for all the world like a great shamed, dumb-tongued child.But in other matterspeople trusted her.She charged no fees whatsoever and always had a raft of patients.

On this evening, Miss Amelia wrote with her fountain pen a good deal. But even so she could not be forever unaware of the group waiting out there on the dark porch, and watching her.From time to time she looked up and regarded them steadily.But she did not holler out to them to demand why they were loafing around her property like a sorry bunch of gabbies.Her face was proud and stern, as it always was when she sat at the desk of her offce.After a time their peering in like that seemed to annoy her.She wiped her cheek with a red handkerchief, got up, and closed the offce door.

Now to the group on the porch this gesture acted as a signal. The time had come.They had stood for a long while with the night raw and gloomy in the street behind them.They had waited long and just at that moment the instinct to act came on them.All at once, as though moved by one will, they walked into the store.At that moment the eight men looked very much alike-all wearing blue overalls, most of them with whitish hair, all pale of face, and all with a set, dreaming look in the eye.What they would have done next no one knows.But at that instant there was a noise at the head of the staircase.The men looked up and then stood dumb with shock.It was the hunchback, whom they had already murdered in their minds.Also, the creature was not at all as had been pictured to them-not a pitiful and dirty little chatterer, alone and beggared in this world.Indeed, he was like nothing any man among them had ever beheld until that time.The room was still as death.

The hunchback came down slowly with the proudness of one who owns every plank of the floor beneath his feet. In the past days he had greatly changed.For one thing he was clean beyond words.He still wore his little coat, but it was brushed off and neatly mended.Beneath this was a fresh red and black checkered shut belonging to Miss Amelia.He did not wear trousers such as ordinary men are meant to wear, but a pair of tight-ftting little knee-lengthbreeches.On his skinny legs he wore black stockings, and his shoes were of a special kind, being queerly shaped, laced up over the ankles, and newly cleaned and polished with wax.Around his neck, so that his large, pale ears were almost completely covered, he wore a shawl of lime-green wool, the fringes of which almost touched the foor.

The hunchback walked down the store with his stiff little strut and then stood in the center of the group that had come inside. They cleared a space about him and stood looking with hands loose at their sides and eyes wide open.The hunchback himself got his bearings in an odd manner.He regarded each person steadily at his own eye-level, which was about belt line for an ordinary man.Then with shrewd deliberation he examined each man's lower regions-from the waist to the sole of the shoe.When he had satisfed himself he closed his eyes for a moment and shook his head, as though in his opinion what he had seen did not amount to much.Then with assurance, only to confrm himself, he tilted back his head and took in the halo of faces around him with one long, circling stare.There was a half-flled sack of guano on the left side of the store, and when he had found his bearings in this way, the hunchback sat down upon it.Cozily settled, with his little legs crossed, he took from his coat pocket a certain object.

Now it took some moments for the men in the store to regain their ease. Merlie Ryan, he of the three-day fever who had started the rumor that day, was the first to speak.He looked at the object which the hunchback was fondling, and said in a hushed voice:

“What is it you have there?”

Each man knew well what it was the hunchback was handling. For it was the snuffbox which had belonged to Miss Amelia's father.The snuffbox was of blue enamel with a dainty embellishment of wrought gold on the lid.The group knew it well and marvelled.They glanced warily at the closed office door, and heard the low sound of Miss Amelia whistling to herself.

“Yes, what is it, Peanut?”

The hunchback looked up quickly and sharpened his mouth to speak.“Why, this is a lay-low to catch meddlers.”

The hunchback readied in the box with his scrambly little fngers and ate something, but he offered no one around him a taste. It was not even proper snuff which he was taking, but a mixture of sugar and cocoa.This he took, though, as snuff, pocketing a little wad of it beneath his lower lip and licking down neatly into this with a fick of his tongue which made a frequent grimace come over his face.

“The very teeth in my head have always tasted sour to me,”he said in explanation.“That is the reason why I take this kind of sweet snuff.”

The group still clustered around, feeling somewhat gawky and bewildered. This sensation never quite wore off, but it was soon tempered by another feeling-an air of intimacy in the room and a vague festivity.Now the names of the men of the group there on that evening were as follows:Hasty Malone, Robert Calvert Hale, Merlie Ryan, Reverend T.M.Willin, Rosser Cline, Rip Wellborn, Henry Ford Crimp, and Horace Wells.Except for Reverend Willin, they are all alike in many ways as has been said-all having taken pleasure from something or other, all having wept and suffered in some way, most of them tractable unless exasperated.Each of them worked in the mill, and lived with others in a two-room or three-room house for which the rent was ten dollars or twelve dollars a month.All had been paid that afternoon, for it was Saturday.So, for the present, think of them as a whole.

The hunchback, however, was already sorting them out in his mind. Once comfortably settled he began to chat with everyone, asking questions such as if a man was married, how old he was, how much his wages came to in an average week, et cetera-picking his way along to inquiries which were downright intimate.Soon the group was joined by others in the town, Henry Macy, idlers who hadsensed something extraordinary, women come to fetch their men who lingered on, and even one loose, towhead child who tiptoed into the store, stole a box of animal crackers, and made off very quietly.So the premises of Miss Amelia were soon crowded, and she herself had not yet opened her offce door.

There is a type of person who has a quality about him that sets him apart from other and more ordinary human beings. Such a person has an instinct which is usually found only in small children, an instinct to establish immediate and vital contact between himself and all things in the world.Certainly the hunchback was of this type.He had only been in the store half an hour before an immediate contact had been established between him and each other individual.It was as though he had lived in the town for years, was a well-known character, and had been sitting and talking there on that guano sack for countless evenings.This, together with the fact that it was Saturday night, could account for the air of freedom and illicit gladness in the store.There was a tension, also, partly because of the oddity of the situation and because Miss Amelia was still closed off in her offce and had not yet made her appearance.

She came out that evening at ten o'clock. And those who were expecting some drama at her entrance were disappointed.She opened the door and walked in with her slow, gangling swagger.There was a streak of ink on one side of her nose, and she had knotted the red handkerchief about her neck.She seemed to notice nothing unusual.Her gray, crossed eyes glanced over to the place where the hunchback was sitting, and for a moment lingered there.The rest of the crowd in her store she regarded with only a peaceable surprise.

“Does anyone want waiting on?”she asked quietly.

There were a number of customers, because it was Saturday night, and they all wanted liquor. Now Miss Amelia had dug up an aged barrel only three days past and had siphoned it into bottles back by the still.This night she took the money from the customers andcounted it beneath the bright light.Such was the ordinary procedure.But after this what happened was not ordinary.Always before, it was necessary to go around to the dark back yard, and there she would hand out your bottle through the kitchen door.There was no feeling of joy in the transaction.After getting his liquor the customer walked off into the night.Or, if his wife would not have it in the home, he was allowed to come back around to the front porch of the store and guzzle there or in the street.Now, both the porch and the street before it were the property of Miss Amelia, and no mistake about it-but she did not regard them as her premises;the premises began at the front door and took in the entire inside of the building.There she had never allowed liquor to be opened or drunk by anyone but herself.Now for the frst time she broke this rule.She went to the kitchen, with the hunchback close at her heels, and she brought back the bottles into the warm, bright store.More than that she furnished some glasses and opened two boxes of crackers so that they were there hospitably in a platter on the counter and anyone who wished could take one free.

She spoke to no one but the hunchback, and she only asked him in a somewhat harsh and husky voice:“Cousin Lymon, will you have yours straight, or warmed in a pan with water on the stove?”

“If you please, Amelia,”the hunchback said.(And since what time had anyone presumed to address Miss Amelia by her bare name, without a title of respect?—Certainly not her bridegroom and her husband of ten days. In fact, not since the death of her father, who for some reason had always called her Little, had anyone dared to address her in such a familiar way.)“If you please, I'll have it warmed.”

Now, this was the beginning of the café.It was as simple as that.Recall that the night was gloomy as in wintertime, and to have sat around the property outside would have made a sorry celebration.But inside there was company and a genial warmth.Someone had rattled up the stove in the rear, and those who bought bottles sharedtheir liquor with friends.Several women were there and they had twists of licorice, a Nehi, or even a swallow of the whisky.The hunchback was still a novelty and his presence amused everyone.The bench in the offce was brought in, together with several extra chairs.Other people leaned against the counter or made themselves comfortable on barrels and sacks.Nor did the opening of liquor on the premises cause any rambunctiousness, indecent giggles, or misbehavior whatsoever.On the contrary the company was polite even to the point of a certain timidness.For people in this town were then unused to gathering together for the sake of pleasure.They met to work in the mill.Or on Sunday there would be an all-day camp meeting-and though that is a pleasure, the intention of the whole affair is to sharpen your view of Hell and put into you a keen fear of the Lord Almighty.But the spirit of a café is altogether different.Even the richest, greediest old rascal will behave himself, insulting no one in a proper café.And poor people look about them gratefully and pinch up the salt in a dainty and modest manner.For the atmosphere of a proper café implies these qualities:fellowship, the satisfactions of the belly, and a certain gaiety and grace of behavior.This had never been told to the gathering in Miss Amelia’s store that night.But they knew it of themselves, although never, of course, until that time had there been a café in the town.

Now, the cause of all this, Miss Amelia, stood most of the evening in the doorway leading to the kitchen. Outwardly she did not seem changed at all.But there were many who noticed her face.She watched all that went on, but most of the time her eyes were fastened lonesomely on the hunchback.He strutted about the store, eating from his snuffbox, and being at once sour and agreeable.Where Miss Amelia stood, the light from the chinks of the stove cast a glow, so that her brown, long face was somewhat brightened.She seemed to be looking inward.There was in her expression pain, perplexity, and uncertain joy.Her lips were not so frmly set as usual, and she swallowed often.Her skin had paled and her large emptyhands were sweating.Her look that night, then, was the lonesome look of the lover.

This opening of the café came to an end at midnight.Everyone said good-bye to everyone else in a friendly fashion.Miss Amelia shut the front door of her premises, but forgot to bolt it.Soon everything-the main street with its three stores, the mill, the houses-all the town, in fact-was dark and silent.And so ended three days and nights in which had come an arrival of a stranger, an unholy holiday, and the start of the café.

Now time must pass. For the next four years are much alike.There are great changes, but these changes are brought about bit by bit, in simple steps which in themselves do not appear to be important.The hunchback continued to live with Miss Amelia.The café expanded in a gradual way.Miss Amelia began to sell her liquor by the drink, and some tables were brought into the store.There were customers every evening, and on Saturday a great crowd.Miss Amelia began to serve fried catfish suppers at fifteen cents a plate.The hunchback cajoled her into buying a fine mechanical piano.Within two years the place was a store no longer, but had been converted into a proper café,open every evening from six until twelve o’clock.

Each night the hunchback came down the stairs with the air of one who has a grand opinion of himself. He always smelled slightly of turnip greens, as Miss Amelia rubbed him night and morning with pot liquor to give him strength.She spoiled him to a point beyond reason, but nothing seemed to strengthen him;food only made his hump and his head grow larger while the rest of him remained weakly and deformed.Miss Amelia was the same in appearance.During the week she still wore swamp boots and overalls, but on Sunday she put on a dark red dress that hung on her in a most peculiar fashion.Her manners, however, and her way of life were greatly changed.She still loved a ferce lawsuit, but she was not soquick to cheat her fellow man and to exact cruel payments.Because the hunchback was so extremely sociable, she even went about a little-to revivals, to funerals, and so forth.Her doctoring was as successful as ever, her liquor even finer than before, if that were possible.The café itself proved proftable and was the only place of pleasure for many miles around.

So for the moment regard these years from random and disjointed views. See the hunchback marching in Miss Amelia's footsteps when on a red winter morning they set out for the pinewoods to hunt.See them working on her properties-with Cousin Lymon standing by and doing absolutely nothing, but quick to point out any laziness among the hands.On autumn afternoons they sat on the back steps chopping sugar cane.The glaring summer days they spent back in the swamp where the water cypress is a deep black green, where beneath the tangled swamp trees there is a drowsy gloom.When the path leads through a bog or a stretch of blackened water see Miss Amelia bend down to let Cousin Lymon scramble on her back-and see her wading forward with the hunchback settled on her shoulders, clinging to her ears or to her broad forehead.Occasionally Miss Amelia cranked up the Ford which she had bought and treated Cousin Lymon to a picture-show in Cheehaw, or to some distant fair or cockfight;the hunchback took a passionate delight in spectacles.Of course, they were in their café every morning, they would often sit for hours together by the fireplace in the parlor upstairs.For the hunchback was sickly at night and dreaded to lie looking into the dark.He had a deep fear of death.And Miss Amelia would not leave him by himself to suffer with this fright It may even be reasoned that the growth of the café came about mainly on this account;it was a thing that brought him company and pleasure and that helped him through the night.So compose from such fashes an image of these years as a whole.And for a moment let it rest.

Now some explanation is due for all this behavior. The time has come to speak about love.For Miss Amelia loved Cousin Lymon.So much was clear to everyone.They lived in the same house together and were never seen apart.Therefore, according to Mrs.MacPhail, a warty-nosed old busybody who is continually moving her sticks of furniture from one part of the front room to another;according to her and to certain others, these two were living in sin.If they were related, they were only a cross between frst and second cousins, and even that could in no way be proved.Now, of course, Miss Amelia was a powerful blunderbuss of a person, more than six feet tall-and Cousin Lymon a weakly little hunchback reaching only to her waist.But so much the better for Mrs.Stumpy MacPhail and her cronies, for they and their kind glory in conjunctions which are ill-matched and pitiful.So let them be.The good people thought that if those two had found some satisfaction of the fesh between themselves, then it was a matter concerning them and God alone.All sensible people agreed in their opinion about this conjecture-and their answer was a plain, fat no.What sort of thing, then, was this love?

First of all, love is a joint experience between two persons-but the fact that it is a joint experience does not mean that it is a similar experience to the two people involved. There are the lover and the beloved, but these two come from different countries.Often the beloved is only a stimulus for all the stored-up love which has lain quiet within the lover for a long time hitherto.And somehow every lover knows this.He feels in his soul that his love is a solitary thing.He comes to know a new, strange loneliness and it is this knowledge which makes him suffer.So there is only one thing for the lover to do.He must house his love within himself as best he can;he must create for himself a whole new inward world-a world intense and strange, complete in himself.Let it be added here that this lover about whom we speak need not necessarily be a young man saving for a wedding ring-this lover can be man, woman, child, or indeed any human creature on this earth.

Now, the beloved can also be of any description. The most outlandish people can be the stimulus for love.A man may be a doddering great-grandfather and still love only a strange girl he saw in the streets of Cheehaw one afternoon two decades past.The preacher may love a fallen woman.The beloved may be treacherous, greasy-headed, and given to evil habits.Yes, and the lover may see this as dearly as anyone else-but that does not affect the evolution of his love one whit.A most mediocre person can be the object of a love which is wild, extravagant, and beautiful as the poison lilies of the swamp.A good man may be the stimulus for a love both violent and debased, or a jabbering madman may bring about in the soul of someone a tender and simple idyll.Therefore, the value and quality of any love is determined solely by the lover himself.

It is for this reason that most of us would rather love than be loved. Almost everyone wants to be the lover.And the curt truth is that, in a deep secret way, the state of being be loved is intolerable to many.The beloved fears and hates the lover, and with the best of reasons.For the lover is forever trying to strip bare his beloved.The lover craves any possible relation with the beloved, even if this experience can cause him only pain.

It has been mentioned before that Miss Amelia was once married. And this curious episode might as well be accounted for at this point.Remember that it all happened long ago, and that it was Miss Amelia's only personal contact, before the hunchback came to her, with this phenomenon-love.

The town then was the same as it is now, except there were two stores instead of three and the peach trees along the street were more crooked and smaller than they are now. Miss Amelia was nineteen years old at the time, and her father had been dead many months.There was in the town at that time a loomfxer named Marvin Macy.He was the brother of Henry Macy, although to know them you would never guess that those two could be kin.For Marvin Macywas the handsomest man in this region-being six feet one inch tall, hard-muscled, and with slow gray eyes and curly hair.He was well off, made good wages, and had a gold watch which opened in the back to a picture of a waterfall.From the outward and worldly point of view Marvin Macy was a fortunate fellow;he needed to bow and scrape to no one and always got just what he wanted.But from a more serious and thoughtful viewpoint Marvin Macy was not a person to be envied, for he was an evil character.His reputation was as bad, if not worse, than that of any young man in the county.For years, when he was a boy, he had carried about with him the dried and salted ear of a man he had killed in a razor fght.He had chopped off the tails of squirrels in the pinewoods just to please his fancy, and in his left hip picket he carried forbidden marijuana weed to tempt those who were discouraged and drawn toward death.Yet in spite of his well-known reputation he was the beloved of many females in this region-and there were at the time several young girls who were clean-haired and soft-eyed, with tender sweet little buttocks and charming ways.These gentle young girls he degraded and shamed.Then finally, at the age of twenty-two, this Marvin Macy chose Miss Amelia.That solitary, gangling, queer-eyed girl was the one he longed for.Nor did he want her because of her money, but solely out of love.

And love changed Marvin Macy. Before the time when he loved Miss Amelia it could be questioned if such a person had within him a heart and soul.Yet there is some explanation for the ugliness of his character, for Marvin Macy had had a hard beginning in this world.He was one of seven unwanted children whose parents could hardly be called parents at all;these parents were wild younguns who liked to fsh and roam around the swamp.Their own children, and there was a new one almost every year, were only a nuisance to them.At night when they came home from the mill they would look at the children as though they did not know wherever they had come from.If the children cried they were beaten, and the frst thing theylearned in this world was to seek the darkest corner of the room and try to hide themselves as best they could.They were as thin as little white-haired ghosts, and they did not speak, not even to each other.Finally, they were abandoned by their parents altogether and left to the mercies of the town.It was a hard winter, with the mill closed down almost three months, and much misery everywhere.But this is not a town to let white orphans perish in the road before your eyes.So here is what came about:the eldest child, who was eight years old, walked into Cheehaw and disappeared-perhaps he took a freight train somewhere and went out into the world, nobody knows.Three other children were boarded out amongst the town, being sent around from one kitchen to another, and as they were delicate they died before Easter time.The last two children were Marvin Macy and Henry Macy, and they were taken into a home.There was a good woman in the town named Mrs.Mary Hale, and she took Marvin Macy and Henry Macy and loved them as her own.They were raised in her household and treated well.

But the hearts of small children are delicate organs. A cruel beginning in this world can twist them into curious shapes.The heart of a hurt child can shrink so that forever afterward it is hard and pitted as the seed of a peach.Or again, the heart of such a child may fester and swell until it is a misery to carry within the body, easily chafed and hurt by the most ordinary things.This last is what happened to Henry Macy, who is so opposite to his brother, is the kindest and gentlest man in town.He lends his wages to those who are unfortunate, and in the old days he used to care for the children whose parents were at the café on Saturday night.But he is a shy man, and he has the look of one who has a swollen heart and suffers.Marvin Macy, however, grew to be bold and fearless and cruel.His heart turned tough as the horns of Satan, and until the time when he loved Miss Amelia he brought to his brother and the good woman who raised him nothing but shame and trouble.

But love reversed the character of Marvin Macy. For twoyears he loved Miss Amelia, but he did not declare himself.He would stand near the door of her premises, his cap in his hand, his eyes meek and longing and misty gray.He reformed himself completely.He was good to his brother and foster mother, and he saved his wages and learned thrift.Moreover, he reached out toward God.No longer did he lie around on the floor of the front porch all day Sunday, singing and playing his guitar;he attended church services and was present at all religious meetings.He learned good manners;he trained himself to rise and give his chair to a lady, and he quit swearing and fghting and using holy names in vain.So for two years he passed through this transformation and improved his character in every way.Then at the end of the two years he went one evening to Miss Amelia, carrying a bunch of swamp fowers, a sack of chitterlings, and a silver ring-that night Marvin Macy declared himself.

And Miss Amelia married him. Later everyone wondered why.Some said it was because she wanted to get herself some wedding presents.Others believed it came about through the nagging of Miss Amelia's great-aunt in Cheehaw, who was a terrible old woman.Anyway, she strode with great steps down the aisle of the church wearing her dead mother's bridal gown, which was of yellow satin and at least twelve inches too short for her.It was a winter afternoon and the clear sun shone through the ruby windows of the church and put a curious glow on the pair before the altar.As the marriage lines were read Miss Amelia kept making an odd gesture-she would rub the palm of her right hand down the side of her satin wedding gown.She was reaching for the pocket of her overalls, and being unable to fnd it her face became impatient, bored, and exasperated.At last when the lines were spoken and the marriage prayer was done Miss Amelia hurried out of the church, not taking the arm of her husband, but walking at least two paces ahead of him.

The church is no distance from the store so the bride and groom walked home. It is said that on the way Miss Amelia began to talkabout some deal she had worked up with a farmer over a load of kindling wood.In fact, she treated her groom in exactly the same manner she would have used with some customer who had come into the store to buy a pint from her.But so far all had gone decently enough;the town was gratifed, as people had seen what this love had done to Marvin Macy and hoped that it might also reform his bride.At least, they counted on the marriage to tone down Miss Amelia's temper, to put a bit of bride-fat on her, and to change her at last into a calculable woman.

They were wrong. The young boys who watched through the window on that night said that this is what actually happened:The bride and groom ate a grand supper prepared by Jeff, the old Negro who cooked for Miss Amelia.The bride took second servings of everything, but the groom picked with his food.Then the bride went about her ordinary business-reading the newspaper, finishing an inventory of the stock in the store, and so forth.The groom hung about in the doorway with a loose, foolish, blissful face and was not noticed.At eleven o'clock the bride took a lamp and went upstairs.The groom followed close behind her.So far all had gone decently enough, but what followed after was unholy.

Within half an hour Miss Amelia had stomped down the stairs in breeches and a khaki jacket. Her face had darkened so that it looked quite black.She slammed the kitchen door and gave it an ugly kick.Then she controlled herself.She poked up the fre, sat down, and put her feet up on the kitchen stove.She read The Farmer's Almanac, drank coffee, and had a smoke with her father's pipe.Her face was hard, stern, and had now whitened to its natural color.Sometimes she paused to jot down some information from the Almanac on a piece of paper.Toward dawn she went into her offce and uncovered her typewriter, which she had recently bought and was only just learning how to run.That was the way in which she spent the whole of her wedding night.At daylight she went out to her yard as though nothing whatsoever had occurred and did some carpentering on arabbit hutch which she had begun the week before and intended to sell somewhere.

A groom is in a sorry fx when he is unable to bring his well-beloved bride to bed with him, and the whole town knows it. Marvin Macy came down that day still in his wedding fnery, and with a sick face.God knows how he had spent the night.He moped about the yard, watching Miss Amelia, but keeping some distance away from her.Then toward noon an idea came to him and he went off in the direction of Society City.He returned with presents-an opal ring, a pink enamel doreen of the sort which was then in fashion, a silver bracelet with two hearts on it, and a box of candy which had cost two dollars and a half.Miss Amelia looked over these fne gifts and opened the box of candy, for she was hungry.The rest of the presents she judged shrewdly for a moment to sum up their value-then she put them in the counter out for sale.The night was spent in much the same manner as the preceding one-except that Miss Amelia brought her feather mattress to make a pallet by the kitchen stove, and she slept fairly well.

Things went on like this for three days. Miss Amelia went about her business as usual, and took great interest in some rumor that a bridge was to be built some ten miles down the road.Marvin Macy still followed her about around the premises, and it was plain from his face how he suffered.Then on the fourth day he did an extremely simple-minded thing:he went to Cheehaw and came back with a lawyer.Then in Miss Amelia's offce he signed over to her the whole of his worldly goods, which was ten acres of timberland which he had bought with the money he had saved.She studied the paper sternly to make sure there was no possibility of a trick and fled it soberly in the drawer of her desk.That afternoon Marvin Macy took a quart bottle of whisky and went with it alone out in the swamp while the sun was still shining.Toward evening he came in drunk, went up to Miss Amelia with wet wide eyes, and put his hand on her shoulder.He was trying to tell her something, but before he couldopen his mouth she had swung once with her fst and hit his face so hard that he was thrown back against the wall and one of his front teeth was broken.

The rest of this affair can only be mentioned in bare outline. After this frst blow Miss Amelia hit him whenever he came within arm's reach of her, and whenever he was drunk.At last she turned him off the premises altogether, and he was forced to suffer publicly.During the day he hung around just outside the boundary line of Miss Amelia's property and sometimes with a drawn crazy look he would fetch his rife and sit there cleaning it, peering at Miss Amelia steadily.If she was afraid she did not show it, but her face was sterner than ever, and often she spat on the ground.His last foolish effort was to climb in the window of her store one night and to sit there in the dark, for no purpose whatsoever, until she came down the stairs next morning.For this Miss Amelia set off immediately to the courthouse in Cheehaw with some notion that she could get him locked in the penitentiary for trespassing.Marvin Macy left the town that day, and no one saw him go, or knew just where he went.On leaving he put a long curious letter, partly written in pencil and partly with ink, beneath Miss Amelia's door.It was a wild love-letter-but in it were also included threats, and he swore that in his life he would get even with her.His marriage had lasted for ten days.And the town felt the special satisfaction that people feel when someone has been thoroughly done in by some scandalous and terrible means.

Miss Amelia was left with everything that Marvin Macy had ever owned-his timberwood, his gold watch, every one of his possessions. But she seemed to attach little value to them and that spring she cut up his Klansman's robe to cover her tobacco plants.So all that he had ever done was to make her richer and to bring her love.But, strange to say, she never spoke of him but with a terrible and spiteful bitterness.She never once referred to him by name but always mentioned him scornfully as“that loomfxer I was marriedto.”

And later, when horrifying rumors concerning Marvin Macy reached the town, Miss Amelia was very pleased. For the true character of Marvin Macy fnally revealed itself, once he had freed himself of his love.He became a criminal whose picture and whose name were in all the papers in the state.He robbed three filling stations and held up the A.&P.store of Society City with a sawed-off gun.He was suspected of the murder of Slit-Eye Sam who was a noted highjacker.All these crimes were connected with the name of Marvin Macy, so that his evil became famous through many countries.Then fnally the law captured him, drunk, on the foor of a tourist cabin, his guitar by his side, and ffty-seven dollars in his right shoe.He was tried, sentenced, and sent off to the penitentiary near Atlanta.Miss Amelia was deeply gratifed.

Well, all this happened a long time ago, and it is the story of Miss Amelia's marriage. The town laughed a long time over this grotesque affair.But though the outward facts of this love are indeed sad and ridiculous, it must be remembered that the real story was that which took place in the soul of the lover himself.So who but God can be the final judge of this or any other love?On the very first night of the café there were several who suddenly thought of this broken bridegroom, locked in the gloomy penitentiary, many miles away.And in the years that followed, Marvin Macy was not altogether forgotten in the town.His name was never mentioned in the presence of Miss Amelia or the hunchback.But the memory of his passion and his crimes, and the thought of him trapped in his cell in the penitentiary, was like a troubling undertone beneath the happy love of Miss Amelia and the gaiety of the café.So do not forget this Marvin Macy, as he is to act a terrible part in the story which is yet to come.

During the four years in which the store became a café the rooms upstairs were not changed.This part of the premises remainedexactly as it had been all of Miss Amelia’s life, as it was in the time of her father, and most likely his father before him.The three rooms, it is already known, were immaculately clean.The smallest object had its exact place, and everything was wiped and dusted by Jeff, the servant of Miss Amelia, each morning.The front room belonged to Cousin Lymon-it was the room where Marvin Macy had stayed during the few nights he was allowed on the premises, and before that it was the bedroom of Miss Amelia’s father.The room was furnished with a large chifforobe, a bureau covered with a stiff white linen cloth crocheted at the edges, and a marble-topped table.The bed was immense, an old four-poster made of carved, dark rosewood.On it were two feather mattresses, bolsters, and a number of handmade comforts.The bed was so high that beneath it were two wooden steps-no occupant had ever used these steps before, but Cousin Lymon drew them out each night and walked up in state.Beside the steps, but pushed modestly out of view, there was a china chamber-pot painted with pink roses.No rug covered the dark, polished foor and the curtains were of some white stuff, also crocheted at the edges.

On the other side of the parlor was Miss Amelia's bedroom, and it was smaller and very simple. The bed was narrow and made of pine.There was a bureau for her breeches, shirts, and Sunday dress, and she had hammered two nails in the closet wall on which to hang her swamp boots.There were no curtains, rugs, or ornaments of any kind.

The large middle room, the parlor, was elaborate. The rosewood sofa, upholstered in threadbare green silk, was before the freplace.Marble-topped tables, two Singer sewing-machines, a big vase of pampas grass-everything was rich and grand.The most important piece of furniture in the parlor was a big, glassed-doored cabinet in which was kept a number of treasures and curios.Miss Amelia had added two objects to this collection-one was a large acorn from a water oak, the other a little velvet box holding two small, grayish stones.Sometimes when she had nothing much to do, Miss Amelia would take out this velvet box and stand by the window with the stones in the palm of her hand, looking down at them with a mixture of fascination, dubious respect, and fear.They were the kidney stones of Miss Amelia herself, and had been taken from her by the doctor in Cheehaw some years ago.It bad been a terrible experience, from the frst minute to the last, and all she had got out of it were those two little stones;she was bound to set great store by them, or else admit to a mighty sorry bargain.So she kept them and in the second year of Cousin Lymon's stay with her she had them set as ornaments in a watch chain which she gave to him.The other object she had added to the collection, the large acorn, was precious to her-but when she looked at it her face was always saddened and perplexed.

“Amelia, what does it signify?”Cousin Lymon asked her.

“Why, it's just an acorn,”she answered.“Just an acorn I picked up on the afternoon Big Papa died.”

“How do you mean?”Cousin Lymon insisted.

“I mean it's just an acorn I spied on the ground that day. I picked it up and put it in my pocket.But I don't know why.”

“What a peculiar reason to keep it,”Cousin Lymon said.

The talks of Miss Amelia and Cousin Lymon in the rooms upstairs, usually in the first few hours of the morning when the hunchback could not sleep, were many. As a rule, Miss Amelia was a silent woman, not letting her tongue run wild on any subject that happened to pop into her head.There were certain topics of conversation, however, in which she took pleasure.All these subjects had one point in common-they were interminable.She liked to contemplate problems which could be worked over for decades and still remain insoluble.Cousin Lymon, on the other hand, enjoyed talking on any subject whatsoever, as he was a great chatterer.Their approach to any conversation was altogether different.Miss Amelia always kept to the broad, rambling generalities of the matter, goingon endlessly in a low, thoughtful voice and getting nowhere-while Cousin Lymon would interrupt her suddenly to pick up, magpie fashion, some detail which, even if unimportant, was at least concrete and bearing on some practical facet close at hand.Some of the favorite subjects of Miss Amelia were:the stars, the reason why Negroes are black, the best treatment for cancer, and so forth.Her father was also an interminable subject which was dear to her.

“Why, Law,”she would say to Lymon.“Those days I slept. I'd go to bed just as the lamp was turned on and sleep-why, I'd sleep like I was drowned in warm axle grease.Then come daybreak Big Papa would walk in and put his hand down on my shoulder.“Get stirring, Little,”he would say.Then later he would holler up the stairs from the kitchen when the stove was hot“Fried grits,”he would holler.“White meat and gravy.Ham and eggs.”And I'd run down the stairs and dress by the hot stove while he was out washing at the pump.Then off we'd go to the still or maybe—”

“The grits we had this morning was poor,”Cousin Lymon said.“Fried too quick so that the inside never heated.”

“And when Big Papa would run off the liquor in those days—”The conversation would go on endlessly, with Miss Amelia's long legs stretched out before the hearth;for winter or summer there was always a fre in the grate, as Lymon was cold-natured. He sat in a low chair across from her, his feet not quite touching the foor and his torso usually well-wrapped in a blanket or the green wool shawl.Miss Amelia never mentioned her father to anyone else except Cousin Lymon.

That was one of the ways in which she showed her love for him. He had her confdence in the most delicate and vital matters.He alone knew where she kept the chart that showed where certain barrels of whisky were buried on a piece of property near-by.He alone had access to her bank-book and the key to the cabinet of curios.He took money from the cash register, whole handfuls of it, and appreciated the loud jingle it made inside his pockets.He ownedalmost everything on the premises, for when he was cross Miss Amelia would prowl about and fnd him some present-so that now there was hardly anything left close at hand to give him.The only part of her life that she did not want Cousin Lymon to share with her was the memory of her ten-day marriage.Marvin Macy was the one subject that was never, at any time, discussed between the two of them.

So let the slow years pass and come to a Saturday evening six years after the time when Cousin Lymon came first to the town. It was August and the sky had burned above the town like a sheet of fame all day.Now the green twilight was near and there was a feeling of repose.The street was coated an inch deep with dry golden dust and the little children ran about half-naked, sneezed often, sweated, and were fretful.The mill had closed down at noon.People in the houses along the main street sat resting on their steps and the women had palmetto fans.At Miss Amelia's there was a sign at the front of the premises saying CAFé.The back porch was cool with latticed shadows and there cousin Lymon sat turning the ice-cream freezer-often he unpacked the salt and ice and removed the dasher to lick a bit and see how the work was coming on.Jeff cooked in the kitchen.Early that morning Miss Amelia had put a notice on the wall of the front porch reading:Chicken Dinner—Twenty Cents Tonite.The café was already open and Miss Amelia had just fnished a period of work in her offce.All the eight tables were occupied and from the mechanical piano came a jingling tune.

In a corner near the door and sitting at a table with a child, was Henry Macy. He was drinking a glass of liquor, which was unusual for him, as liquor went easily to his head and made him cry or sing.His face was very pale and his left eye worked constantly in a nervous tic, as it was apt to do when he was agitated.He had come into the café sidewise and silent, and when he was greeted he did not speak.The child next to him belonged to Horace Wells, and he hadbeen left at Miss Amelia’s that morning to be doctored.

Miss Amelia came out from her office in good spirits. She attended to a few details in the kitchen and entered the café with the pope’s nose of a hen between her fingers, as that was her favorite piece.She looked about the room, saw that in general all was well, and went over to the corner table by Henry Macy.She turned the chair around and sat straddling the back, as she only wanted to pass the time of day and was not yet ready for her supper.There was a bottle of Kroup Kure in the hip pocket of her overalls-a medicine made from whisky, rock candy, and a secret ingredient.Miss Amelia uncorked the bottle and put it to the mouth of the child.Then she turned to Henry Macy and, seeing the nervous winking of his left eye, she asked:

“What ails you?”

Henry Macy seemed on the point of saying something diffcult, but, after a long look into the eyes of Miss Amelia, he swallowed and did not speak.

So Miss Amelia returned to her patient. Only the child's head showed above the table top.His face was very red, with the eyelids half-closed and the mouth partly open.He had a large, hard, swollen boil on his thigh, and had been brought to Miss Amelia so that it could be opened.But Miss Amelia used a special method with children;she did not like to see them hurt, struggling, and terrifed.So she had kept the child around the premises all day, giving him licorice and frequent doses of the Kroup Kure, and toward evening she tied a napkin around his neck and let him eat his fill of the dinner.Now as he sat at the table his head wobbled slowly from side to side and sometimes as he breathed there came from him a little worn-out grunt.

There was a stir in the café and Miss Amelia looked around quickly.Cousin Lymon had come in.The hunchback strutted into the café as he did every night, and when he reached the exact center of the room he stopped short and looked shrewdly around him, summing up the people and making a quick pattern of the emotional material at hand that night.The hunchback was a great mischief-maker.He enjoyed any kind of to-do, and without saying a word he could set the people at each other in a way that was miraculous.It was due to him that the Rainey twins had quarreled over a jacknife two years past, and had not spoken one word to each other since.He was present at the big fight between Rip Wellborn and Robert Calvert Hale, and every other fght for that matter since he had come into the town.He nosed around everywhere, knew the intimate business of everybody, and trespassed every waking hour.Yet, queerly enough, in spite of this it was the hunchback who was most responsible for the great popularity of the café.Things were never so gay as when he was around.When he walked into the room there was always a quick feeling of tension, because with this busybody about there was never any telling what might descend on you, or what might suddenly be brought to happen in the room.People are never so free with themselves and so recklessly glad as when there is some possibility of commotion or calamity ahead.So when the hunchback marched into the café everyone looked around at him and there was a quick outburst of talking and a drawing of corks.

Lymon waved his hand to Stumpy MacPhail who was sitting with Merlie Ryan and Henry Ford Crimp.“I walked to Rotten Lake today to fsh,”he said.“And on the way I stepped over what appeared at frst to be a big fallen tree. But then as I stepped over I felt something stir and I taken this second look and there I was straddling this here alligator long as from the front door to the kitchen and thicker than a hog.”

The hunchback chattered on. Everyone looked at him from time to time, and some kept track of his chattering and others did not.There were times when every word he said was nothing but lying and bragging.Nothing he said tonight was true.He had lain in bed with a summer quinsy all day long, and had only got up in the late afternoon in order to turn the ice-cream freezer.Everybody knewthis, yet he stood there in the middle of the café and held forth with such lies and boasting that it was enough to shrivel the ears.

Miss Amelia watched him with her hands in her pockets and her head turned to one side. There was a softness about her gray, queer eyes and she was smiling gently to herself.Occasionally she glanced from the hunchback to the other people in the café—and then her look was proud, and there was in it the hint of a threat, as though daring anyone to try to hold him to account for all his foolery.Jeff was bringing in the suppers, already served on the plates, and the new electric fans in the café made a pleasant stir of coolness in the air.

“The little youngun is asleep,”said Henry Macy fnally.

Miss Amelia looked down at the patient beside her, and composed her face for the matter in hand. The child's chin was resting on the table edge and a trickle of spit or Kroup Kure had bubbled from the corner of his mouth.His eyes were quite closed, and a little family of gnats had clustered peacefully in the corners.Miss Amelia put her hand on his head and shook it roughly, but the patient did not awake.So Miss Amelia lifted the child from the table, being careful not to touch the sore part of his leg, and went into the offce.Henry Macy followed after her and they closed the offce door.

Cousin Lymon was bored that evening. There was not much going on, and in spite of the heat the customers in the café were good-humored.Henry Ford Crimp and Horace Wells sat at the middle table with their arms around each other, sniggering over some long joke-but when he approached them he could make nothing of it as he had missed the beginning of the story.The moonlight brightened the dusty road, and the dwarfed peach trees were black and motionless:there was no breeze.The drowsy buzz of swamp mosquitoes was like an echo of the silent night.The town seemed dark, except far down the road to the right there was the flicker of a lamp.Somewhere in the darkness a woman sang in ahigh wild voice and the tune had no start and no fnish and was made up of only three notes which went on and on and on.The hunchback stood leaning against the banister of the porch, looking down the empty road as though hoping that someone would come along.

There were footsteps behind him, then a voice:“Cousin Lymon, your dinner is set out upon the table.”

“My appetite is poor tonight,”said the hunchback, who had been eating sweet snuff all the day.“There is a sourness in my mouth.”

“Just a pick,”said Miss Amelia.“The breast, the liver, and the heart.”

Together they went back into the bright café,and sat down with Henry Macy.Their table was the largest one in the café,and on it there was a bouquet of swamp lilies in a Coca Cola bottle.Miss Amelia had fnished with her patient and was satisfed with herself.From behind the closed office door there had come only a few sleepy whimpers, and before the patient could wake up and become terrifed it was all over.The child was now slung across the shoulder of his father, sleeping deeply, his little arms dangling loose along his father’s back, and his puffed-up face very red-they were leaving the café to go home.

Henry Macy was still silent. He ate carefully, making no noise when he swallowed, and was not a third as greedy as Cousin Lymon who had claimed to have no appetite and was now putting down helping after helping of the dinner.Occasionally Henry Macy looked across at Miss Amelia and again held his peace.

It was a typical Saturday night. An old couple who had come in from the country hesitated for a moment at the doorway, holding each other's hand, and finally decided to come inside.They had lived together so long, this old country couple, that they looked as similar as twins.They were brown, shriveled, and like two little walking peanuts.They left early, and by midnight most of the other customers were gone.Rosser Cline and Merlie Ryan still playedcheckers, and Stumpy MacPhail sat with a liquor bottle on his table(his wife would not allow it in the home)and carried on peaceable conversations with himself.Henry Macy had not yet gone away, and this was unusual, as he almost always went to bed soon after nightfall.Miss Amelia yawned sleepily, but Lymon was restless and she did not suggest that they close up for the night.

Finally, at one o'clock, Henry Macy looked up at the corner of the ceiling and said quietly to Miss Amelia:“I got a letter today.”

Miss Amelia was not one to be impressed by this, because all sorts of business letters and catalogues came addressed to her.

“I got a letter from my brother,”said Henry Macy.

The hunchback, who had been goose-stepping about the café with his hands clasped behind his head, stopped suddenly.He was quick to sense any change in the atmosphere of a gathering.He glanced at each face in the room and waited.

Miss Amelia scowled and hardened her right fist.“You are welcome to it,”she said.

“He is on parole. He is out of the penitentiary.”

The face of Miss Amelia was very dark, and she shivered although the night was warm. Stumpy MacPhail and Merlie Ryan pushed aside their checker game.The café was very quiet.

“Who?”asked Cousin Lymon. His large, pale ears seemed to grow on his head and stiffen.“What?”

Miss Amelia slapped her hands palm down on the table.“Because Marvin Macy is a—”But her voice hoarsened and after a few moments she only said:“He belongs to be in that penitentiary the balance of his life.”

“What did he do?”asked Cousin Lymon.

There was a long pause, as no one knew exactly how to answer this.“He robbed three flling stations,”said Stumpy MacPhail. But his words did not sound complete and there was a feeling of sins left unmentioned.

The hunchback was impatient. He could not bear to be leftout of anything, even a great misery.The name Marvin Marcy was unknown to him, but it tantalized him as did any mention of subjects which others knew about and of which he was ignorant-such as any reference to the old sawmill that had been torn down before he came, or a chance word about poor Morris Finestein, or the recollection of any event that had occurred before his time.Aside from this inborn curiosity, the hunchback took a great interest in robbers and crimes of all varieties.As he strutted around the table he was muttering the words“released on parole”and“penitentiary”to himself.But although he questioned insistently, he was unable to fnd anything, as nobody would dare to talk about Marvin Macy before Miss Amelia in the café.

“The letter did not say very much,”said Henry Macy.“He did not say where he was going.”

“Humph!”said Amelia, and her face was still hardened and very dark.“He will never set his split hoof on my premises.”

She pushed back her chair from the table, and made ready to close the café.Thinking about Marvin Macy may have set her to brooding, for she hauled the cash register back to the kitchen and put it in a private place.Henry Macy went off down the dark road.But Henry Ford Crimp and Merlie Ryan lingered for a time on the front porch.Later Merlie Ryan was to make certain claims, to swear that on that night he had a vision of what was to come.But the town paid no attention, for that was just the sort of thing that Merlie Ryan would claim.Miss Amelia and Cousin Lymon talked for a time in the parlor.And when at last the hunchback thought that he could sleep she arranged the mosquito netting over his bed and waited until he had finished with his prayers.Then she put on her long nightgown, smoked two pipes, and only after a long time went to sleep.

That autumn was a happy time. The crops around the countryside were good, and over at the Forks Falls market the price of tobaccoheld firm that year.After the long hot summer the first cool days had a clean bright sweetness.Goldenrod grew along the dusty roads, and the sugar cane was ripe and purple.The bus came each day from Cheehaw to carry off a few of the younger children to the consolidated school to get an education.Boys hunted foxes in the pinewoods, winter quilts were aired out on the wash lines, and sweet potatoes bedded in the ground with straw against the colder months to come.In the evening, delicate shreds of smoke rose from the chimneys, and the moon was round and orange in the autumn sky.There is no stillness like the quiet of the frst cold nights in the fall.Sometimes, late in the night when there was no wind, there could be heard in the town the thin wild whistle of the train that goes through Society City on its way far off to the North.

For Miss Amelia Evans this was a time of great activity. She was at work from dawn until sundown.She made a new and bigger condenser for her still, and in one week ran off enough liquor to souse the whole county.Her old mule was dizzy from grinding so much sorghum, and she scalded her Mason jars and put away pear preserves.She was looking forward greatly to the frst frost, because she had traded for three tremendous hogs, and intended to make much barbecue, chitterlings, and sausage.

During these weeks there was a quality about Miss Amelia that many people noticed. She laughed often, with a deep ringing laugh, and her whistling had a sassy, tuneful trickery.She was for ever trying out her strength, lifting up heavy objects, or poking her tough biceps with her fnger.One day she sat down to her typewriter and wrote a story-a story in which there were foreigners, trap doors, and millions of dollars.Cousin Lymon was with her always, traipsing along behind her coat-tails, and when she watched him her face had a bright, soft look, and when she spoke his name there lingered in her voice the undertone of love.

The frst cold spell came at last. When Miss Amelia awoke one morning there were frost flowers on the window panes, and rimehad silvered the patches of grass in the yard.Miss Amelia built a roaring fre in the kitchen stove, then went out of doors to judge the day.The air was cold and sharp, the sky pale green and cloudless.Very shortly people began to come in from the country to fnd out what Miss Amelia thought of the weather;she decided to kill the biggest hog, and word got round the countryside.The hog was slaughtered and a low oak fre started in the barbecue pit.There was the warm smell of pig blood and smoke in the back yard, the stamp of footsteps, the ring of voices in the winter air.Miss Amelia walked around giving orders and soon most of the work was done.

She had some particular business to do in Cheehaw that day, so after making sure that all was going well, she cranked up her car and got ready to leave. She asked Cousin Lymon to come with her, in fact, she asked him seven times, but he was loath to leave the commotion and wanted to remain.This seemed to trouble Miss Amelia, as she always liked to have him near to her, and was prone to be terribly homesick when she had to go any distance away.But after asking him seven times, she did not urge him any further.Before leaving she found a stick and drew a heavy line all around the barbecue pit, about two feet back from the edge, and told him not to trespass beyond that boundary.She left after dinner and intended to be back before dark.

Now, it is not so rare to have a truck or an automobile pass along the road and through the town on the way from Cheehaw to somewhere else. Every year the tax collector comes to argue with rich people such as Miss Amelia.And if somebody in the town, such as Merlie Ryan, takes a notion that he can connive to get a car on credit, or to pay down three dollars and have a fne electric icebox such as they advertise in the store windows of Cheehaw, then a city man will come out asking meddlesome questions, finding out all his troubles, and ruining his chances of buying anything on the instalment plan.Sometimes, especially since they are working on the Forks Falls highway, the cars hauling the chain gang come throughthe town.And frequently people in automobiles get lost and stop to inquire how they can fnd the right road again.So, late that afternoon it was nothing unusual to have a truck pass the mill and stop in the middle of the road near the café of Miss Amelia.A man jumped down from the back of the truck, and the truck went on its way.

The man stood in the middle of the road and looked about him. He was a tall man, with brown curly hair, and slow-moving, deep-blue eyes.His lips were red and he smiled the lazy, half-mouthed smile of the braggart.The man wore a red shirt, and a wide belt of tooled leather;he carried a tin suitcase and a guitar.The first person in the town to see this newcomer was Cousin Lymon, who had heard the shifting gears and come around to investigate.The hunchback stuck his head around the corner of the porch, but did not step out altogether into full view.He and the man stared at each other, and it was not the look of two strangers meeting for the frst time and swiftly summing up each other.It was a peculiar stare they exchanged between them, like the look of two criminals who recognize each other.Then the man in the red shirt shrugged his left shoulder and turned away.The face of the hunchback was very pale as he watched the man go down the road, and after a few moments he began to follow along carefully, keeping many paces away.

It was immediately known throughout the town that Marvin Macy had come back again. First, he went to the mill, propped his elbows lazily on a window sill and looked inside.He liked to watch others hard at work, as do all born loafers.The mill was thrown into a sort of numb confusion.The dyers left the hot vats, the spinners and weavers forgot about their machines, and even Stumpy MacPhail, who was foreman, did not know exactly what to do.Marvin Macy still smiled his wet half-mouthed smiles, and when he saw his brother, his bragging expression did not change.After looking over the mill Marvin Macy went down the road to the house where he had been raised, and left his suitcase and guitar on the front porch.Then he walked around the millpond, looked overthe church, the three stores, and the rest of the town.The hunchback trudged along quietly at some distance behind him, his hands in his pockets, and his little face still very pale.

It had grown late. The red winter sun was setting, and to the west the sky was deep gold and crimson.Ragged chimney swifts flew to their nests;lamps were lighted.Now and then there was the smell of smoke, and the warm rich odor of the barbecue slowly cooking in the pit behind the café.After making the rounds of the town Marvin Macy stopped before Miss Amelia’s premises and read the sign above the porch.Then, not hesitating to trespass, he walked through the side-yard.The mill whistle blew a thin, lonesome blast, and the day’s shift was done.Soon there were others in Miss Amelia’s back yard beside Marvin Macy—Henry Ford Crimp, Merlie Ryan, Stumpy MacPhail, and any number of children and people who stood around the edges of the property and looked on.Very little was said.Marvin Macy stood by himself on one side of the pit, and the rest of the people clustered together on the other side.Cousin Lymon stood somewhat apart from everyone, and he did not take his eyes from the face of Marvin Macy.

“Did you have a good time in the penitentiary?”asked Merlie Ryan, with a silly giggle.

Marvin Macy did not answer. He took from his hip pocket a large knife, opened it slowly, and honed the blade on the seat of his pants.Merlie Ryan grew suddenly very quiet and went to stand directly behind the broad back of Stumpy MacPhail.

Miss Amelia did not come home until almost dark. They heard the rattle of her automobile while she was still a long distance away, then the slam of the door and a bumping noise as though she were hauling something up the front steps of her premises.The sun had already set, and in the air there was the blue smoky glow of early winter evenings.Miss Amelia came down the back steps slowly, and the group in her yard waited very quietly.Few people in this worldcould stand up to Miss Amelia, and against Marvin Macy she had this special and bitter hate.Everyone waited to see her burst into a terrible holler, snatch up some dangerous object, and chase him altogether out of town.At frst she did not see Marvin Macy, and her face had the relieved and dreamy expression that was natural to her when she reached home after having gone some distance away.

Miss Amelia must have seen Marvin Macy and Cousin Lymon at the same instant. She looked from one to the other, but it was not the wastrel from the penitentiary on whom she fnally fxed her gaze of sick amazement.She, and everyone else, was looking at Cousin Lymon, and he was a sight to see.

The hunchback stood at the end of the pit, his pale face lighted by the soft glow from the smoldering oak fre. Cousin Lymon had a very peculiar accomplishment, which he used whenever he wished to ingratiate himself with someone.He would stand very still, and with just a little concentration, he could wiggle his large pale ears with marvelous quickness and ease.This trick he always used when he wanted to get something special out of Miss Amelia, and to her it was irresistible.Now as he stood there the hunchback's ears were wiggling furiously on his head, but it was not Miss Amelia at whom he was looking this time.The hunchback was smiling at Marvin Macy with an entreaty that was near to desperation.At frst Marvin Macy paid no attention to him, and when he did fnally glance at the hunchback it was without any appreciation whatsoever.

“What ails this Brokeback?”he asked with a rough jerk of his thumb.

No one answered. And Cousin Lymon, seeing that his accomplishment was getting him nowhere, added new efforts of persuasion.He fluttered his eyelids, so that they were like pale, trapped moths in his sockets.He scraped his feet around on the ground, waved his hands about, and finally began doing a little trotlike dance.In the last gloomy light of the winter afternoon he resembled the child of a swamphaunt.

Marvin Macy, alone of all the people in the yard, was unimpressed.

“Is the runt throwing a fit?”he asked, and when no one answered he stepped forward and gave Cousin Lymon a cuff on the side of his head. The hunchback staggered, then fell back on the ground.He sat where he had fallen, still looking up at Marvin Macy, and with great effort his ears managed one last forlorn little fap.

Now everyone turned to Miss Amelia to see what she would do. In all these years no one had so much as touched a hair of Cousin Lymon's head, although many had had the itch to do so.If anyone even spoke crossly to the hunchback, Miss Amelia would cut off this rash mortal's credit and fnd ways of making things go hard for him a long time afterward.So now if Miss Amelia had split open Marvin Macy's head with the ax on the back porch no one would have been surprised.But she did nothing of the kind.

There were times when Miss Amelia seemed to go into a sort of trance. And the cause of these trances was usually known and understood.For Miss Amelia was a fne doctor, and did not grind up swamp roots and other untried ingredients and give them to the frst patient who came along;whenever she invented a new medicine she always tried it out frst on herself.She would swallow an enormous dose and spend the following day walking thoughtfully back and forth from the café to the brick privy.Often, when there was a sudden keen gripe, she would stand quite still, her queer eyes staring down at the ground and her fsts clenched;she was trying to decide which organ was being worked upon, and what misery the new medicine might be most likely to cure.And now as she watched the hunchback and Marvin Macy, her face wore this same expression, tense with reckoning some inward pain, although she had taken no new medicine that day.

“That will learn you, Brokeback,”said Marvin Macy.

Henry Macy pushed back his limp whitish hair from his forehead and coughed nervously. Stumpy MacPhail and Merlie Ryan shuffled their feet, and the children and black people on theoutskirts of the property made not a sound.Marvin Macy folded the knife he had been honing, and after looking about him fearlessly he swaggered out of the yard.The embers in the pit were turning to gray feathery ashes and it was now quite dark.

That was the way Marvin Macy came back from the penitentiary. Not a living soul in all the town was glad to see him.Even Mrs.Mary Hale, who was a good woman and had raised him with love and care-at the first sight of him even this old foster mother dropped the skillet she was holding and burst into tears.But nothing could faze that Marvin Macy.He sat on the back steps of the Hale house, lazily picking his guitar, and when the supper was ready, he pushed the children of the household out of the way and served himself a big meal, although there had been barely enough hoecakes and white meat to go round.After eating he settled himself in the best and warmest sleeping place in the front room and was untroubled by dreams.

Miss Amelia did not open the café that night.She locked the doors and all the windows very carefully, nothing was seen of her and Cousin Lymon, and a lamp burned in her room all the night long.

Marvin Macy brought with him bad fortune, right from the frst, as could be expected. The next day the weather turned suddenly, and it became hot.Even in the early morning there was a sticky sultriness in the atmosphere, the wind carried the rotten smell of the swamp, and delicate shrill mosquitoes webbed the green millpond.It was unseasonable, worst than August, and much damage was done.For nearly everyone in the county who owned a hog had copied Miss Amelia and slaughtered the day before.And what sausage could keep in such weather as this?After a few days there was everywhere the smell of slowly spoiling meat, and an atmosphere of dreary waste.Worse yet, a family reunion near the Forks Falls highway ate pork roast and died, every one of them.It was plain thattheir hog had been infected-and who could tell whether the rest of the meat was safe or not?People were torn between the longing for the good taste of pork, and the fear of death.It was a time of waste and confusion.

The cause of all this, Marvin Macy, had no shame in him. He was seen everywhere.During work hours he loafed about the mill, looking in at the windows, and on Sundays he dressed in his red shirt and paraded up and down the road with his guitar.He was still handsome-with his brown hair, his red lips, and his broad strong shoulders;but the evil in him was now too famous for his good looks to get him anywhere.And this evil was not measured only by the actual sins he had committed.True, he had robbed those flling stations.And before that he had ruined the tenderest girls in the county, and laughed about it.Any number of wicked things could be listed against him, but quite apart from these crimes there was about him a secret meanness that clung to him almost like a smell.Another thing-he never sweated, not even in August, and that surely is a sign worth pondering over.

Now it seemed to the town that he was more dangerous than he had ever been before, as in the penitentiary in Atlanta he must have learned the method of laying charms. Otherwise how could his effect on Cousin Lymon be explained?For since frst setting eyes on Marvin Macy the hunchback was possessed by an unnatural spirit.Every minute he wanted to be following along behind this jailbird, and he was full of silly schemes to attract attention to himself.Still Marvin Macy either treated him hatefully or failed to notice him at all.Sometimes the hunchback would give up, perch himself on the banister of the front porch much as a sick bird huddles on a telephone wire, and grieve publicly.

“But why?”Miss Amelia would ask, staring at him with her crossed, gray eyes, and her fsts closed tight.

“Oh, Marvin Macy,”groaned the hunchback, and the sound of the name was enough to upset the rhythm of his sobs so that hehiccuped.“He has been to Atlanta.”

Miss Amelia would shake her head and her face was dark and hardened. To begin with she had no patience with any traveling;those who had made the trip to Atlanta or traveled ffty miles from home to see the ocean-those restless people she despised.“Going to Atlanta does no credit to him.”

“He has been to the penitentiary,”said the hunchback, miserable with longing.

How are you going to argue against such envies as these?In her perplexity Miss Amelia did not herself sound any too sure of what she was saying.“Been to the penitentiary, Cousin Lymon?Why, a trip like that is no travel to brag about.”

During these weeks Miss Amelia was closely watched by everyone. She went about absent-mindedly, her face remote as though she had lapsed into one of her gripe trances.For some reason, after the day of Marvin Macy's arrival, she put aside her overalls and wore always the red dress she had before this time reserved for Sundays, funerals, and sessions of the court.Then as the weeks passed she began to take some steps to clear up the situation.But her efforts were hard to understand.If it hurt her to see Cousin Lymon follow Marvin Macy about the town, why did she not make the issues clear once and for all, and tell the hunchback that if he had dealings with Marvin Macy she would turn him off the premises?That would have been simple, and Cousin Lymon would have had to submit to her, or else face the sorry business of fnding himself loose in the world.But Miss Amelia seemed to have lost her will;for the frst time in her life she hesitated as to just what course to pursue.And, like most people in such a position of uncertainty, she did the worst thing possible-she began following several courses at once, all of them contrary to each other.

The café was opened every night as usual, and, strangely enough, when Marvin Macy came swaggering through the door, with the hunchback at his heels, she did not turn him out.She evengave him free drinks and smiled at him in a wild, crooked way.At the same time she set a terrible trap for him out in the swamp that surely would have killed him if he had got caught.She let Cousin Lymon invite him to Sunday dinner, and then tried to trip him up as he went down the steps.She began a great campaign of pleasure for Cousin Lymon-making exhausting trips to various spectacles being held in distant places, driving the automobile thirty miles to a Chautauqua, taking him to Forks Falls to watch a parade.All in all it was a distracting time for Miss Amelia.In the opinion of most people she was well on her way in the climb up fools’hill, and everyone waited to see how it would all turn out.

The weather turned cold again, the winter was upon the town, and night came before the last shift in the mill was done. Children kept on all their garments when they slept, and women raised the backs of their skirts to toast themselves dreamily at the fre.After it rained, the mud in the road made hard frozen ruts, there were faint flickers of lamplight from the windows of the houses, the peach trees were scrawny and bare.In the dark, silent nights of winter-time the café was the warm center point of the town, the lights shining so brightly that they could be seen a quarter of a mile away.The great iron stove at the back of the room roared, crackled, and turned red.Miss Amelia had made red curtains for the windows, and from a salesman who passed through the town she bought a great bunch of paper roses that looked very real.

But it was not only the warmth, the decorations, and the brightness, that made the café what it was.There is a deeper reason why the café was so precious to this town.And this deeper reason has to do with a certain pride that had not hitherto been known in these parts.To understand this new pride the cheapness of human life must be kept in mind.There were always plenty of people clustered around a mill-but it was seldom that every family had enough meal, garments, and fat back to go the rounds.Life could become one long dim scramble just to get the things needed to keepalive.And the confusing point is this:All useful things have a price, and are bought only with money, as that is the way the world is run.You know without having to reason about it the price of a bale of cotton, or a quart of molasses.But no value has been put on human life;it is given to us free and taken without being paid for.What is it worth?If you look around, at times the value may seem to be little or nothing at all.Often after you have sweated and tried and things are not better for you, there comes a feeling deep down in the soul that you are not worth much.

But the new pride that the café brought to this town had an effect on almost everyone, even the children.For in order to come to the café you did not have to buy the dinner, or a portion of liquor.There were cold bottled drinks for a nickel.And if you could not even afford that, Miss Amelia had a drink called Cherry Juice which sold for a penny a glass, and was pink-colored and very sweet.Almost everyone, with the exception of Reverend T.M.Willin, came to the café at least once during the week.Children love to sleep in houses other than their own, and to eat at a neighbor’s table;on such occasions they behave themselves decently and are proud.The people in the town were likewise proud when sitting at the tables in the café.They washed before coming to Miss Amelia’s, and scraped their feet very politely on the threshold as they entered the café.There, for a few hours at least, the deep bitter knowing that you are not worth much in this world could be laid low.

The café was a special beneft to bachelors, unfortunate people, and consumptives.And here it may be mentioned that there was some reason to suspect that Cousin Lymon was consumptive.The brightness of his gray eyes, his insistence, his talkativeness, and his cough-these were all signs.Besides, there is generally supposed to be some connection between a hunched spine and consumption.But whenever this subject had been mentioned to Miss Amelia she had become furious;she denied these symptoms with bitter vehemence, but on the sly she treated Cousin Lymon with hot chest platters, Kroup Kure, and such.Now this winter the hunchback’s cough was worse, and sometimes even on cold days he would break out in a heavy sweat.But this did not prevent him from following along after Marvin Macy.

Early every morning he left the premises and went to the back door of Mrs. Hale's house, and waited and waited-as Marvin Macy was a lazy sleeper.He would stand there and call out softly.His voice was just like the voices of children who squat patiently over those tiny little holes in the ground where doodlebugs are thought to live, poking the hole with a broom straw, and calling plaintively:“Doodlebug, Doodlebug-fly away home.Mrs.Doodlebug, Mrs.Doodlebug.Come out, come out.Your house is on fre and all your children are burning up.”In just such a voice-at once sad, luring, and resigned-would the hunchback call Marvin Macy's name each morning.Then when Marvin Macy came out for the day, he would trail him about the town, and sometimes they would be gone for hours together out in the swamp.

And Miss Amelia continued to do the worst thing possible:that is, to try to follow several courses at once. When Cousin Lymon left the house she did not call him back, but only stood in the middle of the road and watched lonesomely until he was out of sight.Nearly every day Marvin Macy turned up with Cousin Lymon at dinnertime, and ate at her table.Miss Amelia opened the pear preserves, and the table was well-set with ham or chicken, great bowls of hominy grits, and winter peas.It is true that on one occasion Miss Amelia tried to poison Marvin Macy-but there was a mistake, the plates were confused, and it was she herself who got the poisoned dish.This she quickly realized by the slight bitterness of the food, and that day she ate no dinner.She sat tilted back in her chair, feeling her muscle, and looking at Marvin Macy.

Every night Marvin Macy came to the café and settled himself at the best and largest table, the one in the center of the room.Cousin Lymon brought him liquor, for which he did not pay a cent.Marvin Macy brushed the hunchback aside as if he were a swamp mosquito, and not only did he show no gratitude for these favors, but if the hunchback got in his way he would cuff him with the back of his hand, or say:“Out of my way, Brokeback—I’ll snatch you bald-headed.”When this happened Miss Amelia would come out from behind her counter and approach Marvin Macy very slowly, her fsts clenched, her peculiar red dress hanging awkwardly around her bony knees.Marvin Macy would also clench his fsts and they would walk slowly and meaningfully around each other.But, although everyone watched breathlessly, nothing ever came of it.The time for the fght was not yet ready.

There is one particular reason why this winter is remembered and still talked about. A great thing happened.People woke up on the second of January and found the whole world about them altogether changed.Little ignorant children looked out of the windows, and they were so puzzled that they began to cry.Old people harked back and could remember nothing in these parts to equal the phenomenon.For in the night it had snowed.In the dark hours after midnight the dim flakes started falling softly on the town.By dawn the ground was covered, and the strange snow banked the ruby windows of the church, and whitened the roofs of the houses.The snow gave the town a drawn, bleak look.The two-room houses near the mill were dirty, crooked, and seemed about to collapse, and somehow everything was dark and shrunken.But the snow itself-there was a beauty about it few people around here had ever known before.The snow was not white, as Northerners had pictured it to be;in the snow there were soft colors of blue and silver, the sky was a gentle shining gray.And the dreamy quietness of falling snow-when had the town been so silent?

People reacted to the snowfall in various ways. Miss Amelia, on looking out of her window, thoughtfully wiggled the toes of her bare foot, gathered close to her neck the collar of her nightgown.She stood there for some time, then commenced to draw the shutters andlock every window on the premises.She dosed the place completely, lighted the lamps, and sat solemnly over her bowl of grits.The reason for this was not that Miss Amelia feared the snowfall.It was simply that she was unable to form an immediate opinion of this new event, and unless she knew exactly and definitely what she thought of a matter(which was nearly always the case)she preferred to ignore it.Snow had never fallen in this county in her lifetime, and she had never thought about it one way or the other.But if she admitted this snowfall she would have to come to some decision, and in those days there was enough distraction in her life as it was already.So she poked about the gloomy, lamp-lighted house and pretended that nothing had happened.Cousin Lymon, on the contrary, chased around in the wildest excitement, and when Miss Amelia turned her back to dish him some breakfast he slipped out of the door.

Marvin Macy laid claim to the snowfall. He said that he knew snow, had seen it in Atlanta, and from the way he walked about the town that day it was as though he owned every fake.He sneered at the little children who crept timidly out of the houses and scooped up handfuls of snow to taste.Reverend Willin hurried down the road with a furious face, as he was thinking deeply and trying to weave the snow into his Sunday sermon.Most people were humble and glad about this marvel;they spoke in hushed voices and said“thank you”and“please”more than was necessary.A few weak characters, of course, were demoralized and got drunk-but they were not numerous.To everyone this was an occasion and many counted their money and planned to go to the café that night.

Cousin Lymon followed Marvin Macy about all day, seconding his claim to the snow. He marveled that snow did not fall as does rain, and stared up at the dreamy, gently falling flakes until he stumbled from dizziness.And the pride he took on himself, basking in the glory of Marvin Macy-it was such that many people could not resist calling out to him:

“‘Oho,'said the fy on the chariot wheel.‘What a dust we do raise.'”

Miss Amelia did not intend to serve dinner. But when, at six o'clock, there was the sound of footsteps on the porch she opened the front door cautiously.It was Henry Ford Crimp, and though there was no food, she let him sit at a table and served him a drink.Others came.The evening was blue, bitter, and though the snow fell no longer there was a wind from the pine trees that swept up delicate flurries from the ground.Cousin Lymon did not come until after dark, with him Marvin Macy, and he carried his tin suitcase and his guitar.

“So you mean to travel?”said Miss Amelia quickly.

Marvin Macy warmed himself at the stove. Then he settled down at his table and carefully sharpened a little stick.He picked his teeth, frequently taking the stick out of his mouth to look at the end and wipe it on the sleeve of his coat.He did not bother to answer.

The hunchback looked at Miss Amelia, who was behind the counter. His face was not in the least beseeching;he seemed quite sure of himself.He folded his hands behind his back and perked up his ears confdently.His cheeks were red, his eyes shining, and his clothes were soggy wet.“Marvin Macy is going to visit a spell with us,”he said.

Miss Amelia made no protest. She only came out from behind the counter and hovered over the stove, as though the news had made her suddenly cold.She did not warm her backside modestly, lifting her skirt only an inch or so, as do most women when in public.There was not a grain of modesty about Miss Amelia, and she frequently seemed to forget altogether that there were men in the room.Now as she stood warming herself, her red dress was pulled up quite high in the back so that a piece of her strong, hairy thigh could be seen by anyone who cared to look at it.Her head was turned to one side, and she had begun talking with herself, nodding and wrinkling her forehead, and there was the tone of accusation andreproach in her voice although the words were not plain.Meanwhile, the hunchback and Marvin Macy had gone upstairs-up to the parlor with the pampas grass and the two sewing-machines, to the private rooms where Miss Amelia had lived the whole of her life.Down in the café you could hear them bumping around, unpacking Marvin Macy, and getting him settled.

That is the way Marvin Macy crowded into Miss Amelia's home. At first Cousin Lymon, who had given Marvin Macy his own room, slept on the sofa in the parlor.But the snowfall had a bad effect on him;he caught a cold that turned into a winter quinsy, so Miss Amelia gave up her bed to him.The sofa in the parlor was much too short for her, her feet lapped over the edges, and often she rolled off onto the floor.Perhaps it was this lack of sleep that clouded her wits;everything she tried to do against Marvin Macy rebounded on herself.She got caught in her own tricks, and found herself in many pitiful positions.But still she did not put Marvin Macy off the premises, as she was afraid that she would be left alone.Once you have lived with another, it is a great torture to have to live alone.The silence of a frelit room when suddenly the clock stops ticking, the nervous shadows in an empty house-it is better to take in your mortal enemy than face the terror of living alone.

The snow did not last. The sun came out and within two days the town was just as it had always been before.Miss Amelia did not open her house until every fake had melted.Then she had a big house cleaning and aired everything out in the sun.But before that, the very frst thing she did on going out again into her yard, was to tie a rope to the largest branch of the chinaberry tree.At the end of the rope she tied a crocus sack tightly stuffed with sand.This was the punching bag she made for herself and from that day on she would box with it out in her yard every morning.Already she was a fne fghter-a little heavy on her feet, but knowing all manner of mean holds and squeezes to make up for this.

Miss Amelia, as has been mentioned, measured six feet twoinches in height. Marvin Macy was one inch shorter.In weight they were about even-both of them weighing close to a hundred and sixty pounds.Marvin Macy had the advantage in slyness of movement, and in toughness of chest.In fact from the outward point of view the odds were altogether in his favor.Yet almost everybody in the town was betting on Miss Amelia;scarcely a person would put up money on Marvin Macy.The town remembered the great fght between Miss Amelia and a Fork Falls lawyer who had tried to cheat her.He had been a huge strapping fellow, but he was left three-quarters dead when she had fnished with him.And it was not only her talent as a boxer that had impressed everyone-she could demoralize her enemy by making terrifying faces and ferce noises, so that even the spectators were sometimes cowed.She was brave, she practiced faithfully with her punching bag, and in this case she was clearly in the right.So people had confdence in her, and they waited.Of course there was no set date for this fght.There were just the signs that were too plain to be overlooked.

During these times the hunchback strutted around with a pleased little pinched-up face. In many delicate and clever ways he stirred up trouble between them.He was constantly plucking at Marvin Macy's trouser leg to draw attention to himself.Sometimes he followed in Miss Amelia's footsteps-but these days it was only in order to imitate her awkward long-legged walk;he crossed his eyes and aped her gestures in a way that made her appear to be a freak.There was something so terrible about this that even the silliest customers of the café,such as Merlie Ryan, did not laugh.Only Marvin Macy drew up the left corner of his mouth and chuckled.Miss Amelia, when this happened, would be divided between two emotions.She would look at the hunchback with a lost, dismal reproach-then turn toward Marvin Macy with her teeth clamped.

“Bust a gut!”she would say bitterly.

And Marvin Macy, most likely, would pick up the guitar from the foor beside his chair. His voice was wet and slimy, as he alwayshad too much spit in his mouth.And the tunes he sang glided slowly from his throat like eels.His strong fngers picked the strings with dainty skill, and everything he sang both lured and exasperated.This was usually more than Miss Amelia could stand.

“Bust a gut!”she would repeat, in a shout.

But always Marvin Macy had the answer ready for her. He would cover the strings to silence the quivering leftover tones, and reply with slow, sure insolence.

“Everything you holler at me bounces back on yourself. Yah!Yah!”

Miss Amelia would have to stand there helpless, as no one has ever invented a way out of this trap. She could not shout out abuse that would bounce back on herself.He had the best of her, there was nothing she could do.

So things went on like this. What happened between the three of them during the nights in the rooms upstairs nobody knows.But the café became more and more crowded every night.A new table had to be brought in.Even the Hermit, the crazy man named Rainer Smith, who took to the swamps years ago, heard something of the situation and came one night to look in at the window and brood over the gathering in the bright café.And the climax each evening was the time when Miss Amelia and Marvin Macy doubled their fsts, squared up, and glared at each other.Usually this did not happen after any especial argument, but it seemed to come about mysteriously, by means of some instinct on the part of both of them.At these times the café would become so quiet that you could hear the bouquet of paper roses rustling in the draft.And each night they held this fghting stance a little longer than the night before.

The fght took place on Ground Hog Day, which is the second of February. The weather was favorable, being neither rainy nor sunny, and with a neutral temperature.There were several signs that this was the appointed day, and by ten o'clock the news spread allover the county.Early in the morning Miss Amelia went out and cut down her punching bag.Marvin Macy sat on the back step with a tin can of hog fat between his knees and carefully greased his arms and his legs.A hawk with a bloody breast few over the town and circled twice around the property of Miss Amelia.The tables in the café were moved out to the back porch, so that the whole big room was cleared for the fght.There was every sign.Both Miss Amelia and Marvin Macy ate four helpings of half-raw roast for dinner, and then lay down in the afternoon to store up strength.Marvin Macy rested in the big room upstairs, while Miss Amelia stretched herself out on the bench in her offce.It was plain from her white stiff face what a torment it was for her to be lying still and doing nothing, but she lay there quiet as a corpse with her eyes closed and her hands crossed on her chest.

Cousin Lymon had a restless day, and his little face was drawn and tightened with excitement. He put himself up a lunch, and set out to find the ground hog-within an hour he returned, the lunch eaten, and said that the ground hog had seen his shadow and there was to be bad weather ahead.Then, as Miss Amelia and Marvin Macy were both resting to gather strength, and he was left to himself, it occurred to him that he might as well paint the front porch.The house had not been painted for years-in fact, God knows if it had ever been painted at all.Cousin Lymon scrambled around, and soon he had painted half the floor of the porch a gay bright green.It was a loblolly job, and he smeared himself all over.Typically enough he did not even fnish the foor, but changed over to the walls, painting as high as he could reach and then standing on a crate to get up a foot higher.When the paint ran out, the right side of the foor was bright green and there was a jagged portion of wall that had been painted.Cousin Lymon left it at that.

There was something childish about his satisfaction with his painting. And in this respect a curious fact should be mentioned.No one in the town, not even Miss Amelia, had any idea how old thehunchback was.Some maintained that when he came to town he was about twelve years old, still a child-others were certain that he was well past forty.His eyes were blue and steady as a child's but there were lavender crepy shadows beneath these blue eyes that hinted of age.It was impossible to guess his age by his hunched queer body.And even his teeth gave no clue-they were all still in his head(two were broken from cracking a pecan),but he had stained them with so much sweet snuff that it was impossible to decide whether they were old teeth or young teeth.When questioned directly about his age the hunchback professed to know absolutely nothing-he had no idea how long he had been on the earth, whether for ten years or a hundred!So his age remained a puzzle.

Cousin Lymon fnished his painting at fve-thirty o'clock in the afternoon. The day had turned colder and there was a wet taste in the air.The wind came up from the pinewoods, rattling windows, blowing an old newspaper down the road until at last it caught upon a thorn tree.People began to come in from the country;packed automobiles that bristled with the poked-out heads of children, wagons drawn by old mules who seemed to smile in a weary, sour way and plodded along with their tired eyes half-closed.Three young boys came from Society City.All three of them wore yellow rayon shirts and caps put on backward-they were as much alike as triplets, and could always be seen at cock fghts and camp meetings.At six o'clock the mill whistle sounded the end of the day's shift and the crowd was complete.Naturally, among the newcomers there were some riffraff, unknown characters, and so forth-but even so the gathering was quiet.A hush was on the town and the faces of people were strange in the fading light.Darkness hovered softly;for a moment the sky was a pale clear yellow against which the gables of the church stood out in dark and bare outline, then the sky died slowly and the darkness gathered into night.

Seven is a popular number, and especially it was a favorite with Miss Amelia. Seven swallows of water for hiccups, seven runsaround the millpond for cricks in the neck, seven doses of Amelia Miracle Mover as a worm cure-her treatment nearly always hinged on this number.It is a number of mingled possibilities, and all who love mystery and charms set store by it.So the fght was to take place at seven o'clock.This was known to everyone, not by announcement or words, but understood in the unquestioning way that rain is understood, or an evil odor from the swamp.So before seven o'clock everyone gathered gravely around the property of Miss Amelia.The cleverest got into the café itself and stood lining the walls of the room.Others crowded onto the front porch, or took a stand in the yard.

Miss Amelia and Marvin Macy had not yet shown themselves. Miss Amelia, after resting all afternoon on the office bench, had gone upstairs.On the other hand Cousin Lymon was at your elbow every minute, threading his way through the crowd, snapping his fingers nervously, and batting his eyes.At one minute to seven o'clock he squirmed his way into the café and climbed up on the counter.All was very quiet.

It must have been arranged in some manner beforehand. For just at the stroke of seven Miss Amelia showed herself at the head of the stairs.At the same instant Marvin Macy appeared in front of the café and the crowd made way for him silently.They walked toward each other with no haste, their fsts already gripped, and their eyes like the eyes of dreamers.Miss Amelia had changed her red dress for her old overalls, and they were rolled up to the kness.She was barefooted and she had an iron strengthband around her right wrist.Marvin Macy had also rolled his trouser legs-he was naked to the waist and heavily greased;he wore the heavy shoes that had been issued him when he left the penitentiary.Stumpy MacPhail stepped forward from the crowd and slapped their hip pockets with the palm of his right hand to make sure there would be no sudden knives.Then they were alone in the cleared center of the bright café.

There was no signal, but they both struck out simultaneously. Both blows landed on the chin, so that the heads of Miss Amelia and Marvin Macy bobbed back and they were left a little groggy.For a few seconds after the first blows they merely shuffled their feet around on the bare foor, experimenting with various positions, and making mock fsts.Then, like wildcats, they were suddenly on each other.There was the sound of knocks, panting, and thumpings on the foor.They were so fast that it was hard to take in what was going on-but once Miss Amelia was hurled backward so that she staggered and almost fell, and another time Marvin Macy caught a knock on the shoulder that spun him around like a top.So the fght went on in this wild violent way with no sign of weakening on either side.

During a struggle like this, when the enemies are as quick and strong as these two, it is worth-while to turn from the confusion of the fght itself and observe the spectators. The people had fattened back as close as possible against the walls.Stumpy MacPhail was in a corner, crouched over and with his fsts tight in sympathy, making strange noises.Poor Merlie Ryan had his mouth so wide open that a fy buzzed into it, and was swallowed before Merlie realized what had happened.And Cousin Lymon-he was worth watching.The hunchback still stood on the counter, so that he was raised up above everyone else in the café.He had his hands on his hips, his big head thrust forward, and his little legs bent so that the knees jutted outward.The excitement had made him break out in a rash, and his pale mouth shivered.

Perhaps it was half an hour before the course of the fight shifted. Hundreds of blows had been exchanged, and there was still a deadlock.Then suddenly Marvin Macy managed to catch hold of Miss Amelia's left arm and pinion it behind her back.She struggled and got a grasp around his waist;the real fight was now begun.Wrestling is the natural way of fghting in this county-as boxing is too quick and requires much thinking and concentration.And now that Miss Amelia and Marvin were locked in a hold together thecrowd came out of its daze and pressed in closer.For a while the fighters grappled muscle to muscle, their hipbones braced against each other.Backward and forward, from side to side, they swayed in this way.Marvin Macy still had not sweated, but Miss Amelia's overalls were drenched and so much sweat had trickled down her legs that she left wet footprints on the foor.Now the test had come, and in these moments of terrible effort, it was Miss Amelia who was the stronger.Marvin Macy was greased and slippery, tricky to grasp, but she was stronger.Gradually she bent him over backward, and inch by inch she forced him to the floor.It was a terrible thing to watch and their deep hoarse breaths were the only sound in the café.At last she had him down, and straddled;her strong big hands were on his throat.

But at that instant, just as the fght was won, a cry sounded in the café that caused a shrill bright shiver to run down the spine.And what took place has been a mystery ever since.The whole town was there to testify what happened, but there were those who doubted their own eyesight.For the counter on which Cousin Lymon stood was at least twelve feet from the fghters in the center of the café.Yet at the instant Miss Amelia grasped the throat of Marvin Macy the hunchback sprang forward and sailed through the air as though he had grown hawk wings.He landed on the broad strong back of Miss Amelia and clutched at her neck with his clawed little fngers.

The rest is confusion. Miss Amelia was beaten before the crowd could come to their senses.Because of the hunchback the fght was won by Marvin Macy, and at the end Miss Amelia lay sprawled on the foor, her arms fung outward and motionless.Marvin Macy stood over her, his face somewhat popeyed, but smiling his old half-mouthed smile.And the hunchback, he had suddenly disappeared.Perhaps he was frightened about what he had done, or maybe he was so delighted that he wanted to glory with himself alone-at any rate he slipped out of the café and crawled under the back steps.Someone poured water on Miss Amelia, and after a time she got upslowly and dragged herself into her offce.Through the open door the crowd could see her sitting at her desk, her head in the crook of her arm, and she was sobbing with the last of her grating, winded breath.Once she gathered her right fst together and knock it three times on the top of her offce desk, then her hand opened feebly and lay palm upward and still.Stumpy MacPhail stepped forward and closed the door.

The crowd was quiet, and one by one the people left the café.Mules were waked up and untied, automobiles cranked, and the three boys from Society City roamed off down the road on foot.This was not a fght to hash over and talk about afterward;people went home and pulled the covers up over their heads.The town was dark, except for the premises of Miss Amelia, but every room was lighted there the whole night long.

Marvin Macy and the hunchback must have left the town an hour or so before daylight. And before they went away this is what they did:

They unlocked the private cabinet of curios and took everything in it.

They broke the mechanical piano.

They carved terrible words on the café tables.

They found the watch that opened in the back to show a picture of a waterfall and took that also.

They poured a gallon of sorghum syrup all over the kitchen foor and smashed the jars of preserves.

They went out in the swamp and completely wrecked the still, ruining the big new condenser and the cooler, and setting fre to the shack itself.

They fixed a dish of Miss Amelia's favorite food, grits with sausage, seasoned it with enough poison to kill off the county, and placed this dish temptingly on the café counter.

They did everything ruinous they could think of without actually breaking into the offce where Miss Amelia stayed the night. Then they went off together, the two of them.

That was how Miss Amelia was left alone in the town. The people would have helped her if they had known how, as people in this town will as often as not be kindly if they have a chance.Several housewives nosed around with brooms and offered to clear up the wreck.But Miss Amelia only looked at them with lost crossed eyes and shook her head.Stumpy MacPhail came in on the third day to buy a plug of Queenie tobacco, and Miss Amelia said the price was one dollar.Everything in the café had suddenly risen in price to be worth one dollar.And what sort of a café is that?Also, she changed very queerly as a doctor.In all the years before she had been much more popular than the Cheehaw doctor.She had never monkeyed with a patient’s soul, taking away from him such real necessities as liquor, tobacco, and so forth.Once in a great while she might carefully warn a patient never to eat fried watermelon or some such dish it had never occurred to a person to want in the frst place.Now all this wise doctoring was over.She told one-half of her patients that they were going to die outright, and to the remaining half she recommended cures so far-fetched and agonizing that no one in his right mind would consider them for a moment.

Miss Amelia let her hair grow ragged, and it was turning gray. Her face lengthened, and the great muscles of her body shrank until she was thin as old maids are thin when they go crazy.And those gray eyes-slowly day by day they were more crossed, and it was as though they sought each other out to exchange a little glance of grief and lonely recognition.She was not pleasant to listen to;her tongue had sharpened terribly.

When anyone mentioned the hunchback she would say only this:“Ho!If I could lay hand to him I would rip out his gizzard and throw it to the cat!”But it was not so much the words that were terrible, but the voice in which they were said. Her voice had lost its old vigor;there was none of the ring of vengeance it used to havewhen she would mention“that loom-fxer I was married to,”or some other enemy.Her voice was broken, soft, and sad as the wheezy whine of the church pump-organ.

For three years she sat out on the front steps every night, alone and silent, looking down the road and waiting. But the hunchback never returned.There were rumors that Marvin Macy used him to climb into windows and steal, and other rumors that Marvin Macy had sold him into a side show.But both these reports were traced back to Merlie Ryan.Nothing true was ever heard of him.It was in the fourth year that Miss Amelia hired a Cheehaw carpenter and had him board up the premises, and there in those closed rooms she has remained ever since.

Yes, the town is dreary. On August afternoons the road is empty, white with dust, and the sky above is bright as glass.Nothing moves-there are no children's voices, only the hum of the mill.The peach trees seem to grow more crooked every summer, and the leaves are dull gray and of a sickly delicacy.The house of Miss Amelia leans so much to the right that it is now only a question of time when it will collapse completely, and people are careful not to walk around the yard.There is no good liquor to be bought in the town;the nearest still is eight miles away, and the liquor is such that those who drink it grow warts on their livers the size of goobers, and dream themselves into a dangerous inward world.There is absolutely nothing to do in the town.Walk around the millpond, stand kicking at a rotten stump, fgure out what you can do with the old wagon wheel by the side of the road near the church.The soul rots with boredom.You might as well go down to the Forks Falls highway and listen to the chain-gang.

THE TWELVE MORTAL MEN

The Forks Falls highway is three miles from the town, and itis here the chain-gang has been working. The road is of macadam, and the county decided to patch up the rough places and widen it at a certain dangerous place.The gang is made up of twelve men, all wearing black-and-white-striped prison suits, and chained at the ankles.There is a guard, with a gun, his eyes drawn to red slits by the glare.The gang works all the day long, arriving huddled in the prison cart soon after daybreak, and being driven off again in the gray August twilight.All day there is the sound of the picks striking into the clay earth, hard sunlight, the smell of sweat.And every day there is music.One dark voice will start a phrase, half-sung, and like a question.And after a moment another voice will join in, soon the whole gang will be singing.The voices are dark in the golden glare, the music intricately blended, both somber and joyful.The music will swell until at last it seems that the sound does not come from the twelve men on the gang, but from the earth itself, or the wide sky.It is music that causes the heart to broaden and the listener to grow cold with ecstasy and fright.Then slowly the music will sink down until at last there remains one lonely voice, then a great hoarse breath, the sun, the sound of the picks in the silence.

And what kind of gang is this that can make such music?Just twelve mortal men, seven of them black and fve of them white boys from this county. Just twelve mortal men who are together.

伤心咖啡馆之歌

小镇本身是很沉闷的;镇子里没有多少东西,只有一家棉纺厂、一些工人住的两间一幢的房子、几株桃树、一座有两扇彩色玻璃窗的教堂,还有一条一百码长、不成模样的大街。每逢星期六,周围农村的佃农进城来,闲聊天,做买卖,度过这一天。除了这时候,小镇是寂寞的、忧郁的,像是一处非常偏僻、与世隔绝的地方。最近的火车站在社会城,“灰狗”和“白车”公司的长途汽车都走叉瀑公路,公路离这里有三英里。这儿的冬天短促而阴冷,夏日则是亮得耀眼,热得发烫。

倘若你在八月的一个下午到大街上溜达,你会觉得非常无聊。镇中心一座全镇最大的建筑物上,所有的门窗都钉上了木板,房屋向右倾斜得那么厉害,仿佛每一分钟都会坍塌。房子非常古老,它身上有一种古怪的、疯疯癫癫的气氛,很叫人捉摸不透是怎么回事,到后来你才恍然大悟,原来很久以前,前面门廊的右半边和墙的一部分是漆过的,可是并没有漆完,所以房子的一部分比另一部分显得更暗、更脏一些。房子看上去完全荒废了。然而,在二楼上有一扇窗子并没有钉木板,有时候,在下午热得最让人受不了的时分,会有一只手伸出来慢腾腾地打开百叶窗,会有一张脸探出来俯视小镇。那是一张在噩梦中才会见到的可怖的、模糊不清的脸——苍白,辨别不清是男还是女,脸上那两只灰色的斗鸡眼挨得那么近,好像是在长时间地交换秘密和忧伤的眼光。那张脸在窗口停留一个钟点左右,百叶窗又重新关上,整条大街又再也见不到一个人影。在那样的八月下午,你下了班真是没什么可干的;你还不如走到叉瀑公路去听苦役队唱歌呢。

可是,这个镇上是有过一家咖啡馆的。这座钉上木板的旧房子,在方圆若干英里之内也曾是颇不平常的。这里摆过桌子,桌子上铺了桌布,放着餐巾纸,电风扇前飘舞着彩色的纸带。一到星期六晚上,更是热闹非凡。咖啡馆的主人是爱密利亚·依文斯小姐。可是使这家店兴旺发达的却是一个名叫李蒙表哥的罗锅。另外,还有一个人在这段咖啡馆的故事里扮演了一个角色——爱密利亚小姐的前夫,这个可怕的人物在监狱里蹲了很久以后回到镇上,把事情搞得一团糟,之后又一走了之。咖啡馆早就关闭了,可是它还留存在人们的记忆里。

这地方原先也并非一向就是咖啡馆。爱密利亚小姐从她父亲手里继承了这所房子,那时候,这里是一家主要经销饲料、肥料以及谷物、鼻烟这样的土产的商店。爱密利亚小姐很有钱。除了这店铺,她在三英里外的沼泽地里还有一家酿酒厂,酿出来的酒在本县要算首屈一指了。她是个黑黑的高大女人,骨骼和肌肉都长得像个男人。她头发剪得很短,平平地往后梳,那张被太阳晒黑的脸上有一种严峻、粗犷的神情。即使如此,她依旧算得上是一个好看的女子,倘若不是她稍稍有点斜眼的话。追她的人本来也不见得会少,可是爱密利亚小姐根本不把异性的爱放在心上,她是个生性孤僻的人。她的婚姻在县里是件奇闻——这次结婚既古怪,又让人提心吊胆,仅仅维持了十天,使全镇的人都莫名其妙,大吃一惊。除却这次结婚,爱密利亚一直是一个人过日子。她经常在沼泽地她的工棚里待上一整夜,穿着工裤和长筒雨靴,默默地看管蒸馏器底下的文火。

爱密利亚小姐靠着自己的一双手,日子过得挺兴旺。她做了大小香肠,拿到附近镇子上去卖。在晴朗的秋日,她碾压芦粟做糖浆,她糖缸里做出来的糖浆发暗金色,喷鼻香。她只花了两个星期就在店后用砖盖起了一间厕所。她木匠活也很拿手。唯独与人,爱密利亚小姐不知怎样相处。人,除非是丧失了意志或是重病在身,否则你是不能把他们拿来在一夜之间变成有价值、可以赚钱的东西的。在爱密利亚小姐看来,人的唯一用途就是从他们身上榨取出钱来。在这方面她是成功的。她用庄稼和自己的不动产作抵押,借款买下一家锯木厂,银行里存款日渐增多——她成了方圆几英里内最有钱的女人。她本来会像议员一样富有的,可是她有一个致命的弱点,那就是特别热衷于打官司和诉讼。为了一点点屁大的事,她会卷入到漫长而激烈的争讼里去。有人说,要是爱密利亚小姐在路上给石头绊一下,她也会本能地四下看看,仿佛在找可以对簿公堂的人。除了打官司之外,她的日子过得很平静,每一天都跟前一天差不多。只有那次为期十天的婚姻算是一个例外。除却这件事,她的生活没有什么变化,一直到爱密利亚小姐三十岁的那个春天。

那是四月里一个温暖、安静的夜晚,时间将近午夜。天上是沼泽地鸢尾花的那种蓝色,月光清澈又明亮。那年春天庄稼长势很好。过去几个星期里棉纺厂一直在加夜班。小河下游那座方方的砖砌的工厂里亮着黄黄的灯光,传来织布机轻轻的、无休止的营营声。在这样的一个夜晚,越过黑黝黝的田野,听到远处传来一个去求爱的黑人的慢悠悠的歌声,你会觉得蛮有意思。即使是安安静静地坐着,随便拨弄一把吉他,或是独自歇上一会儿,脑子里啥也不想,你也会觉得蛮有滋味。那天晚上,街上阒寂无人,不过爱密利亚小姐铺子的灯却亮着,外面的前廊上有五个人。其中之一是胖墩麦克非尔,这人是个工头,有一张紫脸和一双细气的、紫红色的手。坐在最高一级台阶上的是两个穿工裤的小伙子,那是芮内家那对双胞胎——哥儿俩都又高又瘦,动作迟缓,头发泛白,绿眼睛老是似醒非醒。另一个人是亨利·马西,一个羞怯、胆小的人,举止温和,有点神经质,他坐在最低一级台阶的边缘上。爱密利亚小姐自己站着,靠在洞开的门框上——她那双穿着大雨靴的脚交叉着——正耐心地解着她捡来的一根绳子上的结。他们好久都没有开口说话了。

双胞胎里的一个一直望着那条空荡荡的大路,他首先开口了。“我看见有一个东西在走过来。”他说。

“是一只走散的牛犊。”他兄弟说。

走过来的身影仍然太远,看不清楚。月亮给路边那溜开花的桃树投下了朦胧、扭曲的影子。空气中,花香、春草甜美的气息和近处礁湖散发出的暖洋洋、酸溜溜的气味混杂在一起。

“不,那是谁家的小孩。”胖墩麦克非尔说。

爱密利亚默不作声地瞅着路上。她撂下绳子,用她那棕色的大骨节的手抚弄工裤的背带。她皱着眉头,一绺黑头发披落在脑门上。他们等待的时候,路上谁家的狗发狂般嘶哑地吠叫起来,直到有人从屋子里喊了几声,止住了它。直到那身影靠近,走进门廊附近的黄光圈,五个人才看清那是什么。

那是个陌生人,陌生人在这样的时辰徒步走进镇子,这可不是件寻常的事。再说,那人是个罗锅,顶多不过四英尺高,穿着一件只盖到膝头的破旧的外衣。他那双细细的罗圈腿似乎都难以支撑住他的大鸡胸和肩膀后面那只大驼峰。他脑袋也特别大,上面是一双深陷的蓝眼睛和一张薄薄的小嘴。他的脸既松软又显得很粗鲁——此刻,他那张苍白的脸由于扑满了尘土变得黄蜡蜡的,眼底下有浅紫色的阴影。他拎着一只用绳子捆起来的歪歪扭扭的旧提箱。

“晚上好。”那罗锅说,他上气不接下气。

爱密利亚小姐和前廊上那几个男人既不打招呼,也不开口。他们仅仅是瞅着他。

“我在找一位爱密利亚·依文斯小姐。”

爱密利亚小姐把头发从前额上抹回去,抬起下巴,“怎么回事?”

“因为她是我的亲戚。”罗锅回答。

双胞胎和胖墩麦克非尔抬起头来瞧着爱密利亚小姐。

“我就是,”她说,“你说‘亲戚’,指的是什么?”

“那是因为……”那罗锅开始说了。他显得忸怩不安,仿佛都快哭出来了。他把提箱搁在最低一级台阶上,手却没有从把手上松开。“我妈叫芬尼·杰苏泼,她老家就在奇霍。大约三十年前她第一回出嫁的时候离开了奇霍。我记得她说起过,她有个叫玛莎的同父异母的姐妹。今儿个在奇霍,人家告诉我那就是您的母亲。”

爱密利亚小姐听着,脑袋稍稍歪向一边。她一向是一个人吃星期天的晚餐,从来没有一大帮亲戚在她家里进进出出,她可算是六亲不认。她倒是有过一个姑奶奶,在奇霍开了家马车行,可是这老太太已经死了。除此以外,只有一个姨表姐妹住在二十英里外的一个镇上,可是此人与爱密利亚小姐关系不好,偶尔面对面碰上,彼此都要往路边啐一口痰。不止一次,有人想方设法要和爱密利亚小姐攀上些曲里拐弯的亲戚关系,然而都是枉费心机。

那罗锅背起一部又臭又长的家谱来,提到一些仿佛离题十万八千里的人名地名,都是前廊那些听众闻所未闻的。“这样一来,芬尼和玛莎·杰苏泼就成了同父异母姐妹。而我又是芬尼第三个丈夫的儿子。因此上你和我就算是……”他弯下身去解提箱上的绳子。那两只手像鸟爪,在不住地颤抖。箱子里装满了各种各样的破烂——破旧不堪的衣服和古里古怪的废物,有点像缝纫机的零件,或是什么同样毫无用处的东西。罗锅在里面掏了半天,找出来一张旧相片。“这是一张我妈妈和她的同父异母姐妹的合影。”

爱密利亚小姐没有开腔。她把下颚从这一侧移到那一侧。你从她脸上可以看出她在想什么。胖墩麦克非尔接过相片,凑到灯光底下去瞧。相片上是两个两三岁的苍白、干瘪的小孩。两张脸仅仅是两个模糊不清的白团团,你说它是从哪一家的照相本上撕下来的都成。

胖墩麦克非尔把相片递了回去,没有表态。“你从哪儿来?”他问。

那罗锅的声音迟迟疑疑的。“我是在到处转悠呢。”

爱密利亚小姐仍然没有开口。她仅仅是靠在门边上,低下头去看看罗锅。亨利·马西神经质地眨巴着眼,两只手搓来搓去。接着他一声不吭地离开最低一级台阶,走了。他是个软心肠的人,小罗锅的处境很使他同情,因此他不想等在这儿目睹爱密利亚小姐把新来的人从她产业上赶出去,从镇上赶出去。小罗锅站着,提箱在最低一级台阶上敞着口,他吸了吸鼻子,他的嘴嗫动着。也许他开始感到自己的处境不妙了吧。也许他明白作为一个陌生人,提了一箱子破烂到镇上来和爱密利亚小姐攀亲戚是件多么不妙的事了吧。总之,他一屁股坐在台阶上,突然间号啕大哭起来。

一个素不相识的小罗锅半夜时分走到店前来,然后又坐下来哭,这可不是一件寻常的事。爱密利亚小姐把前额上那绺头发往后一抹,那几个男人不安地对看一眼。整个镇子一点声音也没有。

最后,双胞胎里的一个说道:“他要不是真正的莫里斯·范因斯坦,那才怪哩。”

每个人都点点头,表示同意,因为这是一个含有特殊意义的说法。可是罗锅哭得更响了,因为他不知道他们说的是什么。莫里斯·范因斯坦是多年前住在镇上的一个人。其实他只不过是个动作迅速、蹦蹦跳跳的小犹太人,他每天都吃发得很松的面包和罐头鲑鱼,你只要一说是他杀了基督,他就要哭。后来他碰到了一件倒霉的事,搬到社会城去了。可是自此以后,只要有人缺少男子气概,哭哭啼啼,人们就说他是莫里斯·范因斯坦。

“唔,他很苦恼,”矮胖子麦克非尔说,“这总有个什么原因。”

爱密利亚小姐迈了两下她那迟缓、笨拙的步子,跨过前廊,下了台阶,站在那里若有所思地端详那个陌生人。她小心翼翼地伸出一根长长的、棕黄色的食指,戳了戳他背上的驼峰。罗锅仍然在哭,可是已经安静些了。夜晚很寂静,月亮的光辉依旧很柔和,很明澈——天气有点转凉。这时候爱密利亚小姐做了一件稀罕的事:她从后裤兜掏出一只瓶子,用掌心把瓶盖拧开,递给罗锅让他喝。爱密利亚小姐是不轻易赊酒给人的,在她来说,即使请人白喝一滴酒也几乎是件史无前例的事。

“喝吧,”她说,“能让你开胃的。”

罗锅停止了啜泣,把嘴巴周围的泪水舔干净,照别人的吩咐做了。他喝完后,爱密利亚小姐慢慢地啜饮了一口,用这口酒暖暖她的嘴,漱漱口,然后吐掉。接着她也喝起酒来。双胞胎和工头有自己花钱买来的酒。

“这酒真醇,”胖墩麦克非尔说,“爱密利亚小姐,你酿酒还从来没酿坏过。”

那天晚上他们喝酒(两大瓶威士忌)这件事很重要。否则,很难想象以后会发生什么事。也许没有这点酒就压根儿不会有咖啡馆。爱密利亚小姐的酒确有特色。它很清洌,尝在舌头上味儿很冲,下了肚后劲又很大。但事情还不仅是这样。大家知道,用柠檬汁在白纸上写字是看不出来的。可是如果把纸拿到火上去烤一烤,就会显出棕色的字来,意思也就一清二楚了。请你设想威士忌是火,而写的字就是人们隐藏在自己灵魂深处的思想——这样,你就会明白爱密利亚小姐的酒意味着什么了。过去忽略了的事情,蛰伏在头脑一个阴暗的角落里的想法,都突然被认识、被理解了。一个从来只想到纺纱机、饭盒、床,然后又是纺纱机的纺织工人——这样的一个人说不定某个星期天喝了几杯酒,见到了沼泽地里的一朵百合花。也许他会把花捏在手里,细细观察这纤细的金黄色的酒杯形状的花朵,他心中没准突然会升起一种像痛楚一样刺人的甜美的感觉。一个织布工人也许会突然抬起头来,生平第一次看到一月午夜天空中那种寒冽、神奇的光辉,于是一种察觉自己何等渺小的深深的恐惧会骤然使他的心脏暂时停止跳动。一个人喝了爱密利亚小姐的酒以后就会出现这样的情况。他也许会感到痛苦,也许是快乐得瘫痪了一般——可是这样的经验能显示出真理。他使自己的灵魂温暖起来,见到了隐藏在那里的信息。

他们一直喝到后半夜,这时,月亮躲进了云堆,夜晚因此变得又冷又黑。那罗锅仍然坐在最低一级台阶上,身子可怜巴巴地朝前伛着,额头靠在膝盖上。爱密利亚小姐站着,两手插在裤兜里,一只脚支在第二级台阶上。她好久没有出声了。她那副表情在稍稍有点斜眼的人的脸上常常可以见到,他们在沉思的时候,脸上总是既显得非常聪明又显得非常疯狂。最后,她说话了,“我不知道你名字叫什么。”

“我叫李蒙·威里斯。”那罗锅说。

“好,你进屋去吧,”她说,“炉子上还有些剩饭,你可以吃。”

爱密利亚一生中,撇开打算作弄人家、想敲人竹杠的那些回不算,请人吃饭的次数真是屈指可数。因此,前廊上那几个人都觉得不大对头。事后,他们互相嘀咕说,她那天下午准是在沼泽那边喝酒来着。总之,她离开了前廊,胖墩麦克非尔和双胞胎也动身回家了。她插上前门,向四周扫了一眼,看看她的货物是否都完好无缺。接着她走进厨房,那是在店铺的尽里头。罗锅尾随着她,拽着他那只手提箱,一面吸鼻子嗅气味,一面用他脏外套的袖口擦鼻子。

“坐下,”爱密利亚小姐说,“我把饭菜热一热。”

他们那天晚上一起吃的那顿饭颇为丰富。爱密利亚小姐有钱,在吃喝上头从不亏待自己。吃的东西里有炸仔鸡(胸脯肉让罗锅挑到自己盘子里去了)、山药泥、肉卷拌青菜,还有淡金色的热甜薯。爱密利亚小姐吃得很慢,胃口好得像个庄稼人。她吃的时候双肘支撑在桌子上,头低俯在盘子上,双膝分得很开,脚抵在椅子的横档上。那罗锅呢,他狼吞虎咽,好像几个月都没闻到食物的香味了。吃饭时,一滴泪从他肮脏的脸颊上慢慢地滑下来——那只不过是刚才残余的一小滴眼泪,并没有什么特别的意义。桌子上的灯擦得很干净,灯芯边上发出一圈蓝光,在厨房里投射出一片欢乐的光亮。爱密利亚小姐吃完晚餐,用一片松软的面包把盘子擦得干干净净,然后把自制的澄澈、喷香的糖浆浇在面包上面。罗锅也照办,不过他更讲究,居然还要换一只干净的盘子。爱密利亚小姐吃完后,把椅子往后一翘,把右拳握紧,用左手去摸摸她右臂干净的蓝布衬衫下坚硬的肌肉——这已经成为她每顿饭后不自觉的习惯动作了。接着她从桌子上拿起灯,脑袋朝楼梯那边点点,示意罗锅跟她上楼。

店铺楼上有三间房间,爱密利亚小姐从生下来就住在这里——两间卧室,当中是一间大客厅。很少有人参观过这些房间,但是大家知道这里陈设很讲究,打扫得非常干净。可是如今爱密利亚小姐却把不知哪里钻出来的一个肮脏的小罗锅带上了楼。爱密利亚小姐每回跨两级,走得很慢,灯举得高高的。那罗锅在她身后挨得那么紧,摇曳的灯光在楼梯墙上投出来的他们俩的影子都并成扭曲的一大团了。不久,店面二楼上的窗子也跟全城一样,是一片漆黑了。

翌晨,天气晴朗,温暖的紫红朝霞里掺杂着几抹玫瑰色的光辉。小镇四郊的田野里,土畦是新翻耕过的。一大早,佃农们就在栽种墨绿色的烟草嫩苗。乡野的乌鸦贴紧地面飞翔,在田畴上投下了飞掠的蓝色阴影。在镇上,人们很早就提着饭盒去上班,纺织厂的窗户在太阳下闪烁出耀眼的金光。空气清新,桃树上花枝招展,像三月的云彩一样轻盈。

爱密利亚小姐像往常一样,天一亮就下楼来了。她在水泵那里冲了冲头,很快就开始干活了。小晌午时分,她给骡子备上鞍,骑了它去看看自己的地,地里种的是棉花,就在叉瀑公路附近。到中午时刻,不消说,每一个人都听说了小罗锅半夜到店里来的事了。可是人们都还没有见到他。很快,天气变得十分闷热,天空是一片浓艳的、晌午时分的蔚蓝色。仍然谁也没看见这个陌生的客人露面。有几个人记得爱密利亚小姐的妈妈是有一个同父异母姐妹的——可是她到底是死了还是和一个烟草工人私奔了呢,这上头意见便有些分歧,至于那罗锅声称自己是爱密利亚小姐的亲戚,每一个人都认为那是胡说八道。镇上的人都知道爱密利亚小姐的为人,认为她喂饱罗锅以后准已把他撵出家门。可是快到黄昏,天空重新泛白,工厂也下了班时,一个妇女声称她看到有一张奇形怪状的脸从店铺楼上房间的窗户里探出来。爱密利亚小姐自己一句话也没说。她在店里照顾了一阵,和一个农民为一张犁铧讨价还价了一个钟点,补了几只鸡笼,太阳快下山时锁上门上楼到自己房间里去了。这就使全镇的人摸不着头脑,议论纷纷。

第三天,爱密利亚小姐没有开店营业,而是锁上了门待在屋子里,谁也不见。谣言就是从这一天起开始流传的——这谣言真可怕,全镇和四乡的人都给吓呆了。谣言最先是从一个叫梅里·芮恩的织布工人那里传出来的。这是个说话没分量的人——脸色灰黄,行动蹒跚,嘴里连一颗牙都不剩了。他身上有三天发一次的疟疾,这就是说他三天就要发一次烧。所以,有两天他呆头呆脑、脾气乖戾,可是到了第三天他活跃起来了。有时候他会想出一些怪念头来,绝大部分都是莫名其妙的。就是在梅里·芮恩发烧的一天里,他突然转过身来说:

“我知道爱密利亚小姐干出啥事来了。她为了箱子里的东西谋杀了那个人。”

他是用很平静的声音、作为叙述事实那么讲的。一小时之内,这消息传遍了全镇。那一天全镇在集体编缀一个可怕、阴森的故事。这里面,使心脏打战的一切细节应有尽有——一个罗锅,半夜沼泽地里埋尸,爱密利亚被拖过街头锒铛入狱,接下来又是一场财产的争夺战——讲这一切时用的都是压低了的声音,每重复一遍就加上一些新的怪诞的细节。天下雨了,妇女们却忘了收衣服。有那么几个人,欠着爱密利亚小姐的债,他们甚至还穿了好衣服,仿佛在过节。人们在大街上围成一堆在讨论,并且观察着那家店。

要说全镇的人都参加了这次邪恶的庆祝活动,那也不尽然。有那么几个头脑清醒的人,他们推论说,既然爱密利亚小姐有的是钱,何至为了一点点破烂起意谋害一个流浪汉。镇上居然还有三个善良的人,他们不想见到这样一次犯罪行为,即使它能带来很大的兴趣与刺激;他们想到爱密利亚小姐身陷囹圄,在亚特兰大坐电椅,也并不觉得有什么乐趣。这些善良的人用一种与众不同的眼光来看爱密利亚小姐。当一个像她那样各个方面都违拗常情的人,一个人干下的坏事多得都让人想不周全时——那么,就根本应当用特别的标准来衡量这样的人。他们记得爱密利亚小姐生下来就黑不溜秋,脸有点怪;她从小没娘,是她父亲,一个孤僻的人把她拉扯大的;她年纪小小就蹿到六英尺两英寸高,这对一个姑娘家本身就是不自然的。何况她的生活方式和习惯又是怪得不可理喻。最要紧的是,他们记起了她那次古怪的婚姻,这是本镇有史以来最最没有道理的一件丑闻。

因此这些好人对她怀有一种近似怜悯的感情。当她出去干一件粗暴的事时,比如说闯到人家家里去把一架缝纫机拖出来抵欠她的债,或是让自己卷进一场官司里去——他们就会对她产生一种复杂的感情,这里面混杂着恼怒、可笑的痒痒的感觉以及深深的无名的悲哀。可是关于好人说这些也就够了,因为好人拢共只有三个。至于镇上其余的人,他们整个下午都在过节似的欢庆这桩想象出来的犯罪行为。

不知怎的,爱密利亚小姐本人对这一切倒好像一无所知。她一整天几乎都是在楼上度过的。等她下楼到店里来时,她安详地四处转了转,双手深深地插在工裤兜里,头低垂着,下巴颏都快插进衬衫领子里去了。没见到她身上哪儿有血迹。她常常停下来,仅仅是阴郁地瞅瞅地板上的裂缝,把一绺短发卷了卷,兀自嘟哝几句不知什么话。不过几乎整整一天,她都是在楼上度过的。

黑夜降临了。那天下午,雨水使空气变得很寒冷,因此夜晚就跟冬天一样,凄凉而又暗淡。天上没有星星,冰冷的蒙蒙细雨下起来了。从街上看,屋子里的灯光摇曳不定,使人发愁。起风了,然而不是从镇子边上沼泽地里刮来的,而是来自阴冷的松林,向北吹去。

镇上的钟打响了八下。仍然没什么动静。在谈论了一天骇人听闻的事以后,这个凄凉的夜晚给某些人带来了恐惧,他们待在家中紧靠着炉火。其他的人一群群凑在一起。有那么八九个人聚集在爱密利亚小姐店铺的廊子上。他们一声不响,就光那么等着。连他们自己也不明白等的是什么。可事情就是这样:在紧要关头,当某个重大的事件即将发生时,人们总是这样聚集在一起等候。过一阵子,就会出现这样一个时刻:他们一起采取共同行动,并非出于深思熟虑,也没有受谁的意志的支配,而是似乎他们的本能已汇合在一起,因此这一决定不属于他们当中任何一个人,而是属于整个集体。在这样的时刻没有一个人会踌躇不决。至于这种联合行动的结果是洗劫、暴行还是犯罪,那就全看命运的安排了。现在,这群人就这样在爱密利亚小姐店前廊子里阴郁地等着,没人清楚自己想要干什么,可是内心里都明白自己必须等待,那个时刻马上就要来到了。

需要交代的是,店门是开着的。里面很明亮,显得很正常,左边是柜台,上面堆着猪肉、冰糖与烟叶。柜台里面是放着腌肉与杂粮的货架。店堂右侧基本上都放着农具这一类东西。店堂尽里面,靠左边,是一扇通向楼梯的门,这扇门开着。最最右面,是另一扇门,通向一个小套间,爱密利亚小姐管这叫她的办公室。这扇门也开着。那天晚上八点钟,可以看到爱密利亚小姐坐在她那张带活动卷面的书桌前,拿着钢笔和一些纸,在计算。

办公室里灯光明亮,让人见了高兴。爱密利亚小姐似乎没有注意廊子上的代表团。她周围的一切都井井有条,和往常一样。这间办公室在全县也是有名的房间,几乎令人肃然起敬。爱密利亚小姐就是在这里处理一切事务。桌子上放着一台盖得严严实实的打字机,她会用,可是仅仅在打最重要的文件时才用。抽屉里放着上千张纸,一点不夸张,全都按字母次序排列。办公室也是爱密利亚小姐接待病人的地方,她喜欢给人治病,也经常给人治病。整整两个架子上放满了各种药瓶与医疗用具。靠墙根放着一张给病人坐的长凳。她给病人缝伤口时用的是烧过的针,这样伤口才不至于化脓。治疗烧伤,她有一种让人凉快的糖浆。对于不能确诊的病痛,她也有各种各样亲自按秘方煎制的药。这些药吃下去对于通便非常灵验,可是不能给幼儿吃,因为吃了会抽风;对于幼儿,她特地配制了一种完全不同的药,温和得多,也甜得多。是的,总的说来,大家都认为她是个好大夫。她那双手虽然很大,骨节凸出,却非常轻巧。她很能动脑筋,会使用成百种各不相同的治疗方法。逢到需要采用危险性最大最不寻常的治疗方法时,她也决不手软。没有什么病是严重得她不愿治的,在这方面,只有一种情况是例外。要是有个病人上门,说自己害的是妇女病,爱密利亚小姐就束手无策了。真的,只要人家一提这种病,她的脸就会因为羞愧而一点点发暗,她站在那儿,弯着颈子,下巴颏都压到了衬衫领子上,或是对搓着她那双雨靴,简直像个张口结舌、无地自容的大孩子。可是在别的事情上,人们都相信她。医药费她分文不取,因此经常是病家盈门。

这天晚上,爱密利亚小姐用她的钢笔写了不少东西。可是即使如此,她也不可能永远察觉不到黑黑的廊子上有一帮人在等着,在观察她。她过一阵就抬起头来定睛看看他们。不过并没有对他们嚷叫,质问他们为什么像一群无聊的长舌妇,在她店门前瞎厮混。她脸上的神情骄傲而又严峻,她坐在办公室书桌前的时候总是这样的。过了一阵,他们的窥探似乎使她心烦了。她用一块红手帕擦了擦脸,站起身来,关上了办公室的门。

对于廊子里的那群人,这个姿态宛若一个信号。那个时刻终于到来了。他们在阴冷、潮湿的黑夜里已经站了很久。他们等待了很长时间,就在这一刻,他们身上出现了行动的本能。在一瞬间,仿佛由一个意志操纵着似的,他们全都走进了店堂。在那一瞬间,八个人看上去非常相像——都穿着蓝色的工裤,大多数头发花白,每个人的脸色都很苍白,眼神也都是呆滞的、梦幻似的。他们下一步会干出什么事来,没人说得准。可是就在这一瞬间,楼梯顶上传来一个声音。他们抬头一看,都傻了眼啦。原来正是那个罗锅,在他们的臆想里已经被谋杀了的罗锅。而且,这人也和他们听说的完全不同——不是一个无依无靠、赖乞讨为生的可怜、肮脏的小饶舌鬼。实际上,他与这些人迄今为止所见到过的任何一种人都不一样。房间里是死一般的寂静。

那罗锅慢慢地走下楼来,大有本店大老板的傲慢神气。几天来,他身上起了巨大的变化。首先,他干净得无可挑剔。他还穿着那件小外套,可是刷得一干二净,补得很精致。外衣里穿了爱密利亚小姐的一件红黑格子的新衬衣。他没穿寻常的长裤,而是穿了一条很掐身的长及膝盖的马裤。那皮包骨似的腿上穿了一双黑长袜。他那双靴子很特别,样子很怪,刚上过蜡,擦得锃亮,鞋带一直系到脚踝。他在脖子上围了一条酸橙绿的羊毛围巾,几乎遮住他那对又大又白的耳朵,围巾的穗条几乎拖到地上。

罗锅迈着发僵的神气活现的小步子,走进店堂,来到那伙人的中间。他们给他腾出一些地方,站着观察他,手松弛地垂在两侧,眼睛睁得大大的。罗锅的举止也很古怪。他顺着自己眼睛的水平方向凝视每一个人,这大概够到一个普通人的裤带那么高。接着他故意慢吞吞地打量每一个人的下半身——从腰部一直到脚后跟。等他看够了,就把眼睛闭一会儿,摇摇头,仿佛认为他刚才所见到的都是微不足道的。接着他自信地把头朝后一仰,仿佛仅仅是为了使自己弄得更清楚些,他慢慢地、细细地把围在他身边的一张张脸庞环视了一遍。店堂左边有一袋半满的肥料,罗锅在这里找到了合适的位置,在口袋上坐了下来。他把两条细腿盘起来舒舒服服地坐定以后,就从外衣口袋里掏出一样东西。

店里那些人过了好一阵子才恢复了常态。梅里·芮恩,也就是那个三天发一次疟疾、带头传谣的家伙,先开口了。他瞧了瞧罗锅把弄着的物件,用压低的嗓音问道:

“你手里拿的是啥玩意儿?”

每一个人都很清楚罗锅拿着的是什么。那是一只鼻烟盒,原来是属于爱密利亚小姐她爸爸的,盒身是蓝珐琅的,盒盖上用金丝镶嵌成很精巧的图案。大家对这物件很熟悉,因此感到很惊讶。他们谨慎地朝办公室闭紧的门瞥了一眼,听到了爱密利亚小姐兀自在吹着的轻轻的口哨声。

“嗯,是啥呀,小花生米[1]?”

那罗锅敏捷地抬了抬眼,把嘴闭得更紧一些,准备还击一句:“哦,这是一件法宝,专门整治多管闲事的人的。”

罗锅把几根哆哆嗦嗦的细手指伸进鼻烟盒,捏了一小撮不知什么放到嘴里,也不敬周围任何一个人。他放进去的不是一般的鼻烟,而是糖与可可的混合剂。可是他当成是鼻烟那样地服用,放一小撮在下嘴唇内侧,然后用舌尖挺利索地一下下往那儿舔,每舔一下就把自己的脸扭歪一下。

“我的这颗牙齿老让我觉得嘴里发酸,”他解释道,“因此我得吃点这种甜食。”

那群人仍然簇拥在他身边,有点窘,不知怎么才好。他们的激动还没有完全消失,很快又掺上了另一种感情——房间里亲切的气氛和隐隐约约的节日感。那天晚上在场的有这些人:哈斯蒂·马龙纳、罗伯特·卡尔弗·哈尔、梅里·芮恩、T.M.威灵牧师、洛塞·克莱恩、吕伯·威尔邦、“鬈毛”亨利·福特,还有霍雷斯·威尔斯。除了威灵牧师之外,其他人在许多方面都很相像,这一点方才已经提到过了——他们全都从这件或那件事情中得到乐趣,也都程度不同地为一件事哭过,感到过痛苦。他们大都很温顺,除非是你激怒了他。他们都在棉纺厂干活,和别人合住两间、三间一套的房子,租金是一个月十到十二美元。他们这天下午都领到了工资,因为这天是星期六。因此,请暂先把他们看作一个整体。

可是,那罗锅已经在自己头脑里把他们给分了类了。他舒舒服服地坐定之后,便开始和每一个人聊起天来,向他们提出了一大堆问题:结过婚没有呀,年纪多大呀,每星期平均能挣多少钱呀,如此等等。逐渐逐渐,又试探地提出一些极为亲昵的问题来。不久,又有几个镇上的人来到,壮大了这个集团。这里面有亨利·马西,也有几个二流子,他们本能地感觉出这里发生了不寻常的事。还来了几个娘们,她们是来把赖着不走的男人拖回去的。甚至于还来了一个没人管的、淡黄头发的小孩,他蹑手蹑脚地走进来,偷偷地拿了一盒动物饼干,又悄悄地退出去了。就这样,爱密利亚小姐的店很快里里外外都挤满了人,可是她自己仍然没有打开办公室的门。

有这么一种人,他们身上有一种品质,使他们有别于一般更加普通的人。这样的人具有一种原先只存在于幼儿身上的本能,这种本能使他们与外界可以建立更直接和重大的联系。小罗锅显然就是这样的一个人。他来到店堂里总共半个小时,就与每一个人建立起直接的联系,仿佛在镇上已经住了多年,是个众所周知的人物,坐在这袋肥料上聊天已有不知多少个夜晚了。这件事,再加上正好赶上是星期六夜晚,这就使得店里出现了一种自由自在和愉快得不太正常的气氛。但同时空气中也有点紧张,部分的原因是局势有点怪,另外也因为爱密利亚小姐仍然关在她的办公室里,至今没有露面。

那天晚上十点钟,她出来了。那些等着她出场时看一场好戏的人感到失望了。她打开门,迈着她那慢腾腾、松松垮垮的步子走进店堂。她鼻翼的一侧有一丝墨水痕,她把那条红手帕围在脖子上,打了个结。她仿佛没察觉有什么不正常的迹象。她用那双灰色的斗鸡眼瞥了瞥罗锅坐着的地方,在那儿逗留了一会儿。对于店里的一大帮人,她仅仅是略带惊讶地瞅了一眼。

“有谁要买什么吗?”她平静地问道。

那是个星期六的夜晚,所以颇有几个顾客,他们要买的都是酒。仅仅三天以前,爱密利亚小姐从地里起出来一桶陈年佳酿,在酿酒场里把酒汲到一只只瓶子里。那天晚上,她从顾客手里把钱接过来,在明晃晃的灯光下点数。这道手续和以往没什么不同,但再往下去就不一样了。按照过去的惯例,顾客得绕到后院去,在那里,爱密利亚小姐把酒瓶从厨房门口递给他们。这样买东西没有任何乐趣。顾客拿到酒就得走进黑夜里去。要是他老婆不让他在家喝酒,他倒是可以回到店门口的前廊上来,在那儿或是在大街上,大口大口地往肚里灌。当然,前廊和店门前的街道都是爱密利亚小姐的产业,这是清清楚楚的——但是她倒不把这些地方都划在自己的地界之内,她的地界从前门算起,包括整座建筑物的内部面积。她从来不许任何人在她屋子里打开酒瓶喝酒,唯一的例外是她自己。现在她第一次破了例。她进入厨房,罗锅紧紧跟在后面,接着又把酒拿回到温暖、明亮的店堂里来。不仅如此,她还拿出几只杯子,打开两盒苏打饼干,大方地放在柜台上的一只盘子里,谁想吃都可以拿。

她不跟别人,光跟罗锅说话,她问他话时只用一种有点发涩、嘶哑的声调,“李蒙表哥,你这会儿就吃呢,还是把饭放在炉子上隔水温着?”

“如果方便的话,我想让它温着,爱密利亚。”(不加任何尊称而直呼她的名字,有多少年已经没人敢这样做了!——反正连她的新郎与为期十天的丈夫也没有这样叫过她。事实上,自从她父亲死后,就没人敢这样亲昵地称呼她。至于她父亲,不知为什么,老管她叫“小妞”。)

这就是咖啡馆的来由。事情就是如此的简单。你们可以回想一下,那天晚上像冬夜一样凄凉,要是坐在店门外面欢庆,那可就太没劲了。可是在里面是既热闹又亲切。不知是谁咯嗒咯嗒地把店堂深处的炉子通了通,让火旺起来,买了酒的人把酒瓶传给朋友一起喝。店里也有几个妇女,她们在嚼甘草棍,喝一杯果子露,甚至呷上一口威士忌。那罗锅仍然是个稀罕之物,他在场使每一个人都觉得新鲜。办公室里的长凳给拿了出来,另外还搬来了几把椅子。没有位置的人或是靠在柜台上,或是在木桶和口袋上找了个舒舒服服的座儿。在店里喝酒倒也没有引起什么粗鲁的举止、淫邪的傻笑或是任何不成体统的行为。恰恰相反,所有的人都彬彬有礼,甚至到了过分拘谨的地步。因为,在当时,这个镇子里的人还不习惯凑在一起寻欢作乐。他们习惯的是集合在纺织厂里一块儿干活。否则就是星期天到野外去举行一整天的宗教集会——事情虽然有趣,但其本旨却是让你对地狱有一个新的认识,对全能的主重新感到敬畏。可是咖啡馆里的气氛是全然不同的。在一家情调合宜的咖啡馆里,连最有钱、最贪婪的老无赖也会变得规矩,不去欺侮任何人。没钱的人则会怀着感激的心情四处张望,抓一撮盐时也显得极其优雅、庄重。因为一家正派的咖啡馆的气氛本来就意味着这样的内容:大家和和气气,肚子里沉甸甸的感到满足,行为也显出优雅高贵。当然,谁也没向那晚在爱密利亚店里的那群人讲过这番道理。可是他们都懂,虽然,当然啰,直到这时为止,镇上从来没有开过一家咖啡馆。

这一切的根由,也即是爱密利亚小姐,整个晚上几乎都站在厨房门口。从外表上看,她没有起丝毫变化。可是有不少人注意到她的脸。她看着一切事在进行,可是她的眼光几乎任何时候都是寂寞地注视着罗锅。他神气活现地在店里走来走去,从鼻烟盒里掏东西出来吃,他的脾气既乖戾可又讨人喜欢。爱密利亚小姐站着的地方,炉子的口子正好投出了一片光,多少照亮了她那棕色的长脸。她似乎在审视自己的内心。她的表情里包含着痛苦、困惑,也有着不敢确定的欢欣。她的嘴唇不似往常那样闭紧了,而且常常往下咽一口唾沫。她的皮肤变得苍白了,那双闲着的大手在冒汗。总之,她那天晚上的模样,就像一个孤单寂寞的恋人。

咖啡馆开张典礼到半夜才告结束。每一个人都极其友好地和所有的人告别。爱密利亚小姐关上店铺的前门,却忘了插门闩。很快,所有的一切——有三家店铺的大街、纺织厂、那些住宅——实际上是整个小镇,都沉没在黑暗与寂静之中。而包括陌生人的到来、一个不圣洁的节日和咖啡馆的开张的三天三夜,也随之而告终。

现在,时间必须向前飞驰了,因为往后的四年大同小异,没有什么差别。四年里是有不少的变化,可是这些变化是一点点发生的,每一小步都很平常,看起来并不起眼。小罗锅一直和爱密利亚小姐住在一起,咖啡馆有所扩展。爱密利亚小姐开始一杯杯地卖酒,店堂里搬进来一些桌子。每天晚上都有顾客,逢到星期六更是拥挤不堪。爱密利亚小姐还开始供应油炸鲇鱼,给人当晚餐,一角五分一盘。那罗锅哄得爱密利亚小姐同意买进一架很好的机器钢琴。两年之内,这地方不再是一家店铺,而成了一家正式的咖啡馆,每天晚上从六时一直营业到十二时。

每天晚上,罗锅都趾高气扬地步下楼梯。他身上老有一股淡淡的芜菁叶气味,这是因为爱密利亚小姐一早一晚都给他身上搽大麻叶酒,好让他长力气。她宠他到了不可理喻的地步,可是什么方法好像都不能使他强壮起来;东西吃下去只能使他的驼峰与脑袋变得更大,身上别的部分依然是瘦弱畸形。爱密利亚小姐表面上还是老样子。工作日她仍然穿着雨靴和工裤。星期天她穿一件暗红色的连衣裙,这裙子挂在她身上,样子很古怪。不过,她的举止和生活方式都起了很大变化。她仍然爱打官司,可是不再那样急于让人中圈套,好狠狠地敲诈一笔罚金了。由于罗锅非常爱交际,连她有时也出去走动走动了——参加福音布道会啦,去吊唁送葬啦,如此等等。她的医道和从前一样成功,酿的酒比以前更醇美了——如果可能的话。咖啡馆证明赢利不少,它是方圆若干英里之内唯一的消遣去处。

因此,且让我们把这几年一笔带过,光是介绍几个零零碎碎的片段吧。我们看到在一个朝暾通红的冬日早晨,他们进松林去打猎,小罗锅踩着爱密利亚的脚印前进。我们看到他们在她的地里干活——李蒙表哥在一边站着,啥也不干,倒是很会指摘哪个工人在偷懒。秋日下午,他们坐在后台阶上劈甘蔗。在明亮晃眼的夏天,他们躲在沼泽深处,那里水杉树一片墨绿,纠结的枝叶下阴暗得如在梦乡。有时小路为一片泥沼或一汪发黑的水潭隔断,这时就可以看到爱密利亚小姐伛下身子,让李蒙表哥爬上她的背——她涉水而过,让小罗锅坐在她肩膀上,揪住她的耳朵或是抱住她宽阔的脑门。有时爱密利亚小姐摇转曲柄,开动她买来的那辆福特汽车,带李蒙表哥去奇霍看一场电影,去逛远处的市集,去看斗鸡;那罗锅对于看热闹兴致很高。当然,每天早上他们都是在他们的咖啡馆里度过的,他们在楼上客厅炉火旁一坐,往往就是好几个小时。这是因为罗锅晚上总是身子不太舒服,很怕躺着仰视黑暗。他对死亡有一种深深的恐惧。爱密利亚小姐不愿让他一个人担惊害怕。甚至可以认为,咖啡馆之所以办起来,主要还是出于这个考虑;有了咖啡馆,他就有了伴侣,有了欢乐,度过黑夜也可以容易一些。现在就请读者用这些片段拼凑这些年的一个总的画面吧。这些暂且不表,让我们再来谈谈别的事。

现在,需要对所有这些行为做一个解释了。是时候了,得讲一讲恋爱的问题了,因为爱密利亚小姐爱上了李蒙表哥。这事在每个人眼里都已经是一清二楚的了。他们住在同一座房子里,形影不离。因此,按照麦克非尔太太,一个鼻子上长了个疣子的爱管闲事的老太婆(她一没事就愿意把她那几件破家具在前房里从这儿搬到那儿)以及别的几个人的说法,这两个人是生活在罪恶之中了。如果他们真的是亲戚,那顶多是远表兄妹之间发生苟合关系,何况连这一点也是无法证实的。当然啰,爱密利亚小姐是个健壮、莽撞的人,有六英尺多高,而李蒙表哥却是个病弱的小罗锅,只齐她的腰。不过,对于胖墩麦克非尔的那口子和她那些狐群狗党,这就更有意思了,因为越是不般配和让人瞧着可怜的婚姻,她们越是感兴趣。因此,就让她们说去吧。至于那些善良的人,他们认为,如果这两个人在彼此的肉体接触中能得到满足,那么这仅仅是涉及他们自己与上帝的事。一切有头脑的人对这种猜测的看法倒是一致的——他们直截了当地认为,这是无稽之谈。那么,这样的一次恋爱到底是怎么一回事呢?

首先,爱情是发生在两个人之间的一种共同的经验——不过,说它是共同的经验并不意味着它在有关的两个人身上所引起的反响是同等的。世界上有爱者,也有被爱者,这是截然不同的两类人。往往,被爱者仅仅是爱者心底平静地蕴积了好久的那种爱情的触发剂。每一个恋爱的人都多少知道这一点。他在灵魂深处感到他的爱恋是一种很孤独的感情。他逐渐体会到一种新的、陌生的孤寂,正是这种发现使他痛苦。因此,对于恋爱者来说只有一件事可做。他必须尽可能深地把他的爱情禁锢在心中;他必须为自己创造一个全新的内心世界——一个认真的、奇异的、完全为他单独拥有的世界。我还得添上一句,我们所说的这样的恋爱者倒不一定得是一个正在攒钱准备买结婚戒指的年轻人——这个恋爱者可以是男人、女人、儿童,总之,可以是世界上任何一个人。

至于被爱者,也可以是任何一种类型的人。最最粗野的人也可以成为爱情的触发剂。一个颤巍巍的老爷子可能仍然钟情于二十年前某日下午他在奇霍街头所见到的陌生姑娘。牧师也许会爱上一个堕落的女人。被爱的人可能人品很坏,油头滑脑,染有不良恶习。是的,恋爱者也能像别人一样对一切认识得清清楚楚——可是这丝毫也不影响他的感情的发展。一个顶顶平庸的人可以成为一次沼泽毒罂粟般热烈、狂放、美丽的恋爱的对象;一个好人也能成为一次放荡、堕落的恋爱的触发剂;一个絮絮叨叨的疯子没准能使某人头脑里出现一曲温柔、淳美的牧歌。因此,任何一次恋爱的价值与质量纯粹取决于恋爱者本身。

正因如此,我们大多数人都宁愿爱而不愿被爱。几乎每一个都愿意充当恋爱者。道理非常简单,人们朦朦胧胧地感到,被人爱的这种处境,对于许多人来说,都是无法忍受的。被爱者惧怕而且憎恨爱者,这也是有充分理由的。因为爱者总是想把他的所爱者剥得连灵魂都裸露出来。爱者疯狂地渴求与被爱者发生任何一种可能的关系,纵使这种经验只能给他自身带来痛苦。

前面提到过,爱密利亚小姐结过一次婚。这个奇异的插曲不妨在这里交代一下。请记住,这一切都发生在很久以前,这是爱密利亚小姐遇到罗锅之前在爱情这一问题上仅有的一次亲身经验。

小镇那时和现在没什么两样,除了当时的店铺是两家而不是三家,沿街的桃树比现在更弯曲些、更细小些。那时候爱密利亚小姐十九岁,父亲死了已有好些个月了。当时镇上有个纺织机维修工,名叫马文·马西。他是亨利·马西的兄弟,虽然认识他们,你怎么也不会想到他们是哥儿俩。因为马文·马西是本地最俊美的男子——身高六英尺一,肌肉发达,有一双懒洋洋的灰眼睛和一头鬈发。他生活富裕,工资不少,有一只金表,后面的盖子打开来是一幅有瀑布的画。从物质与世俗的观点看,马文·马西是个幸运儿;他无需向谁点头哈腰,便能得到他需要的一切。但是倘若从一个更加严肃、更加深刻的观点来看,马文·马西就不能算一个值得羡慕的人了,因为他禀性邪恶,他的名声即使不比县里那些不良少年更臭,至少也和他们差不多。当他还是个半大不大的小子时,有好几年,他兜里总揣着一只风干盐渍的人耳朵,那人有一回与他用剃刀格斗,被他杀了。他仅仅为了好玩,便把松林里松鼠的尾巴剁下来。他左边后裤兜里备有禁止使用的大麻烟叶,谁意志消沉不想活了,他就帮他们一把。可是尽管他名声坏,这一带还是有许多女的喜欢他——当时县里有好几个年轻姑娘,都是头发洁净,眼光温柔,小屁股的线条怪可爱,算得上风姿绰约。这些温柔的女孩子都给他一个个糟蹋了,羞辱了。最后,在他二十二岁那年,这个马文·马西挑上了爱密利亚小姐。这位孤僻、瘦长、眼光古怪的姑娘正是他思慕的人。他看中了她倒并非因为她广有钱财,而是仅仅由于爱。

而爱情也使马文·马西起了变化。在他恋上爱密利亚小姐以前,在这样一个人的身上到底有没有心肝,这样一个问题是可以提出来的。不过他的性格之所以发展到这个地步,也不是毫无来由的。他来到这个世界的最初阶段非常艰辛。他的父母——这样的人根本不配做父母——生下七个自己不想要的孩子。这是一对放浪的年轻人,爱钓鱼,喜欢在沼泽一带逛来逛去。他们几乎每年都要添一个孩子,这些小孩在他们眼里都是累赘。晚上他们从工厂下班回家,看到孩子时的那副表情,仿佛那些都是不知从哪儿来的野种。孩子一哭,就得挨揍,他们在这个世界上学会的第一件事,就是在房间里找上一个最阴暗的角落,尽可能隐蔽地把自己藏起来。他们瘦得像白毛小鬼,他们不爱讲话,连兄弟姐妹之间也不讲。他们的父母最后把他们彻底抛弃,死活全看镇上的人是否慈悲为怀了。那是一个难挨的冬天,工厂停产快三个月了,谁家都有一本难念的经。不过这个镇子是不会眼看白种孤儿在街头活活饿死的。因此就出现了这样的结果:最大的八岁孩子走到奇霍去,在那儿消失了——兴许是他在哪儿爬上一列货车,进入纷纷扰扰的大世界了。这可谁也说不上来。另外三个孩子由镇上的人们轮流养活,从一家的厨房吃到另一家的厨房。由于他们身体孱弱,不到复活节就都死了。剩下的两个就是马文·马西和亨利·马西,他们让一户人家收留了下来。这里镇上一个善良的女人,名叫马丽·哈尔太太,收容了他们哥儿俩,视同己出。他们就在她家长大,受到很好的照顾。

然而儿童幼小的心灵是非常细嫩的器官。冷酷的开端会把他们的心灵扭曲成奇形怪状。一颗受了伤害的儿童的心会萎缩成这样:一辈子都像桃核一样坚硬,一样布满深沟。也可能,这样的一颗心会溃烂胀肿,以至于体腔内有这样一颗心都是一种不幸,连最普通不过的事也会轻易使这个人烦恼、痛苦。后一种情况就发生在亨利·马西的身上。他恰好是他哥哥的反面,是镇上第一厚道、第一温和的人。他把工资借给倒了霉的人花。早先,逢到星期六夜晚,人家去咖啡馆玩乐,撇下孩子不管,他就主动去给人家看孩子。不过他又是个爱害臊的人。从外表上就看得出他的心在肿胀、在受苦。可是马文·马西呢,却越来越无法无天、粗暴残忍。他的心硬得像撒旦头上的那只角。一直到他爱上爱密利亚小姐之前,他带给他弟弟和抚养他的好大娘的,除了羞辱和麻烦,就再也没有别的了。

可是爱情彻底改变了马文·马西的性格。他倾慕爱密利亚小姐足足两年,却从不去表白。他常常站在她店铺门口附近,便帽拿在手里,灰眼睛里流露出温顺、渴念和恍恍惚惚的神情。他的行为也彻底改好了。他对养母十分孝顺,对弟弟十分友爱。他把工钱攒了起来,学会了过日子。他甚至还伸出手去希望得到上帝的垂怜。星期天,再不见他躺倒在前廊地上,成天不是唱就是拨弄吉他。他上教堂去做礼拜,参加所有的宗教集会。他还学习好的礼貌:他训练自己见到妇女要站起来让座,他不再骂娘、打架、乱用上帝的名义诅咒。两年里,他通过了考验,在各个方面都改善了自己的品性。在两年终了时,一天晚上,他去见爱密利亚小姐,带了一束沼泽里采来的花、一口袋香肠和一只银戒指——那天晚上,马文·马西向她表白了自己的爱情。

而爱密利亚小姐也真的嫁给了他。事后,每一个人都感到莫名其妙。有人说,这是因为她想捞一些结婚礼物。也有人认为这是爱密利亚小姐在奇霍的那位姑奶奶没完没了唠叨的结果,那是个不饶人的老太太。总之一句话,她跨着大步走下教堂的过道,身上穿着她亡母的新娘礼服——一件黄缎子的长裙,穿在她身上至少短十二英寸。那是一个冬日的下午,明亮的阳光穿过教堂红宝石色的玻璃窗,给圣坛前这对新人投上一种奇异的光彩。牧师念婚礼祝福词时,爱密利亚小姐老是做一个奇怪的动作——用右掌心蹭她的缎子礼服的边缘。原来她是想摸她的工裤兜呢,因为摸不着,脸上就显出了不耐烦、不喜欢和不高兴的神情。等牧师的祝福词说完,祈祷文也念毕,爱密利亚小姐便急急忙忙冲出教堂,连丈夫的手臂也没挽,领先少说也有两步。

教堂到店铺没几步路,因此新娘新郎是步行回家的。据说,在路上,爱密利亚小姐就谈起她打算与一个农民做的一车引火劈柴的买卖。老实说,她对待新郎和对待进店来买一品脱酒的顾客根本没什么区别。不过到这时为止,一切还算是正常的;整个小镇都感到高兴,人们看到爱情在马文·马西身上起了作用,也盼望他的新娘因此而有所转变。至少,他们指望这场婚事能让爱密利亚小姐的脾气变和顺一些,让她像一般婚后的少妇那样,长得丰腴一些,而且最终成为一个靠得住的妇人。

他们错了。据那天晚上扒在窗子上偷看的那些小男孩说,事情的真实过程是这样的:

新娘和新郎吃了一顿丰盛的晚餐,这是爱密利亚小姐的黑人厨子杰夫给准备的。新娘每一道菜都添了一回,而新郎仅仅像小鸟似的啄了几口。接着新娘就去处理她每天要干的日常琐事——看报,继续盘点存货等等。新郎在楼梯口转来转去,脸上显出心旌摇荡、痴痴呆呆与喜气洋洋的模样,但谁也没管他。到了十一点钟,新娘拿起一盏灯上楼了。新郎紧跟在后面。到这时为止,一切都还是正常的,可是以后的事,便有渎神明了。

不到半小时,爱密利亚小姐穿了马裤和一件卡其夹克,步子沉甸甸地走下楼来。她脸色发暗,因此看上去很黑。她砰地关上厨房门,恶狠狠地踢了一下。接着,她控制住自己,她通了通火,坐了下来,把脚搁在炉架上。她读《农民年鉴》,喝咖啡,用她父亲的烟斗抽了一袋烟。她面部表情严厉、冷峻,脸色倒是一点点褪回到正常状态了。有时她停下来,把年鉴上的某项小知识草草地抄到一张纸上。快天亮时,她进入她的办公室,取下打字机的套子,这打字机她刚买不久,正在学怎样使用。整个新婚之夜,她就是这样度过的。天亮以后,她仿佛什么事也没发生似的,到后院去干木匠活了。她做的是一只兔笼,这活儿她上星期开的头,打算做好后卖给别人。

一个新郎无法把自己心爱的新娘带上床,这件事又让全镇都知道了,其处境之尴尬、苦恼可想而知。那天马文·马西下楼来时,身上还穿着结婚的漂亮衣服,脸上却是愁云密布。天知道他这一夜是怎么过来的。他在后院转来转去,瞅着爱密利亚小姐,却总与她保持一段距离。快晌午时,他产生了一个念头,便动身往社会城的方向走去。他买回来一些礼物——一只蛋白石戒指、一瓶当时流行牌子的粉红色指甲油、一只银手镯,上面有心心相印的图样,另外还有一盒要值两块五毛的糖果。爱密利亚小姐把这些精美的礼物打量了一番,拆开了糖果盒,因为她饿了。其他的礼物,她精明地在心中给它们估了估价,接着便放到柜台上去准备出售了。这天晚上也和前一天晚上一样,唯一不同的是爱密利亚小姐把她的羽毛褥子搬了下来,在厨房灶上搭了个铺,她睡得还算香。

事情就这样一连持续了三天。爱密利亚小姐像平时一样照料她的买卖,对离这儿十英里的一条公路上要修一道桥这个谣传很感兴趣。马文·马西还是出出进进地跟在她后面,从他脸上也可以清清楚楚地看出来他是在受罪。到了第四天,他干出了一件愚不可及的事:他到奇霍去请了一位律师回来。接着在爱密利亚小姐的办公室里,他签署了一份文件,把自己全部财产转让给她——这里指的是一块十英亩大小的树林地,是他用攒下来的钱购置的。她绷着脸把文件研究了好半天,想弄清这里面会不会有什么鬼,接着便一本正经地放进写字桌抽屉里归档。那天下午,太阳还老高,马文·马西便独自带了一夸脱威士忌到沼泽地去了。快天黑时他醉醺醺地回来了,他眼睛湿漉漉,睁得老大,他走到爱密利亚小姐跟前,把手搭在她肩膀上。他正想说什么,还没开口,脸上就挨了她挥过来的一拳,势头好猛,使他一仰脖撞在墙上,一颗门牙当时就断了。

接下去的情形只能粗线条地勾勒一下了。打开了头,爱密利亚小姐只要她男人来到她手够得到的地方,只要看到他喝醉,二话不说就揍。最后她终于把他撵出了家门,他只得在众人面前丢脸出丑了。白天他总是在爱密利亚小姐地界以外盘桓,有时他板着一张疯疯癫癫的脸,拿着他那支步枪,坐在那里一面擦枪,一面呆呆地盯住爱密利亚小姐。如果爱密利亚小姐心里害怕,她也没有显露出来。可是她的神情更严峻了,过上一阵,她便往地上啐口唾沫。他干的最后一件傻事是一天晚上从她店面的窗子里爬进去,在黑暗处坐着,什么目的也没有,一直坐到翌日早晨她下楼来。为这件事,爱密利亚小姐立即动身上奇霍的法庭去,一心以为能告他一个“非法入侵”的罪,把他弄进监狱。马文·马西那天离开了小镇,没人见他离去,也不知道他去哪儿了。走的时候,他从爱密利亚小姐的门底下塞进去一封信,这是一封奇怪的长信,一半用铅笔另一半用钢笔写成。这是封热情洋溢的情书,但里面也含有威胁。他发誓在这一生里一定要向她施加报复。他的婚姻生活一共持续了十天。全镇的人都感到特别满意,在看到某人被一种邪恶、可怕的力量摧毁时,人们常常会产生这样的感情。

马文·马西的一切财产都落到了爱密利亚小姐手里——他的林地、他的金表、他所拥有的一切。可是她好像并不怎么看重它们。那年冬天,她把他的三K党的长袍剪开来盖她的烟草苗。其实,马文·马西所做的一切仅仅是使她更富裕,使她得到爱情。可是,奇怪的是,她一提起他就咬牙切齿。她讲起他时从来不用他的名字,而总是嘲讽地说“跟我结婚的那个维修工”。

后来,当有关马文·马西的骇人听闻的故事传回到小镇上来时,爱密利亚小姐高兴极了。因为一旦摆脱了爱情的羁绊,马文·马西真正的性格终于显露出来了。他成为一个罪犯,他的相片和名字登在州里所有的报上。他抢过三家加油站,用一支锯短了枪管的枪抢劫了社会城的大西洋太平洋公司[2]。人们还怀疑是他杀死了大名鼎鼎的拦劫犯眯眼山姆。所有这些案子都与马文·马西的名字有关,因此他成了闻名数县的大恶棍。最后,他还是被依法捕获。那一天他喝醉了酒,躺在一家旅舍的地板上,吉他扔在一边,右脚的鞋子里有五十七块钱。他受审,被判了罪,关押在亚特兰大附近的一所监狱里。这使爱密利亚小姐感到心满意足。

啊,所有这一切都发生在很久以前,这就是爱密利亚小姐结婚的故事。为了这件怪事,镇上的人乐了好一阵子。虽然这次恋爱表面上的情况是又可悲又可笑的,但你必须记住,真正的故事发生在恋爱者本人的灵魂里。因此,对于这一次或是别的所有的恋爱,除却上帝之外,还有谁能当最高的审判者呢?就在咖啡馆开张的那天晚上,有几个人突然想起了蹲在远方阴暗的大牢里的那位潦倒的新郎。在以后的岁月里,马文·马西也并没有被镇上的人完全忘记。人们只是当着爱密利亚小姐和小罗锅的面从来不提他的名字而已。可是对他那次热恋和他的罪行的记忆,对他在监狱的牢房里情况的思念,总像是一个令人不安的陪音,隐藏在爱密利亚小姐愉快的恋爱和咖啡馆欢乐的气氛底下。因此请读者别忘了这位马文·马西,因为他将在以后要发生的故事里扮演一个可怕的角色。

在商店变成咖啡馆以后的四年中,楼上的房间没有什么变化。屋子的这一部分还和爱密利亚小姐出生时一样,也和她父亲在世时一样,而且很可能与她爷爷那会儿一样。前面说过,楼上三间房间一尘不染,连最小的物件也有其固定的位置。每天早晨,爱密利亚小姐的用人杰夫把每件东西都掸去灰尘,擦干净。前房是属于李蒙表哥的——马文·马西获准在店里度过几个夜晚时住的就是这个房间,不过再早,这是爱密利亚小姐父亲的房间。房间里有一个大衣柜,一个带镜子的小衣柜,上面铺着一块浆得很硬的有花边的台布,还有一张大理石面的桌子。那张床硕大无朋,是有四根黑檀木雕花柱子的老式床。床上有两条羽毛褥子,有长垫枕,还有一些手工编织的小装饰。床很高,床边有个两级的木梯——以前谁也不用,可是李蒙表哥每天晚上把它拉出来,很庄严地拾级而上。除了木梯,还有一只画着些粉红玫瑰的瓷夜壶,为了雅观起见,给推在看不见的角落里。光溜溜的暗色地板上没有铺地毯,窗帘是一种什么白布料做的,四缘也饰有花边。

客厅的另一头是爱密利亚小姐的卧室,房间更小些,非常朴素。床比较窄,是松木的。有一个带镜子的小衣柜,里面放她的马裤、衬衫和礼拜天穿的出客衣服,她在壁柜里钉了两只钉子,好挂她的大雨靴。窗帘、地毯、各种装饰品一概没有。

当中那个大房间,也就是客厅,倒是颇为讲究。壁炉前放着一张檀木的沙发,沙发上蒙的绿绸子已经磨白。几张大理石面的桌子,两架“胜家”牌缝纫机,一只大花盆,种的是蒲苇——一切都挺有气派,挺排场。客厅里最重要的家具是一个玻璃门的大柜,里面放了不少珍贵的纪念品和古玩。爱密利亚小姐给这份庋藏增添了两件宝贝——一件是从一棵水橡树上收下来的一颗大橡实;另一件是只丝绒盒子,里面放着两粒灰色的小石子。有时候,爱密利亚小姐没事可干了,便取出丝绒盒,站到窗前去,把石子倒在掌心,仔细端详,表情显得既着迷又崇敬,也有几分畏惧。这是爱密利亚小姐自己的两颗肾结石,几年前在奇霍由一位大夫给她取出来的。这次手术从开头到结尾都是次可怕的经历,她唯一的收获便是这两颗小石子;她当然要极端重视这两颗石子,否则这笔买卖就显得更吃亏了。因此她保存着它们,在李蒙表哥来她这儿住的第二年,她把它们作为饰物镶嵌在一条表链上,然后把表链送给了李蒙。她增添的另一件收藏,那颗大橡实,更是为她珍惜——可是每逢她瞅着橡实时,脸容总是愁苦、困惑的。

“爱密利亚,这种东西有什么意义吗?”李蒙表哥问她。

“哦,这不过是一颗橡实,”她回答道,“是我在大爸爸死的那天下午捡的。”

“这说明什么?”李蒙表哥紧盯着不放。

“我是说,这只不过是那天我在地上发现的一颗橡实。我把它捡起来就放进口袋了。可是我也不知道为的是什么。”

“收藏的原因也够怪的。”李蒙表哥说。

爱密利亚小姐和李蒙表哥在楼上房间里话可谈得不少,这往往发生在刚过半夜、小罗锅睡不着的时候。一般地说,爱密利亚小姐是个沉默寡言的女人,从不因为头脑里闪过什么念头,就让舌头撒野胡说一通。可是对有些话题,她是兴趣很浓的。这些话题有一个共同之处——都是没头没尾的。她喜欢空想一些思索了几十年仍然无法解决的问题。李蒙表哥呢,恰恰相反,不管什么题目都爱扯上一大通,因为他是个喋喋不休的人。他们俩谈话的方式也截然不同。爱密利亚小姐总是用低沉、深思的声音,不着边际、空泛地谈一个问题,像车轱辘似的转过来转过去;而李蒙表哥总是突然打断她,就一个细节滔滔不绝地讲起来,这问题纵然不重要,至少很具体,是与日常生活有关的现实问题。爱密利亚小姐爱说的题目有:星星、黑人为什么黑、治癌的最好办法如此等等。她的父亲也是她喜爱的一个谈个没完的话题。

“唉,洛[3],”她对李蒙说,“那些日子我很贪睡。我常常灯都不灭就爬上床去睡了……噢,我睡得昏昏沉沉,仿佛是泡在暖洋洋的车轴油里。接着天亮了,大爸爸走进来把手按在我的肩膀上。‘醒醒呀,小妞。’他说。再过一会儿等炉子热了,他就在厨房里对着楼上叫嚷。‘油炸玉米饼,’他这样嚷道,‘带汁的白肉。还有火腿和蛋。’于是我就冲下楼去在热炉子跟前穿衣服。他呢,走到外面,在水泵那里洗脸。这以后我们一起上酿酒厂去,也许是……”

“今儿早上咱们吃的油炸玉米饼太糟糕了,”李蒙插进来说,“火太冲,里面都是生的。”

“那些天,等大爸爸把酒放光……”这样的谈话会无休止地进行下去。爱密利亚小姐总是把她那双长腿伸直了支在壁炉跟前,不管是冬是夏,炉架上总有火在燃烧,因为李蒙是个怯寒的人。他坐在她对面的一张矮椅子上,他的脚几乎碰不到地,上身往往裹在一条毯子或是那条绿羊毛披巾里。除了李蒙表哥之外,爱密利亚小姐对任何人也从来不提她的父亲。

这是她向他表示爱的一种方式。在最细微和最重大的问题上,他都受到她的信任。只有他一个人知道她的藏酒图保存在哪儿,从那张图上可以看出哪些威士忌埋在附近什么地方。只有他一个人有办法取到她的银行存款和她放古董的那口柜子的钥匙。他可以随便从现金柜里取钱,大把大把地拿,对于钱币在他口袋里发出的清脆的叮当声,他是很欣赏的。爱密利亚的一切产业也等于是他的,因为只要他一不高兴,爱密利亚小姐就慌了神,到处去找礼物来送给他,以致到现在,手边已经没剩下什么可以给他的东西了。她唯一不愿与李蒙表哥共享的生活经历就是对那十天婚姻生活的回忆。马文·马西是他们从来没有谈论过的唯一话题。

岁月缓缓流逝,那是李蒙表哥来到镇上六年后的一个星期六的黄昏。时间是八月,整整一天,天空像一片火似的在镇子上空燃烧。到这时,绿阴阴的薄暮时分临近,人们似乎松了口气。街上那层金色的干尘土足足有一英寸厚,小小孩半裸着身子跑来跑去,过不了一会儿就要打个喷嚏。他们浑身是汗,脾气暴躁。纺织厂中午就停工了。大街西边,屋子里的人都出来坐在自己房前的台阶上,女人手里的棕榈叶扇子挥个不停。爱密利亚小姐屋前有块招牌,上面写着“咖啡馆”三个字。店后的走廊上,花格的廊檐投下了斑驳的阴影,比较凉快,李蒙表哥坐在那儿摇冰淇淋——他常常把冰与盐起出来,把搅拌器取出来舔一舔,看看好了没有。杰夫在厨房里做饭。这天一清早,爱密利亚小姐在前廊上贴出一张广告:“今晚新添鸡饭——每客两角。”咖啡馆已经开始营业,爱密利亚小姐在她的办公室里也干完了一些活。八张桌子都坐满了人,机器钢琴叮叮咚咚响得挺欢。

门边角落里的一张桌子上,亨利·马西和一个孩子坐在一起。他在喝一杯酒,这对他来说是件不寻常的事,因为他很容易醉,一喝醉不是哭就是唱歌。他脸色非常苍白,左眼神经质地不断抽搐,他一激动总是这样。他是溜着边儿悄没声地进入咖啡馆的,人家跟他打招呼他也不吭声。坐在他旁边的孩子是霍雷司·威尔斯家的,早上就送来了,让爱密利亚小姐给治病。

爱密利亚小姐从办公室出来,兴致很高。她到厨房里去料理了几件琐事,又回到咖啡馆,手里捏着一只熟的鸡屁股,这是她最爱吃的东西。她环视一下房间,看看大致没什么问题,便走到角落里亨利·马西的桌子跟前。她把椅子转过来,劈开腿跨坐在椅背前,她还不打算吃晚饭,光想和大伙儿随便聊聊,打个招呼。她工裤后兜里有一瓶“万金酒”——这是用威士忌、冰糖和一种秘传的药料配制成的药酒。爱密利亚小姐把瓶塞拧下来,把瓶口对着孩子的嘴。然后她转过脸去看看亨利·马西,看到他左眼在不安地跳动,便问:

“你这是怎么啦?”

亨利·马西像是马上要说一件很难启口的事似的,可是对着爱密利亚小姐的眼睛看了一阵之后,他咽了几口唾沫,没有吭声。

于是爱密利亚小姐便转过头去看她的病人。那孩子只有一张脸露出在桌面上。他满脸通红,眼睑一半耷拉着,嘴巴只张开一半。他腿上长了个又硬又肿的疖子,人家把他带来让爱密利亚小姐做手术。爱密利亚小姐对待孩子有自己的一套办法;她不喜欢看到他们受罪、挣扎、担惊害怕。因此她让孩子在她那里待一整天,过一会儿就让他嚼点甘草,喝一口“万金酒”。天快黑时,她在他脖子上围一条餐巾,让他喝足吃饱。现在,他坐在桌子边上,脑袋慢慢地从一边晃到另一边,有时,在他出大气的时候,还可以听到他有气无力的哼哼声。

咖啡馆里有些骚动,爱密利亚小姐迅速地转过脸来。李蒙表哥进来了。那罗锅跟每天晚上一样,高视阔步地走进咖啡馆。当他走到房间正中心时,他突然收住脚步,机灵地四处望望,把来的人的情况在心里掂上一掂,当即做出决定,这天晚上要表现出什么样的情绪。这罗锅是个挑拨离间的能手。他喜欢看人家吵架,不用开口讲一句话,就能奇迹般地让人们对打起来。就是因为他,那一对姓芮内的孪生兄弟两年前为一把小折刀吵翻了,从此以后两人没说过一句话。那回吕伯·威尔邦与罗伯特·卡尔弗·哈尔大打出手,他在场;他也列席了他来到镇上后这件事引起的一系列殴斗。他到处嗅嗅,每一个人的隐私他都一清二楚。一天二十四小时,只要没在睡觉他就要管闲事。可是说来奇怪,尽管如此,咖啡馆之所以生意兴隆,还全亏小罗锅。只要他在场,气氛就活跃了。当他走进房间时,人们在刹那间总有一种紧张的感觉,因为有这位爱管闲事的家伙在场,你可说不准什么命运会落到你头上来,也说不准房间里会突然出什么事。人们越是感到前面可能有什么乱子和祸事临头,就越是放纵自己及时行乐。因此当小罗锅走进房间时,每一个人都扭过头来瞅瞅他,随即到处响起了聊天声和拧瓶塞的声音。

李蒙向胖墩麦克非尔招了招手,他是和梅里·芮恩与“鬈毛”亨利·福特坐在一起的。“我今儿个走到臭水湖去钓鱼,”他说,“半路上我抬起脚来要跨过一样东西,我起先还以为那是棵倒在地上的大树。可是我正要跨,它忽然动弹了。我再仔细瞧瞧,原来脚底下是一条大鳄鱼,有前门到厨房那么长,身子比猪还要粗。”

那罗锅叽里呱啦地讲下去。每一个人过一阵便向他这边瞅瞅。有的人留神听他的絮聒,有的人根本不理他。有时候他说了半天,没有一个字是真的。他今天晚上说的也都是吹牛和大话。其实整整一天他都躺在床上,因为天热,他的扁桃体化脓,快黄昏时才起来摇冰淇淋。这件事谁都知道。可他还是站在咖啡馆当中,口若悬河,滔滔不绝。那些大话不知道的人听了头皮都会发麻。

爱密利亚小姐瞧着他,双手插在裤兜里,脑袋侧向一边。她那双古怪的灰眼睛里自有一种柔情,她兀自在微笑呢。她有时也把眼光从罗锅那里挪开,瞧瞧咖啡馆里其他的人——那时候她的目光是骄傲的,里面包含着一丝威胁的意味,仿佛谁想让罗锅为自己的愚蠢行为承担责任,她就要跟谁玩命。杰夫正把已经盛在盆子里的晚饭端出来,咖啡馆新安的电风扇吹出了一股股惬意的凉风。

“小家伙睡着了。”亨利·马西终于开口了。

爱密利亚小姐低下头去看看她身边的病人,使自己脸色平静下来以应付这次手术。孩子的腮帮子贴在桌沿上,嘴角里冒出来一丝不知是口水还是万金酒。他双目紧闭,眼角上安详地簇拥着一群小腻虫。爱密利亚小姐把手按在他脑袋上,使劲摇了几下,可是病人没有醒。于是爱密利亚小姐就把孩子从桌子边上抱起来,留神不去碰他脚上疼痛的地方,进了办公室。亨利·马西跟着她,他们关上了办公室的门。

李蒙表哥那天晚上感到很无聊。没发生什么有意思的事,尽管天热,咖啡馆里顾客的脾气都很好。“鬈毛”亨利·福特和霍雷司·威尔斯坐在当中一张桌子边上,彼此搂着肩膀,为了一个冗长的笑话痴笑个没完——可是他走过去也仍然听不出个所以然来,因为前头他没有听到。月光把那条满是尘土的路照得很亮,那些矮矮的桃树纹丝不动,显得黑黝黝的,一点风也没有。沼泽里飞出来的蚊群发出催人欲眠的嗡嗡声,宛似寂静的夜晚的回声。整个镇上一片乌黑,只有右边路的尽头有一点灯火在闪烁摇曳。黑暗中不知哪儿有个女人用挺野的高音在唱一支小调,没头没尾,拢共三个音,翻过来覆过去唱个没完。罗锅站在前廊上,靠着一根柱子,眺望着空空荡荡的路,仿佛在等待谁的到来。

他背后响起了脚步声,接着是说话声:“李蒙表哥,你的晚饭在桌子上准备好了。”

“我今晚胃口不好,”那罗锅说,“我嘴巴里发酸。”他一整天都在吃鼻烟盒里的甜食。

“稍微吃几口也好嘛,”爱密利亚小姐说,“就吃胸脯肉、肝和心好了。”

他们一起回到明亮的咖啡馆里,坐到亨利·马西所在的那张桌子上。他们那张桌子是咖啡馆里最大的,桌上一只可口可乐瓶子里插着一束沼泽地里长的百合花。爱密利亚小姐治完病,心里很痛快。从关着的办公室门后只传出来几声瞌睡懵懂的呜咽,还不等病人醒来担惊害怕,手术都已经做完了。孩子这会儿趴在他爸爸的肩膀上,睡得很沉,小胳膊松松地垂在父亲的背上,喷着气的小脸蛋红红的……他们正要离开咖啡馆回家去。

亨利·马西仍然没有作声。他吃东西时很小心谨慎,咽食物时不发出一点声音,贪食的程度还不及李蒙表哥的三分之一,后者口口声声说胃口不好,却一次次把盆子里添加的菜都吃光。亨利·马西常常抬眼瞧瞧桌子对面的爱密利亚小姐,却仍然保持着缄默。

这是一个标准的星期六夜晚。从乡下来了一对老夫妻,手拉着手在门口踌躇了一会儿,最后还是决定进来。老两口共同生活了那么久,以至于都像孪生兄妹一样相像了。他们皮肤棕黑,佝偻干瘪,仿佛是两颗花生,不像的地方是他们还能走动。他们很早就走了,到半夜时分,大多数顾客都离开了。罗塞·克莱恩与梅里·芮恩还在下棋,胖墩麦克非尔坐在桌边,一只酒瓶放在桌子上(若是在家里,他老婆是不容许他这样放肆的),在心平气和地自言自语。亨利·马西还没有走,这是很不寻常的,因为往常他天一黑就要上床。爱密利亚小姐呵欠连连,可是李蒙表哥的精神还很亢奋,因此她没有建议关门安歇。

最后,一点钟的时候,亨利·马西抬头看了看天花板的一角,不动声色地对爱密利亚小姐说:“我今天收到了一封信。”

爱密利亚这样的人是不会因为这点小事大吃一惊的,因为她经常收到各种各样的商业函件和商品目录。

“这封信是我哥哥写来的。”亨利·马西说。

罗锅正在咖啡馆里高视阔步地走来走去,两只手对握着搁在脑后。这时他突然停住了脚步。对于一个集体的气氛的任何变化,他都是非常敏感的。他环视了房间里的每一张脸,在等待着。

爱密利亚皱起眉头,握紧了她的右拳。“谢谢你来告诉我。”她说。

“他获准了假释。他从监狱里出来了。”

爱密利亚小姐的脸变得非常阴郁,她打了个寒战,虽然天气很热。胖墩麦克非尔和梅里·芮恩推开了棋盘。咖啡馆里鸦雀无声。

“谁?”李蒙表哥问道。他那双苍白的大耳朵在脑袋上仿佛又长了一些出来,而且变硬了。“什么事?”

爱密利亚小姐拍了拍桌子,“马文·马西是个……”她嗓音变嘶哑了,过了好一阵才说得出话,“他应该一辈子都蹲在监狱里。”

“他干了什么啦?”李蒙表哥问。

长长的一阵沉默,因为谁也不清楚该怎么回答。“他抢过三个加油站。”胖墩麦克非尔说道。可是他的回答听起来并不完全,他似乎还隐瞒了什么重大的罪行。

小罗锅不耐烦了。他不能容忍有什么事背着他发生,哪怕是一场大灾难。马文·马西这名字他从来没听说过,但对他来说有吸引力。但凡别人提到谁都清楚唯独他不清楚的事,他心痒难熬,都想知晓——例如,他来之前拆掉的那座锯木厂啦,莫里斯·范恩斯坦那个苦命人啦,或是任何一件在他还没来时发生的事情。除了这种天生的好奇心之外,罗锅还对形形色色的抢劫案和犯罪行为怀有极大的兴趣。他一面绕着桌子走来走去,一面翻来覆去地念叨着“假释”“监狱”这些词儿。不过尽管他逼着追问,还是什么也没打听出来,谁也不敢在咖啡馆里当着爱密利亚小姐的面讲马文·马西的事。

“信里话不多,”亨利·马西说,“他没说他打算上哪儿。”

“哼!”爱密利亚小姐说,她的脸仍然非常严峻,非常阴郁,“他那只臭蹄子可别打算踩进我的地界。”

她把椅子往后推推,准备关店门。也许是脑子里出现马文·马西使她担了点心事吧,她把现金出纳机搬进了厨房,放在一个安妥的地方。亨利·马西顺着黑漆漆的路走了。可是“鬈毛”亨利·福特和梅里·芮恩还在前廊上逗留了一会儿。后来梅里·芮恩硬说自己那天晚上就有一个幻觉,预见了以后要发生的事。可是镇上的人谁也不理他,因为这人老是说这一套的话。爱密利亚小姐与李蒙表哥在客厅里说了一阵子话。最后,小罗锅觉得自己困了,她就替他把蚊帐放下来,等他做完祈祷。这以后,她穿上长睡袍,抽了两袋烟,过了好久以后才总算睡着。

那年秋天是段欢乐的时光。周围农村收成很好。在叉瀑的市场上,那一年烟草的价格一直是坚挺的。经过长长炎夏,最初那几天凉快的日子更加使人神清气爽。那条尘土飞扬的路,路边上长满了金黄色的菊花,甘蔗熟了,透出了紫红色。每天客车从奇霍开来,都带走几个小孩到公立学校去受教育。男孩子在松林里猎狐狸,洗衣绳上晾满了冬季的被褥,地上铺满土豆,还盖上了干草,准备抵御日后的严寒。暮色苍茫时,烟囱里升起了袅袅的炊烟,月亮在秋季的天空中显得浑圆、橘黄。秋天头几个寒冷的夜晚里,万籁俱寂,仿佛再也不能更寂静了。有时,到了深夜,只要没有风,连穿过社会城北去的火车的又尖又细的汽笛声,镇上都能听见。

对爱密利亚小姐来说,这正是她的大忙季节。她从天蒙蒙亮一直忙活到太阳落山。她给自己的酿酒厂做了一只新的更加大的冷凝器,这里一个星期之内流出来的酒就足以使全县的人烂醉如泥。她的那头老骡碾了那么多的高粱,都晕头转向了。她烫洗了广口瓶,把桃酱储存起来。她兴致勃勃地等待着第一次霜冻,因为她买了三头大猪,打算做大批烤肉和大小香肠。

在这几个星期里,人们都注意到爱密利亚小姐身上有一种新的特征。她常常笑,而且是

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