winesburg,ohio-第2章

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im。　　With　George　Willard；　son　of　Tom　Willard；　the　proprietor　of　the　New　Willard　House；　he　had　formed　some…　thing　like　a　friendship。　　George　Willard　was　the　re…　porter　on　the　Winesburg　Eagle　and　sometimes　in　the　evenings　he　walked　out　along　the　highway　to　Wing　Biddlebaum's　house。　　Now　as　the　old　man　walked　up　and　down　on　the　veranda；　his　hands　moving　nervously　about；　he　was　hoping　that　George　Willard　would　come　and　spend　the　evening　with　him。　　After　the　wagon　containing　the　berry　pickers　had　passed；　he　went　across　the　field　through　the　tall　mustard　weeds　and　climbing　a　rail　fence　peered　anxiously　along　the　road　to　the　town。　　For　a　moment　he　stood　thus；　rubbing　his　hands　together　and　looking　up　and　down　the　road；　and　then；　fear　overcoming　him；　ran　back　to　walk　again　upon　the　porch　on　his　own　house。

In　the　presence　of　George　Willard；　Wing　Bid…　dlebaum；　who　for　twenty　years　had　been　the　town　mystery；　lost　something　of　his　timidity；　and　his　shadowy　personality；　submerged　in　a　sea　of　doubts；　came　forth　to　look　at　the　world。　　With　the　young　reporter　at　his　side；　he　ventured　in　the　light　of　day　into　Main　Street　or　strode　up　and　down　on　the　rick…　ety　front　porch　of　his　own　house；　talking　excitedly。　The　voice　that　had　been　low　and　trembling　became　shrill　and　loud。　　The　bent　figure　straightened。　　With　a　kind　of　wriggle；　like　a　fish　returned　to　the　brook　by　the　fisherman；　Biddlebaum　the　silent　began　to　talk；　striving　to　put　into　words　the　ideas　that　had　been　accumulated　by　his　mind　during　long　years　of　silence。

Wing　Biddlebaum　talked　much　with　his　hands。　The　slender　expressive　fingers；　forever　active；　for…　ever　striving　to　conceal　themselves　in　his　pockets　or　behind　his　back；　came　forth　and　became　the　piston　rods　of　his　machinery　of　expression。

The　story　of　Wing　Biddlebaum　is　a　story　of　hands。　Their　restless　activity；　like　unto　the　beating　of　the　wings　of　an　imprisoned　bird；　had　given　him　his　name。　　Some　obscure　poet　of　the　town　had　thought　of　it。　　The　hands　alarmed　their　owner。　　He　wanted　to　keep　them　hidden　away　and　looked　with　amaze…　ment　at　the　quiet　inexpressive　hands　of　other　men　who　worked　beside　him　in　the　fields；　or　passed；　driving　sleepy　teams　on　country　roads。

When　he　talked　to　George　Willard；　Wing　Bid…　dlebaum　closed　his　fists　and　beat　with　them　upon　a　table　or　on　the　walls　of　his　house。　　The　action　made　him　more　comfortable。　　If　the　desire　to　talk　came　to　him　when　the　two　were　walking　in　the　fields；　he　sought　out　a　stump　or　the　top　board　of　a　fence　and　with　his　hands　pounding　busily　talked　with　re…　newed　ease。

The　story　of　Wing　Biddlebaum's　hands　is　worth　a　book　in　itself。　　Sympathetically　set　forth　it　would　tap　many　strange；　beautiful　qualities　in　obscure　men。　　It　is　a　job　for　a　poet。　　In　Winesburg　the　hands　had　attracted　attention　merely　because　of　their　activity。　With　them　Wing　Biddlebaum　had　picked　as　high　as　a　hundred　and　forty　quarts　of　strawberries　in　a　day。　They　became　his　distinguishing　feature；　the　source　of　his　fame。　　Also　they　made　more　grotesque　an　al…　ready　grotesque　and　elusive　individuality。　　Wines…　burg　was　proud　of　the　hands　of　Wing　Biddlebaum　in　the　same　spirit　in　which　it　was　proud　of　Banker　White's　new　stone　house　and　Wesley　Moyer's　bay　stallion；　Tony　Tip；　that　had　won　the　two…fifteen　trot　at　the　fall　races　in　Cleveland。

As　for　George　Willard；　he　had　many　times　wanted　to　ask　about　the　hands。　　At　times　an　almost　over…　whelming　curiosity　had　taken　hold　of　him。　　He　felt　that　there　must　be　a　reason　for　their　strange　activity　and　their　inclination　to　keep　hidden　away　and　only　a　growing　respect　for　Wing　Biddlebaum　kept　him　from　blurting　out　the　questions　that　were　often　in　his　mind。

Once　he　had　been　on　the　point　of　asking。　　The　two　were　walking　in　the　fields　on　a　summer　afternoon　and　had　stopped　to　sit　upon　a　grassy　bank。　　All　after…　noon　Wing　Biddlebaum　had　talked　as　one　inspired。　By　a　fence　he　had　stopped　and　beating　like　a　giant　woodpecker　upon　the　top　board　had　shouted　at　George　Willard；　condemning　his　tendency　to　be　too　much　influenced　by　the　people　about　him；　〃You　are　destroying　yourself；〃　he　cried。　　〃You　have　the　incli…　nation　to　be　alone　and　to　dream　and　you　are　afraid　of　dreams。　　You　want　to　be　like　others　in　town　here。　You　hear　them　talk　and　you　try　to　imitate　them。〃

On　the　grassy　bank　Wing　Biddlebaum　had　tried　again　to　drive　his　point　home。　　His　voice　became　soft　and　reminiscent；　and　with　a　sigh　of　contentment　he　launched　into　a　long　rambling　talk；　speaking　as　one　lost　in　a　dream。

Out　of　the　dream　Wing　Biddlebaum　made　a　pic…　ture　for　George　Willard。　　In　the　picture　men　lived　again　in　a　kind　of　pastoral　golden　age。　　Across　a　green　open　country　came　clean…limbed　young　men；　some　afoot；　some　mounted　upon　horses。　　In　crowds　the　young　men　came　to　gather　about　the　feet　of　an　old　man　who　sat　beneath　a　tree　in　a　tiny　garden　and　who　talked　to　them。

Wing　Biddlebaum　became　wholly　inspired。　　For　once　he　forgot　the　hands。　　Slowly　they　stole　forth　and　lay　upon　George　Willard's　shoulders。　　Some…　thing　new　and　bold　came　into　the　voice　that　talked。　〃You　must　try　to　forget　all　you　have　learned；〃　said　the　old　man。　　〃You　must　begin　to　dream。　　From　this　time　on　you　must　shut　your　ears　to　the　roaring　of　the　voices。〃

Pausing　in　his　speech；　Wing　Biddlebaum　looked　long　and　earnestly　at　George　Willard。　　His　eyes　glowed。　　Again　he　raised　the　hands　to　caress　the　boy　and　then　a　look　of　horror　swept　over　his　face。

With　a　convulsive　movement　of　his　body；　Wing　Biddlebaum　sprang　to　his　feet　and　thrust　his　hands　deep　into　his　trousers　pockets。　　Tears　came　to　his　eyes。　　〃I　must　be　getting　along　home。　　I　can　talk　no　more　with　you；〃　he　said　nervously。

Without　looking　back；　the　old　man　had　hurried　down　the　hillside　and　across　a　meadow；　leaving　George　Willard　perplexed　and　frightened　upon　the　grassy　slope。　　With　a　shiver　of　dread　the　boy　arose　and　went　along　the　road　toward　town。　　〃I'll　not　ask　him　about　his　hands；〃　he　thought；　touched　by　the　memory　of　the　terror　he　had　seen　in　the　man's　eyes。　〃There's　something　wrong；　but　I　don't　want　to　know　what　it　is。　　His　hands　have　something　to　do　with　his　fear　of　me　and　of　everyone。〃

And　George　Willard　was　right。　　Let　us　look　briefly　into　the　story　of　the　hands。　　Perhaps　our　talking　of　them　will　arouse　the　poet　who　will　tell　the　hidden　wonder　story　of　the　influence　for　which　the　hands　were　but　fluttering　pennants　of　promise。

In　his　youth　Wing　Biddlebaum　had　been　a　school　teacher　in　a　town　in　Pennsylvania。　　He　was　not　then　known　as　Wing　Biddlebaum；　but　went　by　the　less　euphonic　name　of　Adolph　Myers。　　As　Adolph　Myers　he　was　much　loved　by　the　boys　of　his　school。

Adolph　Myers　was　meant　by　nature　to　be　a　teacher　of　youth。　　He　was　one　of　those　rare；　little…　understood　men　who　rule　by　a　power　so　gentle　that　it　passes　as　a　lovable　weakness。　　In　their　feeling　for　the　boys　under　their　charge　such　men　are　not　unlike　the　finer　sort　of　women　in　their　love　of　men。

And　yet　that　is　but　crudely　stated。　　It　needs　the　poet　there。　　With　the　boys　of　his　school；　Adolph　Myers　had　walked　in　the　evening　or　had　sat　talking　until　dusk　upon　the　schoolhouse　steps　lost　in　a　kind　of　dream。　　Here　and　there　went　his　hands；　caressing　the　shoulders　of　the　boys；　playing　about　the　tousled　heads。　　As　he　talked　his　voice　became　soft　and　musi…　cal。　　There　was　a　caress　in　that　also。　　In　a　way　the　voice　and　the　hands；　the　stroking　of　the　shoulders　and　the　touching　of　the　hair　were　a　part　of　the　schoolmaster's　effort　to　carry　a　dream　into　the　young　minds。　　By　the　caress　that　was　in　his　fingers　he　ex…　pressed　himself。　　He　was　one　of　those　men　in　whom　the　force　that　creates　life　is　diffused；　not　centralized。　Under　the　caress　of　his　hands　doubt　and　disbelief　went　out　of　the　minds　of　the　boys　and　they　began　also　to　dream。

And　then　the　tragedy。　　A　half…witted　boy　of　the　school　became　enamored　of　the　young　master。　　In　his　bed　at　night　he　imagined　unspeakable　things　and　in　the　morning　went　forth　to　tell　his　dreams　as　facts。　Strange；　hideous　accusations　fell　from　his　loose…　hung　lips。　　Through　the　Pennsylvania　town　went　a　shiver。　　Hidden；　shadowy　doubts　that　had　been　in　men's　minds　concerning　Adolph　Myers　were　galva…　nized　into　beliefs。

The　tragedy　did　not　linger。　　Trembling　lads　were　jerked　out　of　be