carson mccullers - the heart is a lonely hunter-第13章

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by　herself　and　study　about　this　music。　But　though　she　thought　
about　this　a　long　time　she　knew　in　the　beginning　that　there　
was　no　good　place。　
l_j　ATE　in　the　afternoon　Jake　Blount　awoke　with　the　feeling　
that　he　had　slept　enough。　The　room　hi　which　he　lay　was　small　


and　neat；　furnished　with　a　bureau；　a　table；　a　bed；　and　a　few　
chairs。　On　the　bureau　an　electric　fan　turned　its　face　slowly　
from　one　wall　to　another；　and　as　the　breeze　from　it　passed　
Jake's　face　he　thought　of　cool　water。　By　the　window　a　man　sat　
before　the　table　and　stared　down　at　a　chess　game　laid　out　
before　him。　In　the　daylight　the　room　was　not　familiar　to　Jake；　
but　he　recognized　the　man's　face　instantly　and　it　was　as　though　
he　had　known　him　a　very　long　time。　
Many　memories　were　confused　in　Jake's　mind。　He　lay　
motionless　with　his　eyes　open　and　his　hands　turned　palm　
upward。　His　hands　were　huge　and　very　brown　against　the　
white　sheet。　When　he　held　them　up　to　his　face　he　saw　that　
they　were　scratched　and　bruised—and　the　veins　were46　

I　

swollen　as　though　he　had　been　grasping　hard　at　something　for　
a　long　time。　His　face　looked　tired　and　unkempt。　His　brown　
hair　fell　down　over　his　forehead　and　his　mustache　was　awry。　
Even　his　wing…shaped　eyebrows　were　rough　and　tousled。　As　
he　lay　there　his　lips　moved　once　or　twice　and　his　mustache　
jerked　with　a　nervous　quiver。　。　
After　a　while　he　sat　up　and　gave　himself　a　thump　on　the　f　
side　of　his　head　with　one　of　his　big　fists　to　straighten　himself　
out。　When　he　moved；　the　man　playing　chess　looked　up　quickly　
and　smiled　at　him。　
'God；　I'm　thirsty；'　Jake　said。　'I　feel　like　the　whole　Russian　army　
marched　through　my　mouth　in　its　stocking　feet。'　The　man　
looked　at　him；　still　smiling；　and　then　suddenly　he　reached　
down　on　the　other　side　of　the　table　and　brought　up　a　frosted　
pitcher　of　ice　water　and　a　glass。　Jake　drank　in　great　panting　
gulps—standing　half…naked　in　the　middle　of　the　room；　his　
head　thrown　back　and　one　of　his　hands　closed　in　a　tense　fist。　
He　finished　four　glasses　before　he　took　a　deep　breath　and　
relaxed　a　little。　
Instantly　certain　recollections　came　to　him。　He　couldn't　
remember　coming　home　with　this　man；　but　things　that　had　
happened　later　were　clearer　now。　He　had　waked　up　soaking　in　
a　tub　of　cold　water；　and　afterward　they　drank　coffee　and　
talked。　He　had　got　a　lot　of　things　off　his　chest　and　the　man　had　


listened。　He　had　talked　himself　hoarse；　but　he　could　remember　
the　expressions　on　the　man's　face　better　than　anything　that　was　
said。　They　had　gone　to　bed　in　the　morning　with　the　shade　
pulled　down　so　no　light　could　come　in。　At　first　he　would　keep　
waking　up　with　nightmares　and　have　to　turn　the　light　on　to　get　
himself　clear　again。　The　light　would　wake　this　fellow　also；　but　
he　hadn't　complained　at　all。　
'How　come　you　didn't　kick　me　out　last　night？'　The　man　only　
smiled　again。　Jake　wondered　why　he　was　so　quiet。　He　looked　
around　for　his　clothes　and　saw　that　his　suitcase　was　on　the　
floor　by　the　bed。　He　couldn't　remember　how　he　had　got　it　back　
from　the　restaurant　where　he　owed　for　the　drinks。　His　books；　a　
white　suit；　and　some　shirts　were　all　there　as　he　had　packed　
them。　Quickly　he　began　to　dress　himself。　
An　electric　coffee…pot　was　perking　on　the　table　by　the

47　
time　he　had　his　clothes　on。　The　man　reached　into　the　pocket　of　
the　vest　that　hung　over　the　back　of　a　chair。　He　brought　out　a　
card　and　Jake　took　it　questioningly。　The　man's　name—John　
Singer—was　engraved　in　the　center；　and　beneath　this；　written　
in　ink　with　the　same　elaborate　precision　as　the　engraving；　
there　was　a　brief　message。　
I　am　a　deaf…mute；　but　I　read　the　lips　and　understand　what　is　
said　to　me。　Please　do　not　shout。　
The　shock　made　Jake　feel　light　and　vacant。　He　and　John　
Singer　just　looked　at　each　other。　
'I　wonder　how　long　it　would　have　taken　me　to　find　that　out；'　he　
said。　
Singer　looked　very　carefully　at　his　lips　when　he　spoke…he　had　
noticed　that　before。　But　a　dummy！　
They　sat　at　the　table　and　drank　hot　coffee　out　of　blue　cups。　
The　room　was　cool　and　the　half…drawn　shades　softened　the　
hard　glare　from　the　windows。　Singer　brought　from　his　closet　a　
tin　box　that　contained　a　loaf　of　bread；　some　oranges；　and　
cheese。　He　did　not　eat　much；　but　sat　leaning　back　in　his　chair　
with　one　hand　in　his　pocket。　Jake　ate　hungrily。　He　would　have　
to　leave　the　place　immediately　and　think　things　over。　As　long　
as　he　was　stranded　he　ought　to　scout　around　for　some　sort　of　
job　in　a　hurry。　The　quiet　room　was　too　peaceful　and　
comfortable　to　worry　in　—he　would　get　out　and　walk　by　


himself　for　a　while。　
'Are　there　any　other　deaf…mute　people　here？'　he　asked。　*You　
have　many　friends？'　
Singer　was　still　smiling。　He　did　not　catch　on　to　the　words　at　
first；　and　Jake　had　to　repeat　them。　Singer　raised　his　sharp；　dark　
eyebrows　and　shook　his　head。　
'Find　it　lonesome？'　
The　man　shook　his　head　in　a　way　that　might　have　meant　either　
yes　or　no。　They　sat　silently　for　a　little　while　and　then　Jake　got　
up　to　leave。　He　thanked　Singer　several　times　for　the　night's　
lodging；　moving　his　lips　carefully　so　that　he　was　sure　to　be　
understood。　The　mute　only　smiled　again　and　shrugged　his　
shoulders。　When　Jake　asked　if　he　could　leave　his　suitcase　
under　the　bed　for　a　few　days　the　mute　nodded　that　he　could。48　

Then　Singer　took　his　hands　from　his　pocket　and　wrote　
carefully　on　a　pad　of　paper　with　a　silver　pencil。　He　shoved　the　
pad　over　toward　Jake。　
/　can　put　a　mattress　on　the　floor　and　you　can　stay　here　until　
you　find　a　place。　I　am　out　most　of　the　day。　It　will　not　be　any　
trouble。　

Jake　felt　his　lips　tremble　with　a　sudden　feeling　of　gratefulness。　
But　he　couldn't　accept。　'Thanks；'　he　said；　'I　already　got　a　place。'　
As　he　was　leaving　the　mute　handed　him　a　pair　of　blue　
overalls；　rolled　into　a　tight　bundle；　and　seventy…five　cents。　The　
overalls　were　filthy　and　as　Jake　recognized　them　they　aroused　
in　him　a　whirl　of　sudden　memories　from　the　past　week。　The　
money；　Singer　made　him　understand；　had　been　in　his　pockets。　
'Adios；'　Jake　said。　Til　be　back　sometime　soon。'　
He　left　the　mute　standing　in　the　doorway　with　his　hands　still　
in　his　pockets　and　the　half…smile　on　his　face。　When　he　had　
gone　down　several　steps　of　the　stairs　he　turned　and　waved。　
The　mute　waved　back　to　him　and　closed　his　door。　
Outside　the　glare　was　sudden　and　sharp　against　his　eyes。　He　
stood　on　the　sidewalk　before　the　house；　too　dazzled　at　first　by　
the　sunlight　to　see　very　clearly。　A　youngun　was　sitting　on　the　
banisters　of　the　house。　He　had　seen　her　somewhere　before。　He　
remembered　the　boy's　shorts　she　was　wearing　and　the　way　she　
squinted　her　eyes。　
He　held　up　the　dirty　roll　of　overalls。　1　want　to　throw　these　


away。　Know　where　I　can　find　a　garbage　can？'　
The　kid　jumped　down　from　the　banisters。　'It's　in　the　back　yard。　
I'll　show　you。'　
He　followed　her　through　the　narrow；　dampish　alley　at　the　side　
of　the　house。　When　they　came　to　the　back　yard　Jake　saw　that　
two　Negro　men　were　sitting　on　the　back　steps。　They　were　both　
dressed　in　white　suits　and　white　shoes。　One　of　the　Negroes　
was　very　tall　and　his　tie　and　socks　were　brilliant　green。　The　
other　was　a　light　mulatto　of　average　height。　He　rubbed　a　tin　
harmonica　across　his　knee。　In　contrast　with　his　tall　companion　
his　socks　and　tie　were　a　hot　red。　
The　kid　pointed　to　the　garbage　can　by　the　back　fence　

49　

and　then　turned　to　the　kitchen　window。　'Portia！'　she　called。
'Highboy　and　Willie　here　waiting　for　you。
'
A　soft　voice　answered　from　the　kitchen。　'You　neen　holler　so
loud。　I　know　they　is。　I　putting　on　my　hat　right　now。
'
Jake　unrolled　the　overalls　before　throwing　them　away。　They
were　stiff　with　mud。　One　leg　was　torn　and　a　few　drops　of
blood　stained　the　front。　He　dropped　them　in　the　can。　A　Negro
girl　came　out　of　the　house　and　joined　the　white…suited　boys　on
the　steps。　Jake　saw　that　the　youngun　in　shorts　was　looking　at
him　very　closely。　She　changed　her　weight　from　one　foot　to　the
other　and　seemed　excited。
'Are　you　kin　to　Mister　Singer？'　she　asked。
'Not　a　bit。
'
'Good　friend？
'
'Good　enough　to　spend　the　night　with　him。
'
'I　just　wondered
'
'Which　direction　is　Main　Street？
'
She　poi