carson mccullers - the heart is a lonely hunter-第66章

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on　this　sidewalk　where　they'd　have　to　scrape　you　up　with　
shovels。'　
The　two　men　looked　at　each　other；　cowed；　and　tried　to　walk　
on。　But　Jake　would　not　let　them　pass。　He　kept　step　with　them；　
walking　backward；　a　furious　sneer　on　his　face。　
'All　I　got　to　say　is　this：　In　the　future　I　suggest　you　come　to　me　
whenever　you　feel　the　need　to　make　remarks　about　my　height；　
weight；　accent；　demeanor；　or　ideology。　And　that　last　is　not　
what　I　take　a　leak　with　either—case　you　don't　know。　We　will　
discuss　it　together。'　


Afterward　Jake　treated　the　two　men　with　angry　contempt。　
Behind　his　back　they　jeered　at　him。　One　afternoon　he　found　
that　the　engine　of　the　swings　had　been　deliberately　damaged　
and　he　had　to　work　three　hours　overtime　to　fix　it。　Always　he　
felt　someone　was　laughing　at　him。　Each　time　he　heard　the　girls　
talking　together　he　drew　himself　up　straight　and　laughed　
carelessly　aloud　to　himself　as　though　thinking　of　some　private　
joke。244　

The　warm　southwest　winds　from　the　Gulf　of　Mexico　were　
heavy　with　the　smells　of　spring。　The　days　grew　longer　and　the　
sun　was　bright。　The　lazy　warmth　depressed　him。　He　began　to　
drink　again。　As　soon　as　work　was　done　he　went　home　and　lay　
down　on　his　bed。　Sometimes　he　stayed　there；　fully　clothed　and　
inert；　for　twelve　or　thirteen　hours。　The　restlessness　that　had　
caused　him　to　sob　and　bite　his　nails　only　a　few　months　before　
seemed　to　have　gone。　And　yet　beneath　his　inertia　Jake　felt　the　
old　tension。　Of　all　the　places　he　had　been　this　was　the　
loneliest　town　of　all。　Or　it　would　be　without　Singer。　Only　he　
and　Singer　understood　the　truth。　He　knew　and　could　not　get　
the　don't…knows　to　see。　It　was　like　trying　to　fight　darkness　or　
heat　or　a　stink　in　the　air。　He　stared　morosely　out　of　his　
window。　A　stunted；　smoked…blackened　tree　at　the　corner　had　
put　out　new　leaves　of　a　bilious　green。　The　sky　was　always　a　
deep；　hard　blue。　The　mosquitoes　from　a　fetid　stream　that　ran　
through　this　part　of　the　town　buzzed　in　the　room。　
He　caught　the　itch。　He　mixed　some　sulphur　and　hog　fat　and　
greased　his　body　every　morning。　He　clawed　himself　raw　and　it　
seemed　that　the　itching　would　never　be　soothed。　One　night　he　
broke　loose。　He　had　been　sitting　alone　for　many　hours。　He　had　
mixed　gin　and　whiskey　and　was　very　drunk。　It　was　almost　
morning。　He　leaned　out　of　the　window　and　looked　at　the　dark　
silent　street。　He　thought　of　all　the　people　around　him。　
Sleeping。　The　don't…knows。　Suddenly　he　bawled　out　in　a　loud　
voice：　〃This　is　the　truth！　You　bastards　don't　know　anything。　
You　don't　know。　You　don't　know！1　
The　street　awoke　angrily。　Lamps　were　lighted　and　sleepy　
curses　were　called　to　him。　The　men　who　lived　in　the　house　
rattled　furiously　on　his　door。　The　girls　from　a　cat…house　across　
the　street　stuck　their　heads　out　of　the　windows。　


'You　dumb　dumb　dumb　dumb　bastards。　You　dumb　dumb　
dumb　dumb'　
'Shuddup！　ShuddupF　
The　fellows　in　the　hall　were　pushing　against　the　door：　。You　
drunk　bull！　You'll　be　a　sight　dumber　when　we　get　thu　with　
you。'　
'How　many　out　there？'　Jake　roared。　He　banged　an　

empty　bottle　on　the　windowsill。　'Come　on；　everybody。　Come　
one；　come　all。　I'll　settle　you　three　at　a　time。'　
'That's　right；　Honey；'　a　whore　called。　
The　door　was　giving　way。　Jake　jumped　from　the　window　and　
ran　through　a　side　alley。　'Hee…haw！　Hee…haw！'　he　yelled　
drunkenly。　He　was　barefooted　and　shirtless。　An　hour　later　he　
stumbled　into　Singer's　room。　He　sprawled　on　the　floor　and　
laughed　himself　to　sleep。　
On　an　April　morning　he　found　the　body　of　a　man　who　had　
been　murdered。　A　young　Negro。　Jake　found　him　in　a　ditch　
about　thirty　yards　from　the　showgrounds。　The　Negro's　throat　
had　been　slashed　so　that　the　head　was　rolled　back　at　a　crazy　
angle。　The　sun　shone　hot　on　his　open；　glassy　eyes　and　flies　
hovered　over　the　dried　blood　that　covered　his　chest。　The　dead　
man　held　a　red…and…yellow　cane　with　a　tassel　like　the　ones　
sold　at　the　hamburger　booth　at　the　show。　Jake　stared　gloomily　
down　at　the　body　for　some　time。　Then　he　called　the　police。　No　
clues　were　found。　Two　days　later　the　family　of　the　dead　man　
claimed　his　body　at　the　morgue。　
At　the　Sunny　Dixie　there　were　frequent　fights　and　quarrels。　
Sometimes　two　friends　would　come　to　the　show　arm　in　arm；　
laughing　and　drinking—and　before　they　left　they　would　be　
struggling　together　in　a　panting　rage。　Jake　was　always　alert。　
Beneath　the　gaudy　gaiety　of　the　show；　the　bright　lights；　and　
the　lazy　laughter；　he　felt　something　sullen　and　dangerous。　
Through　these　dazed；　disjointed　weeks　Simms　nagged　his　
footsteps　constantly。　The　old　man　liked　to　come　with　a　
soapbox　and　a　Bible　and　take　a　stand　in　the　middle　of　the　
crowd　to　preach。　He　talked　of　the　second　coming　of　Christ。　He　
said　that　the　Day　of　Judgment　would　be　October　2；　1951。　He　


would　point　out　certain　drunks　and　scream　at　them　in　his　raw；　
worn　voice。　Excitement　made　his　mouth　fill　with　water　so　that　
his　words　had　a　wet；　gurgling　sound。　Once　he　had　slipped　in　
and　set　up　his　stand　no　arguments　could　make　him　budge。　He　
made　Jake　a　present　of　a　Gideon　Bible；　and　told　him　to　pray　
on　his　knees　for　one　hour　each　night　and　to　hurl　away　every　
glass　of　beer　or　cigarette　that　was　offered　him。　
They　quarreled　over　walls　and　fences。　Jake　had　begun246　

to　carry　chalk　in　his　pockets；　also。　He　wrote　brief　sentences。　
He　tried　to　word　them　so　that　a　passerby　would　stop　and　
ponder　over　the　meaning。　So　that　a　man　would　wonder。　So　
that　a　man　would　think。　Also；　he　wrote　short　pamphlets　and　
distributed　them　in　the　streets。　
If　it　had　not　been　for　Singer；　Jake　knew　that　he　would　have　
left　the　town。　Only　on　Sunday；　when　he　was　with　his　friend；　
did　he　feel　at　peace。　Sometimes　they　would　go　for　a　walk　
together　or　play　chess—but　more　often　they　spent　the　day　
quietly　in　Singer's　room。　If　he　wished　to　talk　Singer　was　
always　attentive。　If　he　sat　morosely　through　the　day　the　mute　
understood　his　feelings　and　was　not　surprised。　It　seemed　to　
him　that　only　Singer　could　help　him　now。　
Then　one　Sunday　when　he　climbed　the　stairs　he　saw　that　
Singer's　door　was　open。　The　room　was　empty。　He　sat　alone　for　
more　than　two　hours。　At　last　he　heard　Singer's　footsteps　on　the　
stairs。　
'I　was　wondering　about　you。　Where　you　been？*　
Singer　smiled。　He　brushed　off　his　hat　with　a　handkerchief　and　
put　it　away。　Then　deliberately　he　took　his　silver　pencil　from　
his　pocket　and　leaned　over　the　mantelpiece　to　write　a　note。　
'What　you　mean？'　Jake　asked　when　he　read　what　the　mute　had　
written。　'Whose　legs　are　cut　off？'　
Singer　took　back　the　note　and　wrote　a　few　additional　
sentences。　
'Huh！'　Jake　said。　That　don't　surprise　me。'　
He　brooded　over　the　piece　of　paper　and　then　crumpled　it　in　his　
hand。　The　listlessness　of　the　past　month　was　gone　and　he　was　
tense　and　uneasy。　'Huh！'　he　said　again。　
Singer　put　on　a　pot　of　coffee　and　got　out　his　chessboard。　Jake　
tore　the　note　to　pieces　and　rolled　the　fragments　between　his　


sweating　palms。
'But　something　can　be　done　about　this；'　he　said　after　a　while。
'You　know　it？
'
Singer　nodded　uncertainly。
'I　want　to　see　the　boy　and　hear　the　whole　story。　When　can　you
take　me　around　there？
'
Singer　deliberated。　Then　he　wrote　on　a　pad　of　paper；　'Tonight。
'
Jake　held　his　hand　to　his　mouth　and　began　to　walk　restlessly
around　the　room。　'We　can　do　something。
'


13


247　

J　AKE　and　Singer　waited　on　the　front　porch。　When　they　pushed　
the　doorbell　there　was　no　sound　of　a　ring　in　the　darkened　
house。　Jake　knocked　impatiently　and　pressed　his　nose　against　
the　screen　door。　Beside　him　Singer　stood　wooden　and　smiling；　
with　two　spots　of　color　on　his　cheeks；　for　they　had　drunk　a　
bottle　of　gin　together。　The　evening　was　quiet　and　dark。　Jake　
watched　a　yellow　light　shaft　softly　through　the　hall。　And　
Portia　opened　the　door　for　them。　
'I　certainly　trust　you　not　been　waiting　long。　So　many　folks　
been　coming　that　us　thought　it　wise　to　untach　the　bell。　You　
gentlemens　just　let　me　take　you　hats—Father　been　mighty　
sick。'　
Jake　tiptoed　heavily　behind　Singer　down　the　bare；　narrow　hall。　
At　the　threshold　of　the　kitchen　he　stopped　short　The　room　was　
crowded　and　hot。　A　fire　burned　in　the　small　wood　s