carson mccullers - the heart is a lonely hunter-第72章

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home。　
She　and　her　Dad　were　alike　in　the　way　that　now　they　always　
had　to　be　fooling　with　something。　She　kept　up　with　all　that　
went　on　in　the　house　and　the　neighborhood。　Spare…rib's　big　
sister　won　fifty　dollars　at　a　movie　bank　night。　Baby　Wilson　
had　the　bandage　off　her　head　now；　but　her　hair　was　cut　short　


like　a　boy's。　She　couldn't　dance　in　the　soiree　this　year；　and　
when　her　mother　took　her　to　see　it　Baby　began　to　yell　and　cut　
up　during　one　of　the　dances。　They　had　to　drag　her　out　of　the　
Opera　House。　And　on　the　sidewalk　Mrs。　Wilson　had　to　whip　
her　to　make　her　behave。　And　Mrs。　Wilson　cried；　too。　George　
hated　Baby。　He　would　hold　his　nose　and　stop　up　his　ears　when　
she　passed　by　the　house。　Pete　Wells　ran　away　from　home　and　
was　gone　three　weeks。　He　came　back　barefooted　and　very　
hungry。　He　bragged　about　how　he　had　gone　all　the　way　to　
New　Orleans。　
Because　of　Etta；　Mick　still　slept　in　the　living…room。　The　short　
sofa　cramped　her　so　much　that　she　had　to　make　up　sleep　in　
study　hall　at　school。　Every　other　night　Bill　swapped　with　her　
and　she　slept　with　George。　Then　a　lucky　break　came　for　them。　
A　fellow　who　had　a　room　upstairs　moved　away。　When　after　a　
week　had　gone　by　and　nobody　answered　the　ad　in　the　paper；　
their　Mama　told　Bill　he　could　move　up　to　the　vacant　room。　
Bill　was　very　pleased　to　have　a　place　entirely　by　himself　away　
from　the　family。　She　moved　in　with　George。　He　slept　like　a　
little　warm　kitty　and　breathed　very　quiet。　
She　knew　the　night…time　again。　But　not　the　same　as　in　the　last　
summer　when　she　walked　in　the　dark　by　herself　and　listened　
to　the　music　and　made　plans。　She　knew　the　night　a　different　
way　now。　In　bed　she　lay　awake。　A　queer　
afraidness　came　to　her。　It　was　like　the　ceiling　was　slowly　
pressing　down　toward　her　face。　How　would　it　be　if　the　house　
fell　apart？　Once　their　Dad　had　said　the　whole　place　ought　to　
be　condemned。　Did　he　mean　that　maybe　some　night　when　they　
were　asleep　the　walls　would　crack　and　the　house　collapse？　
Bury　them　under　all　the　plaster　and　broken　glass　and　smashed　
furniture？　So　that　they　could　not　move　or　breathe？　She　lay　
awake　and　her　muscles　were　stiff。　In　the　night　there　was　
creaking。　Was　that　somebody　walking　—somebody　else　
awake　besides　her—Mister　Singer？　
She　never　thought　about　Harry。　She　had　made　up　her　mind　to　
forget　him　and　she　did　forget　him。　He　wrote　that　he　had　a　job　
with　a　garage　in　Birmingham。　She　answered　with　a　card　
saying　'O。K。'　as　they　had　planned。　He　sent　his　mother　three　
dollars　every　week。　It　seemed　like　a　very　long　time　had　passed　
since　they　went　to　the　woods　together。　


During　the　day　she　was　busy　in　the　outside　room。　But　at　night
she　was　by　herself　in　the　dark　and　figuring　was　not　enough。
She　wanted　somebody。　She　tried　to　keep　George　awake。　'It
sure　is　fun　to　stay　awake　and　talk　in　the　dark。　Less　us　talk
awhile　together。
'
He　made　a　sleepy　answer。
'See　the　stars　out　the　window。　If　s　a　hard　thing　to　realize　that
every　single　one　of　those　little　stars　is　a　planet　as　large　as　the
earth。
'
*How　do　they　know　that？
'
They　just　do。　They　got　ways　of　measuring。　That's　science。
'
'I　don't　believe　in　it'
She　tried　to　egg　him　on　to　an　argument　so　that　he　would　get
mad　and　stay　awake。　He　just　let　her　talk　and　didn't　seem　to　pay
attention。　After　a　while　he　said：
'Look；　Mick！　You　see　that　branch　of　the　tree？　Don't　it　look
like　a　pilgrim　forefather　lying　down　with　a　gun　in　his　hand？
'
'It　sure　does。　That's　exactly　what　it's　like。　And　see　over　there
on　the　bureau。　Don't　that　bottle　look　like　a　funny　man　with　
a
hat　on？
'


。Naw；'　George　said。　'It　don't　look　a　bit　like　one　to　me。'　
She　took　a　drink　from　a　glass　of　water　on　the　floor。　'Less　me　
and　you　play　a　game—the　name　game。　You　can　be　It　if　you　
want　to。　Whichever　you　like。　You　can　choose。'268　
f　

269　

He　put　his　little　fists　up　to　his　face　and　breathed　in　a　quiet；
even　way　because　he　was　falling　asleep。
'Wait；　George！'　she　said。　〃This'll　be　fun。　I'm　somebody
beginning　with　an　M。　Guess　who　I　am。
'
George　sighed　and　his　voice　was　tired。　'Are　you　Harpo
Marx？
'
'No；　Fm　not　even　in　the　movies。
'
'I　don't　know。
'
'Sure　you　do。　My　name　begins　with　the　letter　M　and　I　live　in



Italy。　You　ought　to　guess　this。
'
George　turned　over　on　his　side　and　curled　up　in　a　ball。　
；
He　did　not　answer。
'My　name　begins　with　an　M　but　sometimes　I'm　called　a　
f
name　beginning　with　D。　In　Italy。　You　can　guess。
'


The　room　was　quiet　and　dark　and　George　was　asleep。　She
pinched　him　and　twisted　his　ear。　He　groaned　but　did　not
awake。　She　fitted　in　close　to　him　and　pressed　her　face　against
his　hot　little　naked　shoulder。　He　would　sleep　all　through　the
night　while　she　was　figuring　with　decimals。
Was　Mister　Singer　awake　in　his　room　upstairs？　Did　the　ceiling
creak　because　he　was　walking　quietly　up　and　down；　drinking　
a
cold　orange　crush　and　studying　the　chess　men　laid　out　on　the
table？　Had　ever　he　felt　a　terrible　afraidness　like　this　one？　No。
He　had　never　done　anything　wrong。　He　had　never　done　wrong
and　his　heart　was　quiet　in　the　nighttime。　Yet　at　the　same　time
he　would　understand。
If　only　she　could　tell　him　about　this；　then　it　would　be　better。
She　thought　of　how　she　would　begin　to　tell　him。　Mister　Singer
—I　know　this　girl　not　any　older　than　I　am—　Mister　Singer；　
I
don't　know　whether　you　understand　a　thing　like　this　or　not—
Mister　Singer。　Mister　Singer。　She　said　his　name　over　and　over。
She　loved　him　better　than　anyone　in　the　family；　better　even
than　George　or　her　Dad。　It　was　a　different　love。　It　was　not　like
anything　she　had　ever　felt　in　her　life　before。
In　the　mornings　she　and　George　would　dress　together　and　talk。
Sometimes　she　wanted　very　much　to　be　close　to　George。　He
had　grown　taller　and　was　pale　and　peaked。　His　soft；　reddish
hair　lay　raggedly　over　the　tops　of　his　little　ears。　His　sharp　eyes
were　always　squinted　so　that　his　face　had　a　strained　look。　His
permanent　teeth　were　coming　in；　but　they　were　blue　and　far
apart　like　his　baby　teeth　had　
。
been。　Often　his　jaw　was　crooked　because　he　had　a　habit　of
feeling　out　the　sore　new　teeth　with　his　tongue。
'Listen　here；　George；'　she　said。　'Do　you　love　me？
'
'Sure。　I　love　you　O。K。
'
It　was　a　hot；　sunny　morning　during　the　last　week　of　school。
George　was　dressed　and　he　lay　on　the　floor　doing　his　number
work。　His　dirty　little　fingers　squeezed　the　pencil　tight　and　he
kept　breaking　the　lead　point。　When　he　was　finished　she　held　him



by　the　shoulders　and　looked　hard　into　his　face。　'I　mean　a　lot。　A　
whole　lot。'　
'Lemme　go。　Sure　I　love　you。　Ain't　you　my　sister？'　
'I　know。　But　suppose　I　wasn't　your　sister。　Would　you　love　me　
then？'　
George　backed　away。　He　had　run　out　of　shirts　and　wore　a　dirty　
pullover　sweater。　His　wrists　were　thin　and　blue…veined。　The　
sleeves　of　the　sweater　had　stretched　so　that　they　hung　loose　and　
made　his　hands　look　very　small。　
'If　you　wasn't　my　sister　then　I　might　not　know　you。　So　I　couldn't　
love　you。'　

。But　if　you　did　know　me　and　I　wasn't　your　sister。
'
*But　how　do　you　know　I　would？　You　can't　prove　it。
'
。Well；　just　take　it　for　granted　and　pretend。
'
'I　reckon　I　would　like　you　all　right。　But　I　still　say　you　can't
prove…
'
'Prove！　You　got　that　word　on　the　brain。　Ptove　and　trick。
Everything　is　either　a　trick　or　it's　got　to　be　proved。　I　can't　stand
you；　George　Kelly。　I　hate　you。
'
'O。K。　Then　I　don't　like　you　none　either。
'
He　crawled　down　under　the　bed　for　something。
*What　you　want　under　there？　You　better　leave　my　things　alone。
If　I　ever　caught　you　meddling　in　my　private　box　I'd　bust　your
head　against　the　side　of　the　wall。　I　would。　I'd　stomp　on　your
brains。
'
George　came　out　from　under　the　bed　with　his　spelling　book。　His
dirty　little　paw　reached　in　a　hole　in　the　mattress　where　he　hid　his
marbles。　Nothing　could　faze　that　kid。　He　took　his　time　about
choosing　three　brown　agates　to　take　with　him。　'Aw；　shucks；
Mick；'　he　answered　her。　George　was　too　little　and　too　tough。
There　wasn't　any　sense　in　loving　him。　He　knew　even　less　about
things　than　she　did。
School　was　out　and　she　had　passed　every　subject—some　with　
A
plus　and　some　by　the　skin　of　her　teeth。　The　days270
were　long　and　hot。　Final