carson mccullers - the heart is a lonely hunter-第80章

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closed。　But　it　would　have　to　be　a　short　sleep　because　soon　he　
must　get　out　of　here。　
'How　long　will　this　rain　keep　on？'　
Brannon's　voice　had　drowsy　overtones。　'You　can't　tell—　a　
tropical　cloudburst。　Might　clear　up　suddenly—or—　might　thin　
a　little　and　set　in　for　the　night。'　
Jake　laid　his　head　down　on　his　arms。　The　sound　of　the　rain　
was　nice　the　swelling　sound　of　the　sea。　He　heard　a　clock　tick　
and　the　far…off　rattle　of　dishes。　Gradually　his　hands　relaxed。　
They　lay　open；　palm　upward；　on　the　table。　
Then　Brannon　was　shaking　him　by　the　shoulders　and　looking　
into　his　face。　A　terrible　dream　was　in　his　mind。　'Wake　up；'　
Brannon　was　saying。　'You've　had　a　nightmare。　I　looked　over　


here　and　your　mouth　was　open　and　you　were　groaning　and　
shuffling　your　feet　on　the　floor。　I　never　saw　anything　to　equal　
it。'　
The　dream　was　still　heavy　in　his　mind。　He　felt　the　old　terror　
that　always　came　as　he　awakened。　He　pushed　Brannon　away　
and　stood　up。　'You　don't　have　to　tell　me　I　had　a　nightmare。　I　
remember　just　how　it　was。　And　Fve　had　the　same　dream　for　
about　fifteen　times　before。'　
He　did　remember　now。　Every　other　time　he　had　been　unable　to　
get　the　dream　straight　in　his　waking　mind。　He　had　been　
walking　among　a　great　crowd　of　people—like　at　the　show。　But　
there　was　also　something　Eastern　about　the　people　around　
him。　There　was　a　terrible　bright　sun　and　the　people　were　half…
naked。　They　were　silent　and　slow　and　their　faces　had　a　look　in　
them　of　starvation。　There　was　no　sound；　only　the　sun；　and　the　
silent　crowd　of　people。　He　walked　among　them　and　he　carried　
a　huge　covered　basket。　He　was　taking　the　basket　somewhere　
but　he　could　not　find　the　place　to　leave　it　And　in　the　dream　
there　was　a　peculiar　horror　in　wandering　on　and　on　through　
the　crowd　and　not　knowing　where　to　lay　down　the　burden　he　
had　carried　in　his　arms　so　long。　
'What　was　it？'　Brannon　asked。　'Was　the　devil　chasing　you？'298　

Jake　stood　up　and　went　to　the　mirror　behind　the　counter。　His　
face　was　dirty　and　sweaty。　There　were　dark　circles　beneath　his　
eyes。　He　wet　his　handkerchief　under　the　fountain　faucet　and　
wiped　off　his　face。　Then　he　took　out　a　pocket　comb　and　neatly　
combed　his　mustache。　
'The　dream　was　nothing。　You　got　to　be　asleep　to　understand　
why　it　was　such　a　nightmare。'　
The　clock　pointed　to　five…thirty。　The　rain　had　almost　stopped。　
Jake　picked　up　his　suitcase　and　went　to　the　front　door。　'So　
long。　I'll　send　you　a　postcard　maybe。'　
'Wait；'　Brannon　said。　'You　can't　go　now。　It's　still　raining　a　
little。'　
'Just　dripping　off　the　awning。　I　rather　get　out　of　town　before　
dark。'　
'But　hold　on。　Do　you　have　any　money？　Enough　to　keep　going　
for　a　week？'　
'I　don't　need　money。　I　been　broke　before。'　Brannon　had　an　


envelope　ready　and　in　it　were　two　twenty…dollar　bills。　Jake　
looked　at　them　on　both　sides　and　put　them　in　his　pocket。　'God　
knows　why　you　do　it。　You'll　never　smell　them　again。　But　
thanks。　I　won't　forget。'　'Good　luck。　And　let　me　hear　from　you。'　
'Adios。1　'Good…bye。'　
The　door　closed　behind　him。　When　he　looked　back　at　the　end　
of　the　block；　Brannon　was　watching　from　the　sidewalk。　He　
walked　until　he　reached　the　railroad　tracks。　On　either　side　
there　were　rows　of　dilapidated　two…room　houses。　In　the　
cramped　back　yards　were　rotted　privies　and　lines　of　torn；　
smoky　rags　hung　out　to　dry。　For　two　miles　there　was　not　one　
sight　of　comfort　or　space　or　cleanliness。　Even　the　earth　itself　
seemed　filthy　and　abandoned。　Now　and　then　there　were　signs　
that　a　vegetable　row　had　been　attempted；　but　only　a　few　
withered　collards　had　survived。　And　a　few　fruitless；　smutty　fig　
trees。　Little　younguns　swarmed　in　this　filth；　the　smaller　of　
them　stark　naked。　The　sight　of　this　poverty　was　so　cruel　and　
hopeless　that　Jake　snarled　and　clenched　his　fists。　
He　reached　the　edge　of　town　and　turned　off　on　a　highway。　
Cars　passed　him　by。　His　shoulders　were　too　wide　and　his　arms　
too　long。　He　was　so　strong　and　ugly　that　no　one　wanted　to　take　
him　in。　But　maybe　a　truck　would　stop　

299　
before　long。　The　late　afternoon　sun　was　out　again。　Heat　made　
the　steam　rise　from　the　wet　pavement。　Jake　walked　steadily。　
As　soon　as　the　town　was　behind　a　new　surge　of　energy　came　
to　him。　But　was　this　flight　or　was　it　onslaught？　Anyway；　he　
was　going。　All　this　to　begin　another　time。　The　road　ahead　lay　
to　the　north　and　slightly　to　the　west。　But　he　would　not　go　too　
far　away。　He　would　not　leave　the　South。　That　was　one　clear　
thing。　There　was　hope　in　him；　and　soon　perhaps　the　outline　of　
his　journey　would　take　form。　
Evening　
W　HAT　good　was　it？　That　was　the　question　she　would　like　to　
know。　What　the　hell　good　was　it。　All　the　plans　she　had　made；　
and　the　music。　When　all　that　came　of　it　was　this　trap—the　
store；　then　home　to　sleep；　and　back　at　the　store　again。　The　
clock　in　front　of　the　place　where　Mister　Singer　used　to　work　
pointed　to　seven。　And　she　was　just　getting　off。　Whenever　


there　was　overtime　the　manager　always　told　her　to　stay。　
Because　she　could　stand　longer　on　her　feet　and　work　harder　
before　giving　out　than　any　other　girL　
The　heavy　rain　had　left　the　sky　a　pale；　quiet　blue。　Dark　was　
coming。　Already　the　lights　were　turned　on。　Automobile　horns　
honked　in　the　street　and　the　newsboys　hollered　out　the　
headlines　in　the　papers。　She　didn't　want　to　go　home。　If　she　
went　home　now　she　would　lie　down　on　the　bed　and　bawl。　That　
was　how　tired　she　was。　But　if　she　went　into　the　New　York　
Caf6　and　ate　some　ice　cream　she　might　feel　O。K。　And　smoke　
and　be　by　herself　a　little　while。　
The　front　part　of　the　caf6　was　crowded；　so　she　went　to　the　
very　last　booth。　It　was　the　small　of　her　back　and　her　face　that　
got　so　tired。　Their　motto　was　supposed　to　be　'Keep　on　your　
toes　and　smile。'　Once　she　was　out　of　the　store　she　had　to　frown　
a　long　time　to　get　her　face　natural　again。　Even　her　ears　were　
tired。　She　took　off　the　dangling　green　earrings　and　pinched　the　
lobes　of　her　ears。　She　had　bought　the　earrings　the　week　before　
—and　also　a　silver　bangle　bracelet。　At　first　she　had　worked　in　
Pots　and　Pans；　but　now　they　had　changed　her　to　Costume　
Jewelry。　
'Good　evening；　Mick；'　Mister　Brannon　said。　He　wiped300　

the　bottom　of　a　glass　of　water　with　a　napkin　and　set　it　on　
the　table。　
'I　want　me　a　chocolate　sundae　and　a　nickel　glass　of　draw　
beer。'　
'Together？'　He　put　down　a　menu　and　pointed　with　Ms　
little　finger　that　wore　a　lady's　gold　ring。　'See—here's　some　
nice　roast　chicken　or　some　veal　stew。　Why　don't　you　have　
a　little　supper　with　me？'　
'No；　thanks。　All　I　want　is　the　sundae　and　the　beer。　Both　
plenty　cold。'　
Mick　raked　her　hair　from　her　forehead。　Her　mouth　was　
open　so　that　her　cheeks　seemed　hollow。　There　were　these　
two　things　she　could　never　believe。　That　Mister　Singer　had　
killed　himself　and　was　dead。　And　that　she　was　grown　and　
had　to　work　at　Woolworth's。　

She　was　the　one　who　found　him。　They　had　thought　the　noise　
was　a　backfire　from　a　car；　and　it　was　not　until　the　next　day　


that　they　knew。　She　went　in　to　play　the　radio。　The　blood　was　
all　over　his　neck　and　when　her　Dad　came　he　pushed　her　out　
of　the　room。　She　had　run　into　the　dark　and　hit　herself　with　her　
fists。　And　then　the　next　night　he　was　in　a　coffin　in　the　living…
room。　The　undertaker　had　put　rouge　and　lipstick　on　his　face　
to　make　him　look　natural。　But　he　didn't　look　natural。　He　was　
very　dead。　And　mixed　with　the　smell　of　flowers　there　was　this　
other　smell　so　that　she　couldn't　stay　in　the　room。　But　
through　ail　those　days　she　held　down　the　job。　She　wrapped　
packages　and　handed　them　across　the　counter　and　rung　the　
money　in　the　till。　She　walked　when　she　was　supposed　to　walk　
and　ate　when　she　sat　down　to　the　table。　Only　at　first　when　she　
went　to　bed　at　night　she　couldn't　sleep。　But　now　she　slept　like　
she　was　supposed　to；　also。　
Mick　turned　sideways　in　the　seat　so　that　she　could　cross　
her　legs。　There　was　a　run　in　her　stocking。　It　had　started　
while　she　was　walking　to　work　and　she　had　spit　on　it　Then　
later　the　run　had　gone　farther　and　she　had　stuck　a　little　
piece　of　chewing…gum　on　the　end。　But　even　that　didn't　
help。　Now　she　would　have　to　go　home　and　sew。　It　was　hard　
to　know　what　she　could　do