carson mccullers - the heart is a lonely hunter-第81章

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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　about　stockings。　She　wore　them　
out　so　fast　Unless　she　was　the　kind　of　common　girl　that　
would　wear　cotton　stockings。　

301　

She　oughtn't　to　have　come　in　here。　The　bottoms　of　her　shoes　
were　clean　worn　out。　She　ought　to　have　saved　the　twenty　cents　
toward　a　new　half…sole。　Because　if　she　kept　on　standing　on　a　
shoe　with　a　hole　in　it　what　would　happen？　A　blister　would　
come　on　her　foot。　And　she　would　have　to　pick　it　with　a　burnt　
needle。　She　would　have　to　stay　home　from　work　and　be　fired。　
And　then　what　would　happen？　
'Here　you　are；'　said　Mister　Brannon。　'But　I　never　heard　of　such　
a　combination　before。'　
He　put　the　sundae　and　the　beer　on　the　table。　She　pretended　to　
clean　her　fingernails　because　if　she　noticd　him　he　would　start　
talking。　He　didn't　have　this　grudge　against　her　any　more；　so　he　
must　have　forgotten　about　the　pack　of　gum。　Now　he　always　
wanted　to　talk　to　her。　But　she　wanted　to　be　quiet　and　by　
herself。　The　sundae　was　O。K。；　covered　all　over　with　chocolate　


and　nuts　and　cherries。　And　the　beer　was　relaxing。　The　beer　
had　a　nice　bitter　taste　after　the　ice　cream　and　it　made　her　
drunk。　Next　to　music　beer　was　best。　
But　now　no　music　was　in　her　mind。　That　was　a　funny　thing。　It　
was　like　she　was　shut　out　from　the　inside　room。　Sometimes　a　
quick　little　tune　would　come　and　go—but　she　never　went　into　
the　inside　room　with　music　like　she　used　to　do。　It　was　like　she　
was　too　tense。　Or　maybe　because　it　was　like　the　store　took　all　
her　energy　and　time。　Wool…worth's　wasn't　the　same　as　school。　
When　she　used　to　come　home　from　school　she　felt　good　and　
was　ready　to　start　working　on　the　music。　But　now　she　was　
always　tired。　At　home　she　just　ate　supper　and　slept　and　then　
ate　breakfast　and　went　off　to　the　store　again。　A　song　she　had　
started　in　her　private　notebook　two　months　before　was　still　not　
finished。　And　she　wanted　to　stay　in　the　inside　room　but　she　
didn't　know　how。　It　was　like　the　inside　room　was　locked　
somewhere　away　from　her。　A　very　hard　thing　to　understand。　
Mick　pushed　her　broken　front　tooth　with　her　thumb。　But　she　
did　have　Mister　Singer's　radio。　All　the　installments　hadn't　been　
paid　and　she　took　on　the　responsibility。　It　was　good　to　have　
something　that　had　belonged　to　him。　And　maybe　one　of　these　
days　she　might　be　able　to　set　aside　a　little　for　a　second…hand　
piano。　Say　two　bucks　a　week。　And　she　wouldn't　let　anybody　
touch　this　private　piano　but　her　—only　she　might　teach　
George　little　pieces。　She　would302　

keep　it　in　the　back　room　and　play　on　it　every　night。　And　all　
day　Sunday。　But　then　suppose　some　week　she　couldn't　make　a　
payment。　So　then　would　they　come　to　take　it　away　like　the　
little　red　bicycle？　And　suppose　like　she　wouldn't　let　them。　
Suppose　she　hid　the　piano　under　the　house。　Or　else　she　would　
meet　them　at　the　front　door。　And　fight。　She　would　knock　
down　both　the　two　men　so　they　would　have　shiners　and　broke　
noses　and　would　be　passed　out　on　the　hall　floor。　
Mick　frowned　and　rubbed　her　fist　hard　across　her　forehead。　
That　was　the　way　things　were。　It　was　like　she　was　mad　all　the　
time。　Not　how　a　kid　gets　mad　quick　so　that　soon　it　is　all　over　
—but　in　another　way。　Only　there　was　nothing　to　be　mad　at。　
Unless　the　store。　But　the　store　hadn't　asked　her　to　take　the　job。　
So　there　was　nothing　to　be　mad　at。　It　was　like　she　was　


cheated。　Only　nobody　had　cheated　her。　So　there　was　nobody　
to　take　it　out　on。　However；　just　the　same　she　had　that　feeling。　
Cheated。　
But　maybe　it　would　be　true　about　the　piano　and　turn　out　O。K。　
Maybe　she　would　get　a　chance　soon。　Else　what　the　hell　good　
had　it　all　been—the　way　she　felt　about　music　and　the　plans　
she　had　made　in　the　inside　room？　It　had　to　be　some　good　if　
anything　made　sense。　And　it　was　too　and　it　was　too　and　it　was　
too　and　it　was　too。　It　was　some　good。　
All　right！　
O。K！　
Some　good。　
Night　
/LL　was　serene。　As　Biff　dried　his　face　and　hands　a　breeze　
tinkled　the　glass　pendants　of　the　little　Japanese　pagoda　on　the　
table。　He　had　just　awakened　from　a　nap　and　had　smoked　his　
night　cigar。　He　thought　of　Blount　and　wondered　if　by　now　he　
had　traveled　far。　A　bottle　of　Agua　Florida　was　on　the　
bathroom　shelf　and　he　touched　the　stopper　to　his　temples。　He　
whistled　an　old　song；　and　as　he　descended　the　narrow　stairs　
the　tune　left　a　broken　echo　behind　him。　Louis　was　supposed　to　
be　on　duty　behind　the　counter。　

303　

But　he　had　soldiered　on　the　job　and　the　place　was　deserted。　
The　front　door　stood　open　to　the　empty　street。　The　clock　on　
the　wall　pointed　to　seventeen　minutes　before　midnight。　The　
radio　was　on　and　there　was　talk　about　the　crisis　Hitler　had　
cooked　up　over　Danzig。　He　went　back　to　the　kitchen　and　
found　Louis　asleep　in　a　chair。　The　boy　had　taken　off　his　shoes　
and　unbuttoned　his　trousers。　His　head　drooped　on　his　chest。　A　
long　wet　spot　on　his　shirt　showed　that　he　had　been　sleeping　a　
good　while。　His　arms　hung　straight　down　at　his　sides　and　the　
wonder　was　that　he　did　not　fall　forward　on　his　face。　He　slept　
soundly　and　there　was　no　use　to　wake　him。　The　night　would　
be　a　quiet　one。　
Biff　tiptoed　across　the　kitchen　to　a　shelf　which　held　a　basket　
of　tea　olive　and　two　water　pitchers　full　of　zinnias。　He　carried　
the　flowers　up　to　the　front　of　the　restaurant　and　removed　the　
cellophane…wrapped　platters　of　the　last　special　from　the　
display　window。　He　was　sick　of　food。　A　window　of　fresh　


summer　flowers—that　would　be　good。　His　eyes　were　closed　as　
he　imagined　how　it　could　be　arranged。　A　foundation　of　the　tea　
olive　strewn　over　the　bottom；　cool　and　green。　The　red　pottery　
tub　filled　with　the　brilliant　zinnias。　Nothing　more。　He　began　to　
arrange　the　window　carefully。　Among　the　flowers　there　was　a　
freak　plant；　a　zinnia　with　six　bronze　petals　and　two　red。　He　
examined　this　curio　and　laid　it　aside　to　save。　Then　the　window　
was　finished　and　he　stood　in　the　street　to　regard　his　
handiwork。　The　awkward　stems　of　the　flowers　had　been　bent　
to　just　the　right　degree　of　restful　looseness。　The　electric　lights　
detracted；　but　when　the　sun　rose　the　display　would　show　at　its　
best　advantage。　Downright　artistic。　
The　black；　starlit　sky　seemed　close　to　the　earth。　He　strolled　
along　the　sidewalk；　pausing　once　to　knock　an　orange　peel　into　
the　gutter　with　the　side　of　his　foot。　At　the　far　end　of　the　next　
block　two　men；　small　from　the　distance　and　motionless；　stood　
arm　in　arm　together。　No　one　else　could　be　seen。　His　place　was　
the　only　store　on　all　the　street　with　an　open　door　and　lights　
inside。　
And　why？　What　was　the　reason　for　keeping　the　place　open　all　
through　the　night　when　every　other　cafe　in　the　town　was　
closed？　He　was　often　asked　that　question　and　could　never　
speak　the　answer　out　in　words。　Not　money。304　

Sometimes　a　party　would　come　for　beer　and　scrambled　eggs　
and　spend　five　or　ten　dollars。　But　that　was　rare。　Mostly　they　
came　one　at　a　time　and　ordered　little　and　stayed　long。　And　on　
some　nights；　between　the　hours　of　twelve　and　five　o'clock；　not　
a　customer　would　enter。　There　was　no　profit　in　it—that　was　
plain。　
But　he　would　never　close　up　for　the　night—not　as　long　as　he　
stayed　in　the　business。　Night　was　the　time。　There　were　those　
he　would　never　have　seen　otherwise。　A　few　came　regularly　
several　times　a　week。　Others　had　come　into　the　place　only　
once；　had　drunk　a　Coca…Cola；　and　never　returned。　
Biff　folded　his　arms　across　his　chest　and　walked　more　slowly。　
Inside　the　arc　of　the　street　light　his　shadow　showed　angular　
and　black。　The　peaceful　silence　of　the　night　settled　in　him。　
These　were　the　hours　for　rest　and　meditation。　Maybe　that　was　
why　he　stayed　downstairs　and　did　not　sleep。　With　a　last　quick　


glance　he　scanned　the　empty　street　and　went　inside。　
The　crisis　voice　still　talked　on　the　radio。　The　fans　on　the　
ceiling　made　a　soothing　whirl。　From　the　kitchen　came　the　
sound　of　Louis　snoring。　He　thought　suddenly　of　poor　Willie　
and　decided　to　send　him　a　quart　of　whiskey　sometime　soon。　
He　turned　to　the　crossword　puzzle　in　the　newspaper。　There　
was　a　picture　of　a　woman　to　identi