carson mccullers - the heart is a lonely hunter-第82章
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He turned to the crossword puzzle in the newspaper。 There
was a picture of a woman to identify in the center。 He
recognized her and wrote the name—Mona Lisa—across the
first spaces。 Number one down was a word for beggar;
beginning with m and nine letters long。 Mendicant。 Two
horizontal was some word meaning to remove afar off。 A six…
letter word beginning with e。 Elapse? He sounded trial
combinations of letters aloud。 Eloign。 But he had lost interest
There were puzzles enough without this kind。 He folded and
put away the paper。 He would come back to it later。
He examined the zinnia he had intended to save。 As he held it
in the palm of his hand to the light the flower was not such a
curious specimen after all。 Not worth saving。 He plucked the
soft; bright petals and the last one came out on love。 But who?
Who would he be loving now? No one person。 Anybody
decent who came in out of the street to sit for an hour and
have a drink。 But no one person。 He
THE HEART IS A LONELY HtTNTER
305
had known his loves and they were over。 Alice; Madeline and
Gyp。 Finished。 Leaving him either better or worse。 Which?
However you looked at it。
And Mick。 The one who in the last months had lived so
strangely in his heart。 Was that love done with too? Yes。 It
was finished。 Early in the evenings Mick came in for a cold
drink or a sundae。 She had grown older。 Her rough and
childish ways were almost gone。 And instead there was
something ladylike and delicate about her that was hard to
point out。 The earrings; the dangle of her bracelets; and the
new way she crossed her legs and pulled the hem of her skirt
down past her knees。 He watched her and felt only a sort of
gentleness。 In him the old feeling was gone。 For a year this
love had blossomed strangely。 He had questioned it a hundred
times and found no answer。 And now; as a summer flower
shatters in September; it was finished。 There was no one。
Biff tapped his nose with his forefinger。 A foreign voice was
now speaking over the radio。 He could not decide for certain
whether the voice was German; French; or Spanish。 But it
sounded like doom。 It gave him the jitters to listen to it。 When
he turned it off the silence was deep and unbroken。 He felt the
night outside。 Loneliness gripped him so that his breath
quickened。 It was far too late to call Lucile on the telephone
and speak to Baby。 Nor could he expect a customer to enter at
this hour。 He went to the door and looked up and down the
street。 All was empty and dark。
'Louis!' he called。 'Are you awake; Louis?'
No answer。 He put his elbows on the counter and held his
head in his hands。 He moved his dark bearded jaw from side
to side and slowly his forehead lowered in a frown。
The riddle。 The question that had taken root in him and would
not let him rest。 The puzzle of Singer and the rest of them。
More than a year had gone by since it had started。 More than a
year since Blount had hung around the place on his first long
drunk and seen the mute for the first time。 Since Mick had
begun to follow him in and out。 And now for a month Singer
had been dead and buried。 And the riddle was still in him; so
that he could not be tranquil。306
307
There was something not natural about it all—something like
an ugly joke。 When he thought of it he felt uneasy and in some
unknown way afraid。
He had managed about the funeral。 They had left all that to
him。 Singer's affairs were in a mess。 There were installments
due on everything he owned and the beneficiary of his life
insurance was deceased。 There was just enough to bury him。
The funeral was at noon。 The sun burned down on them with
savage heat as they stood around the open dank grave。 The
flowers curled and turned brown in the sun。 Mick cried so
hard that she choked herself and her father had to beat her on
the back。 Blount scowled down at the grave with his fist to his
mouth。 The town's Negro doctor; who was somehow related to
poor Willie; stood on the edge of the crowd and moaned to
himself。 And there were strangers nobody had ever seen or
heard of before。 God knows where they came from or why
they were there。
The silence in the room was deep as the night itself。 Biff stood
transfixed; lost in his meditations。 Then suddenly he felt a
quickening in him。 His heart turned and he leaned his back
against the counter for support。 For in a swift radiance of
illumination he saw a glimpse of human struggle and of valor。
Of the endless fluid passage of humanity through endless
time。 And of those who labor and of those who—one word—
love。 His soul expanded。 But for a moment only。 For in him he
felt a warning; a shaft of terror。 Between the two worlds he
was suspended。 He saw that he was looking at his own face in
the counter glass before him。 Sweat glistened on his temples
and his face was contorted。 One eye was opened wider than
the other。 The left eye delved narrowly into the past while the
right gazed wide and affrighted into a future of blackness;
error; and ruin。 And he was suspended between radiance and
darkness。 Between bitter irony and faith。 Sharply he turned
away。
'Louis!' he called。 'Louis! Louis!'
Again there was no answer。 But; motherogod; was he a
sensible man or was he not? And how could this terror throttle
him nice this when he didn't even know what caused it? And
would he just stand here like a jittery ninny or would he pull
himself together and be reasonable? For
after all was he a sensible man or was he not? Biff wet his
handkerchief beneath the water tap and patted his drawn;
tense face。 Somehow he remembered that the awning had not
yet been raised。 As he went to the door his walk gained
steadiness。 And when at last he was inside again he composed
himself soberly to await the morning sun。