2012诺贝尔文学获得者 诺贝尔文学经典:《宠儿》第8章Part 2

诺贝尔文学经典:《宠儿》第8章Part 2  

Occasionally a kneeling man chose gunshot in his head as the price
maybe
of taking a bit offoreskin with him to Jesus. Paul D did not know that then. He was looking at his palsied hands
smelling the guard
listening to his soft grunts so like the doves'
as he stood before the mankneeling in mist on his right. Convinced he was next
Paul D retched — vomiting up nothing at all. An observing guard smashed his shoulder with the rifle and the engaged one decided to skip thenew man for the time being lest his pants and shoes got soiled by nigger puke.
"Hiiii"
It was the first sound
other than "Yes
sir" a blackman was allowed to speak each morning
andthe lead chain gave it everything he had. "Hiiii!" It was never clear to Paul D how he knew whento shout that mercy. They called him Hi Man and Paul D thought at first the guards told him whento give the signal that let the prisoners rise up off their knees and dance o-step to the music ofhand fed iron. Later he doubted it. He believed to this day that the "Hiiii!" at dawn and the"Hoooo!" when evening came were the responsibility Hi Man assumed because he alone knewwhat was enough
what was too much
when things were over
when the time had e.
They chain-danced over the fields
through the woods to a trail that ended in the astonishing beautyof feldspar
and there Paul D's hands disobeyed the furious rippling of his blood and paid attention. With a sledge hammer in his hands and Hi Man's lead
the men got through. They sang it out andbeat it up
garbling the words so they could not be understood; tricking the words so their syllablesyielded up other meanings. They sang the women they knew; the children they had been; theanimals they had tamed themselves or seen others tame. They sang of bosses and masters andmisses; of mules and dogs and the shamelessness of life. They sang lovingly of graveyards andsisters long gone. Of pork in the woods; meal in the pan; fish on the line; cane
rain and rockingchairs.
And they beat. The women for having known them and no more
no more; the children for having been them but never again. They killed a boss so often and sopletely they had to bring him back to life to pulp him one more time. Tasting hot mealcakeamong pine trees
they beat it away. Singing love songs to Mr. Death
they smashed his head. More than the rest
they killed the flirt whom folks called Life for leading them on. Making themthink the next sunrise would be worth it; that another stroke of time would do it at last. Only whenshe was dead would they be safe. The successful ones — the ones who had been there enoughyears to have maimed
mutilated
maybe even buried her — kept watch over the others who werestill in her cock-teasing hug
caring and looking forward
remembering and looking back. Theywere the ones whose eyes said
"Help me
's bad"; or "Look out
" meaning this might be the day Ibay or eat my own mess or run
and it was this last that had to be guarded against
for if onepitched and ran — all
all forty-six
would be yanked by the chain that bound them and no tellingwho or how many would be killed. A man could risk his own life
but not his brother's. So the eyessaid
"Steady now
" and "Hang by me."Eighty-six days and done. Life was dead. Paul D beat her butt all day every day till there was not awhimper in her. Eighty-six days and his hands were still
waiting serenely each rat-rustling nightfor "Hiiii!" at dawn and the eager clench on the hammer's shaft. Life rolled over dead. Or so hethought.
It rained.