历年诺贝尔文学奖书名 诺贝尔文学经典:《宠儿》第1章Part 6

诺贝尔文学经典:《宠儿》第1章Part 6  

"Good God." He backed out the door onto the porch. "What kind of evil you got in here?""It's not evil
just sad. Come on. Just step through."He looked at her then
closely. Closer than he had when she first rounded the house on wet andshining legs
holding her shoes and stockings up in one hand
her skirts in the other. Halle's girl —the one with iron eyes and backbone to match. He had never seen her hair in Kentucky. Andthough her face was eighteen years older than when last he saw her
it was softer now. Because ofthe hair. A face too still for fort; irises the same color as her skin
which
in that still face
usedto make him think of a mask with mercifully punched out eyes. Halle's woman. Pregnant everyyear including the year she sat by the fire telling him she was going to run. Her three children shehad already packed into a wagonload of others in a caravan of Negroes crossing the river. Theywere to be left with Halle's mother near Cincinnati. Even in that tiny shack
leaning so close to thefire you could smell the heat in her dress
her eyes did not pick up a flicker of light. They were likeo wells into which he had trouble gazing. Even punched out they needed to be covered
lidded
marked with some sign to warn folks of what that emptiness held. So he looked instead at the firewhile she told him
because her husband was not there for the telling. Mr. Garner was dead and hiswife had a lump in her neck the size of a sweet potato and unable to speak to anyone. She leanedas close to the fire as her pregnant belly allowed and told him
Paul D
the last of the Sweet Homemen. There had been six of them who belonged to the farm
Sethe the only female. Mrs. Garner
crying like a baby
had sold his brother to pay off the debts that surfaced the minute she waswidowed. Then schoolteacher arrived to put things in order. But what he did broke three moreSweet Home men and punched the glittering iron out of Sethe's eyes
leaving o open wells thatdid not reflect firelight.

　　Now the iron was back but the face
softened by hair
made him trust her enough to step inside herdoor smack into a pool of pulsing red light.

　　She was right. It was sad. Walking through it
a wave of grief soaked him so thoroughly he wantedto cry. It seemed a long way to the normal light surrounding the table
but he made it — dry-eyed and lucky.

　　"You said she died soft. Soft as cream
" he reminded her.

　　"That's not Baby Suggs
" she said.

　　"Who then?""My daughter. The one I sent ahead with the boys.""She didn't live?""No. The one I was carrying when I run away is all I got left.

　　Boys gone too. Both of em walked off just before Baby Suggs died."Paul D looked at the spot where the grief had soaked him. The red was gone but a kind of weepingclung to the air where it had been.

　　Probably best
he thought. If a Negro got legs he ought to use them. Sit down too long
somebodywill figure out a way to tie them up. Still ... if her boys were gone ...

　　"No man? You here by yourself?""Me and Denver
" she said.