Sanctuary

by William Faulkner

  “You got them all stirred up, anyhow. Folks is saying you wouldn’t git Goodwin no bond, so he’d have to stay—” again Horace made to pass on. “Half the trouble in this world is caused by women, I always say. Like that girl gittin her paw all stirred up, running off like she done. I reckon he done the right thing sending her clean outen the state.”

  “Yes,” Horace said in a dry, furious voice.

  “I’m mighty glad to hear your case is going all right. Between you and me, I’d like to see a good lawyer make a monkey outen that District Attorney. Give a fellow like that a little county office and he gits too big for his pants right away. Well, glad to’ve saw you. I got some business up town for a day or two. I dont reckon you’ll be going up that-a-way?”

  “What?” Horace said. “Up where?”

  “Memphis. Anything I can do for you?”

  “No,” Horace said. He went on. For a short distance he could not see at all. He tramped steadily, the muscles beside his jaws beginning to ache, passing people who spoke to him, unawares.

  21

  As the train neared Memphis Virgil Snopes ceased talking and began to grow quieter and quieter, while on the contrary his companion, eating from a paraffin-paper package of popcorn and molasses, grew livelier and livelier with a quality something like intoxication, seeming not to notice the inverse state of his friend. He was still talking away when, carrying their new, imitation leather suit cases, their new hats slanted above their shaven necks, they descended at the station. In the waiting room Fonzo said:

  “Well, what’re we going to do first?” Virgil said nothing. Someone jostled them; Fonzo caught at his hat. “What we going to do?” he said. Then he looked at Virgil, at his face. “What’s the matter?”

  “Aint nothing the matter,” Virgil said.

  “Well, what’re we going to do? You been here before. I aint.”

  “I reckon we better kind of look around,” Virgil said.

  Fonzo was watching him, his blue eyes like china. “What’s the matter with you? All the time on the train you was talking about how many times you been to Memphis. I bet you aint never bu—” Someone jostled them, thrust them apart; a stream of people began to flow between them. Clutching his suit case and hat Fonzo fought his way back to his friend.

  “I have, too,” Virgil said, looking glassily about.

  “Well, what we going to do, then? It wont be open till eight oclock in the morning.”

  “What you in such a rush for, then?”

  “Well, I dont aim to stay here all night.…What did you do when you was here before?”

  “Went to the hotel,” Virgil said.

  “Which one? They got more than one here. You reckon all these folks could stay in one hotel? Which one was it?”

  Virgil’s eyes were also a pale, false blue. He looked glassily about. “The Gayoso hotel,” he said.

  “Well, let’s go to it,” Fonzo said. They moved toward the exit. A man shouted “taxi” at them; a redcap tried to take Fonzo’s bag. “Look out,” he said, drawing it back. On the street more cabmen barked at them.

  “So this is Memphis,” Fonzo said. “Which way is it, now?” He had no answer. He looked around and saw Virgil in the act of turning away from a cabman. “What you—”

  “Up this way,” Virgil said. “It aint far.”

  It was a mile and a half. From time to time they swapped hands with the bags. “So this is Memphis,” Fonzo said. “Where have I been all my life?” When they entered the Gayoso a porter offered to take the bags. They brushed past him and entered, walking gingerly on the tile floor. Virgil stopped.

  “Come on,” Fonzo said.

  “Wait,” Virgil said.

  “Thought you was here before,” Fonzo said.

  “I was. This hyer place is too high. They’ll want a dollar a day here.”

  “What we going to do, then?”

  “Let’s kind of look around.”

  They returned to the street. It was five oclock. They went on, looking about, carrying the suit cases. They came to another hotel. Looking in they saw marble, brass cuspidors, hurrying bellboys, people sitting among potted plants.

  “That un’ll be just as bad,” Virgil said.

  “What we going to do then? We caint walk around all night.”

  “Let’s git off this hyer street,” Virgil said. They left Main Street. At the next corner Virgil turned again. “Let’s look down this-a-way. Git away from all that ere plate glass and monkey niggers. That’s what you have to pay for in them places.”

  “Why? It’s already bought when we got there. How come we have to pay for it?”

  “Suppose somebody broke it while we was there. Suppose they couldn’t ketch who done it. Do you reckon they’d let us out withouten we paid our share?”

  At five-thirty they entered a narrow dingy street of frame houses and junk yards. Presently they came to a three storey house in a small grassless yard. Before the entrance a latticework false entry leaned. On the steps sat a big woman in a mother hubbard, watching two fluffy white dogs which moved about the yard.

  “Let’s try that un,” Fonzo said.

  “That aint no hotel. Where’s ere sign?”

  “Why aint it?” Fonzo said. “ ’Course it is. Who ever heard of anybody just living in a three storey house?”

  “We cant go in this-a-way,” Virgil said. “This hyer’s the back. Dont you see that privy?” jerking his head toward the lattice.

  “Well, let’s go around to the front, then,” Fonzo said. “Come on.”

  They went around the block. The opposite side was filled by a row of automobile sales-rooms. They stood in the middle of the block, their suit cases in their right hands.

  “I dont believe you ever was here before, noways,” Fonzo said.

  “Let’s go back. That must a been the front.”

  “With the privy built onto the front door?” Fonzo said.

  “We can ask that lady.”

  “Who can? I aint.”

  “Let’s go back and see, anyway.”

  They returned. The woman and the dogs were gone.

  “Now you done it,” Fonzo said. “Aint you?”

  “Let’s wait a while. Maybe she’ll come back.”

  “It’s almost seven oclock,” Fonzo said.

  They set the bags down beside the fence. The lights had come on, quivering high in the serried windows against the tall serene western sky.

  “I can smell ham, too,” Fonzo said.

  A cab drew up. A plump blonde woman got out, followed by a man. They watched them go up the walk and enter the lattice. Fonzo sucked his breath across his teeth. “Durned if they didn’t,” he whispered.

  “Maybe it’s her husband,” Virgil said.

  Fonzo picked up his bag. “Come on.”

  “Wait,” Virgil said. “Give them a little time.”

  They waited. The man came out and got in the cab and went away.

  “Caint be her husband,” Fonzo said. “I wouldn’t a never left. Come on.” He entered the gate.

  “Wait,” Virgil said.

  “You can,” Fonzo said. Virgil took his bag and followed. He stopped while Fonzo opened the lattice gingerly and peered in. “Aw, hell,” he said. He entered. There was another door, with curtained glass. Fonzo knocked.

  “Why didn’t you push that ere button?” Virgil said. “Dont you know city folks dont answer no knock?”

  “All right,” Fonzo said. He rang the bell. The door opened. It was the woman in the mother hubbard; they could hear the dogs behind her.

  “Got ere extra room?” Fonzo said.

  Miss Reba looked at them, at their new hats and the suit cases.

  “Who sent you here?” she said.

  “Didn’t nobody. We just picked it out.” Miss Reba looked at him. “Them hotels is too high.”

  Miss Reba breathed harshly. “What you boys doing?”

  “We come hyer on business,” Fonzo said. “We aim to stay a good spell.”


  “If it aint too high,” Virgil said.

  Miss Reba looked at him. “Where you from, honey?”

  They told her, and their names. “We aim to be hyer a month or more, if it suits us.”

  “Why, I reckon so,” she said after a while. She looked at them. “I can let you have a room, but I’ll have to charge you extra whenever you do business in it. I got my living to make like everybody else.”

  “We aint,” Fonzo said. “We’ll do our business at the college.”

  “What college?” Miss Reba said.

  “The barber’s college,” Fonzo said.

  “Look here,” Miss Reba said, “you little whippersnapper.” Then she began to laugh, her hand at her breast. They watched her soberly while she laughed in harsh gasps. “Lord, Lord,” she said. “Come in here.”

  The room was at the top of the house, at the back. Miss Reba showed them the bath. When she put her hand on the door a woman’s voice said: “Just a minute, dearie” and the door opened and she passed them, in a kimono. They watched her go up the hall, rocked a little to their young foundations by a trail of scent which she left. Fonzo nudged Virgil surreptitiously. In their room again he said:

  “That was another one. She’s got two daughters. Hold me, big boy; I’m heading for the hen-house.”

  They didn’t go to sleep for some time that first night, what with the strange bed and room and the voices. They could hear the city, evocative and strange, imminent and remote; threat and promise both—a deep, steady sound upon which invisible lights glittered and wavered: colored coiling shapes of splendor in which already women were beginning to move in suave attitudes of new delights and strange nostalgic promises. Fonzo thought of himself surrounded by tier upon tier of drawn shades, rose-colored, beyond which, in a murmur of silk, in panting whispers, the apotheosis of his youth assumed a thousand avatars. Maybe it’ll begin tomorrow, he thought; maybe by tomorrow night.……A crack of light came over the top of the shade and sprawled in a spreading fan upon the ceiling. Beneath the window he could hear a voice, a woman’s, then a man’s: they blended, murmured; a door closed. Someone came up the stairs in swishing garments, on the swift hard heels of a woman.

  He began to hear sounds in the house: voices, laughter; a mechanical piano began to play. “Hear them?” he whispered.

  “She’s got a big family, I reckon,” Virgil said, his voice already dull with sleep.

  “Family, hell,” Fonzo said. “It’s a party. Wish I was to it.”

  On the third day as they were leaving the house in the morning, Miss Reba met them at the door. She wanted to use their room in the afternoons while they were absent. There was to be a detective’s convention in town and business would look up some, she said. “Your things’ll be all right. I’ll have Minnie lock everything up before hand. Aint nobody going to steal nothing from you in my house.”

  “What business you reckon she’s in?” Fonzo said when they reached the street.

  “Dont know,” Virgil said.

  “Wish I worked for her, anyway,” Fonzo said. “With all them women in kimonos and such running around.”

  “Wouldn’t do you no good,” Virgil said. “They’re all married. Aint you heard them?”

  The next afternoon when they returned from the school they found a woman’s undergarment under the washstand. Fonzo picked it up. “She’s a dress-maker,” he said.

  “Reckon so,” Virgil said. “Look and see if they taken anything of yourn.”

  The house appeared to be filled with people who did not sleep at night at all. They could hear them at all hours, running up and down the stairs, and always Fonzo would be conscious of women, of female flesh. It got to where he seemed to lie in his celibate bed surrounded by women, and he would lie beside the steadily snoring Virgil, his ears strained for the murmurs, the whispers of silk that came through the walls and the floor, that seemed to be as much a part of both as the planks and the plaster, thinking that he had been in Memphis ten days, yet the extent of his acquaintance was a few of his fellow pupils at the school. After Virgil was asleep he would rise and unlock the door and leave it ajar, but nothing happened.

  On the twelfth day he told Virgil they were going visiting, with one of the barber-students.

  “Where?” Virgil said.

  “That’s all right. You come on. I done found out something. And when I think I been here two weeks without knowing about it.……”

  “What’s it going to cost?” Virgil said.

  “When’d you ever have any fun for nothing?” Fonzo said. “Come on.”

  “I’ll go,” Virgil said. “But I aint going to promise to spend nothing.”

  “You wait and say that when we get there,” Fonzo said.

  The barber took them to a brothel. When they came out Fonzo said: “And to think I been here two weeks without never knowing about that house.”

  “I wisht you hadn’t never learned,” Virgil said. “It cost three dollars.”

  “Wasn’t it worth it?” Fonzo said.

  “Aint nothing worth three dollars you caint tote off with you,” Virgil said.

  When they reached home Fonzo stopped. “We got to sneak in, now,” he said. “If she was to find out where we been and what we been doing, she might not let us stay in the house with them ladies no more.”

  “That’s so,” Virgil said. “Durn you. Hyer you done made me spend three dollars, and now you fixing to git us both throwed out.”

  “You do like I do,” Fonzo said. “That’s all you got to do. Dont say nothing.”

  Minnie let them in. The piano was going full blast. Miss Reba appeared in a door, with a tin cup in her hand. “Well, well,” she said, “you boys been out mighty late tonight.”

  “Yessum,” Fonzo said, prodding Virgil toward the stairs. “We been to prayer-meeting.”

  In bed, in the dark, they could still hear the piano.

  “You made me spend three dollars,” Virgil said.

  “Aw, shut up,” Fonzo said. “When I think I been here for two whole weeks almost.……”

  The next afternoon they came home through the dusk, with the lights winking on, beginning to flare and gleam, and the women on their twinkling blonde legs meeting men and getting into automobiles and such.

  “How about that three dollars now?” Fonzo said.

  “I reckon we better not go ever night,” Virgil said. “It’ll cost too much.”

  “That’s right,” Fonzo said. “Somebody might see us and tell her.”

  They waited two nights. “Now it’ll be six dollars,” Virgil said.

  “Dont come, then,” Fonzo said.

  When they returned home Fonzo said: “Try to act like something, this time. She near about caught us before on account of the way you acted.”

  “What if she does?” Virgil said in a sullen voice. “She caint eat us.”

  They stood outside the lattice, whispering.

  “How you know she caint?” Fonzo said.

  “She dont want to, then.”

  “How you know she dont want to?”

  “Maybe she dont,” Virgil said. Fonzo opened the lattice door. “I caint eat that six dollars, noways,” Virgil said. “Wisht I could.”

  Minnie let them in. She said: “Somebody huntin you all.” They waited in the hall.

  “We done caught now,” Virgil said. “I told you about throwing that money away.”

  “Aw, shut up,” Fonzo said.

  A man emerged from a door, a big man with his hat cocked over one ear, his arm about a blonde woman in a red dress. “There’s Cla’ence,” Virgil said.

  In their room Clarence said: “How’d you get into this place?”

  “Just found it,” Virgil said. They told him about it. He sat on the bed, in his soiled hat, a cigar in his fingers.

  “Where you been tonight?” he said. They didn’t answer. They looked at him with blank, watchful faces. “Come on. I know. Where was it?” They told him.

  “Cost me three dollar
s, too,” Virgil said.

  “I’ll be durned if you aint the biggest fool this side of Jackson,” Clarence said. “Come on here.” They followed sheepishly. He led them from the house and for three or four blocks. They crossed a street of negro stores and theatres and turned into a narrow, dark street and stopped at a house with red shades in the lighted windows. Clarence rang the bell. They could hear music inside, and shrill voices, and feet. They were admitted into a bare hallway where two shabby negro men argued with a drunk white man in greasy overalls. Through an open door they saw a room filled with coffee-colored women in bright dresses, with ornate hair and golden smiles.

  “Them’s niggers,” Virgil said.

  “ ’Course they’re niggers,” Clarence said. “But see this?” he waved a banknote in his cousin’s face. “This stuff is color-blind.”

  22

  On the third day of his search, Horace found a domicile for the woman and child. It was in the ramshackle house of an old half-crazed white woman who was believed to manufacture spells for negroes. It was on the edge of town, set in a tiny plot of ground choked and massed with waist-high herbage in an unbroken jungle across the front. At the back a path had been trodden from the broken gate to the door. All night a dim light burned in the crazy depths of the house and at almost any hour of the twenty-four a wagon or a buggy might be seen tethered in the lane behind it and a negro entering or leaving the back door.

  The house had been entered once by officers searching for whiskey. They found nothing save a few dried bunches of weeds, and a collection of dirty bottles containing liquid of which they could say nothing surely save that it was not alcoholic, while the old woman, held by two men, her lank grayish hair shaken before the glittering collapse of her face, screamed invective at them in her cracked voice. In a lean-to shed room containing a bed and a barrel of anonymous refuse and trash in which mice rattled all night long, the woman found a home.

  “You’ll be all right here,” Horace said. “You can always get me by telephone, at—” giving her the name of a neighbor. “No: wait; tomorrow I’ll have the telephone put back in. Then you can—”

  “Yes,” the woman said. “I reckon you better not be coming out here.”