“Here’s some more stuff going out,” he says. “Where’s Uncle Job?”
“Gone to the show, I imagine,” I says. “Unless you watched him.”
“He doesn’t slip off,” he says. “I can depend on him.”
“Meaning me by that,” I says.
He went to the door and looked out, listening.
“That’s a good band,” he says. “It’s about time they were breaking up, I’d say.”
“Unless they’re going to spend the night there,” I says. The swallows had begun, and I could hear the sparrows beginning to swarm in the trees in the courthouse yard. Every once in a while a bunch of them would come swirling around in sight above the roof, then go away. They are as big a nuisance as the pigeons, to my notion. You cant even sit in the courthouse yard for them. First thing you know, bing. Right on your hat. But it would take a millionaire to afford to shoot them at five cents a shot. If they’d just put a little poison out there in the square, they’d get rid of them in a day, because if a merchant cant keep his stock from running around the square, he’d better try to deal in something besides chickens, something that dont eat, like plows or onions. And if a man dont keep his dogs up, he either dont want it or he hasn’t any business with one. Like I say if all the businesses in a town are run like country businesses, you’re going to have a country town.
“It wont do you any good if they have broke up,” I says. “They’ll have to hitch up and take out to get home by midnight as it is.”
“Well,” he says. “They enjoy it. Let them spend a little money on a show now and then. A hill farmer works pretty hard and gets mighty little for it.”
“There’s no law making them farm in the hills,” I says. “Or anywhere else.”
“Where would you and me be, if it wasn’t for the farmers?” he says.
“I’d be home right now,” I says. “Lying down, with an ice pack on my head.”
“You have these headaches too often,” he says. “Why dont you have your teeth examined good? Did he go over them all this morning?”
“Did who?” I says.
“You said you went to the dentist this morning.”
“Do you object to my having the headache on your time?” I says. “Is that it?” They were crossing the alley now, coming up from the show.
“There they come,” he says. “I reckon I better get up front.” He went on. It’s a curious thing how, no matter what’s wrong with you, a man’ll tell you to have your teeth examined and a woman’ll tell you to get married. It always takes a man that never made much at any thing to tell you how to run your business, though. Like these college professors without a whole pair of socks to his name, telling you how to make a million in ten years, and a woman that couldn’t even get a husband can always tell you how to raise a family.
Old man Job came up with the wagon. After a while he got through wrapping the lines around the whip socket.
“Well,” I says. “Was it a good show?”
“I aint been yit,” he says. “But I kin be arrested in dat tent tonight, dough.”
“Like hell you haven’t,” I says. “You’ve been away from here since three oclock. Mr Earl was just back here looking for you.”
“I been tendin to my business,” he says. “Mr Earl knows whar I been.”
“You may can fool him,” I says. “I wont tell on you.”
“Den he’s de onliest man here I’d try to fool,” he says. “Whut I want to waste my time foolin a man whut I dont keer whether I sees him Sat’dy night er not? I wont try to fool you,” he says. “You too smart fer me. Yes, suh,” he says, looking busy as hell, putting five or six little packages into the wagon. “You’s too smart fer me. Aint a man in dis town kin keep up wid you fer smartness. You fools a man whut so smart he cant even keep up wid hisself,” he says, getting in the wagon and unwrapping the reins.
“Who’s that?” I says.
“Dat’s Mr Jason Compson,” he says. “Git up dar, Dan!”
One of the wheels was just about to come off. I watched to see if he’d get out of the alley before it did. Just turn any vehicle over to a nigger, though. I says that old rattletrap’s just an eyesore, yet you’ll keep it standing there in the carriage house a hundred years just so that boy can ride to the cemetery once a week. I says he’s not the first fellow that’ll have to do things he doesn’t want to. I’d make him ride in that car like a civilised man or stay at home. What does he know about where he goes or what he goes in, and us keeping a carriage and a horse so he can take a ride on Sunday afternoon.
A lot Job cared whether the wheel came off or not, long as he wouldn’t have too far to walk back. Like I say the only place for them is in the field, where they’d have to work from sunup to sundown. They cant stand prosperity or an easy job. Let one stay around white people for a while and he’s not worth killing. They get so they can outguess you about work before your very eyes, like Roskus the only mistake he ever made was he got careless one day and died. Shirking and stealing and giving you a little more lip and a little more lip until some day you have to lay them out with a scantling or something. Well, it’s Earl’s business. But I’d hate to have my business advertised over this town by an old doddering nigger and a wagon that you thought every time it turned a corner it would come all to pieces.
The sun was all high up in the air now, and inside it was beginning to get dark. I went up front. The square was empty. Earl was back closing the safe, and then the clock begun to strike.
“You lock the back door?” he says. I went back and locked it and came back. “I suppose you’re going to the show tonight,” he says. “I gave you those passes yesterday, didn’t I?”
“Yes,” I says. “You want them back?”
“No, no,” he says. “I just forgot whether I gave them to you or not. No sense in wasting them.”
He locked the door and said Goodnight and went on. The sparrows were still rattling away in the trees, but the square was empty except for a few cars. There was a ford in front of the drugstore, but I didn’t even look at it. I know when I’ve had enough of anything. I dont mind trying to help her, but I know when I’ve had enough. I guess I could teach Luster to drive it, then they could chase her all day long if they wanted to, and I could stay home and play with Ben.
I went in and got a couple of cigars. Then I thought I’d have another headache shot for luck, and I stood and talked with them a while.
“Well,” Mac says. “I reckon you’ve got your money on the Yankees this year.”
“What for?” I says.
“The Pennant,” he says. “Not anything in the league can beat them.”
“Like hell there’s not,” I says. “They’re shot,” I says. “You think a team can be that lucky forever?”
“I dont call it luck,” Mac says.
“I wouldn’t bet on any team that fellow Ruth played on,” I says. “Even if I knew it was going to win.”
“Yes?” Mac says.
“I can name you a dozen men in either league who’re more valuable than he is,” I says.
“What have you got against Ruth?” Mac says.
“Nothing,” I says. “I haven’t got any thing against him. I dont even like to look at his picture.” I went on out. The lights were coming on, and people going along the streets toward home. Sometimes the sparrows never got still until full dark. The night they turned on the new lights around the courthouse it waked them up and they were flying around and blundering into the lights all night long. They kept it up two or three nights, then one morning they were all gone. Then after about two months they all came back again.
I drove on home. There were no lights in the house yet, but they’d all be looking out the windows, and Dilsey jawing away in the kitchen like it was her own food she was having to keep hot until I got there. You’d think to hear her that there wasn’t but one supper in the world, and that was the one she had to keep back a few minutes on my account. Well at least I could come home one time w
ithout finding Ben and that nigger hanging on the gate like a bear and a monkey in the same cage. Just let it come toward sundown and he’d head for the gate like a cow for the barn, hanging onto it and bobbing his head and sort of moaning to himself. That’s a hog for punishment for you. If what had happened to him for fooling with open gates had happened to me, I never would want to see another one. I often wondered what he’d be thinking about, down there at the gate, watching the girls going home from school, trying to want something he couldn’t even remember he didn’t and couldn’t want any longer. And what he’d think when they’d be undressing him and he’d happen to take a look at himself and begin to cry like he’d do. But like I say they never did enough of that. I says I know what you need you need what they did to Ben then you’d behave. And if you dont know what that was I says, ask Dilsey to tell you.
There was a light in Mother’s room. I put the car up and went on into the kitchen. Luster and Ben were there.
“Where’s Dilsey?” I says. “Putting supper on?”
“She up stairs wid Miss Cahline,” Luster says. “Dey been goin hit. Ever since Miss Quentin come home. Mammy up there keepin um fum fightin. Is dat show come, Mr Jason?”
“Yes,” I says.
“I thought I heard de band,” he says. “Wish I could go,” he says. “I could ef I jes had a quarter.”
Dilsey came in. “You come, is you?” she says. “Whut you been up to dis evenin? You knows how much work I got to do; whyn’t you git here on time?”
“Maybe I went to the show,” I says. “Is supper ready?”
“Wish I could go,” Luster says. “I could ef I jes had a quarter.”
“You aint got no business at no show,” Dilsey says. “You go on in de house and set down,” she says. “Dont you go up stairs and git um started again, now.”
“What’s the matter?” I says.
“Quentin come in a while ago and says you been follerin her around all evenin and den Miss Cahline jumped on her. Whyn’t you let her alone? Cant you live in de same house wid yo own blood niece widout quoilin?”
“I cant quarrel with her,” I says, “because I haven’t seen her since this morning. What does she say I’ve done now? made her go to school? That’s pretty bad,” I says.
“Well, you tend to yo business and let her lone,” Dilsey says. “I’ll take keer of her ef you’n Miss Cahline’ll let me. Go on in dar now and behave yoself twell I git supper on.”
“Ef I jes had a quarter,” Luster says, “I could go to dat show.”
“En ef you had wings you could fly to heaven,” Dilsey says. “I dont want to hear another word about dat show.”
“That reminds me,” I says. “I’ve got a couple of tickets they gave me.” I took them out of my coat.
“You fixin to use um?” Luster says.
“Not me,” I says. “I wouldn’t go to it for ten dollars.”
“Gimme one of um, Mr Jason,” he says.
“I’ll sell you one,” I says. “How about it?”
“I aint got no money,” he says.
“That’s too bad,” I says. I made to go out.
“Gimme one of um, Mr Jason,” he says. “You aint gwine need um bofe.”
“Hush yo mouf,” Dilsey says. “Dont you know he aint gwine give nothin away?”
“How much you want fer hit?” he says.
“Five cents,” I says.
“I aint got dat much,” he says.
“How much you got?” I says.
“I aint got nothin,” he says.
“All right,” I says. I went on.
“Mr Jason,” he says.
“Whyn’t you hush up?” Dilsey says. “He jes teasin you. He fixin to use dem tickets hisself. Go on, Jason, and let him lone.”
“I dont want them,” I says. I came back to the stove. “I came in here to burn them up. But if you want to buy one for a nickel?” I says, looking at him and opening the stove lid.
“I aint got dat much,” he says.
“All right,” I says. I dropped one of them in the stove.
“You, Jason,” Dilsey says. “Aint you shamed?”
“Mr Jason,” he says. “Please, suh. I’ll fix dem tires ev’y day fer a mont.”
“I need the cash,” I says. “You can have it for a nickel.”
“Hush, Luster,” Dilsey says. She jerked him back. “Go on,” she says. “Drop hit in. Go on. Git hit over with.”
“You can have it for a nickel,” I says.
“Go on,” Dilsey says. “He aint got no nickel. Go on. Drop hit in.”
“All right,” I says. I dropped it in and Dilsey shut the stove.
“A big growed man like you,” she says. “Git on outen my kitchen. Hush,” she says to Luster. “Dont you git Benjy started. I’ll git you a quarter fum Frony tonight and you kin go tomorrow night. Hush up, now.”
I went on into the living room. I couldn’t hear anything from upstairs. I opened the paper. After a while Ben and Luster came in. Ben went to the dark place on the wall where the mirror used to be, rubbing his hands on it and slobbering and moaning. Luster begun punching at the fire.
“What’re you doing?” I says. “We dont need any fire tonight.”
“I tryin to keep him quiet,” he says. “Hit always cold Easter,” he says.
“Only this is not Easter,” I says. “Let it alone.”
He put the poker back and got the cushion out of Mother’s chair and gave it to Ben, and he hunkered down in front of the fireplace and got quiet.
I read the paper. There hadn’t been a sound from upstairs when Dilsey came in and sent Ben and Luster on to the kitchen and said supper was ready.
“All right,” I says. She went out. I sat there, reading the paper. After a while I heard Dilsey looking in at the door.
“Whyn’t you come on and eat?” she says.
“I’m waiting for supper,” I says.
“Hit’s on the table,” she says. “I done told you.”
“Is it?” I says. “Excuse me. I didn’t hear anybody come down.”
“They aint comin,” she says. “You come on and eat, so I can take something up to them.”
“Are they sick?” I says. “What did the doctor say it was? Not Smallpox, I hope.”
“Come on here, Jason,” she says. “So I kin git done.”
“All right,” I says, raising the paper again. “I’m waiting for supper now.”
I could feel her watching me at the door. I read the paper.
“Whut you want to act like this fer?” she says. “When you knows how much bother I has anyway.”
“If Mother is any sicker than she was when she came down to dinner, all right,” I says. “But as long as I am buying food for people younger than I am, they’ll have to come down to the table to eat it. Let me know when supper’s ready,” I says, reading the paper again. I heard her climbing the stairs, dragging her feet and grunting and groaning like they were straight up and three feet apart. I heard her at Mother’s door, then I heard her calling Quentin, like the door was locked, then she went back to Mother’s room and then Mother went and talked to Quentin. Then they came down stairs. I read the paper.
Dilsey came back to the door. “Come on,” she says, “fo you kin think up some mo devilment. You just tryin yoself tonight.”
I went to the diningroom. Quentin was sitting with her head bent. She had painted her face again. Her nose looked like a porcelain insulator.
“I’m glad you feel well enough to come down,” I says to Mother.
“It’s little enough I can do for you, to come to the table,” she says. “No matter how I feel. I realise that when a man works all day he likes to be surrounded by his family at the supper table. I want to please you. I only wish you and Quentin got along better. It would be easier for me.”
“We get along all right,” I says. “I dont mind her staying locked up in her room all day if she wants to. But I cant have all this whoop-de-do and sulking at mealtimes. I know that’s a
lot to ask her, but I’m that way in my own house. Your house, I meant to say.”
“It’s yours,” Mother says. “You are the head of it now.”
Quentin hadn’t looked up. I helped the plates and she begun to eat.
“Did you get a good piece of meat?” I says. “If you didn’t, I’ll try to find you a better one.”
She didn’t say anything.
“I say, did you get a good piece of meat?” I says.
“What?” she says. “Yes. It’s all right.”
“Will you have some more rice?” I says.
“No,” she says.
“Better let me give you some more,” I says.
“I dont want any more,” she says.
“Not at all,” I says. “You’re welcome.”
“Is your headache gone?” Mother says.
“Headache?” I says.
“I was afraid you were developing one,” she says. “When you came in this afternoon.”
“Oh,” I says. “No, it didn’t show up. We stayed so busy this afternoon I forgot about it.”
“Was that why you were late?” Mother says. I could see Quentin listening. I looked at her. Her knife and fork were still going, but I caught her looking at me, then she looked at her plate again. I says,
“No. I loaned my car to a fellow about three oclock and I had to wait until he got back with it.” I ate for a while.
“Who was it?” Mother says.
“It was one of those show men,” I says. “It seems his sister’s husband was out riding with some town woman, and he was chasing them.”
Quentin sat perfectly still, chewing.
“You ought not to lend your car to people like that,” Mother says. “You are too generous with it. That’s why I never call on you for it if I can help it.”
The Sound and the Fury Page 23
