The Heart is a Lonely Hunter - Carson McCullers [117]
She dug a hole in the ground with her finger and buried the dead ant.
It was all my fault. Adultery is a terrible sin any way you look at it. And you were two years younger than me and just a kid.’
‘No, I wasn’t. I wasn’t any kid. But now I wish I was, though.’
‘Listen here. If you think we ought to we can get married--secretly or any other way.’
Mick shook her head. ‘I didn’t like that. I never will marry with any boy.’
‘I never will marry either. I know that And I’m not just saying so--it’s true.’
His face scared her. His nose quivered and his bottom lip was mottled and bloody where he had bitten it. His eyes were bright and wet and scowling. His face was whiter than any face she could remember. She turned her head from him.
Things would be better if only he would just quit talking. Her eyes looked slowly around her--at the streaked red-and-white clay of the ditch, at a broken whiskey bottle, at a pine tree across from them with a sign advertising for a man for county sheriff. She wanted to sit quiet for a long time and not think and not say a word.
‘I’m leaving town. I’m a good mechanic and I can get a job some other place. If I stayed home Mother could read this in my eyes.’
Tell me. Can you look at me and see the difference?’
Harry watched her face a long time and nodded that he could.
Then he said: ‘There’s just one more thing. In a month or two I’ll send you my address and you write and tell me for sure whether you’re all right.’
‘How you mean?’ she asked slowly.
He explained to her. ‘All you need to write is "O.K." and then TO know.’
They were walking home again, pushing the wheels. Their shadows stretched out giant-sized on the road. Harry was bent over like an old beggar and kept wiping his nose on his sleeve.
For a minute there was a bright, golden glow over everything before the sun sank down behind the trees and their shadows were gone on the road before them. She felt very old, and it was like something was heavy inside her. She was a grown person now, whether she wanted to be or not.
They had walked the sixteen miles and were in the dark alley at home. She could see the yellow light from their kitchen.
Harry’s house was dark--his mother had not come home. She worked for a tailor in a shop on a side street.
Sometimes even on Sunday. When you looked through the window you could see her bending over the machine in the back or pushing a long needle through the heavy pieces of goods. She never looked up while you watched her. And at night she cooked these orthodox dishes for Harry and her.
‘Listen here--’ he said.
She waited in the dark, but he did not finish. They shook hands with each other and Harry walked up the dark alley between the houses. When he reached the sidewalk he turned and looked back over his shoulder. A light shone on his face and it was white and hard. Then he was gone.
‘This here is a riddle,’ George said.
‘I listening.’
Two Indians was walking on a trail. The one in front was the son of the one behind but the one behind was not his father.
What kin was they?’
‘Less see. His stepfather.’
George grinned at Portia with his little square, blue teeth.
‘His uncle, then.’
‘You can’t guess. It was his mother. The trick is that you don’t think about a Indian being a lady.’
She stood outside the room and watched them. The doorway framed the kitchen like a picture. Inside it was homey and clean. Only the light by the sink was turned on and there were shadows in the room. Bill and Hazel played black-jack at the table with matches for money. Hazel felt the braids of her hair with her plump, pink fingers while Bill sucked in his cheeks and dealt the cards in a very serious way. At the sink Portia was drying the dishes with a clean checked towel. She looked thin and her skin was golden yellow, her greased black hair slicked neat. Ralph sat quietly on the floor and George was trying a little harness on him made out of old Christmas tinsel.
This here is another riddle, Portia. If the hand of a clock points to half-past two--