“I’llgive you two dollars,” Jason said. “Either of you.” “I cant git away neither,” the first said.
“Allright,” Jason said. “Go on.”
He sat there for sometime. He heard a clock strike the half hour, then people began to pass, in Sunday and Easter clothes. Some looked at him as they passed, at the man sitting quietly behind the wheelof a smallcar, with his invisible life ravelled out about himlike a wornout sock.
After a while a negro in overalls came up.
“Is you de one wants to go to Jefferson?” he said. “Yes,” Jason said. “What’llyou charge me?”
“Fo dollars.” “Give you two.”
“Cant go fer no less’n fo.” The man in the car sat quietly. He wasn’t even looking at him. The negro said, “You want me er not?”
“Allright,” Jason said, “Get in.”
He moved over and the negro took the wheel. Jason closed his eyes. I can get something for it at Jefferson, he told himself, easing himself to the jolting, I can get something there. They drove on, along the streets where people were turning peacefully into houses and Sunday dinners, and on out of town. He thought that. He wasn’t thinking of home, where Ben and Luster were eating cold dinner at the kitchen table. Something—the absence of disaster, threat, in any constant evil—permitted him to forget Jefferson as any place which he had ever seen before, where his life must resume itself.
When Ben and Luster were done Dilsey sent themoutdoors. “And see kin you keep let him alone twellfo oclock. T.P. be here den.”
“Yessum,” Luster said. They went out. Dilsey ate her dinner and cleared up the kitchen. Then she went to the foot of the stairs and listened, but there was no sound. She returned through the kitchen and out the outer door and stopped on the steps. Ben and Luster were not in sight, but while she stood there she heard another sluggish twang from the direction of the cellar door and she went to the door and looked down upon a repetition of the morning’s scene. “He done it jes dat way,” Luster said. He contemplated the motionless saw with a kind of
hopefuldejection. “I aint got de right thing to hit it wid yit,” he said.
“En you aint gwine find hit down here, neither,” Dilsey said. “You take himon out in de sun. You bofe get pneumonia down here on dis wet flo.”
She waited and watched them cross the yard toward a clump of cedar trees near the fence. Then she went on to her cabin.
“Now, dont you git started,” Luster said, “I had enough trouble wid you today.” There was a hammock made of barrel staves slatted into woven wires. Luster lay down in the swing, but Ben went on vaguely and purposelessly. He began to whimper again. “Hush, now,” Luster said, “I fixin to whup you.” He lay back in the swing. Ben had stopped moving, but Luster could hear him whimpering. “Is you gwine hush, er aint you?” Luster said. He got up and followed and came upon Ben squatting before a small mound of earth. At either end of it an empty bottle of blue glass that once contained poison was fixed in the ground. In one was a withered stalk of jimson weed. Ben squatted before it, moaning, a slow, inarticulate sound.
Still moaning he sought vaguely about and found a twig and put it in the other bottle. “Whyn’t you hush?” Luster said, “You want me to give you somethin’ to sho nough moan about? Sposin I does dis.” He knelt and swept the bottle suddenly up and behind him. Ben ceased moaning.
He squatted, looking at the small depression where the bottle had sat, then as he drew his lungs fullLuster brought the bottle back into view. “Hush!” he hissed, “Dont you dast to beller! Dont you. Dar hit is. See? Here. You fixin to start ef you stays here. Come on, les go see ef dey started knockin ball yit.” He took Ben’s arm and drew him up and they went to the fence and stood side by side there, peering between the matted honeysuckle not yet in bloom.
“Dar,” Luster said, “Dar come some. See um?”
They watched the foursome play onto the green and out, and move to the tee and drive.
Ben watched, whimpering, slobbering. When the foursome went on he followed along the fence, bobbing and moaning. One said.
“Here, caddie. Bring the bag.”
“Hush, Benjy,” Luster said, but Ben went on at his shambling trot, clinging to the fence, wailing in his hoarse, hopeless voice. The man played and went on, Ben keeping pace with him until the fence turned at right angles, and he clung to the fence, watching the people move on and away.
“Will you hush now?” Luster said, “Will you hush now?” He shook Ben’s arm. Ben clung to the fence, wailing steadily and hoarsely. “Aint you gwine stop?” Luster said, “Or is you?” Ben gazed through the fence. “All right, den,” Luster said, “You want somethin to beller about?” He looked over his shoulder, toward the house. Then he whispered: “Caddy! Beller now. Caddy! Caddy! Caddy!”
A moment later, in the slow intervals of Ben’s voice, Luster heard Dilsey calling. He took Ben by the armand they crossed the yard toward her.
“I tole you he warn’t gwine stay quiet,” Luster said. “You vilyun!” Dilsey said, “Whut you done to him?”
“I aint done nothin. I tole you when demfolks start playin, he git started up.”
“You come on here,” Dilsey said. “Hush, Benjy. Hush, now.” But he wouldn’t hush. They crossed the yard quickly and went to the cabin and entered. “Run git dat shoe,” Dilsey said. “Dont you sturb Miss Cahline, now. Ef she say anything, tellher I got him. Go on, now; you kin sho do dat right, I reckon.” Luster went out. Dilsey led Ben to the bed and drew him down beside her and she held him, rocking back and forth, wiping his drooling mouth upon the hem of her skirt. “Hush, now,” she said, stroking his head, “Hush.
Dilsey got you.” But he bellowed slowly, abjectly, without tears; the grave hopeless sound of all voiceless misery under the sun. Luster returned, carrying a white satin slipper. It was yellow now, and cracked and soiled, and when they placed it into Ben’s hand he hushed for a while. But he still whimpered, and soon he lifted his voice again.
“You reckon you kin find T. P.?” Dilsey said.
“He say yistiddy he gwine out to St John’s today. Say he be back at fo.” Dilsey rocked back and forth, stroking Ben’s head.
“Dis long time, O Jesus,” she said, “Dis long time.” “I kin drive dat surrey, mammy,” Luster said.
“You kill bofe y’all,” Dilsey said, “You do hit fer devilment. I knows you got plenty sense to. But I cant trust you. Hush, now,” she said. “Hush. Hush.”
“Nome I wont,” Luster said. “I drives wid T. P.” Dilsey rocked back and forth, holding Ben. “Miss Cahline say ef you cant quiet him, she gwine git up en come down en do hit.”
“Hush, honey,” Dilsey said, stroking Ben’s head. “Luster, honey,” she said, “Will you think about yo ole mammy en drive dat surrey right?”
“Yessum,” Luster said. “I drive hit jes like T. P.”
Dilsey stroked Ben’s head, rocking back and forth. “I does de bes I kin,” she said, “Lawd knows dat. Go git it, den,” she said, rising. Luster scuttled out. Ben held the slipper, crying. “Hush, now. Luster gone to git de surrey en take you to de graveyard. We aint gwine risk gittin yo cap,” she said. She went to a closet contrived of a calico curtain hung across a corner of the room and got the felt hat she had worn. “We’s down to worse’n dis, ef folks jes knowed,” she said. “You’s de Lawd’s chile, anyway. En I be His’n too, fo long, praise Jesus. Here.” She put the hat on his head and buttoned his coat. He wailed steadily. She took the slipper fromhimand put it away and they went out. Luster came up, with an ancient white horse in a battered and lopsided surrey.
“You gwine be careful, Luster?” she said.
“Yessum,” Luster said. She helped Ben into the back seat. He had ceased crying, but now he began to whimper again.
“Hit’s his flower,” Luster said. “Wait, I’llgit himone.”
“You set right dar,” Dilsey said. She went and took the cheek-strap. “Now, hurry en git him one.” Luster ran around the house, toward the garden. He came back with a single narcissus.
“Dat un broke,” Dilsey said, “Whyn’t you git hima good un?”
“Hit de onliest one I could find,” Luster said. “Y’all took all of um Friday to dec’rate de church. Wait, I’ll fixhit.” So while Dilsey held the horse Luster put a splint on the flower stalk with a twig and two bits of string and gave it to Ben. Then he mounted and took the reins. Dilsey stillheld the bridle.
“You knows de way now?” she said, “Up de street, round de square, to de graveyard, den straight back home.”
“Yessum,” Luster said, “Humup, Queenie.” “You gwine be careful, now?”
“Yessum.” Dilsey released the bridle. “Humup, Queenie,” Luster said.
“Here,” Dilsey said, “You han me dat whup.” “Aw, mammy,” Luster said.
“Give hit here,” Dilsey said, approaching the wheel. Luster gave it to her reluctantly. “I wont never git Queenie started now.”
“Never you mind about dat,” Dilsey said. “Queenie know mo bout whar she gwine dan you does. Allyou got to do is set dar en hold demreins. You knows de way, now?”
“Yessum. Same way T. P. goes ev’y Sunday.” “Den you do de same thing dis Sunday.”
“Cose I is. Aint
