The sound and the fury
“There, there,” he says. After a while he kind of sneaked his hand to
his mouth and dropped them out the window. Then I knew what I had been
smelling. Clove stems. I reckon he thought that the least he could do at
Father’s funeral or maybe the sideboard thought it was still Father and
tripped him up when he passed. Like I say, if he had to sell something
to send Quentin to Harvard we’d all been a damn sight better off if he’d
sold that sideboard and bought himself a one-armed strait jacket with
part of the money. I reckon the reason all the Compson gave out before
it got to me like Mother says, is that he drank it up. At least I never
heard of him offering to sell anything to send me to Harvard.
So he kept on patting her hand and saying “Poor little sister,” patting
her hand with one of the black gloves that we got the bill for four days
later because it was the twenty-sixth because it was the same day one
month that Father went up there and got it and brought it home and
wouldn’t tell anything about where she was or anything and Mother crying
and saying “And you didn’t even see him? You didn’t even try to get him
to make any provision for it?” and Father says “No she shall not touch
his money not one cent of it” and Mother says “He can be forced to by
law. He can prove nothing, unless—Jason Compson,” she says, “Were you
fool enough to tell—”
“Hush, Caroline,” Father says, then he sent me to help Dilsey get that
old cradle out of the attic and I says,
“Well, they brought my job home tonight” because all the time we kept
hoping they’d get things straightened out and he’d keep her because
Mother kept saying she would at least have enough regard for the family
not to jeopardize my chance after she and Quentin had had theirs.
“And whar else do she belong?” Dilsey says, “Who else gwine raise her
’cep me? Aint I raised eve’y one of y’all?”
“And a damn fine job you made of it,” I says. “Anyway it’ll give her
something to sure enough worry over now.” So we carried the cradle down
and Dilsey started to set it up in her old room. Then Mother started
sure enough.
“Hush, Miss Cahline,” Dilsey says, “You gwine wake her up.”
“In there?” Mother says, “To be contaminated by that atmosphere? It’ll
be hard enough as it is, with the heritage she already has.”
“Hush,” Father says, “Dont be silly.”
“Why aint she gwine sleep in here,” Dilsey says, “In the same room whar
I put her ma to bed ev’y night of her life since she was big enough to
sleep by herself.”
“You dont know,” Mother says, “To have my own daughter cast off by her
husband. Poor little innocent baby,” she says, looking at Quentin. “You
will never know the suffering you’ve caused.”
“Hush, Caroline,” Father says.
“What you want to go on like that fo Jason fer?” Dilsey says.
“I’ve tried to protect him,” Mother says. “I’ve always tried to protect
him from it. At least I can do my best to shield her.”
“How sleepin in dis room gwine hurt her, I like to know,” Dilsey says.
“I cant help it,” Mother says. “I know I’m just a troublesome old woman.
But I know that people cannot flout God’s laws with impunity.”
“Nonsense,” Father said. “Fix it in Miss Caroline’s room then, Dilsey.”
“You can say nonsense,” Mother says. “But she must never know. She must
never even learn that name. Dilsey, I forbid you ever to speak that name
in her hearing. If she could grow up never to know that she had a
mother, I would thank God.”
“Dont be a fool,” Father says.
“I have never interfered with the way you brought them up,” Mother says,
“But now I cannot stand anymore. We must decide this now, tonight.
Either that name is never to be spoken in her hearing, or she must go,
or I will go. Take your choice.”
“Hush,” Father says, “You’re just upset. Fix it in here, Dilsey.”
“En you’s about sick too,” Dilsey says. “You looks like a hant. You git
in bed and I’ll fix you a toddy and see kin you sleep. I bet you aint
had a full night’s sleep since you lef.”
“No,” Mother says, “Dont you know what the doctor says? Why must you
encourage him to drink? That’s what’s the matter with him now. Look at
me, I suffer too, but I’m not so weak that I must kill myself with
whiskey.”
“Fiddlesticks,” Father says, “What do doctors know? They make their
livings advising people to do whatever they are not doing at the time,
which is the extent of anyone’s knowledge of the degenerate ape. You’ll
have a minister in to hold my hand next.” Then Mother cried, and he went
out. Went down stairs, and then I heard the sideboard. I woke up and
heard him going down again. Mother had gone to sleep or something,
because the house was quiet at last. He was trying to be quiet too,
because I couldn’t hear him, only the bottom of his nightshirt and his
bare legs in front of the sideboard.
Dilsey fixed the cradle and undressed her and put her in it. She never
had waked up since he brought her in the house.
“She pretty near too big fer hit,” Dilsey says. “Dar now. I gwine spread
me a pallet right acrost de hall, so you wont need to git up in de
night.”
“I wont sleep,” Mother says. “You go on home. I wont mind. I’ll be happy
to give the rest of my life to her, if I can just prevent—”
“Hush, now,” Dilsey says. “We gwine take keer of her. En you go on to
bed too,” she says to me, “You got to go to school tomorrow.”
So I went out, then Mother called me back and cried on me awhile.
“You are my only hope,” she says. “Every night I thank God for you.”
While we were waiting there for them to start she says Thank God if he
had to be taken too, it is you left me and not Quentin. Thank God you
are not a Compson, because all I have left now is you and Maury and I
says, Well I could spare Uncle Maury myself. Well, he kept on patting
her hand with his black glove, talking away from her. He took them off
when his turn with the shovel came. He got up near the first, where they
were holding the umbrellas over them, stamping every now and then and
trying to kick the mud off their feet and sticking to the shovels so
they’d have to knock it off, making a hollow sound when it fell on it,
and when I stepped back around the hack I could see him behind a
tombstone, taking another one out of a bottle. I thought he never was
going to stop because I had on my new suit too, but it happened that
there wasn’t much mud on the wheels yet, only Mother saw it and says I
dont know when you’ll ever have another one and Uncle Maury says, “Now,
now. Dont you worry at all. You have me to depend on, always.”
And we have. Always. The fourth letter was from him. But there wasn’t
any need to open it. I could have written it myself, or recited it to
her from memory, adding ten dollars just to be safe. But I had a hunch
about that other letter. I just felt that it was about time she was up
to some of her tricks again. She got pretty wise after that first time.
She found out pretty quick that I was a different breed of cat from
Father. When they begun to get it filled up toward the top Mother
started crying sure enough, so Uncle Maury got in with her and drove
off. He says You can come in with somebody; they’ll be glad to give you
a lift. I’ll have to take your mother on and I thought about saying, Yes
you ought to brought two bottles instead of just one only I thought
about where we were, so I let them go on. Little they cared how wet I
got, because then Mother could have a whale of a time being afraid I was
taking pneumonia.
Well, I got to thinking about that and watching them throwing dirt into
it, slapping it on anyway like they were making mortar or something or
building a fence, and I began to feel sort of funny and so I decided to
walk around a while. I thought that if I went toward town they’d catch
up and be trying to make me get in one of them, so I went on back toward
the nigger graveyard. I got under some cedars, where the rain didn’t
come much, only dripping now and then, where I could see when they got
through and went away. After a while they were all gone and I waited a
minute and came out.
I had to follow the path to keep out of the wet grass so I didn’t see
her until I was pretty near there, standing there in a black cloak,
looking at the flowers. I knew who it was right off, before she turned
and looked at me and lifted up her veil.
“Hello, Jason,” she says, holding out her hand. We shook hands.
“What are you doing here?” I says. “I thought you promised her you
wouldn’t come back here. I thought you had more sense than that.”
“Yes?” she says. She looked at the flowers again. There must have been
fifty dollars’ worth. Somebody had put one bunch on Quentin’s. “You
did?” she says.
“I’m not surprised though,” I says. “I wouldn’t put anything past you.
You dont mind anybody. You dont give a damn about anybody.”
“Oh,” she says, “that job.” She looked at the grave. “I’m sorry about
that, Jason.”
“I bet you are,” I says. “You’ll talk mighty meek now. But you needn’t
have come back. There’s not anything left. Ask Uncle Maury, if you dont
believe me.”
“I dont want anything,” she says. She looked at the grave. “Why didn’t
they let me know?” she says. “I just happened to see it in the paper. On
the back page. Just happened to.”
I didn’t say anything. We stood there, looking at the grave, and then I
got to thinking about when we were little and one thing and another and
I got to feeling funny again, kind of mad or something, thinking about
now we’d have Uncle Maury around the house all the time, running things
like the way he left me to come home in the rain by myself. I says,
“A fine lot you care, sneaking in here soon as he’s dead. But it wont do
you any good. Dont think that you can take advantage of this to come
sneaking back. If you cant stay on the horse you’ve got, you’ll have to
walk,” I says. “We dont even know your name at that house,” I says. “Do
you know that? We don’t even know you with him and Quentin,” I says. “Do
you know that?”
“I know it,” she says. “Jason,” she says, looking at the grave, “if
you’ll fix it so I can see her a minute I’ll give you fifty dollars.”
“You haven’t got fifty dollars,” I says.
“Will you?” she says, not looking at me.
“Let’s see it,” I says. “I dont believe you’ve got fifty dollars.”
I could see where her hands were moving under her cloak, then she held
her hand out. Damn if it wasn’t full of money. I could see two or three
yellow ones.
“Does he still give you money?” I says. “How much does he send you?”
“I’ll give you a hundred,” she says. “Will you?”
“Just a minute,” I says, “And just like I say. I wouldn’t have her know
it for a thousand dollars.”
“Yes,” she says. “Just like you say do it. Just so I see her a minute. I
wont beg or do anything. I’ll go right on away.”
“Give me the money,” I says.
“I’ll give it to you afterward,” she says.
“Dont you trust me?” I says.
“No,” she says. “I know you. I grew up with you.”
“You’re a fine one to talk about trusting people,” I says. “Well,” I
says, “I got to get on out of the rain. Goodbye.” I made to go away.
“Jason,” she says. I stopped.
“Yes?” I says. “Hurry up. I’m getting wet.”
“All right,” she says. “Here.” There wasn’t anybody in sight. I went
back and took the money. She still held to it. “You’ll do it?” she says,
looking at me from under the veil, “You promise?”
“Let go,” I says, “You want somebody to come along and see us?”
She let go. I put the money in my pocket. “You’ll do it, Jason?” she
says. “I wouldn’t ask you, if there was any other way.”
“You’re damn right there’s no other way,” I says. “Sure I’ll do it. I
said I would, didn’t I? Only you’ll have to do just like I say, now.”
“Yes,” she says, “I will.” So I told her where to be, and went to the
livery stable. I hurried and got there just as they were unhitching the