The sound and the fury
after a while he asked if there was a drugstore open anywhere, but there
was not. Then he asked when the northbound train ran, and the man told
him at two thirty. He crossed the pavement and got in the car again and
sat there. After a while two negro lads passed. He called to them.
“Can either of you boys drive a car?”
“Yes, suh.”
“What’ll you charge to drive me to Jefferson right away?”
They looked at one another, murmuring.
“I’ll pay a dollar,” Jason said.
They murmured again. “Couldn’t go fer dat,” one said.
“What will you go for?”
“Kin you go?” one said.
“I cant git off,” the other said. “Whyn’t you drive him up dar? You aint
got nothin to do.”
“Yes I is.”
“Whut you got to do?”
They murmured again, laughing.
“I’ll give you two dollars,” Jason said. “Either of you.”
“I cant git away neither,” the first said.
“All right,” 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 wheel of a small
car, with his invisible life ravelled out about him like 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’ll you 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?”
“All right,” 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 them outdoors. “And see kin
you keep let him alone twell fo 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 hopeful dejection. “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
him on 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 full Luster 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 arm and 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 dem folks 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, tell her 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 from him and 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’ll git him one.”
“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 him a 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 fix hit.” 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 still held 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, “Hum up, Queenie.”
“You gwine be careful, now?”
“Yessum.” Dilsey released the bridle.
“Hum up, 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. All you got to do is set dar en hold dem reins. 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 I drove fer T. P. mo’n a hund’ed times?”
“Den do hit again,” Dilsey said. “G’awn, now. En ef you hurts Benjy,
nigger boy, I dont know whut I do. You bound fer de chain gang, but I’ll
send you dar fo even chain gang ready fer you.”
“Yessum,” Luster said. “Hum up, Queenie.”
He flapped the lines on Queenie’s broad back and the surrey lurched into
motion.
“You, Luster!” Dilsey said.
“Hum up, dar!” Luster said. He flapped the lines again. With
subterranean rumblings Queenie jogged slowly down the drive and turned
into the street, where Luster exhorted her into a gait resembling a
prolonged and suspended fall in a forward direction.
Ben quit whimpering. He sat in the middle of the seat, holding the
repaired flower upright in his fist, his eyes serene and ineffable.
Directly before him Luster’s bullet head turned backward continually
until the house passed from view, then he pulled to the side of the
street and while Ben watched him he descended and broke a switch from a
hedge. Queenie lowered her head and fell to cropping the grass until
Luster mounted and hauled her head up and harried her into motion again,
then he squared his elbows and with the switch and the reins held high
he assumed a swaggering attitude out of all proportion to the sedate
clopping of Queenie’s hooves and the organlike basso of her internal
accompaniment. Motors passed them, and pedestrians; once a group of half
grown negroes:
“Dar Luster. Whar you gwine, Luster? To de boneyard?”
“Hi,” Luster said, “Aint de same boneyard y’all headed fer. Hum up,
elefump.”
They approached the square, where the Confederate soldier gazed with
empty eyes beneath his marble hand into wind and weather. Luster took
still another notch in himself and gave the impervious Queenie a cut
with the switch, casting his glance about the square. “Dar Mr Jason’s
car,” he said then he spied another group of negroes. “Les show dem