Read Online Requiem for a Nun by William Faulkner - Free Book Online

wanton crucifixion of a bereaved mamma, but what’s that in the balance with justice? I dont know why you didn’t. Or maybe you still intend to—provided you can catch us before we cross the Tennessee line tonight.

    (quick, tense, hard)

    All right. I’m sorry. I know better. So maybe it’s just my own stinking after all that I find impossible to doubt.

    (the pantry door slaps again; they both hear it)

    Because I’m not even going to take Gowan with me when I say good-bye and go upstairs.—And who knows—
    She stops. Gowan enters, carrying a small tray bearing a glass of milk, a salt shaker and a napkin, and comes to the table.

    Gowan
    What are you talking about now?

    Temple
    Nothing. I was telling Uncle Gavin that he had something of Virginia or some sort of gentleman in him too that he must have inherited from you through your grandfather, and that I’m going up to give Bucky his bath and supper.

    (she touches the glass for heat, then takes it up, to Gowan)

    Thank you, dear.

    Gowan
    Right, dear.

    (to Stevens)

    You see? Not just a napkin: the right napkin. That’s how I’m trained.

    (he stops suddenly, noticing Temple, who has done nothing apparently: just standing there holding the milk. But he seems to know what is going on: to her)

    What’s this for?

    Temple
    I dont know.
    He moves; they kiss, not long but not a peck either; definitely a kiss between a man and a woman. Then, carrying the milk, Temple crosses toward the hall door.

    (to Stevens)

    Good-bye then until next June. Bucky will send you and Maggie a postcard.

    (she goes on to the door, pauses and looks back at Stevens)

    I may even be wrong about Temple Drake’s odor too; if you should happen to hear something you haven’t heard yet and it’s true, I may even ratify it. Maybe you can even believe that—if you can believe you are going to hear anything that you haven’t heard yet.

    Stevens
    Do you?

    Temple
    (after a moment)

    Not from me, Uncle Gavin. If someone wants to go to heaven, who am I to stop them? Good night. Good-bye.
    She exits, closes the door. Stevens, very grave, turns back and sets his highball down on the tray.

    Gowan
    Drink up. After all, I’ve got to eat supper and do some packing too. How about it?

    Stevens
    About what? The packing, or the drink? What about you? I thought you were going to have one.

    Gowan
    Oh, sure, sure.

    (takes up the small filled glass)

    Maybe you had better go on and leave us to our revenge.

    Stevens
    I wish it could comfort you.

    Gowan
    I wish to God it could, I wish to God that what I wanted was only revenge. An eye for an eye—were ever words emptier? Only, you have got to have lost the eye to know it.

    Stevens
    Yet she still has to die.

    Gowan
    Why not? Even if she would be any loss—a nigger whore, a drunkard, a dope fiend—

    Stevens
    â€”a vagabond, a tramp, hopeless until one day Mr and Mrs Gowan Stevens out of simple pity and humanity picked her up out of the gutter to give her one more chance—

    (Gowan stands motionless, his hand tightening slowly about the glass. Stevens watches him)

    And then in return for it—

    Gowan
    Look, Uncle Gavin. Why dont you go for God’s sake home? Or to hell, or anywhere out of here?

    Stevens
    I am, in a minute. Is that why you think—why you would still say she has to die?

    Gowan
    I dont. I had nothing to do with it. I wasn’t even the plaintiff. I didn’t even instigate—that’s the word, isn’t it?—the suit. My only connection with it was, I happened by chance to be the father of the child she—Who in hell ever called that a drink?
    He dashes the whiskey, glass and all, into the ice bowl, quickly catches up one of the empty tumblers in one hand and, at the same time, tilts the whiskey bottle over it, pouring. At first he makes no sound, but at once it is obvious that he is laughing: laughter which begins normally enough,