Read Online Uncollected Stories of William Faulkner by William Faulkner - Free Book Online
Authors: William Faulkner
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“You-all hitch up and come on.”
When we turned into the road, the woman was kind of crouched beside it, holding something in her arms, and Granny standing beside her. It was a baby, a few months old; she held it like she thought maybe Granny was going to take it away from her. “I been sick and I couldn’t keep up,” she said. “They went off and left me.”
“Is your husband with them?” Granny said.
“Yessum,” the woman said. “They’s all there.”
“Who do you belong to?” Granny said. Then she didn’t answer. She squatted there in the dust, crouched over the baby. “If I give you something to eat, will you turn around and go back home?” Granny said. Still she didn’t answer. She just squatted there. “You see you can’t keep up with them and that they ain’t going to wait for you,” Granny said. “Do you want to die here in the road for buzzards to eat?” But she didn’t even look at Granny; she just squatted there.
“Hit’s Jordan we coming to,” she said. “Jesus gonter see me that far.”
“Get in the wagon,” Granny said. She got in; she squatted again just like she had in the road, holding the baby and not looking at anything—just hunkered down and swaying on her hams as the wagon rocked and jolted. The sun was up; we went down a long hill and began to cross a creek bottom.
“I’ll get out here,” she said. Granny stopped the wagon and she got out. There was nothing at all but the thick gum and cypress and thick underbrush still full of shadow.
“You go back home, girl,” Granny said. She just stood there. “Hand me the basket,” Granny said. I handed it to her and she opened it and gave the woman a piece of bread and meat. We went on.
When I looked back, the woman was still standing there by the road. We went on up the other hill, but when I looked back this time the road was empty again.
“Were the others there in that bottom?” Granny asked Ringo.
“Yessum,” Ringo said. “She done found um. Reckon she gonter lose um again tonight though.”
That was early on the fourth day. Late that afternoon we began to go around a hill and I saw the graveyard and Uncle Denny’s grave. “Hawkhurst,” I said.
“Hawkhurst?” Ringo said. “Where’s that railroad?”
The sun was going down. We came out where the sun shone level across where I remembered the house; we didn’t stop; we just looked across at the mound of ashes and the four chimneys standing in the sun like the chimneys at home. We came to the gate. Cousin Denny was running down the drive toward us. He was ten; he ran up to the wagon with his eyes round and his mouth already open for hollering.
“Denny,” Granny said, “do you know us?”
“Yessum,” Cousin Denny said. He looked at me, hollering, “Come see—”
“Where’s your mother?” Granny said.
“In Jingus’ cabin,” Cousin Denny said; he didn’t even look at Granny. “They burnt the house!” he hollered. “Come see what they done to the railroad!”
We ran, all three of us. Granny hollered something and I turned and put the parasol back into the wagon and hollered “Yessum!” back at her, and ran on and caught up with Cousin Denny and Ringo in the road, and we ran on over the hill, and then it came in sight. When Granny and I were here before, Cousin Denny showed me the railroad, but he was so little then that Jingus had to carry him. It was the straightest thing I ever saw, running straight and empty and quiet through a long empty gash cut through the trees, and the ground, too, and full of sunlight like water in a river, only straighter than any river, with the crossties cut off even and smooth and neat, and the light shining on the rails like on two spider threads, running straight on to where you couldn’t even see that far. It looked clean and neat, like the yard behind Louvinia’s cabin after she had swept it on Saturday morning, with those two little threads that didn’t look strong enough for anything to run
When we turned into the road, the woman was kind of crouched beside it, holding something in her arms, and Granny standing beside her. It was a baby, a few months old; she held it like she thought maybe Granny was going to take it away from her. “I been sick and I couldn’t keep up,” she said. “They went off and left me.”
“Is your husband with them?” Granny said.
“Yessum,” the woman said. “They’s all there.”
“Who do you belong to?” Granny said. Then she didn’t answer. She squatted there in the dust, crouched over the baby. “If I give you something to eat, will you turn around and go back home?” Granny said. Still she didn’t answer. She just squatted there. “You see you can’t keep up with them and that they ain’t going to wait for you,” Granny said. “Do you want to die here in the road for buzzards to eat?” But she didn’t even look at Granny; she just squatted there.
“Hit’s Jordan we coming to,” she said. “Jesus gonter see me that far.”
“Get in the wagon,” Granny said. She got in; she squatted again just like she had in the road, holding the baby and not looking at anything—just hunkered down and swaying on her hams as the wagon rocked and jolted. The sun was up; we went down a long hill and began to cross a creek bottom.
“I’ll get out here,” she said. Granny stopped the wagon and she got out. There was nothing at all but the thick gum and cypress and thick underbrush still full of shadow.
“You go back home, girl,” Granny said. She just stood there. “Hand me the basket,” Granny said. I handed it to her and she opened it and gave the woman a piece of bread and meat. We went on.
When I looked back, the woman was still standing there by the road. We went on up the other hill, but when I looked back this time the road was empty again.
“Were the others there in that bottom?” Granny asked Ringo.
“Yessum,” Ringo said. “She done found um. Reckon she gonter lose um again tonight though.”
That was early on the fourth day. Late that afternoon we began to go around a hill and I saw the graveyard and Uncle Denny’s grave. “Hawkhurst,” I said.
“Hawkhurst?” Ringo said. “Where’s that railroad?”
The sun was going down. We came out where the sun shone level across where I remembered the house; we didn’t stop; we just looked across at the mound of ashes and the four chimneys standing in the sun like the chimneys at home. We came to the gate. Cousin Denny was running down the drive toward us. He was ten; he ran up to the wagon with his eyes round and his mouth already open for hollering.
“Denny,” Granny said, “do you know us?”
“Yessum,” Cousin Denny said. He looked at me, hollering, “Come see—”
“Where’s your mother?” Granny said.
“In Jingus’ cabin,” Cousin Denny said; he didn’t even look at Granny. “They burnt the house!” he hollered. “Come see what they done to the railroad!”
We ran, all three of us. Granny hollered something and I turned and put the parasol back into the wagon and hollered “Yessum!” back at her, and ran on and caught up with Cousin Denny and Ringo in the road, and we ran on over the hill, and then it came in sight. When Granny and I were here before, Cousin Denny showed me the railroad, but he was so little then that Jingus had to carry him. It was the straightest thing I ever saw, running straight and empty and quiet through a long empty gash cut through the trees, and the ground, too, and full of sunlight like water in a river, only straighter than any river, with the crossties cut off even and smooth and neat, and the light shining on the rails like on two spider threads, running straight on to where you couldn’t even see that far. It looked clean and neat, like the yard behind Louvinia’s cabin after she had swept it on Saturday morning, with those two little threads that didn’t look strong enough for anything to run
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