The Ballad of the Sad Café-8

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    The large middle room, the parlor, was elaborate. The rosewood sofa, upholstered in threadbare green silk, was before the fireplace. Marble-topped tables, two Singer sewing maes, a big vase of pampas grass -- everything was rid grand. The most important piece of furniture in the parlor was a big, glassed-doored et in which was kept a number of treasures and iss Amelia had added two objects to this colle -- one was a large a from a water oak, the other a little velvet box holding two small, grayish stones. Sometimes when she had nothing much to do, Miss Amelia would take out this velvet box <bdi></bdi>and stand by the window with the stones in the palm of her hand, looking down at them with a mixture of fasation, dubious respect, and fear. They were the kidones of Miss Amelia herself, and had been taken from her by the doctor in Cheehaw some years ago. It bad been a terrible experience, from the first mio the last, and all she had got out of it were those two little stones; she was bound to set great store by them, or else admit to a mighty sorry bargain. So she kept them and in the sed year of Cousin Lymons stay with her she had them set as ors in a watch  which she gave to him. The other object she had added to the colle, the large a, recious to her -- but when she looked at it her face was always saddened and perplexed.

    &quot;Amelia, what does it signify?&quot; Cousin Lymon asked her.

    &quot;Why, its just an a,&quot; she answered. &quot;Just an a I picked up oernoon Big Papa died.&quot;

    &quot;How do you mean?&quot; Cousin Lymon insisted.

    &quot;I mean its just an a I spied on the ground that day. I picked it up and put it in my pocket. But I dont know why.&quot;

    &quot;What a peculiar reason to keep it,&quot; Cousin Lymon said.

    The talks of Miss Amelia and Cousin Lymon in the rooms upstairs, usually in the first few hours of the m when the hunchback could not sleep, were many. As a rule, Miss Amelia was a silent woman, not lettiongue run wild on any subject that happeo pop into her head. There were certain topics of versation, however, in which she took pleasure. All these subjects had one point in on -- they were interminable. She liked to plate problems which could be worked over for decades and still remain insoluble. Cousin Lymon, oher hand, ealking on any subject whatsoever, as he was a great chatterer. Their approach to any versation was altogether different. Miss Amelia always kept to the broad, rambling generalities of the matter, going on endlessly in a low, thoughtful void getting nowhere -- while Cousin Lymon would interrupt her suddenly to pick up, magpie fashion, some detail which, even if unimportant, was at least crete and bearing on some practical facet close at hand. Some of the favorite subjeiss Amelia were: the stars, the reason why Negroes are black, the best treatment for cer, and so forth. Her father was also an interminable subject which was dear to her.

    &quot;Why, Law,&quot; she would say to Lymon. &quot;Those days I slept. Id go to bed just as the lamp was turned on and sleep -- why, Id sleep like I was drowned in warm axle grease. Then e daybreak Big Papa would walk in and put his hand down on my shoulder. &quot;Get stirring, Little,&quot; he would say. Then later he would holler up the stairs from the kit wheove was hot &quot;Fried grits,&quot; he would holler. &quot;White meat and gravy. Ham and eggs.&quot; And Id run dowairs and dress by the hot stove while he was out washing at the pump. Then off wed go to the still or maybe --&quot;

    &quot;The grits we had this m oor,&quot; Cousin Lymon said. &quot;Fried too quick so that the inside never heated.&quot;

    &quot;And when Big Papa would run off the liquor in those days --&quot; The versation would go on endlessly, with Miss Amelias long legs stretched out before the hearth; for winter or summer there was always a fire in the grate, as Lymon was cold-natured. He sat in a low chair across from her, his feet not quite toug the floor and his torso usually well-ed in a bla or the green wool shawl. Miss Amelia never mentioned her father to anyone else except Cousin Lymon.

    That was one of the ways in which she showed her love for him. He had her fiden the most delicate and vital matters. He alone knew where she kept the chart that showed where certain barrels of whisky were buried on a piece of property near by. He alone had access to her ba<mark></mark>nk-book and the key to the et of curios. He took money from the cash register, whole handfuls of it, and appreciated the loud ji made inside his pockets. He owned almost everything on the premises, for when he was iss Amelia would prowl about and find him some present -- so that now there was hardly anythi close at hand to give him. The only part of her life that she did not want Cousin Lymon to share with her was the memory of her ten-day marriage. Marvin Macy was the one subject that was never, at any time, discussed betweewo of them.

    So let the sloass and e to a Saturday evening six years after the time when Cousin Lymon came first to the town. It was August and the sky had burned above the town like a sheet of flame all day. Now the green twilight was near and there was a feeling of repose. The street was coated an inch deep with dry golden dust and the little children ran about half-naked, sneezed often, sweated, and were fretful. The mill had closed down at noon. People in the houses along the main street sat resting on their steps and the women had palmetto fans. At Miss Amelias there was a sign at the front of the premises saying CAFE. The back porch was cool with latticed shadows and there cousin Lymon sat turning the ice-cream freezer -- often he unpacked the salt and id removed the dasher to lick a bit and see how the work was ing on. Jeff cooked i. Early that m Miss Amelia had put a noti the wall of the front porch reading: Chi Dinner -- Twenty ts Tohe café was already open and Miss Amelia had just finished a period of work in her office. All the eight tables were occupied and from the meical piano came a jingling tune.

    In a er he door and sitting at a table with a child, was Henry Macy. He was drinking a glass of liquor, which was unusual for him, as liquor went easily to his head and made him cry or sing. His face was very pale and his left eye worked stantly in a nervous tic, as it t to do when he was agitated. He had e into the café sidewise and silent, and when he was greeted he did not speak. The child o him beloo Horace Wells, and he had bee at Miss Amelias that m to be doctored.

    Miss Amelia came out from her offi good spirits. She atteo a few details i aered the café with the popes nose of a heween her fingers, as that was her favorite piece. She looked about the room, saw that in general all was well, a over to the er table by Henry Macy. She turhe chair around and sat straddling the back, as she only wao pass the time of day and was not yet ready for her supper. There was a bottle of Kroup Kure in the hip pocket of her overalls -- a medie made from whisky, rock dy, and a secret ingredient. Miss Amelia uncorked the bottle and put it to the mouth of the child. Theuro Henry Mad, seeing the nervous winking of his left eye, she asked:

    &quot;What ails you?&quot;

    Henry Macy seemed on the point of saying something difficult, but, after a long look into the eyes of Miss Amelia, he swallowed and did not speak.

    So Miss Amelia returo her patient. Only the childs head showed above the table top. His face was very red, with the eyelids half-closed and the mouth partly open. He had a large, hard, swollen boil on his thigh, and had been brought to Miss Amelia so that it could be opened. But Miss Amelia used a special method with children; she did not like to see them hurt, struggling, and terrified. So she had kept the child around the premises all day, giving him licorid frequent doses of the Kroup Kure, and toward evening she tied a napkin around his ned let him eat his fill of the dinner. Now as he sat at the table his head wobbled slowly from side to side and sometimes as he breathed there came from him a little worn-out grunt.

    There was a stir in the café and Miss Amelia looked around quickly. Cousin Lymon had e in. The hunchback strutted into the café as he did every night, and when he reached the exact ter of the room he stopped short and looked shrewdly around him, summing up the people and making a quick pattern of the emotional material at hand that night. The hunchback was a great mischief-maker. He enjoyed any kind of to-do, and without saying a word he could set the people at each other in a way that was miraculous. It <bdo>.</bdo>was due to him that the Raiwins had quarreled over a jaife two years past, and had not spoken one word to each other since. He resent at the big fight between Rip Wellborn and Robert Calvert Hale, and every ht for that matter since he had e into the town. He nosed around everywhere, khe intimate business of everybody, and trespassed every waking hour. Yet, queerly enough, in spite of this it was the hunchback who was most responsible for the great popularity of the café. Things were never so gay as when he was around. When he walked into the room there was always a quick feeling of tension, because with this busybody about there was never any telling what might desd on you, or what might suddenly be brought to happen in the room. People are never so free with themselves and so recklessly glad as when there is some possibility of otion or calamity ahead. So when the hunchback marched into the café everyone looked around at him and there was a quick outburst of talking and a drawing of corks.

    Lymon waved his hand to Stumpy MacPhail who was sitting with Merlie Ryan and Henry Ford Crimp. &quot;I walked to Rotten Lake today to fish,&quot; he said. &quot;And on the way I stepped over peared at first to be a big fallen tree. But then as I stepped over I felt something stir and I taken this sed look and thebbr></abbr>re I was straddling this here alligator long as from the front door to the kit and thicker than a hog.&quot;

    The hunchback chattered on. Everyone looked at him from time to time, and some kept track of his chattering and others did not. There were times when every word he said was nothing but lying and bragging. Nothing he said tonight was true. He had lain in bed with a summer quinsy all day long, and had only got up ie afternoon in order to turn the ice-cream freezer. Everybody khis, yet he stood there in the middle of the café and held forth with such lies and boasting that it was enough to shrivel the ears.

    Miss Amelia watched him with her hands in her pockets and her head turo one side. There was a softness about her gray, queer eyes and she was smilily to herself. Occasionally she glanced from the hunchback to the other people in the café -- and then her look roud, and there was in it the hint of a threat, as though daring ao try to hold him to at for all his foolery. Jeff was bringing in the suppers, already served on the plates, and the ris in the café made a pleasant stir of ess in the air.

    &quot;The little youngun is asleep,&quot; said Henry Macy finally.

    Miss Amelia looked down at the patient beside her, and posed her face for the matter in hand. The childs  was resting oable edge and a trickle of spit or Kroup Kure had bubbled from the er of his mouth. His eyes were quite closed, and a little family of gnats had clustered peacefully in the ers. Miss Amelia put her hand on his head and shook it roughly, but the patient did not awake. So Miss Amelia lifted the child from the table, being careful not to touch the sore part of his leg, a into the office. Henry Macy followed after her and they closed the office door.

    Cousin Lymon was bored that evening. There was not much going on, and in spite of the heat the ers in the café were good-humored. Henry Ford Crimp and Horace Wells sat at the middle table with their arms around each other, sniggering over some long joke -- but when he approached them he could make nothing of it as he had missed the beginning of the story. The moonlight brightehe dusty road, and the dwarfed peach trees were blad motionless: there was no breeze. The drowsy buzz of s mosquitoes was like an echo of the silent night. The town seemed dark, except far down the road to the right there was the flicker of a lamp. Somewhere in the darkness a woman sang in a high wild void the tune had no start and no finish and was made up of only three <tt>藏书网</tt>notes which went on and on and on. The hunchback stood leaning against the banister of the porch, looking down the empty road as though hoping that someone would e along.

百度搜索 The Ballad of the Sad Café and Other Stories 天涯 或 The Ballad of the Sad Café and Other Stories 天涯在线书库 即可找到本书最新章节.