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
niggers how quality does, Benjy,” he said, “Whut you say?” He looked
back. Ben sat, holding the flower in his fist, his gaze empty and
untroubled. Luster hit Queenie again and swung her to the left at the
monument.
For an instant Ben sat in an utter hiatus. Then he bellowed. Bellow on
bellow, his voice mounted, with scarce interval for breath. There was
more than astonishment in it, it was horror; shock; agony eyeless,
tongueless; just sound, and Luster’s eyes backrolling for a white
instant. “Gret God,” he said, “Hush! Hush! Gret God!” He whirled again
and struck Queenie with the switch. It broke and he cast it away and
with Ben’s voice mounting toward its unbelievable crescendo Luster
caught up the end of the reins and leaned forward as Jason came jumping
across the square and onto the step.
With a backhanded blow he hurled Luster aside and caught the reins and
sawed Queenie about and doubled the reins back and slashed her across
the hips. He cut her again and again, into a plunging gallop, while
Ben’s hoarse agony roared about them, and swung her about to the right
of the monument. Then he struck Luster over the head with his fist.
“Dont you know any better than to take him to the left?” he said. He
reached back and struck Ben, breaking the flower stalk again. “Shut up!”
he said, “Shut up!” He jerked Queenie back and jumped down. “Get to hell
on home with him. If you ever cross that gate with him again, I’ll kill
you!”
“Yes, suh!” Luster said. He took the reins and hit Queenie with the end
of them. “Git up! Git up, dar! Benjy, fer God’s sake!”
Ben’s voice roared and roared. Queenie moved again, her feet began to
clop-clop steadily again, and at once Ben hushed. Luster looked quickly
back over his shoulder, then he drove on. The broken flower drooped over
Ben’s fist and his eyes were empty and blue and serene again as cornice
and façade flowed smoothly once more from left to right; post and tree,
window and doorway, and signboard, each in its ordered place.
Transcriber’s Notes
Because of William Faulkner’s unorthodox use of punctuation, it is
sometimes difficult to distinguish printing errors from the author’s
intentions. Therefore, every effort has been made to make the text of
this eBook correspond exactly to the printed edition of the book from
which the text was derived. The only correction made was the addition of
a missing closing quotation mark in the paragraph that begins with “He
fumbled in his coat” on page 230.
The illustration of an eye on page 242 has been replaced by the text,
“[Illustration: Eye]”, in the plain text version of this eBook.