Sanctuary

her, his mouth open in innocent astonishment within a short soft beard.

The other man was leaning over the upturned car, his tight coat ridged

across his shoulders. Then the engine ceased, though the lifted front

wbeel continued to spin idly, slowing.

V

TliE MAN IN OVERALLS WAS BAREFOOT ALSO. HE WALKED

ahead of Temple and Gowan, the shotgun swinging in his hand, his splay

feet apparently effortless in the sand into which Temple sank almost to

the ankle at each step. From time to time he looked over his shoulder at

them, at Gowan's bloody face and splotched clothes, at Temple struggling

and lurching on her high heels.

"Putty hard walkin', aint it?" he said. "Ef she'll take off them high

heel shoes, she'll git along better."

"Will IT' Temple said. She stopped and stood on alternate legs, holding

to Gowan, and removed her slippers. The man watched her, looking at the

slippers.

"Durn ef I could git ere two of my fingers into one of them things," he

said. "Kin I look at em?" She gave him one. He turned it slowly in his

hand. "Durn my hide," he said. He looked at Temple again with his pale,

empty gaze. His hair grew innocent and straw-like, bleached on the crown,

darkening about his ears and neck in untidy curls. "She's a right tall

gal, too," he said. "With them skinny legs of hern. How much she weigh?"

Temple extended her hand. He returned the slipper slowly, looking at her,

at her belly and loins. "He aint laid no crop by yit, has he?"

"Come on," Gowan said, "let's get going. We've got to get a car and get

back to Jefferson by night."

When the sand ceased Temple sat down and put her slippers on. She found

the man watching her lifted thigh and she

26 WILLTAM FAULKNER

jerked her skirt down and sprang up. "Well," she said, "go on. Dont you know

the way?"

The house came into sight, above the cedar grove beyond whose black

interstices an apple orchard flaunted in the sunny afternoon. It was set in

a ruined lawn, surrounded by abandoned grounds and fallen outbuildings. But

nowhere was any sign of husbandry-plow or tool; in no direction was a

planted field in sight-only a gaunt weather-stained ruin in a sombre grove

through which the breeze drew with a sad, murmurous sound. Temple stopped.

"I dont want to go there," she said. "You go on and get the car," she told

the man. "We'll wait here."

"He said fer y'all to come on to the house," the man said.

"Who did?" Temple said. "Does that black man think he can tell me what to

do?"

"Ah, come on," Gowan said. "Let's see Goodwin and get a car. It's getting

late. Mrs. Goodwin's here, isn't she?"

"Hit's likely," the man said.

"Come on," Gowan said. They went on to the house. The man mounted to the

porch and set the shotgun just inside the door.

"She's around somewher," he said. He looked at Temple again. "Hit aint no

cause fer yo wife to fret," he said. "Lee'll git you to town, I reckon."

Temple looked at him. They looked at one another soberly, like two children

or two dogs. "What's your name?"

"My name's Tawmmy," he said. "Hit aint no need to fret."

The hall was open through the house. She entered.

"Where you going?" Gowan said. "Why dont you wait out here?" She didn't

answer. She went on down the hall. Behind her she could hear Gowan's and

the man's voices. The back porch lay in sunlight, a segment of sunlight

framed by the door. Beyond, she could see a weed-choked slope and a huge

barn, broken-backed, tranquil in sunny desolation. To the right of the door

she could see the corner either of a detached building or of a wing of the

house. But she could hear no sound save the voices from the front.

She went on, slowly. Then she stopped. On the square of sunlight framed by

the door lay the shadow of a man's head, and she half spun, poised with

running. But the shadow wore no hat, so she turned and on tiptoe she went

to the door and peered around it. A man sat in a splint-bottom chair, in

the sunlight, the back of his bald, white-fringed head toward her, his

hands crossed on the head of a rough stick. She emerged onto the back

porch.

"Good afternoon," she said. The man did not move. She advanced again, then

she glanced quickly over her shoulder.

SANCTUARY 27

With the tail of her eye she thought she had seen a thread of smoke drift

out of the door in the detached room where the porch made an L, but it was

gone. From a line between two posts in front of this door, three square

cloths hung damp and limp, as though recently washed, and a woman's

undergarment of faded pink silk. It had been washed until the lace

resembled a ragged, fibre-like fraying of the cloth itself. It bore a

patch of pale calico, neatly sewn. Temple looked at the old man again.

For an instant she thought that his eyes were closed, then she believed

that he had no eyes at all, for between the lids two objects like dirty

yellowish clay marbles were fixed. "Gowan," she whispered, then she

wailed "Gowan," and turned running, her head reverted, just as a voice

spoke beyond the door where she had thought to have seen smoke:

"He cant hear you. What do you want?"