Sanctuary

the hall and opened a door into a dark room. "You'll have to talk to her

in the dark," she said. "She wont have no light." Light from the hall

fell through the door and across the bed. "This aint hers," Miss Reba

said. "Wouldn't even see you in her room at all. I reckon you better

humor her until you find out what you want." They entered. The light fell

across the bed, upon a motionless curving ridge of bedclothing, the

general tone of the bed unbroken. She'll smother, Horace thought.

"Honey," Miss Reba said. The ridge did not move. "Here he is honey. Long

as you're all covered up, let's have some light. Then we can close the

door." She turned the light on.

"She'll smother," Horace said.

"She'll come out in a minute," Miss Reba said. "Go on. Tell her what you

want. I better stay. But dont mind me. I couldn't a stayed in my business

without learning to be deaf and dumb a long time before this. And if I'd

ever a had any curiosity, I'd have worn it out long ago in this house.

Here's a chair." She turned, but Horace anticipated her and drew up two

chairs. He sat down beside the bed and, talking at the top of the

unstirring ridge, he told her what he wanted.

"I just wanted to know what really happened. You wont commit yourself.

I know that you didn't do it. I'll promise before you tell me a thing

that you wont have to testify in Court unless they are going to hang him

without it. I know how you feel. I wouldn't bother you if the man's life

were not at stake."

The ridge did not move.

"They're going to hang him for something he never done," Miss Reba said.

"And she wont have nuttin, nobody. And you with diamonds, and her with

that poor little kid. You seen it, didn't you?"

The ridge did not move.

"I know how you feel," Horace said. "You can use a different name, wear

clothes nobody will recognise you in, glasses."

"They aint going to catch Popeye, honey," Miss Reba said. "Smart as he

is. You dont know his name, noway, and if you

SANCTUARY 121

have to go and tell them in court, I'll send him word after you leave and

he'll go somewheres and send for you. You and him don't want to stay here in

Memphis. The lawyer'll take care of you and you won't have to tell nuttin

you-" The ridge moved. Temple flung the covers back and sat up. Her head was

tousled, her face puffed, two spots of rouge on her cheekbones and her mouth

painted into a savage cupid's bow. She stared for an instant at Horace with

blank antagonism, then she looked away.

"I want a drink," she said pulling up the shoulder of her gown.

"Lie down," Miss Reba said. "You'll catch cold."

"I want another drink," Temple said.

"Lie down and cover up your nekkidness, anyway," Miss Reba said, rising.

"You already had three since supper."

Temple dragged the gown up again. She looked at Horace. "You give me a

drink, then."

"Come on, honey," Miss Reba said, trying to push her down. "Lie down and

get covered up and tell him about that business. I'll get you a drink in a

minute."

"Let me alone," Temple said, writhing free. Miss Reba drew the covers about

her shoulders. "Give me a cigarette, then. Have you got one?" she asked

Horace.

"I'll get you one in a minute," Miss Reba said. "Will you do what he wants

you to?"

"What?" Temple said. She looked at Horace with her black, belligerent

stare.

"You needn't tell me where your-he-" Horace said.

"Dont think I'm afraid to tell," Temple said. "I'll tell it anywhere. Dont

think I'm afraid. I want a drink."

"You tell him, and I'll get you one," Miss Reba said.

Sitting up in the bed, the covers about her shoulders, Temple told him of

the night she had spent in the ruined house, from the time she entered the

room and tried to wedge the door with the chair, until the woman came to

the bed and led her out. That was the only part of the whole experience

which appeared to have left any impression on her at all: the night which

she had spent in comparative inviolation. Now and then Horace would attempt

to get her on ahead to the crime itself, but she would elude him and return

to herself sitting on the bed, listening to the men on the porch, or lying

in the dark while they entered the room and came to the bed and stood there

above her.

"Yes; that," she would say. "It just happened. I dont know. I had been

scared so long that I guess I had just gotten used to being. So I just sat

there in those cottonseeds and watched him. I thought it was the rat at

first. There were two of them

122 WILLIAM FAULKNER

there. One was in the corner looking at me and the other was in the

corner. I dont know what they lived on, because there wasn't anything

there but corncobs and cottonseeds. Maybe they went to the house to eat.

But there wasn't any in the house. I never did hear one in the house. I

thought it might have been a rat when I first heard them, but you can feel

people in a dark room: did you know that? You dont have to see them. You

can feel them like you can in a car when they begin to look for a good

place to stop-you know: park for a while." She went on like that, in one