The Collected Stories of Eudora Welty - Eudora Welty [73]
But instead of getting up, he listened.... His breathing restrained, his eyes powerless in the growing dark, he listened uneasily for a warning sound, forgetting in wariness what it would be. Before long he heard something—soft, continuous, insinuating.
"What's that noise?" he asked, his voice jumping into the dark. Then wildly he was afraid it would be his heart beating so plainly in the quiet room, and she would tell him so.
"You might hear the stream," she said grudgingly.
Her voice was closer. She was standing by the table. He wondered why she did not light the lamp. She stood there in the dark and did not light it.
Bowman would never speak to her now, for the time was past. I'll sleep in the dark, he thought, in his bewilderment pitying himself.
Heavily she moved on to the window. Her arm, vaguely white, rose straight from her full side and she pointed out into the darkness.
"That white speck's Sonny," she said, talking to herself.
He turned unwillingly and peered over her shoulder; he hesitated to rise and stand beside her. His eyes searched the dusky air. The white speck floated smoothly toward her finger, like a leaf on a river, growing whiter in the dark. It was as if she had shown him something secret, part of her life, but had offered no explanation. He looked away. He was moved almost to tears, feeling for no reason that she had made a silent declaration equivalent to his own. His hand waited upon his chest.
Then a step shook the house, and Sonny was in the room. Bowman felt how the woman left him there and went to the other man's side.
"I done got your car out, mister," said Sonny's voice in the dark. "She's settin' a-waitin' in the road, turned to go back where she come from."
"Fine!" said Bowman, projecting his own voice to loudness. "I'm surely much obliged—I could never have done it myself—I was sick...."
"I could do it easy," said Sonny.
Bowman could feel them both waiting in the dark, and he could hear the dogs panting out in the yard, waiting to bark when he should go. He felt strangely helpless and resentful. Now that he could go, he longed to stay. Of what was he being deprived? His chest was rudely shaken by the violence of his heart. These people cherished something here that he could not see, they withheld some ancient promise of food and warmth and light. Between them they had a conspiracy. He thought of the way she had moved away from him and gone to Sonny, she had flowed toward him. He was shaking with cold, he was tired, and it was not fair. Humbly and yet angrily he stuck his hand into his pocket.
"Of course I'm going to pay you for everything—"
"We don't take money for such," said Sonny's voice belligerently.
"I want to pay. But do something more....Let me stay—tonight...." He took another step toward them. If only they could see him, they would know his sincerity, his real need! His voice went on, "I'm not very strong yet, I'm not able to walk far, even back to my car, maybe, I don't know—I don't know exactly where I am—"
He stopped. He felt as if he might burst into tears. What would they think of him!
Sonny came over and put his hands on him. Bowman felt them pass (they were professional too) across his chest, over his hips. He could feel Sonny's eyes upon him in the dark.
"You ain't no revenuer come sneakin' here, mister, ain't got no gun?"
To this end of nowhere! And yet he had come. He made a grave answer. "No."
"You can stay."
"Sonny," said the woman, "you'll have to borry some fire."
"I'll go git it from Redmond's," said Sonny.
"What?" Bowman strained to hear their words to each other.
"Our fire, it's out, and Sonny's got to borry some, because its dark an' cold," she said.
"But matches—I have matches—"
"We don't have no need for 'em," she said proudly. "Sonny's goin' after his own fire."
"I'm goin' to Redmond's," said Sonny with an air of importance, and he went out.
After they had waited a while, Bowman looked out the window and saw a light moving over the hill. It spread itself out like a little fan. It zigzagged along the field, darting