The Sound and the Fury - William Faulkner [105]
“Is he cold?” Dilsey said. She wiped her hands on her apron and touched his hand.
“Ef he aint, I is,” Luster said. “Always cold Easter. Aint never seen hit fail. Miss Cahline say ef you aint got time to fix her hot water bottle to never mind about hit.”
“Oh, Lawd,” Dilsey said. She drew a chair into the corner between the woodbox and the stove. The man went obediently and sat in it. “Look in de dinin room and see whar I laid dat bottle down,” Dilsey said. Luster fetched the bottle from the diningroom and Dilsey filled it and gave it to him. “Hurry up, now,” she said. “See ef Jason wake now. Tell em hit’s all ready.”
Luster went out. Ben sat beside the stove. He sat loosely, utterly motionless save for his head, which made a continual bobbing sort of movement as he watched Dilsey with his sweet vague gaze as she moved about. Luster returned.
“He up,” he said. “Miss Cahline say put hit on de table.” He came to the stove and spread his hands palm down above the firebox. “He up, too,” he said. “Gwine hit wid bofe feet dis mawnin.”
“Whut’s de matter now?” Dilsey said. “Git away fum dar. How kin I do anything wid you standin over de stove?”
“I cold,” Luster said.
“You ought to thought about dat whiles you wus down dar in dat cellar,” Dilsey said. “Whut de matter wid Jason?”
“Sayin me en Benjy broke dat winder in his room.”
“Is dey one broke?” Dilsey said.
“Dat’s whut he sayin,” Luster said. “Say I broke hit.”
“How could you, when he keep hit locked all day en night?”
“Say I broke hit chunkin rocks at hit,” Luster said.
“En did you?”
“Nome,” Luster said.
“Dont lie to me, boy,” Dilsey said.
“I never done hit,” Luster said. “Ask Benjy ef I did. I aint stud’in dat winder.”
“Who could a broke hit, den?” Dilsey said. “He jes tryin hisself, to wake Quentin up,” she said, taking the pan of biscuits out of the stove.
“Reckin so,” Luster said. “Dese funny folks. Glad I aint none of em.”
“Aint none of who?” Dilsey said. “Lemme tell you somethin, nigger boy, you got jes es much Compson devilment in you es any of em. Is you right sho you never broke dat window?”
“Whut I want to break hit fur?”
“Whut you do any of yo devilment fur?” Dilsey said. “Watch him now, so he cant burn his hand again twell I git de table set.”
She went to the diningroom, where they heard her moving about, then she returned and set a plate at the kitchen table and set food there. Ben watched her, slobbering, making a faint, eager sound.
“All right, honey,” she said. “Here yo breakfast. Bring his chair, Luster.” Luster moved the chair up and Ben sat down, whimpering and slobbering. Dilsey tied a cloth about his neck and wiped his mouth with the end of it. “And see kin you keep fum messin up his clothes one time,” she said, handing Luster a spoon.
Ben ceased whimpering. He watched the spoon as it rose to his mouth. It was as if even eagerness were muscle-bound in him too, and hunger itself inarticulate, not knowing it is hunger. Luster fed him with skill and detachment. Now and then his attention would return long enough to enable him to feint the spoon and cause Ben to close his mouth upon the empty air, but it was apparent that Luster’s mind was elsewhere. His other hand lay on the back of the chair and upon that dead surface it moved tentatively, delicately, as if he were picking an inaudible tune out of the dead void, and once he even forgot to tease Ben with the spoon while his fingers teased out of the slain wood a soundless and involved arpeggio until Ben recalled him by whimpering again.
In the diningroom Dilsey moved back and forth. Presently she rang a small clear bell, then in the kitchen Luster heard Mrs Compson and Jason descending, and Jason’s voice, and he rolled his eyes whitely with listening.
“Sure, I know they didn’t break it,” Jason said. “Sure, I know that. Maybe the change of weather broke it.”
“I dont