 Section 30 of Cain by Jean Tumor. This Libra box recording is in the public domain. Cadence Part 2. For a month has passed. Halsey's workshop. It is an old building just off the main street of Semptor. The walls, too, within a few feet of the ground, are of an age-worn cement mixture. On the outside they are considerably crumbled and peppered with what looks like musket shot. Inside the plaster has fallen away in great chunks, leaving the labs, grade and cobweb exposed. A sort of loft above the shop proper serves as a breakwater for the rain and sunshine which otherwise would have free entry to the main floor. The shop is filled with old wheels and parts of wheels, broken shafts and wooden litter, a double door midway the street wall. To the left of this a workbench that holds a vice and a variety of woodwork tools. A window with as many panes broken as whole throws light on the bench. Opposite in the rear wall a second window looks out upon the backyard. In the left wall a rickety smoke blackened chimney and hearth with fire blazing. Smooth worn chairs grouped about the hearth suggest the village meeting place. Several large wooden blocks chipped in cut and sawed on their upper surfaces are in the middle of the floor. They are the supports used in almost any sort of wagon work. Their itemness means that Halsey has no worthwhile job on foot. To the right of the central door is a junk heap and directly behind this stairs that lead down into the cellar. The cellar is known as the hole. Besides being the home of a very old man it is used by Halsey on those occasions when he spices up the life of the small town. Halsey wonderfully himself in his work overall stands in the doorway and gazes up the street expectantly. Then his eyes grow listless. He slouches against the smooth rubbed frame. He lights a cigarette, shifts his position, braces an arm against the door. Cabinous passes the window and stoopes to get in under Halsey's arm. He is awkward and ludicrous like a schoolboy in his big brother's new overalls. He skirts the large blocks on the floor and drops into a chair before the fire. Halsey saunters towards him. Cabinous, time for lunch. Halsey, yeah. He stands by the heart rocking backward and forward. He stretches his hands out to the fire. He washes them in the warm glow of the flames. They never get cold but he warms them. Cabinous saw Lewis up the street, said he'd be down. Halsey's eyes brighten. He looks at Cabinous, turns away, says nothing. Cabinous fidgets, twists his thin blue cloth covered limbs, pulls closer to the fire till the heat stings his shins, pushes back, pokes the burned logs, puts on several fresh ones. Fidgets the town bell strikes twelve. Cabinous fixes up for tonight. Halsey, leave it to me. Cabinous, get Lewis in. Halsey, try on to. The air is heavy with the smell of pine and resin. Green logs spurt and sizzle. Sap trickles from an old pine knot into the flames. Layman enters. He carries a lunch pail. Cabinous for the moment thinks that he is a day laborer. Layman, even in generalmen. Both, what say Layman? Layman squares a chair to the fire and droops into it. Several town fellows, silent and fathomable men, for the most part, saunter in. Overalls, thick tan shoes, felt hats marvelously shaped and twisted. When asked Halsey for a cigarette, he gets it. The blacksmith, a tremendous black man, comes in from the forge, not even a knot from him. He picks up an axel and goes out. Lewis enters. The town men look curiously at him. Suspicion and an open-liking contest for possession of their faces. They are uncomfortable, one by one. They drift into the street. Layman heard, you was leaving, Mr. Lewis. Cabinous, months up eh? Pell of a month I've got. Halsey, sorry you go and Lewis, just getting acquainted like. Lewis, sorry myself Halsey in a way. Layman, getting to like our town, Mr. Lewis. Lewis, I'm afraid it's on a different basis, Professor Halsey. And I've yet to hear about that basis. Been waiting long enough, God knows. Seems to me like you'd take pity of Feller, if nothing more. Cabinous, something that old black cockroach over yonder doesn't like, whatever it is. Layman, that's right, that's right, show Halsey. A fellow dropped in here the other day and said he knew what you was about. Said you had queer opinions. Well, I could have told him you was a queer one myself, but not the way he was drifting. Didn't mean anything by it, but just let drop you thought you was a little wrong up here. Crazy, you know? Laughs. Cabinous, you mean old Blottson? Hell, he's bats himself. Lewis, I remember him. We had a talk, but what he found queer I think was not my opinions, but my lack of them in half an hour, he had settled everything. Bow weevils, God, the world war. Weevils and wars are the pests that God sends against the sinful. People are too weak to correct themselves. The Redeemer is coming back. Get ready, ye sinners, for the advent of our Lord. Interesting, eh? Cabinous, but not exactly what we want. Halsey, ye could have come to me. I've show been after ye enough. Most every time I've seen ye. Cabinous, sarcastically. How's it yet? Never came to us, professors. Lewis, I did to one. Cabinous, you mean to say you got something from that celluloid collar eraser cleaned old codger over in the mud hole? Halsey, rough on the old boy, ain't he? Laughs. Lewis, something, yes. Layman here could have given me quite a deal, but the incentive to his keeping quiet is so much greater than anything I could have offered him to open up that I crossed him off my mind. And you, Cabinous, what about me? Halsey, tell him, Lewis, for God's sake, tell him I've told him, but it's something else he wants so bad I've heard him downstairs mumbling with the old man. Lewis, the old man. Cabinous, what about me? Come on now, you know so much. Halsey, tell him, Lewis, tell it to him. Lewis, life has already told him more than he is capable of knowing. It has given him in excess of what he can receive. I've been offered stuff in his stomach, curdled, and he vomited me. Cabinous, face, twitches, his body writhes. Cabinous, you know a lot, you do. How about Halsey? Lewis, yes. Halsey, fits here, belongs here, an artist in your way, aren't you, Halsey? Halsey, reckon I am, Lewis. Give me the work and fair pay, and I ain't asking nothing better. Went overseas and saw France, and I come back. Been up north, and I come back. Went to school, but there ain't no books. What's got the feel to them? Of them, their tools, Nasser, and Amatellinia. A shriveled bony white man passes the window and enters the shop. He carries a broken hatchet handle and a severed head. He speaks with a flat-drawn voice to Halsey who comes forward to meet him. Mr. Ramsey, can you fix this for me, Halsey? Halsey, looking it over, reckons so. Mr. Ramsey, here, Cabinous. A little practice for you. Halsey directs Cabinous, showing him how to place the handle in the vise, and cut it down. The knife hangs. Cabinous thinks that it must be dull. He jerks it hard. The tool goes deep and shaves too much off. Mr. Ramsey smiles brokenly at him. Mr. Ramsey to Halsey, still breaking in the new hand. A Halsey seems like a likely enough fowler. Once he gets the hang of it, he gives a tight laugh at his own good humor. Cabinous burns red. The back of his neck stings him beneath his collar. He feels stifled through Ramsey, the whole white south. Ways down upon him. The pressure is terrific. He sweats under the arms. Chill beads run down his body. His brows concentrate upon the handle as though his own life was staked upon the perfect shaving of it. He begins to out and out botch the job. Halsey smiles. Halsey, he'll make a good in some of these days, Mr. Ramsey. Mr. Ramsey, you ought to know your daddy was a good in before you. Runs in the family, seems like to me. Halsey, that's right, Mr. Ramsey. Cabinous is hopeless. Halsey takes the handle from him with a few death strokes. He shaves it, fits it, gives it to Ramsey. Mr. Ramsey, how much on this? Halsey, no charge, Mr. Ramsey. Mr. Ramsey going out. All right, Halsey, come down and take it out and trade. Shoes, strings or something. Halsey, yes sir, Mr. Ramsey. Halsey rejoins Lewis and layman. Cabinous, hang dog, fashion follows him. Halsey, they like you if you work for them. Layman, that's right, Mr. Halsey, that's right, show. The group is about to resume its talk. When Hanby enters, he is all energy, bustle and business. He goes direct to Cabinous, Hanby. An axle is out in the buggy, which I would like to have shaped into a crowbar. You will see that it is fixed for me. Without waiting for an answer and knowing that Cabinous will follow, he passes out. Cabinous scowling, silent, trudges after him. Hanby from the outside, have that ready for me by three o'clock young man. I shall call for it. Cabinous under his breath as he comes in. The hell you say, you old black swamp-gunt. He slings the axle on the floor. Halsey, wee-ee. Layman, lunch, finished long ago, rises heavily. He shakes hands with Lewis. Layman might not see you again before you leave, Mr. Lewis. I enjoys to hear you talk. You might have been a preacher, maybe a bishop someday. Show do hope to see you back this way again sometime, Mr. Lewis. Lewis, thanks, professor. Hope I'll see you. Layman waves a long arm loosely to the others and leaves. Cabinous goes to the door, his eyes sullen, gazed up the street. Cabinous, carry Cays, coming with the lunch, about time. She passes the window, her red girl's cap, catching the sun flashes vividly with a stiff, awkward little movement. She crosses the door sill and gives Cabinous one of the two baskets which she is carrying. There's a slight stoop to her shoulders, the curves of her body, blend with this to a soft rounded charm. Her gestures are stiffly variant. Black bangs curl over the forehead of her oval olive face. Her expression is dazed, but on provocation it could melt into a wistful smile. Adolescent, she is easily the sister of Fred Halsey. Carry Cays, mother says excuse her brother Fred and Ralph for being late. Cabinous, everything's all right and okay. Carry Cays, okay and all right. The two men settle on their lunch. Carry with hardly a glance in the direction of the hearth, as as her habit is about to take the second basket down to the old man when Lewis rises. In doing so he draws her unwitting attention. Their meeting is a swift sunburst. Lewis impulsively moves towards her. His mind flashes images of her life in the southern town. He sees the nascent woman, her flesh already stiffening to cartilage, drying to bone. Her spirit bloom even now touched sullen, bitter, her rich beauty fading. He wants to, he stretches forth his hands to hers. He takes them. They feel like warm cheeks against his palms. The sunburst from her eyes floods up and halos him. Christ eyes, his eyes look to her. Fearlessly she loves into them and then something happens. Her face blanches. Awkwardly she draws away the sin bogies of respectable southern colored folks clamor at her. Look out, be a good girl, a good girl, look out. She groups for her basket that has fallen to the floor, finds it and marches with a rigid gravity to her task of feeding the old man like the glowing white ash of a burned paper. Lewis eyelids, wavering, settle down. He stirs in the direction of the rear window from the backyard mules tethered to odd trees and pose blink-dumbly at him. They do seem burdened with an impotent pain. Cabinus and Halsey are still busy with their lunch. They haven't noticed him. After a while, he turns to them. Lewis, your sister Halsey, what's to become of her? What are you going to do for her? Halsey, who? What? What am I going to do? Lewis, what I mean is, what does she do down there? Halsey, oh, feeds the old man. Add lunch, Lewis. Lewis, thanks. Yes, you have never felt her, have you, Halsey? Well, no, I guess not. I don't suppose you can. Nor can she. Oh, man. Halsey, someone lives down there. I've never heard of him. Tell me. Cabinus takes time from his meal to answer with some emphasis. Cabinus, there's lots of things you ain't heard of. Lewis, dare say, I'd like to see him. Cabinus, you'll get all the chance you want tonight. Halsey, fixing a little something up for tonight, Lewis. The three of us and some girls come around about 10.30. Lewis, glad to, but what under the sun does he do down there? Halsey, as Cabinus, he blows off to him every chance he gets. Cabinus gives a grunting laugh. His mouth twists. Kerry returns from the cellar, avoiding Lewis. She speaks to her brother. Kerry, okay. Brother Fred, father hasn't eaten now, going on the second week, but mumbles and talks funny or tries to talk when I put his hands on to the food. He frightens me and I don't know what to do. And oh, I came near forgetting brother, but Mr. Marmin, he was eating lunch when I saw him, told me to tell you that the lumber wagon busted down and he wanted you to fix it for him. Said he reckoned he could get it to you after he ate. Halsey chucks a half-eaten sandwich and the fire gets up, arranges his blocks, goes to the door and looks anxiously up the street. The wind whirls a small spiral in the gray dust road. Halsey, why didn't you tell me sooner, little sister? Kerry, I forgot to and just remembered it now, brother. Her soft, rolled words are fresh pain to Lewis. He wants to take her north with him. What for? He wonders what Cabinus could do for her, what she could do for him, mother him. Kerry gathers the lunch things silently and in her pinched manner curtsies and departs. Cabinus lights his after-lunch cigarette. Lewis, who has sensed the change, becomes aware that he is not included in it. He starts to ask again about the old man, decides not to rises to go. Lewis, think out, run along Halsey. Halsey, sure glad to see you any time. Cabinus, don't forget tonight. Lewis, don't worry, I won't. So long, Cabinus. So long, we'll be expecting you. Lewis passes Halsey at the door. Halsey's cheeks form a vacant smile. His eyes are wide awake, watching for the wagon to turn from Broad Street into his road. Halsey, so long, his words reach Lewis halfway to the corner. Five. Night, soft belly of a pregnant negrus, throbs evenly against the torso of the cell. Night throbs a womb song to the cell. Cain and cotton fields, pine forests, cypress swamps, sawmills and factories are feckoned at her touch. Night's womb song sets them singing. Night winds are the breathing of the unborn child whose calm, throbbing in the belly of a negrus, sets them somnolently singing. Hear their song, white man's land, niggers sing. Burn bare black children till poor rivers bring rest and sweet glory in campground. Semper's streets are vacant and still, white paint on the wealthier houses has the chill, blue glitter of distant stars. Negro cabins are a purple blur, Broad Street is deserted, winds stir beneath the corrugated iron canopies and dangle odd bits of rope tied to horse and mule nod hitching posts. One store window has a light in it, Chesterfield cigarette and Giro cola cardboard advertisements are stacked in it. From a side door two men come out, pause for a last word and then they say good night. Soon they melt in shadows thicker than they, way off down the street for figures sway beneath iron awnings, which form a sort of quarter that imperfectly echoes and jumbles what they say. A fifth form joins them, they turn into the road that leads to Halsey's workshop. The old building is phosphorescent above deep shade, the figures pass through the double door. Night winds whisper in the eaves, seeing weirdly in the ceiling cracks stir curls of shavings on the floor. Halsey lights a candle, a good sized lumber wagon wheels off, rests upon the blocks. Cabinus makes a face at it, an earthly hush is upon the place no one seems to want to talk, to move lest the scraping of their feet. Halsey, come on down this way folks. He leads the way Stella follows and close after her core, Lewis and Cabinus. They descend into the hole, it seems huge, limitless in the candlelight. The walls are of stone wonderfully fitted, they have no opening, save a small iron barred window toward the top of each. They are dry and warm, the ground slopes away to the rear of the building and thus leaves the south wall exposed to the sun. The blacksmith's shop is plumb against the right wall, the floor is clay, shavings have at odd times been matted into it in the right hand corner under the stairs to good sized pine mattresses resting on cardboard or on either side of a wooden table. On this are several half-burn candles and an oil lamp behind the table and a regular piece of mirror hangs on the wall, a loose something that looks to be a gaudy ball costume dangles from a nearby hook to the front as second table holds a lamp and several whiskey glasses. Six rigidity chairs are near this table, two old wagon wheels rest on the floor, to the left sitting in a high back chair which stands upon a low platform, the old man. He is like a bust in black walnut, gray bearded, gray haired, prophetic, immobile, Lewis eyes are sunken him, the others unconcerned are about to pass on to the front table when Lewis grips Halsey and so turns him that the candle flame shines obliquely on the old man's features. Lewis, and he rules over, Cabinus, the smoke and fire of the forge. Lewis, black Vulcan, I wouldn't say so, that forehead, gray woolly beard, those eyes amuse John the Baptist of a new religion or a tongue-tied shadow of an old Cabinus, his tongue is tied all right and I can vouch for that. Lewis, has he never talked to you? Halsey, Cabinus won't give him a chance. He laughs, the girls laugh, Cabinus winces. Lewis, what do you call him? Halsey, father, Lewis, good, father, what? Cabinus, father of hell, Halsey, father is the only name we have for him. Come on, let's sit down and get to the pleasure of the evening. Lewis, father John, it is from now on. Slave boy, whom some Christian mistress taught to read the Bible, black man who saw Jesus in the rice fields and began preaching to his people, Moses and Christ's words used for songs, dead, blind father of a muted folk who feel their way upward to a life that crushes or absorbs them. Speak, father, suppose your eyes could see, O man, the ears hold hands, O sing, suppose your lips. Halsey, does he never talk? Halsey, nah, but sometimes only seldom mumbles. Sis, says he talks. Cabinus, I've heard him talk. Halsey, first I've ever heard of it. You don't give him a chance. Sis says she's made out several words, mostly one, and like is not cause, it was sin. Cabinus, all those old fogies stutter about sin. Cora laughs in a loose sort of way. She is a tall, thin, milato woman. Her eyes are deep set behind a pointed nose. Her hair is coarse and bushy, seeing that Stella also is restless. She takes her arm and the two women move towards the table. They slip into chairs. Halsey follows and lights the lamp. He lays out a pack of cards. Stella sorts them as if telling fortunes. She is a beautifully proportioned, large-eyed, brown-skinned girl. Except for the twisted line of her mouth when she smiles or laughs, there's about her no suggestion of the life she's been through. Cabinus, with great mocks, solemnity goes to the corner, takes down the robe, and dons it. He is a curious spectacle, acting apart yet very real. He joins the others at the table. They are used to him. Lewis is surprised. He laughs. Cabinus drinks and then glares at him with a furtive hatred. Halsey, bringing out a bottle of corn liquor, pours drinks. Halsey, come on, Lewis. Come on, you fellas. He is looking at you, then as if suddenly recalling something, he jerks away from the table and starts towards the steps. Cabinus, where you going, Halsey? Halsey, where? Where you think? That oak beam in the wagon. Cabinus, come here, come here. Sit down. What in hell's wrong with you, fellas? You with your wagon? Lewis with his father John? This ain't the time for fooling with wagons. Daytime's bad enough for that. Here, sit down. Here, Lewis, you too. Sit down. Have a drink. That's right. Drink corn liquor. Love the girls. And listen to the old man, Mumblin's sin. There seems to be no good time spirit to the party. Something in the air is too tense and deep for that. Lewis seated now so that his eyes rest upon the old man, merges with his source and lets the pain and beauty of the south meet him there. White faces, pain pollen, settle downward through a cane, sweet mist, and touch the ovaries of yellow flowers, cotton, bowls, bloom, droop, black roots, twist, and a barge, red soil beneath a blazing sky, magnolias, fragrant, trifold, futile, lovely, far off, his eyelids closed, a force begins to heave and rise. Stella is serious, reminiscent. Stella, a soul is brought up to hate, sin, worse than death. Cabinus, and then before you have your eyes half open, you're made to love it if you'll want to live. Stella, us never. Cabinus, oh I know your story, that old prim bastard over yonder and then old Calvert's office. Stella, it wasn't them. Cabinus, I know, they put you out of church, and then I guess the preacher came around and asked for some. But that's your body, now me, Aussie, passing him the bottle. All right, kid, we believe you. Here, take another. Where's Clover, Stella? Stella, you know how Jim is when he's just out the swamp, done up in shine and wouldn't let her come. Said he'd bust her head open if she went out. Cabinus, don't see why it doesn't stay over with Laura where he belongs. Stella, ask him, and I reckon he'll tell you more than you want. Aussie, the nigger hates the sight of a black woman worse than death. Sorry to mix you up this way, Lewis, but you see how it is. Lewis' skin is tight and glowing over the fine bones of his face. His lips tremble, his nostrils quiver, the others notice this and smile knowingly at each other. Drinks and smokes are passed around. They pay no never minds to him. A real party is being worked up. Then Lewis opens his eyes and looks at them. Their smiles disperse and hot cold tremors. Cabinus chokes his laugh. It sputters gurgles, his eyes flicker and turn away. He tries to pass the thing off by taking a long drink, which he makes considerable fuss over. He is drawn back to Lewis, seeing Lewis gaze still upon him. He scowls. Cabinus, what are you looking at me for? You want to know who I am? Well, I'm Ralph Cabinus. A lot of good is going to do you. Well, what you keep looking for? I'm Ralph Cabinus. Ain't that enough for you? Want the whole family history? It's none of your goddamn business anyway. Keep off me, do you hear? Keep off me. Look at Cora. Ain't she pretty enough to look at? Look at Aussie or Stella. Clover ought to be here and you could look at her and love her. That's what you need, I know. Lewis, Ralph Cabinus, gets satisfied that way. Cabinus, satisfied? Say, quit your kidding. Here, look at that old man there. See him? He's satisfied. Do I look like him? When I'm dead, I don't expect to be satisfied. Is that enough for you? With your goddamn nosing? Or do you want more? Well, you won't get it. Understand? Lewis, the old man as symbol, flesh, and spirit of the past. What do you think? He would say if he could see you. You look at him, Cabinus. Cabinus, just like any done up preacher, is what he looks to me. Jam some false teeth in his mouth and crank him and you'd have God Almighty spit in torrents all around the floor. Oh, Helen, he reminds me of that black cockroach over yonder. And besides, he ain't my past. My ancestors were southern bluebloods. Lewis and black, Cabinus, ain't much difference between blue and black. Lewis, enough to draw a denial from you. Can't hold them, can you? Master, slave, soil, and the overarching heavens. Dusk, dawn. They fight and bastardize you. The sun, tint of your cheeks, flame of the great season of multi-colored leaves, tarnished, burned. Split, shredded, easily burned, no use. His gaze shifts to Stella. Stella's face draws back her breasts come towards him. Stella, I ain't got nothing for you, mister. Ain't no use to look at me. Halsey, you're a queer fellow, Lewis. I swear you are. Told you so, didn't I? Girls, just take him easy, though, and he'll be riding just the same as any Georgia Mule. A. Lewis? Laughs. Stella, I'm going to tell you something, mister. It ain't to you to the Mr. Lewis what knows is about. It's to something different. I don't know what. But, oh, man, there, maybe it's him. It's like my father used to look. He used to sing, and when he could sing in no mode, they'd always come for him and carry him to church, and there he'd sit before the pulpit of swaying and a lead in every song. A white man took my mother, and it broke the old man's heart. He died, and then I didn't care what become of me, and I don't know. I don't care now. Don't get it in your head. I'm some sentimental Susie asking for yo sap, nice sir. But there's something to yo, though those ain't got boars and kids and fools. That's all I've known, boars. When their fever's up, when their fever's up, they come to me. Halsey asked me over when he's off the job. Cadmus, it'd be a sin to play with him. He takes it out and talk. Halsey knows that he has trifled with her. That odd things. He has been inwardly penitent before her, tasking him, but now he wants to hurt her. He turns to Lewis. Halsey, Lewis, I got a little liquor in me, and that's true. True is what I said true, but the stuff just seems to wake me up and make my mind a man of me. Listen, you know a lot queer as hell as you are, and I want to ask you some questions. They're too hot for them. Stella and Cora and Cabinet, so we'll just excuse them. A chat between ourselves turns to the others. You all can't listen in on this, won't interest you. So just leave the table. This gentleman and myself go along now. Cadmus gets up, pompous in his robe, grotesquely so it makes as if to go through a grand march with Stella. She shoves him off roughly and in a mood swings her body to the steps. Cadmus grabs Cora and parades around, passing the old man to whom he bows and mock curtsy. He sweeps by the table, snatches the liquor bottle, and then he and Cora sprawl on the mattresses. She meets his weak approaches after the manner she thinks Stella would use. Halsey contemptuously watches them until he is sure that they are settled. Halsey, this ain't the sort of thing for me, Lewis, when I got work upstairs. Nah, sir. You and me has got things to do. Waste and time on common low-down women. Say Lewis, look at her now. Stella ain't she a picture? Common wench. Nah, she ain't Lewis. You know she ain't. I'm only trying to fool you. I used to love that girl. Yes, sir. And sometimes when the moon is thick and I hear dogs up the valley barking and some old woman touches out her song and the wind seemed like the Lord made them fur to fetch and carry the smell of pine and cane and there ain't no big job on foot. I sometimes get to thinking that I still do, but I want to talk to you Lewis, queer as you are. You know Lewis, I went to school once. Yeah, in Augusta, but it wasn't a regular school. Nah, it was a pussy Sunday school masquerading under a regular name. Some goody-goody teachers from the north had come down to teach the niggers. If you was nearly white, they like you. If you was black, they didn't, but it wasn't that. I was all right. You see, I couldn't stand a messing and pulling over my business like I was a child, so I cussed them out and left. Cabinous there ought to have cussed out the old duck over, yonder and left. He'd have been a better man today, but as I was saying, I couldn't stand their way, so I left and came here and worked with my father and been here ever since he died. I sat in for myself, and it's always been. Give me a good job and sure pay, and I ain't far from being satisfied. So far, satisfaction goes. Prejudice is everywhere's about this country, and a nigger ain't in much standing anyways. But when it comes to potting around and doing nothing with nothing bigger than an axe handle to hold a fella down like it was a while back before I got this job, that beam ought to be, but tomorrow morning early's time enough for that. As I was saying, I get to thinking. Play dumb naturally to white folks. I get to thinking. I used to subscribe to that literary digest, and that helped along a bit, but there weren't nothing I could sink my teeth into. There's lots I want to ask you, Lewis, been asking you to come around. Couldn't get you. Can't get in much tonight. He glances at the others, his mind fastens on Cabinous. Say, tell me this, what's on your mind to say on that fella there? Cabinous name. One queer bird ought to know another seems like to me. Licker has released conflicts in Cabinous, and set them flowing. He pricks his ears, intuitively feels that the talk is about him. Leaves core and approaches the table. His eyes are watery, heavy with passion. He stoopes. He is a ridiculous pathetic figure in his showy robe. Cabinous, talking about me, I know. I'm the topic of conversation everywhere. There's talk about this town, girls and fellas, white folks as well. And if it's me you're talking about, guess I got a right to listen in. What's Sam? What's Sam about his royal guts to do? What's saying, eh? Halsey to Lewis, we'll take it up another time. Cabinous, no, another time about it. Now, I'm here now, and talking's just begun. I was born and bred in a family of orators. That's what I was. Halsey, preachers. Cabinous, nah, preachers, hell. I didn't say windbusters. Yeah, misapprehended me. You understand what that means, don't you? All right then, you misapprehended me. I didn't say preachers. I said orators, orators. Born one and I'll die one. You understand me, Lewis? He turns to Halsey and begins shaking his finger and his face. And as for you, you're all right for chopping things from blocks of wood. I was good at that the day I dug the cradle, and since then I've been shaping words after a design that branded here. Know what's here, my soul. Ever heard of that? The hell you have been shaping words to fit my soul. Never told you that before, did I? Thought I couldn't talk, I'll tell you. I've been shaping words out, but sometimes they're beautiful and golden and have a taste that makes them find a roll over with your tongue. Your tongue ain't fit for nothing but to roll and lick hog meat. Stella and Cora come up to the table. Halsey, give him a chave, will you, Stella? Stella jams Cabinous in a chair. Cabinous springs up. Cabinous can't keep a good man down. Those words I was telling you about, they won't fit in the mold. That's branded on my soul. Rhyme, you see? Poet, too. Bad rhyme. Bad poet. Something else you've learned tonight. Lewis don't know it all, and I'm telling you. Bug, the form that's burned into my soul is some twisted awful thing that crept in from a dream, a goddamn nightmare, and won't stay still unless I feed it. And it lives on words, not beautiful words. God Almighty, no mischaping, split-cut, tortured, twisted words. Laman was feeding in back there that day you thought I ran out fearing things. White folks feed it because their looks are words. Niggers, black niggers feed it because they're evil and their looks are words. Yellow niggers feed it. This whole damn bloated purple country feeds it because it's going down to hell in a holy avalanche of words. I want to feed the soul. I know what that is. The preachers don't, but I've got to feed it. I wish to God, some lynching white man, a stick his knife through it and pin it to a tree. And pin it to a tree. You hear me? That's a wish for you, you little snot-nosed pups who've been making fun of me and faking that I'm weak. Me, Ralph, Cadenus, weak. Ha, Halsey. That's right, oh man. There, there. Here, so much exertion. Merits a fit and reward. Help him to be seated, Cora. Halsey gives him a swig of shine. Cora glides up, seats him, and then plumps herself down on his lap, squeezing his head into her breasts. Cadenus mutters, tries to break loose, curses. Cora almost stifles him. He goes limp and gives up. Cora toys with him, ruffles his hair, braids it, parts it in the middle. Stella smiles contemptuously, and then a sudden anger sweeps her. She would like to lash Cora from the place. She'd like to take Cadenus to some distant pine grove and nurse the mother hymn. Her eyes flash a quick tensioning, throws her breasts and neck into a poised strain. She starts towards them. Halsey grabs her arm and pulls her to him. She struggles. Halsey pins her arms and kisses her. She settles, spurting like a pine knot of fire. Lewis finds himself completely cut out. The glowing within him subsides. It is followed by a dead gill. Cadenus carries Stella Halsey, Cora. The old man, the seller, and the workshop, the southern town, descend upon him. Their pain is too intense. He cannot stand it. He bolts from the table, leaps up the stairs, plunges through the workshop and out into the night. Six. The seller swims in a pale phosphorescence. The table, the chairs, the figure of the old man, are amoeba, like shatters which move about and float in it. In the corner under the steps, close to the floor, a solid blackness. A sound comes from it, a forcible yawn. Part of the blackness detaches itself so that it may be seen against the greyness of the wall. It moves forward and then seems to be clothing itself in odd dangling bits of shadow. The voice of Halsey, vibrant and deepened, calls. Halsey, Cadenus, Cora, Stella. He gets no response. He wants to get them up to get on the job. He is intolerant of their sleepiness. Halsey, Cadenus, Stella, Cora. Gutterals, jerky and impeded, tell that he is shaking them. Halsey, come now, up with you, Cadenus, sleepily and still more or less intoxicated. What's the big idea? What in hell? Halsey, work, but never you mind about that, up with you. Cora, ooh, look here, mister. I ain't used to being thrown into the street before day. Stella, any bunk what's worked is worth in wages more than this, but come on, taint no use to argue. Cadenus, I'll argue. It's preposterous. The girls interrupt him with none to pleasant laughs. Cadenus, that's what I said. Know what it means, don't you? All right then, I said it's preposterous to root an artist out of bed at this ungodly hour when there ain't no use to it. You can start your damn door work, nobody's stopping you, but what we got to get up for. Afraid somebody will see the girls leaving, some sport you are. I hand it to you, Halsey. Up you get all the same, Cadenus. Oh, the hell you say, Halsey. Well, son, seeing that I'm the kind hearted father, I'll give you a chance to open your eyes, but up you get when I come down. He mounts the steps to the workshop and starts a fire in the hearth. In the yard he finds some chunks of coal which he brings in and throws on the fire. He puts a kettle on to boil, the wagon draws in, he lifts an oak beam, fingers it, and becomes abstracted. Then comes to himself and places the beam upon the workbench. He looks over some newly cut wooden spokes. He goes to the fire and pokes it. The coals are red hot with a pair of long prongs. He picks them up and places them in a thick iron bucket. This he carries downstairs. Outside darkness has given way to the unpalpable grayness of dawn. This early morning light seeping through the four barred cellar windows is the color of the stony walls. It seems to be an emanation from them. Halsey's coals throw out a rich warm glow. He sets them on the floor a safe distance from the beds. Halsey, no fooling now, come up with you. Other than a soft rustling, there's no sound as the girls slip into their clothes. Cabinus still lies in bed. Stella, to Halsey, reckon you could spare us a light. Halsey strikes a match, lights a cigarette, and then bends over and touches flame to the two candles on the table between the beds. Cabinus asks for a cigarette. Halsey hands him his and takes a fresh one for himself. The girls before the mirror are doing up their hair. It is bushy hair that has gone through some straightening process. Character, however, has not all been ironed out. As they kneel their heavy-eyed and dusky and throwing grotesque moving shadows on the wall, there are two princesses in Africa going through the early morning ablutions of their pagan prayers. Finished, they come forward to stretch their hands and warm them over the glowing coals. Red dusk of a Georgia sunset, their heavy-cold lip faces. Cabinus suddenly recalls something. Cabinus, the old man talked last night. Stella, and so did you. Halsey, in your dreams. Cabinus, I tell you he did. I know what I'm talking about. I tell you what he said. Wait now. Let me see. Halsey, look out, brother. The old man will be getting into you by way of dreams. Come still. Ready, Cora? Coffee and eggs for both of you. Halsey goes upstairs. Stella, getting generous. Ain't he? She blows the candles out, says nothing to Cabinus, then she and Cora follow after Halsey. Cabinus left himself tries to rise. He is slept in his robe. His robe trips him. Finally, he manages to stand up. He starts across the floor, halfway to the old man. He falls and lies quite still. Perhaps an hour passes. Light of a new sun is about to filter through the windows. Cabinus slowly rises to support upon his elbows. He looks hard and internally gathers himself together. The side face of Father John is in the direct line of his eyes. He scowls at him. No one is around. Words gush from Cabinus. Cabinus, you sit there like a black hound, spiked to an ivory pedestal. And all night long, I heard you murmuring that devilish word. They thought I didn't hear you, but I did. Mumbling, feeding that ornery thing that's living on my insides. Father John, Father Satan, more likely, what does it mean to you? You're dead already. Death, what does it mean to you? To you who died way back there in the 60s? What are you throwing it in my throat for? What's it going to get you? A good smashing in the mouth, that's what. My fist will sink into your black mush, face clear to your guts if you got any. Don't believe you have never seen signs of none. Death, death, sin and death. All night long, yet mumble death. He forgives the old man, as his mind begins to play with the word and its associations. Death, these clammy floors, just like the place they used to show away. The worn out, no count, niggers in the days of slavery. That was long ago, not so long ago. No windows. He rises higher on his elbows to verify this assertion. He looks around and seeing no one but the old man calls, Halsey, Halsey, gone and left me just like a nigger. I thought he was a nigger all the time. Now I know it. Ditch you when it comes right down to it. Damn him anyway. God damn him. He looks and re-sees the old man. Hey, you, to hell with you too. What do I care whether you can see or hear? You know what hell is because you've been there. It's a feeling and it's raging in my soul in a way that'll pop out of me and run through you through and scorch you and burn and rip your soul. You are so hot, niggers, so a gin, so that gets drunk on a preacher's words and screams and shouts. God Almighty, how I hate that shouting. Where's the beauty in that? Gives a buzzer to windpipe and I'll bet a dollar to a dime. The buzzer to beat you to it. Ain't surprising the white folks hate you. So when you had eyes, did you ever see the beauty of the world? Tell me that the hell you did. Now don't tell me. I know you didn't. You couldn't have. Oh, I'm drunk and just as good as dead, but no eyes that have seen beauty. Ever lose their sight? You ain't got no sight. If you had drunk as I am, my whole Christ will kill me if I couldn't see it. Your eyes are dull and watery like fish eyes. Fish eyes are dead eyes. You're an old man, a dead fish man. And black at that they put you here to die. Damn fool you are not to know it. Do you know how many feet you're underground? I'll tell you 20. And do you think you'll ever see the light of day again? Even if you wasn't blind? Do you think you're out of slavery? Huh? You're where they used to throw the worked out no count slaves on a damp, clammy floor of a dark scum hole. And they call that an infirmary. Thus, sons, while I can already see you toppled off that stool and stretched out on the floor beside me, not beside me. Damn you by yourself with the flies buzzing and licking God knows what they'd find on a dirty black foul breath mouth like yours. Someone is coming down the stairs, Carrie bringing food for the old man. She is lovely in her fresh energy of the morning in the calm untested confidence and nascent maternity which rise from the purpose of her present mission. She walks to within a few paces of cabinets. Carrie Kay, brother says come up now, brother Ralph. Cabinus, brother doesn't know what he's talking about. Carrie Kay, yes he does, Ralph. He needs you on the wagon. Cabinus, he wants me on the wagon, eh? Does he think some wooden thing can lift me up? Ask him that. Carrie Kay, he told me to help you. Cabinus, and how would you help me, child? Dearer, sweet little sister. She moves forward as if to aid him. Carrie Kay, I'm not a child as I've more than once told you, brother Ralph. And as I'll show you now. Cabinus, wait, Carrie. No, that's right. You're not a child. But it won't do to lift me bodily. You don't understand. But it's the soul of me that needs the rising. Carrie Kay, you're a bad brother and just won't listen to me when I'm telling you to go to church. Cabinus doesn't hear her. He breaks down and talks to himself. Cabinus, great God Almighty, a soul like mine can't pin itself onto a wagon wheel and satisfy itself in spinning round, iron prongs and hickory sticks and God knows what all. All right for Halsey. Use him. Me. I get my life down in this scum hole. The old man in me. Carrie Kay, has he been talking? Cabinus, huh? Who? Him? No. Don't need to. I talk. And when I really talk, it pays the best of them to listen. The old man is a good listener. He's deaf, but he's a good listener. And I can talk to him. Tell him anything. Carrie Kay, he's deaf and blind, but I reckon he hears and sees too from the things I've heard. Cabinus, no, can't, can't I tell you? How's he do it? Carrie Kay, the no, except I've heard that the souls of all folks have a way of seeing things. Cabinus, then I've heard them call that superstition. The old man begins to shake his head slowly. Carrie and Cabinus watch him anxiously. He mumbles with a grave motion. His head nods up and down. And then on one of the downswings, Father John remarkably clear and with great conviction, sin. He repeats this word several times, always the downward nodding, surprise, indignant. Cabinus forgets that Carrie is with him. Cabinus, sin, shut up. What do you know about sin, you old black bastard? Shut up and stop that swan and nod in your head. Father John, sin. Cabinus tries to get up. Cabinus, didn't I tell you to shut up? Carrie steps forward to help him. Cabinus is violently shocked at her touch. He springs back. Cabinus, Carrie, what? How? Baby, you shouldn't be down here. Ralph says things, doesn't mean to. But Carrie, he doesn't know what he's talking about, couldn't know. It was only a preacher of sin they knew in those old days. And that wasn't sin at all. Mind me, the only sin is what's done against the soul. The whole world is a conspiracy to sin, especially in America and against me. I'm the victim of their sin. I'm what sin is. Does he look like me? Have you ever heard him say the things you've heard me say? He couldn't if he had the Holy Ghost help him. Don't look shocked, little sweetheart. You hurt me. Father John, sin. Cabinus, ah, shut up, old man. Carrie K. Leave him be. He wants to say something. She turns to the old man. What is it, Father? Cabinus, what should talk him to that old deaf man for? Come away from him. Carrie K. What is it, Father? The old man's lips begin to work. Words are formed incoherently. Finally, he manages to articulate. Father John, the sin what's fixed, hesitates. Carrie K. Restraining a comment from Cabinus. Go on, Father. Father John, upon the white folks, Cabinus, suppose you're talking about that bastard race that's roaming around the country. It looks like sin, if that's what you mean, gives us something new and up to date. Father John, for telling Jesus lies, oh, the sin the white folks midded when they made the Bible lie. Boom, boom, boom. Thuds on the floor above. The old man sinks back into his stony silence. Carrie is wet-eyed. Cabinus, contemptuous. Cabinus, so that's your sin all these years to tell us that the white folks made the Bible lie. Well, I'll be damned. Lewis ought to have been here. You old black faker. Carrie K., Brother Ralph, is that your best amen? She turns him to her and takes his hot cheeks in her firm, cool hands. Her palms draw the fever out with its passing. Cabinus crumples. He sinks to his knees before her, ashamed, exhausted. His eyes squeeze tight. Carrie presses his face tenderly against her. The suffocation of her fresh, starched dress feels good to him. Carrie is about to lift her hands in prayer when Halsey at the head of the stairs calls down. Halsey, well, well, what's up? Ain't you ever coming? Come on. What's up down there? Take you all morning to a steep off a pint. You're weakening, man. You're weakening. The axle in the beam's already waiting for you. Come on. Cabinus rises and is going doggedly towards the steps. Carrie notices his robe. She catches up to him, points to it, and helps him take it off. He hangs it with an exaggerated ceremony on its nail in the corner. He looks down on the tiles of beds. His lips curl bitterly, turning. He stumbles over the bucket of dead coals. He savagely jerks it from the floor and then seeing Carrie's eyes upon him. He swings the pale carelessly and with eyes downcast and swollen, trudges upstairs to the workshop. Carrie's gaze follows him till he's gone. Then she goes to the old man and slips to her knees before him. Her lips murmur, Jesus, come. Light streaks through the iron barred cellar window within its soft circle, the figures of Carrie and Father John. Outside, the sun arises from its cradle in the treetops of the forest. Shadows of pines are dreams the sun shakes from its eyes. The sun arises, gold glowing child. It steps into the sky and sends a birth song, slanting down gray dust streets and sleepy windows of the southern town. The end. End of section 30. End of Cain by Gene Tumer.