The sound and the fury

     He touched my arm, lightly, his hand that worn, gentle quality of niggers' hands. "Listen. This aint for outside talking. I dont mind telling you because you and me's the same folks, come long and short." He leaned a little to me, speaking rapidly, his eyes not looking at me. "I've got strings out, right now. Wait till next year. Just wait. Then see where I'm marching. I wont need to tell you how I'm fixing it; I say, just wait and see, my boy." He looked at me now and clapped me lightly on the shoulder and rocked back on his heels, nodding at me. "Yes, sir. I didn't turn Democrat three years ago for nothing. My son-in-law on the city; me-- Yes, sir. If just turning Democrat'll make that son of a bitch go to work.... And me: just you stand on that corner yonder a year from two days ago, and see."

     "I hope so. You deserve it, Deacon. And while I think about it--" I took the letter from my pocket. "Take this around to my room tomorrow and give it to Shreve. He'll have something for you. But not till tomorrow,mind."

     He took the letter and examined it. "It's sealed up."

     "Yes. And it's written inside, Not good until tomorrow."

     "H'm," he said. He looked at the envelope, his mouth pursed. "Something for me, you say?"

     "Yes. A present I'm making you."

     He was looking at me now, the envelope white in his black hand, in the sun. His eyes were soft and irisless and brown, and suddenly I saw Roskus watching me from behind all his whitefolks' claptrap of uniforms and politics and Harvard manner, diffident, secret, inarticulate and sad. "You aint playing a joke on the old nigger, is you?"

     "You know I'm not. Did any Southerner ever play a joke on you?"

     "You're right. They're fine folks. But you cant live with them."

     "Did you ever try?" I said. But Roskus was gone. Once more he was that self he had long since taught himself to

      "I'll confer to your wishes, my boy."

     "Not until tomorrow, remember."

     "Sure," he said; "understood, my boy. Well--"

     "I hope--" I said. He looked down at me, benignant, profound. Suddenly I held out my hand and we shook, he gravely, from the pompous height of his municipal and military dream. "You're a good fellow, Deacon. I hope.... You've helped a lot of young fellows, here and there."

     "I've tried to treat all folks right," he said. "I draw no petty social lines. A man to me is a man, wherever I find him."

     "I hope you'll always find as many friends as you've made."

     "Young fellows. I get along with them. They dont forget me, neither," he said, waving the envelope. He put it into his pocket and buttoned his coat. "Yes, sir," he said. "I've had good friends."

     The chimes began again, the half hour. I stood in the belly of my shadow and listened to the strokes spaced and tranquil along the sunlight, among the thin, still little leaves. Spaced and peaceful and serene, with that quality of autumn always in bells even in the month of brides. Lying on the ground under the window bellowing    He took one look at her and knew. Out of the mouths of babes. The street lamps    The chimes ceased. I went back to the postoffice, treading my shadow into pavement. go down the hill then they rise toward town like lanterns hung one above another on a wall. Father said because she loves Caddy she loves people through their shortcomings. Uncle Maury straddling his legs before the fire must remove one hand long enough to drink Christmas. Jason ran on, his hands in his pockets fell down and lay there like a trussed fowl until Versh set him up. Whyn't you keep them hands outen your pockets when you running you could stand up then   Rolling his head in the cradle rolling it flat across the back. Caddy told Jason and Versh that the reason Uncle Maury didn't work was that he used to roll his head in the cradle when he was little.

     Shreve was coming up the walk, shambling, fatly earnest, his glasses glinting beneath the running leaves like little pools.

     "I gave Deacon a note for some things. I may not be in this afternoon, so dont you let him have anything until tomorrow, will you?"

     "All right." He looked at me. "Say, what're you doing today, anyhow? All dressed up and mooning around like the prologue to a suttee. Did you go to Psychology this morning?"

     "I'm not doing anything. Not until tomorrow, now."

     "What's that you got there?"

     "Nothing. Pair of shoes I had half-soled. Not until tomorrow, you hear?"

     "Sure. All right. Oh, by the way, did you get a letter off the table this morning?"

     "No."

     "It's there. From Semiramis. Chauffeur brought it before ten oclock."

     "All right. I'll get it. Wonder what she wants now."