飘-第102章

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　Going　home！　Going　home！　They　could　talk　of　nothing　else；　neither　battles　nor　wounds；　nor　imprisonment　nor　the　future。　Later；　they　would　refight　battles　and　tell　children　and　grandchildren　of　pranks　and　forays　and　charges；　of　hunger；　forced　marches　and　wounds；　but　not　now。　Some　of　them　lacked　an　arm　or　a　leg　or　an　eye；　many　had　scars　which　would　ache　in　rainy　weather　if　they　lived　for　seventy　years　but　these　seemed　small　matters　now。　Later　it　would　be　different。
　Old　and　young；　talkative　and　taciturn；　rich　planter　and　sallow　Cracker；　they　all　had　two　things　in　common；　lice　and　dysentery。　The　Confederate　soldier　was　so　accustomed　to　his　verminous　state　he　did　not　give　it　a　thought　and　scratched　unconcernedly　even　in　the　presence　of　ladies。　As　for　dysentery—the　“bloody　flux”　as　the　ladies　delicately　called　it—it　seemed　to　have　spared　no　one　from　private　to　general。　Four　years　of　half…starvation；　four　years　of　rations　which　were　coarse　or　green　or　half…putrefied；　had　done　its　work　with　them；　and　every　soldier　who　stopped　at　Tara　was　either　just　recovering　or　was　actively　suffering　from　it。
　“Dey　ain’　a　soun’　set　of　bowels　in　de　whole　Confedrut　ahmy；”　observed　Mammy　darkly　as　she　sweated　over　the　fire；　brewing　a　bitter　concoction　of　blackberry　roots　which　had　been　Ellen’s　sovereign　remedy　for　such　afflictions。　“It’s　mah　notion　dat　‘twarn’t　de　Yankees　whut　beat　our　gempmum。　Twuz　dey　own　innards。　Kain　no　gempmum　fight　wid　his　bowels　tuhnin’　ter　water。”
　One　and　all；　Mammy　dosed　them；　never　waiting　to　ask　foolish　questions　about　the　state　of　their　organs　and；　one　and　all；　they　drank　her　doses　meekly　and　with　wry　faces；　remembering；　perhaps；　other　stern　black　faces　in　far…off　places　and　other　inexorable　black　hands　holding　medicine　spoons。
　In　the　matter　of　“comp’ny”　Mammy　was　equally　adamant。　No　lice…ridden　soldier　should　come　into　Tara。　She　marched　them　behind　a　clump　of　thick　bushes；　relieved　them　of　their　uniforms；　gave　them　a　basin　of　water　and　strong　lye　soap　to　wash　with　and　provided　them　with　quilts　and　blankets　to　cover　their　nakedness；　while　she　boiled　their　clothing　in　her　huge　wash　pot。　It　was　useless　for　the　girls　to　argue　hotly　that　such　conduct　humiliated　the　soldiers。　Mammy　replied　that　the　girls　would　be　a　sight　more　humiliated　if　they　found　lice　upon　themselves。
　When　the　soldiers　began　arriving　almost　daily；　Mammy　protested　against　their　being　allowed　to　use　the　bedrooms。　Always　she　feared　lest　some　louse　had　escaped　her。　Rather　than　argue　the　matter；　Scarlett　turned　the　parlor　with　its　deep　velvet　rug　into　a　dormitory。　Mammy　cried　out　equally　loudly　at　the　sacrilege　of　soldiers　being　permitted　to　sleep　on　Miss　Ellen’s　rug　but　Scarlett　was　firm。　They　had　to　sleep　somewhere。　And；　in　the　months　after　the　surrender；　the　deep　soft　nap　began　to　show　signs　of　wear　and　finally　the　heavy　warp　and　woof　showed　through　in　spots　where　heels　had　worn　it　and　spurs　dug　carelessly。
　Of　each　soldier；　they　asked　eagerly　of　Ashley。　Suellen；　bridling；　always　asked　news　of　Mr。　Kennedy。　But　none　of　the　soldiers　had　ever　heard　of　them　nor　were　they　inclined　to　talk　about　the　missing。　It　was　enough　that　they　themselves　were　alive；　and　they　did　not　care　to　think　of　the　thousands　in　unmarked　graves　who　would　never　come　home。
　The　family　tried　to　bolster　Melanie’s　courage　after　each　of　these　disappointments。　Of　course；　Ashley　hadn’t　died　in　prison。　Some　Yankee　chaplain　would　have　written　if　this　were　true。　Of　course；　he　was　coming　home　but　his　prison　was　so　far　away。　Why；　goodness；　it　took　days　riding　on　a　train　to　make　the　trip　and　if　Ashley　was　walking；　like　these　men　。。。　Why　hadn’t　he　written？　Well；　darling；　you　know　what　the　mails　are　now—so　uncertain　and　slipshod　even　where　mail　routes　are　re…established。　But　suppose—suppose　he　had　died　on　the　way　home。　Now；　Melanie；　some　Yankee　woman　would　have　surely　written　us　about　it！　。。。　Yankee　women！　Bah！　。。。　Melly；　there　are　some　nice　Yankee　women。　Oh；　yes；　there　are！　God　couldn’t　make　a　whole　nation　without　having　some　nice　women　in　it！　Scarlett；　you　remember　we　did　meet　a　nice　Yankee　woman　at　Saratoga　that　time—Scarlett；　tell　Melly　about　her！
　“Nice；　my　foot！”　replied　Scarlett。　“She　asked　me　how　many　bloodhounds　we　kept　to　chase　our　darkies　with！　I　agree　with　Melly。　I　never　saw　a　nice　Yankee；　male　or　female。　But　don’t　cry；　Melly！　Ashley’ll　come　home。　It’s　a　long　walk　and　maybe—maybe　he　hasn’t　got　any　boots。”
　Then　at　the　thought　of　Ashley　barefooted；　Scarlett　could　have　cried。　Let　other　soldiers　limp　by　in　rags　with　their　feet　tied　up　in　sacks　and　strips　of　carpet；　but　not　Ashley。　He　should　come　home　on　a　prancing　horse；　dressed　in　fine　clothes　and　shining　boots；　a　plume　in　his　hat。　It　was　the　final　degradation　for　her　to　think　of　Ashley　reduced　to　the　state　of　these　other　soldiers。
　One　afternoon　in　June　when　everyone　at　Tara　was　assembled　on　the　back　porch　eagerly　watching　Pork　cut　the　first　half…ripe　watermelon　of　the　season；　they　heard　hooves　on　the　gravel　of　the　front　drive。　Prissy　started　languidly　toward　the　front　door；　while　those　left　behind　argued　hotly　as　to　whether　they　should　hide　the　melon　or　keep　it　for　supper；　should　the　caller　at　the　door　prove　to　be　a　soldier。
　Melly　and　Carreen　whispered　that　the　soldier　guest　should　have　a　share　and　Scarlett；　backed　by　Suellen　and　Mammy；　hissed　to　Pork　to　hide　it　quickly。
　“Don’t　be　a　goose；　girls！　There’s　not　enough　for　us　as　it　is　and　if　there　are　two　or　three　famished　soldiers　out　there；　none　of　us　will　even　get　a　taste；”　said　Scarlett。
　While　Pork　stood　with　the　little　melon　clutched　to　him；　uncertain　as　to　the　final　decision；　they　heard　Prissy　cry　out。
　“Gawdlmighty！　Miss　Scarlett！　Miss　Melly！　Come　quick！”
　“Who　is　it？”　cried　Scarlett；　leaping　up　from　the　steps　and　racing　through　the　hall　with　Melly　at　her　shoulder　and　the　others　streaming　after　her。
　Ashley！　she　thought　Oh；　perhaps—
　“It’s　Uncle　Peter！　Miss　Pittypat’s　Uncle　Peter！”
　They　all　ran　out　to　the　front　porch　and　saw　the　tall　grizzled　old　despot　of　Aunt　Pitty’s　house　climbing　down　from　a　rat…tailed　nag　on　which　a　section　of　quilting　had　been　strapped。　On　his　wide　black　face；　accustomed　dignity　strove　with　delight　at　seeing　old　friends；　with　the　result　that　his　brow　was　furrowed　in　a　frown　but　his　mouth　was　hanging　open　like　a　happy　toothless　old　hound’s。
　Everyone　ran　down　the　steps　to　greet　him；　black　and　white　shaking　his　hand　and　asking　questions；　but　Melly’s　voice　rose　above　them　all。
　“Auntie　isn’t　sick；　is　she？”
　“No’m。　She’s　po’ly；　thank　God；”　answered　Peter；　fastening　a　severe　look　first　on　Melly　and　then　on　Scarlett；　so　that　they　suddenly　felt　guilty　but　could　think　of　no　reason　why。　“She’s　po’ly　but　she　is　plum　outdone　wid　you　young　Misses；　an’　ef　it　come　right　down　to　it；　Ah　is　too！”
　“Why；　Uncle　Peter！　What　on　earth—”
　“Y’all　nee’n　try　ter　‘scuse　you’seffs。　Ain’　Miss　Pitty　writ　you　an’　writ　you　ter　come　home？　Ain’　Ah　seed　her　write　an’　seed　her　a…cryin’　w’en　y’all　writ　her　back　dat　you　got　too　much　ter　do　on　disyere　ole　farm　ter　come　home？”
　“But；　Uncle　Peter—”
　“Huccome　you　leave　Miss　Pitty　by　herseff　lak　dis　w’en　she　so　scary　lak？　You　know　well’s　Ah　do　Miss　Pitty　ain’　never　live　by　herseff　an’　she　been　shakin’　in　her　lil　shoes　ever　since　she　come　back　frum　Macom。　She　say　fer　me　ter　tell　y’all　plain　as　Ah　knows　how　dat　she　jes’　kain　unnerstan’　y’all　desertin’　her　in　her　hour　of　need。”
　“Now；　hesh！”　said　Mammy　tartly；　for　it　sat　ill　upon　her　to　hear　Tara　referred　to　as　an　“ole　farm。”　Trust　an　ignorant　city…bred　darky　not　to　know　the　difference　between　a　farm　and　a　plantation。　“Ain’　us　got　no　hours　of　need？　Ain’　us　needin’　Miss　Scarlett　an’　Miss　Melly　right　hyah　an’　needin’　dem　bad？　Huccome　Miss　Pitty　doan　ast　her　brudder　fer　‘sistance；　does　she　need　any？”
　Uncle　Peter　gave　her　a　withering　look。
　“Us　ain’　had　nuthin’　ter　do　wid　Mist’　Henry　fer　y’ars；　an’　us　is　too　ole　ter　start　now。”　He　turned　back　to　the　girls；　who　were　trying　to　suppress　their　smiles。　“You　young　Misses　ought　ter　tek　shame；　leavin’　po’　Miss　Pitty　lone；　wid　half　her　frens　daid　an’　de　other　half　in　Macom；　an’　‘Lanta　full　of　Yankee　sojers　an’　trashy　free　issue　niggers。”
　The　two　girls　had　borne　the　castigation　with　straight　faces　as　long　as　they　could；　but　the　thought　of　Aunt　Pitty　sending　Peter　to　scold　them　and　bring　them　back　bodily　to　Atlanta　was　too　much　for　their　control。　They　burst　into　laughter　and　hung　on　each　other’s　shoulders　for　support。　Naturally；　Pork　and　Dilcey　and　Mammy　gave　vent　to　loud　guffaws　at　hearing　the　detractor　of　their　beloved　Tara　set　at　naught。　Suellen　and　Carreen　giggled　and　even　Gerald’s　face　wore　a　vague　smile。　Everyone　laughed　except　Peter；　who　shifted　from　one　large　splayed　foot　to　the　other　in　mounting　indignation。
　“Whut’s　wrong　wid　you；　nigger？”　inquired　Mammy　with　a　grin。　“Is　you　gittin’　too　ole　ter　perteck　yo’　own　Missus？”　Peter　was　outraged。
　“Too　ole！　Me　too　ole？　No；　Ma’m！　Ah　kin　perteck　Miss　Pitty　lak　Ah　allus　done。　Ain’　Ah　perteck　her　down　ter　Macom　when　us　refugeed？　Ain’　Ah　perteck　her　w’en　de　Yankees　come　ter　Macom　an’　she　so　sceered　she　faintin’　all　de　time？　An’　ain’　Ah　‘quire　disyere　nag　ter　bring　her　back　ter　‘Lanta　an’　perteck　her　an’　her　pa’s　silver　all　de　way？”　Peter　drew　himself　to　his　full　height　as　he　vindicated　himself。　“Ah　ain’　talkin’　about　perteckin’。　Ah’s　talkin’　‘bout　how　it　look。”
　“How　who　look？”
　“Ah’m　talkin’　‘bout　how　it　look　ter　folks；　seein’　Miss　Pitty　livin’　lone。　Folks　talks　scanlous　‘bout　maiden　ladies　dat　lives　by　deyseff；”　continued　Peter；　and　it　was　obvious　to　his　listeners　that　Pittypat；　in　his　mind；　was　still　a　plump　and　charming　miss　of　sixteen　who　must　be　sheltered　against　evil　tongues。　“An’　Ah　ain’　figgerin’　on　havin’　folks　criticize　her。　No；　Ma’m。　…　An’　Ah　ain’　figgerin’　on　her　takin’　in　no　bo’ders；　jes’　fer　comp’ny　needer。　Ah　done　tole　her　dat。　‘Not　w’ile　you　got　yo’　flesh　an’　blood　dat　belongs　wid　you；’　Ah　says。　An’　now　her　flesh　an’　blood　denyin’　her。　Miss　Pitty　ain’　nuthin’　but　a　chile　an’—”
　At　this；　Scarlett　and　Melly　whooped　louder　and　sank　down　to　the　steps。　Finally　Melly　wiped　tears　of　mirth　from　her　eyes。
　“Poor　Uncle　Peter！　I’m　sorry　I　laughed。　Really　and　truly。　There！　Do　forgive　me。　Miss　Scarlett　and　I　just　can’t　come　home　now。　Maybe　I’ll　come　in　September　after　the　cotton　is　picked。　Did　Auntie　send　you　all　the　way　down　here　just　to　bring　us　back　on　that　bag　of　bones？”
　At　this　question；　Peter’s　jaw　suddenly　dropped　and　guilt　and　consternation　swept　over　his　wrinkled　black　face。　His　protruding　underlip　retreated　to　normal　as　swiftly　as　a　turtle　withdraws　its　head　beneath　its　shell。
　“Miss　Melly；　Ah　is　gittin’　ole；　Ah　spec’；　‘cause　Ah　clean　fergit　fer　de　moment　whut　she　sent　me　fer；　an’　it’s　important　too。　Ah　got　a　letter　fer　you。　Miss　Pitty　wouldn’　trust　de　mails　or　nobody　but　me　ter　bring　it　an’—”
　“A　letter？　For　me？　Who　from？”
　“Well’m；　it’s—Miss　Pitty；　she　says　ter　me；　“You；　Peter；　you　brek　it　gen’ly　ter　Miss　Melly；’　an’　Ah　say—”
　Melly　rose　from　the　steps；　her　hand　at　her　heart。
　“Ashley！　Ashley！　He’s　dead！”
　“No’m！　No’m！”