"Oh, yes. Oh, yes, yes, yes. Someday you be walking down the road and you hear something or seesomething going on. So clear. And you think it's you thinking it up. A thought picture. But no. It'swhen you bump into a rememory that belongs to somebody else.Where I was before I came here, that place is real. It's never going away. Even if the whole farm— every tree and grass blade of it dies. The picture is still there and what's more, if you go there— you who never was there — if you go there and stand in the place where it was, it will happenagain; it will be there for you, waiting for you. So, Denver, you can't never go there. Never. Because even though it's all over — over and done with — it's going to always be there waiting foryou. That's how come I had to get all my children out. No matter what."Denver picked at her fingernails.
"If it's still there, waiting, that must mean that nothing ever dies."Sethe looked right in Denver's face. "Nothing ever does," she said.
"You never told me all what happened. Just that they whipped you and you run off, pregnant. Withme."
"Nothing to tell except schoolteacher. He was a little man. Short.Always wore a collar, even in the fields. A schoolteacher, she said.
That made her feel good that her husband's sister's husband had book learning and was willing tocome farm Sweet Home after Mr.
Garner passed. The men could have done it, even with Paul F sold.
But it was like Halle said. She didn't want to be the only white person on the farm and a womantoo. So she was satisfied when the schoolteacher agreed to come. He brought two boys with him.
Sons or nephews. I don't know. They called him Onka and had pretty manners, all of em. Talkedsoft and spit in handkerchiefs. Gentle in a lot of ways. You know, the kind who know Jesus by Hisfirst name, but out of politeness never use it even to His face. A pretty good farmer, Halle said. Notstrong as Mr. Garner but smart enough. He liked the ink I made. It was her recipe, but he preferredhow I mixed it and it was important to him because at night he sat down to write in his book. Itwas a book about us but we didn't know that right away. We just thought it was his manner to askus questions. He commenced to carry round a notebook and write down what we said. I still thinkit was them questions that tore Sixo up. Tore him up for all time."She stopped.