One-Ton Lady spit at them, but her bulk shortened her aim and they got a big kick out of thehelpless meanness in her little eyes. Arabian Nights Dancer cut her performance to three minutesinstead of the usual fifteen she normally did-earning the gratitude of the children, who couldhardly wait for Abu Snake Charmer, who followed her.
Denver bought horehound, licorice, peppermint and lemonade at table manned by a littlewhitegirl in ladies' high-topped shoes. Soothed by sugar, surrounded by (a) a crowd of people who didnot find her the main attraction, who, in fact, said, "Hey, Denver," every now and then, pleased herenough to consider the possibility that Paul D wasn't all that bad. In fact there was something abouthim — when the three of them stood together watching Midget dance — that made the stares ofother Negroes kind, gentle, something Denver did not remember seeing in their faces. Several evennodded and smiled at her mother, no one, apparently, able to withstand sharing the pleasure Paul D.was having. He slapped his knees when Giant danced with Midget; when Two-Headed Mantalked to himself. He bought everything Denver asked for and much she did not. He teased Setheinto tents she was reluctant to enter. Stuck pieces of candy she didn't want between her lips. WhenWild African Savage shook his bars and said wa wa, Paul D told everybody he knew him back in Roanoke.
Paul D made a few acquaintances; spoke to them about what work he might find. Sethe returnedthe smiles she got. Denver was swaying with delight. And on the way home, although leadingthem now, the shadows of three people still held hands.
A FULLY DRESSED woman walked out of the water. She barely gained the dry bank of thestream before she sat down and leaned against a mulberry tree. All day and all night she sat there,her head resting on the trunk in a position abandoned enough to crack the brim in her straw hat.Everything hurt but her lungs most of all. Sopping wet and breathing shallow she spent those hourstrying to negotiate the weight of her eyelids. The day breeze blew her dress dry; the night windwrinkled it. Nobody saw her emerge or came accidentally by. If they had, chances are they wouldhave hesitated before approaching her. Not because she was wet, or dozing or had what soundedlike asthma, but because amid all that she was smiling. It took her the whole of the next morning tolift herself from the ground and make her way through the woods past a giant temple of boxwoodto the field and then the yard of the slate-gray house. Exhausted again, she sat down on the firsthandy place — a stump not far from the steps of 124. By then keeping her eyes open was less of aneffort. She could manage it for a full two minutes or more. Her neck, its circumference no widerthan a parlor-service saucer, kept bending and her chin brushed the bit of lace edging her dress.
Women who drink champagne when there is nothing to celebrate can look like that: their strawhats with broken brims are often askew; they nod in public places; their shoes are undone. Buttheir skin is not like that of the woman breathing near the steps of 124. She had new skin, linelessand smooth, including the knuckles of her hands. By late afternoon when the carnival was over,and the Negroes were hitching rides home if they were lucky — walking if they were not — thewoman had fallen asleep again. The rays of the sun struck her full in the face, so that when Sethe,Denver and Paul D rounded the curve in the road all they saw was a black dress, two unlaced shoesbelow it, and Here Boy nowhere in sight.
"Look," said Denver. "What is that?"