Suppose the only Negro who survived some centuries hence was the Negro painted by white Americans in the novels and essays they have written. What would people in a hundred years say of black Americans? Now turn it around. Suppose you were to write a story and put in it the kind of people you know and like and imagine.

We black folk may help for we have within us as a race new stirrings; stirrings of the beginning of a new appreciation of joy, of a new desire to create, of a new will to be; as though in this morning of group life we had awakened from some sleep that at once dimly mourns the past and dreams a splendid future

It is that sort of a world we want to create for ourselves and for all America.

They all tried to get everywhere first. They pushed other people out of the way. They made all sorts of incoherent noises and gestures so that the quiet home folk and the visitors from other lands silently and half-wonderingly gave way before them. They struck a note not evil but wrong. They carried, perhaps, a sense of strength and accomplishment, but their hearts had no conception of the beauty which pervaded this holy place.

What do we want? What is the thing we are after? As it was phrased last night it had a certain truth: We want to be Americans, full-fledged Americans, with all the rights of other American citizens. But is that all? Do we want simply to be Americans? Once in a while through all of us there flashes some clairvoyance, some clear idea, of what America really is. We who are dark can see America in a way that white Americans cannot. And seeing our country thus, are we satisfied with its present goals and ideals?

More and more, however, an intelligent realization of the great discrepancy between the American social creed and the American social practice forces upon the Negro the taking of the moral advantage that is his

iconoclastic

U P to the present one may adequately describe the Negro’s “inner objectives” as an attempt to repair a damaged group psychology and reshape a warped social perspective.

I pray you, then, receive my little book in all charity, studying my words with me, forgiving mistake and foible for sake of the faith and passion that is in me, and seeking the grain of truth hidden there.

This world is not hisworld; this life his life.

one of them little graphophones

scratching and clawing at him like a wild cat,

And that may have been when I first found it out, that AddieBundren should be hiding anything she did, who had tried to teach us thatdeceit was such that, in a world where it was, nothing else could be very bad orvery important, not even poverty. And at times when I went in to go to bed shewould be sitting in the dark by Jewel where he was asleep. And I knew that shewas hating herself for that deceit and hating Jewel because she had to love himso that she had to act the decei

And then I knew that I knew. I knew that asplain on that day as I knew about Dewey Dell on that day.

and I emerged victorious

It is as thoughtime, no longer running straight before us in a diminishing line, now runsparallel between us like a looping string, the distance being the doublingaccretion of the thread and not the interval between.

Butwhen we got it filled and covered

Our brother Darl in a cage in Jacksonwhere, his grimed hands lying light in the quiet interstices, looking out hefoams.

Then I gave him Vardaman toreplace the child I had robbed him of.

Over in the sense that he was gone and I knew that, seehim again though I would, I would never again see him coming swift andsecret to me in the woods dressed in sin like a gallant garment already blowingaside with the speed of his secret coming.

NVARDAMANOW there are seven of them, in little tall black circles

WWHITFIELDHEN they told me she was dying, all that night I wrestled with Satan

when Brother Whitfield wrestledwith her spirit,

I would look forward to the times when they faulted,so I could whip them. When the switch fell I could feel it upon my flesh; whenit welted and ridged it was my blood that ran, and I would think with eachblow of the switch: Now you are aware of me! Now I am something in yoursecret and selfish life, who have marked your blood with my own for ever andever

he prayed for me because she believed Iwas blind to sin, wanting me to kneel and pray too, because people to whomsin is just a matter of words, to them salvation is just words too

And now he has three children that arehis and not mine. And then I could get ready to die

negative Jewel

Then I would lay with Anse again—I did not lie to him: Ijust refused, just as I refused my breast to Cash and Darl after their time wasup—hearing the dark land talking the voiceless speech.

And then he died. He did not know he was dead

and that my revenge would be that he wouldnever know I was taking revenge. And when Darl was born I asked Anse topromise to take me back to Jefferson when I died,

But I had been used to words for along time. I knew that that word was like the others: just a shape to fill a lack;that when the right time came, you wouldn’t need a word for that any morethan for pride or fear. Cash did not need to say it to me nor I to him, and Iwould say, Let Anse use it, if he wants to. So that it was Anse or love; love orAnse: it didn’t matter

When he was born I knew that motherhood was invented by someone who hadto have a word for it because the ones that had the children didn’t care whetherthere was a word for it or not. I

And when I knew that I had Cash, I knew that living wasterrible and that this was the answer to it

a tall bird hunched in the cold weather,

And she said “My daily life is an acknowledgmentand expiation of my sin”

Where is ma, Darl?” I said. “You never got her. You knew she is a fishbut you let her get away

So I don’t reckon that horse costanybody anything except Jewel. I don’t reckon we need worry.”

But it was not a worried look; it was the kind of lookI would see on him when I would find him doing some of Jewel’s work aroundthe house, work that pa still thought Jewel was doing and that ma thoughtDewey Dell was doing.

So we didn’t tell, not even when after a while he’d appear suddenly in thefield beside us and go to work, without having had time to get home and makeout he had been in bed all night. He would tell ma that he hadn’t been hungryat breakfast or that he had eaten a piece of bread while he was hitching up theteam. But Cash and I knew that he hadn’t been home at all on those nights andhe had come up out of the woods when we got to the field

There is no sweat stain on his shirt. I have never seen asweat stain on his shirt.

When we reach it I turnand follow the path which circles the house. Jewel, fifteen feet behind me,looking straight ahead, steps in a single stride through the window

Jewel’s frayed and broken straw hat a full head above myown

a dassent sweatbecause he will catch his death from the sickness

He rubs his hands on his knee

Well, Miss Addie,” I say. The girl does not stop the fan. “How are you,sister?” I say. Her head lies gaunt on the pillow, looking at the boy. “Youpicked out a fine time to get me out here and bring up a storm.” Then I sendAnse and the boy out. She watches the boy as he leaves the room. She has notmoved save her eyes.

“Jewel,” I say, “do you know that Addie Bundren is going to die? AddieBundren is going to die?”

like she was trying to keep anybody fromcoming near her at al

Not like Addie Bundren dyingalone, hiding her pride and her broken heart. Glad to go. Lying there with herhead propped up so she could watch Cash building the coffi

ddie Bundren could not want a better one, a better box to liein

so I took Anse

I saw that with Jewel she had just been pretending, but that itwas between her and Darl that the understanding and the true love was.

I rose and took the knife from thestreaming fish still hissing and I killed Darl.

Anse rubs his hands on his knees. “The Lord giveth,” he says. We can hearCash a-hammering and sawing beyond the corner

Itwas Darl, the one that folks say is queer, lazy, pottering about the place nobetter than Anse, with Cash a good carpenter and always more building thanhe can get around to, and Jewel always doing something that made him somemoney or got him talked about, and that near-naked girl always standing overAddie with a fan so that every time a body tried to talk to her and cheer her up,would answer for her right quick, like she was trying to keep anybody fromcoming near her at all.

As falcons to the lure, away she flies—The grass stoops not, she treads on it so light—And in her haste unfortunately spies1030The foul boar’s conquest on her fair delight, Which seen, her eyes, ⌜as⌝ murdered with the view, Like stars ashamed of day, themselves withdrew;Or as the snail, whose tender horns being hit,Shrinks backward in his shelly cave with pain1035And there, all smothered up, in shade doth sit,Long after fearing to creep forth again; So at his bloody view her eyes are fled Into the deep-dark cabins of her head,Where they resign their office and their light1040To the disposing of her troubled brain,Who bids them still consort with ugly nightAnd never wound the heart with looks again— Who, like a king perplexèd in his throne, By their suggestion gives a deadly groan,1045Whereat each tributary subject quakes,As when the wind imprisoned in the ground,Struggling for passage, Earth’s foundation shakes,Which with cold terror doth men’s minds confound. This mutiny each part doth so surprise1050 That from their dark beds once more leap her eyesAnd, being opened, threw unwilling lightUpon the wide wound that the boar had trenchedIn his soft flank, whose wonted lily whiteWith purple tears, that his wound wept, had drenched.1055 No flower was nigh, no grass, herb, leaf, or weed, But stole his blood and seemed with him to bleed.This solemn sympathy poor Venus noteth.Over one shoulder doth she hang her head.Dumbly she passions, frantically she doteth.1060She thinks he could not die, he is not dead. Her voice is stopped, her joints forget to bow, Her eyes are mad that they have wept till now.Upon his hurt she looks so steadfastlyThat her sight, dazzling, makes the wound seem three,1065And then she reprehends her mangling eye,That makes more gashes where no breach should be. His face seems twain, each several limb is doubled, For oft the eye mistakes, the brain being troubled.“My tongue cannot express my grief for one1070And yet,” quoth she, “behold two Adons dead.My sighs are blown away, my salt tears gone;Mine eyes are turned to fire, my heart to lead. Heavy heart’s lead, melt at mine eyes’ red fire! So shall I die by drops of hot desire.1075“Alas, poor world, what treasure hast thou lost!What face remains alive that’s worth the viewing?Whose tongue is music now? What canst thou boastOf things long since, or anything ensuing? The flowers are sweet, their colors fresh and trim,1080 But true sweet beauty lived and died with him.“Bonnet nor veil henceforth no creature wear;Nor sun nor wind will ever strive to kiss you.Having no fair to lose, you need not fear;The sun doth scorn you, and the wind doth hiss you.1085 But when Adonis lived, sun and sharp air Lurked like two thieves to rob him of his fair.“And therefore would he put his bonnet on,Under whose brim the gaudy sun would peep;The wind would blow it off and, being gone,1090Play with his locks. Then would Adonis weep; And straight in pity of his tender years, They both would strive who first should dry his tears.“To see his face the lion walked alongBehind some hedge because he would not fear him.1095To recreate himself when he hath song,The tiger would be tame and gently hear him. If he had spoke, the wolf would leave his prey And never fright the silly lamb that day.“When he beheld his shadow in the brook,1100The fishes spread on it their golden gills.When he was by, the birds such pleasure tookThat some would sing, some other in their bills Would bring him mulberries and ripe-red cherries; He fed them with his sight, they him with berries.1105“But this foul, grim, and urchin-snouted boar,Whose downward eye still looketh for a grave,Ne’er saw the beauteous livery that he wore;Witness the entertainment that he gave. If he did see his face, why then I know1110 He thought to kiss him and hath killed him so.“’Tis true, ’tis true. Thus was Adonis slain:He ran upon the boar with his sharp spear,Who did not whet his teeth at him again,But by a kiss thought to persuade him there,1115 And nuzzling in his flank, the loving swine Sheathed unaware the tusk in his soft groin.“Had I been toothed like him, I must confess,With kissing him I should have killed him first,But he is dead, and never did he bless1120My youth with his. The more am I accursed!” With this, she falleth in the place she stood And stains her face with his congealèd blood.She looks upon his lips, and they are pale.She takes him by the hand, and that is cold.1125She whispers in his ears a heavy taleAs if they heard the woeful words she told. She lifts the coffer-lids that close his eyes, Where, lo, two lamps, burnt out, in darkness lies.Two glasses, where herself herself beheld1130A thousand times, and now no more reflect,Their virtue lost, wherein they late excelled,And every beauty robbed of his effect. “Wonder of time,” quoth she, “this is my spite, That, thou being dead, the day should yet be light.1135“Since thou art dead, lo, here I prophesySorrow on love hereafter shall attend;It shall be waited on with jealousy,Find sweet beginning but unsavory end, Ne’er settled equally, but high or low,1140 That all love’s pleasure shall not match his woe.“It shall be fickle, false, and full of fraud,Bud and be blasted in a breathing while,The bottom poison and the top o’erstrawedWith sweets that shall the truest sight beguile;1145 The strongest body shall it make most weak, Strike the wise dumb, and teach the fool to speak.“It shall be sparing and, too, full of riot,Teaching decrepit age to tread the measures;The staring ruffian shall it keep in quiet,1150Pluck down the rich, enrich the poor with treasures. It shall be raging mad and silly mild, Make the young old, the old become a child.“It shall suspect where is no cause of fear;It shall not fear where it should most mistrust.1155It shall be merciful and, too, severe,And most deceiving when it seems most just. Perverse it shall be where it shows most toward, Put fear to valor, courage to the coward.“It shall be cause of war and dire events,1160And set dissension ’twixt the son and sire;Subject and servile to all discontents,As dry combustious matter is to fire. Sith in his prime Death doth my love destroy, They that love best their loves shall not enjoy.”1165By this the boy that by her side lay killedWas melted like a vapor from her sight,And in his blood that on the ground lay spilledA purple flower sprung up, checkered with white, Resembling well his pale cheeks and the blood1170 Which in round drops upon their whiteness stood.

confusing time with its mathematical progression

believing that they had danced with her and courted her perhaps

ranked and anonymous

an eyesore among eyesores.

coquettish

They

what had once been

Miss

The apparition of these faces in the crowd: Petals on a wet, black bough.

adjutant

PURLOINED