"they got me out of jail," sethe once told baby suggs.
"they also put you in it," she answered.
"they drove you 'cross the river.""on my son's back.""they gave you this house.""nobody gave me nothing.""i got a job from them.""he got a cook from them, girl.""oh, some of them do all right by us.""and every time it's a surprise, ain't it?""you didn't used to talk this way.""don't box with me. there's more of us they drowned than there is all of them ever lived from thestart of time. lay down your sword. this ain't a battle; it's a rout."remembering those conversations and her grandmother's last and final words, denver stood on theporch in the sun and couldn't leave it. her throat itched; her heart kicked — and then baby suggslaughed, clear as anything. "you mean i never told you nothing about carolina? about yourdaddy? you don't remember nothing about how come i walk the way i do and about your mother'sfeet, not to speak of her back? i never told you all that? is that why you can't walk down the steps?
my jesus my."but you said there was no defense.
"there ain't."then what do i do?
"know it, and go on out the yard. go on."* * *it came back. a dozen years had passed and the way came back. four houses on the right, sittingclose together in a line like wrens. the first house had two steps and a rocking chair on the porch;the second had three steps, a broom propped on the porch beam, two broken chairs and a clump offorsythia at the side. no window at the front. a little boy sat on the ground chewing a stick. thethird house had yellow shutters on its two front windows and pot after pot of green leaves withwhite hearts or red. denver could hear chickens and the knock of a badly hinged gate. at thefourth house the buds of a sycamore tree had rained down on the roof and made the yard look asthough grass grew there. a woman, standing at the open door, lifted her hand halfway in greeting,then froze it near her shoulder as she leaned forward to see whom she waved to. denver loweredher head. next was a tiny fenced plot with a cow in it. she remembered the plot but not the cow.
under her headcloth her scalp was wet with tension. beyond her, voices, male voices, floated,coming closer with each step she took. denver kept her eyes on the road in case they werewhitemen; in case she was walking where they wanted to; in case they said something and shewould have to answer them. suppose they flung out at her, grabbed her, tied her. they weregetting closer. maybe she should cross the road — now. was the woman who half waved at herstill there in the open door? would she come to her rescue, or, angry at denver for not wavingback, would she withhold her help? maybe she should turn around, get closer to the wavingwoman's house. before she could make up her mind, it was too late — they were right in front ofher. two men, negro. denver breathed. both men touched their caps and murmured, "morning.
morning." denver believed her eyes spoke gratitude but she never got her mouth open in time toreply. they moved left of her and passed on.
