she turns her head. "paul d.""aw, sethe.""i made the ink, paul d. he couldn't have done it if i hadn't made the ink.""what ink? who?""you shaved.""yeah. look bad?""no. you looking good.""devil's confusion. what's this i hear about you not getting out of bed?"she smiles, lets it fade and turns her eyes back to the window.
"i need to talk to you," he tells her.
she doesn't answer.
"i saw denver. she tell you?""she comes in the daytime. denver. she's still with me, my denver.""you got to get up from here, girl." he is nervous. this reminds him of something.
"i'm tired, paul d. so tired. i have to rest a while."now he knows what he is reminded of and he shouts at her, "don't you die on me! this is babysuggs' bed! is that what you planning?" he is so angry he could kill her. he checks himself,remembering denver's warning, and whispers, "what you planning, sethe?""oh, i don't have no plans. no plans at all.""look," he says, "denver be here in the day. i be here in the night. i'm a take care of you, youhear? starting now. first off, you don't smell right. stay there. don't move. let me heat up somewater." he stops. "is it all right, sethe, if i heat up some water?""and count my feet?" she asks him.
he steps closer. "rub your feet."sethe closes her eyes and presses her lips together. she is thinking: no. this little place by awindow is what i want. and rest. there's nothing to rub now and no reason to. nothing left tobathe, assuming he even knows how. will he do it in sections? first her face, then her hands, herthighs, her feet, her back? ending with her exhausted breasts? and if he bathes her in sections, willthe parts hold? she opens her eyes, knowing the danger of looking at him. she looks at him. thepeachstone skin, the crease between his ready, waiting eyes and sees it — the thing in him, theblessedness, that has made him the kind of man who can walk in a house and make the women cry.
because with him, in his presence, they could. cry and tell him things they only told each other:
that time didn't stay put; that she called, but howard and buglar walked on down the railroad trackand couldn't hear her; that amy was scared to stay with her because her feet were ugly and herback looked so bad; that her ma'am had hurt her feelings and she couldn't find her hat anywhereand "paul d?""what, baby?""she left me.""aw, girl. don't cry.""she was my best thing."paul d sits down in the rocking chair and examines the quilt patched in carnival colors. his handsare limp between his knees.
there are too many things to feel about this woman. his head hurts.
suddenly he remembers sixo trying to describe what he felt about the thirty-mile woman. "she is a friend of my mind. she gather me, man. the pieces i am, she gather them and give them back tome in all the right order. it's good, you know, when you got a woman who is a friend of yourmind."he is staring at the quilt but he is thinking about her wrought iron back; the delicious mouth stillpuffy at the corner from ella's fist. the mean black eyes. the wet dress steaming before the fire.
her tenderness about his neck jewelry — its three wands, like attentive baby rattlers, curving twofeet into the air. how she never mentioned or looked at it, so he did not have to feel the shame ofbeing collared like a beast. only this woman sethe could have left him his manhood like that. hewants to put his story next to hers.
"sethe," he says, "me and you, we got more yesterday than anybody.
we need some kind of tomorrow."he leans over and takes her hand. with the other he touches her face. "you your best thing, sethe.
you are." his holding fingers are holding hers.
"me? me?"
