Schoolteacher looks at him for a long time before he closes the door of the cabin. Carefully, helooks. Paul D does not look back. It is sprinkling now. A teasing August rain that raisesexpectations it cannot fill. He thinks he should have sung along. Loud something loud and rollingto go with Sixo's tune, but the words put him off — he didn't understand the words. Although itshouldn't have mattered because he understood the sound: hatred so loose it was juba. The warmsprinkle comes and goes, comes and goes. He thinks he hears sobbing that seems to come fromMrs. Garner's window, but it could be anything, anyone, even a she-cat making her yearningknown. Tired of holding his head up, he lets his chin rest on the collar and speculates on how hecan hobble over to the grate, boil a little water and throw in a handful of meal. That's what he isdoing when Sethe comes in, rain-wet and big-bellied, saying she is going to cut. She has just comeback from taking her children to the corn. The whites were not around. She couldn't find Halle.

　　Who was caught? Did Sixo get away? Paul A?

　　He tells her what he knows: Sixo is dead; the Thirty-Mile Woman ran, and he doesn't know whathappened to Paul A or Halle. "Where could he be?" she asks.

　　Paul D shrugs because he can't shake his head.

　　"You saw Sixo die? You sure?""I'm sure.""Was he woke when it happened? Did he see it coming?""He was woke. Woke and laughing.""Sixo laughed?""You should have heard him, Sethe."Sethe's dress steams before the little fire over which he is boiling water. It is hard to move aboutwith shackled ankles and the neck jewelry embarrasses him. In his sham............