Beloved looked at the sweet bread in Denver's hands and Denver held it out to her. She smiledthen and Denver's heart stopped bouncing and sat down — -relieved and easeful like a travelerwho had made it home.
From that moment and through everything that followed, sugar could always be counted on toplease her. It was as though sweet things were what she was born for. Honey as well as the wax itcame in, sugar sandwiches, the sludgy molasses gone hard and brutal in the can, lemonade, taffyand any type of dessert Sethe brought home from the restaurant. She gnawed a cane stick to flaxand kept the strings in her mouth long after the syrup had been sucked away. Denver laughed,Sethe smiled and Paul D said it made him sick to his stomach.
Sethe believed it was a recovering body's need — -after an illness — for quick strength. But it wasa need that went on and on into glowing health because Beloved didn't go anywhere. There didn'tseem anyplace for her to go. She didn't mention one, or have much of an idea of what she wasdoing in that part of the country or where she had been. They believed the fever had caused hermemory to fail just as it kept her slow-moving. A young woman, about nineteen or twenty, andslender, she moved like a heavier one or an older one, holding on to furniture, resting her head inthe palm of her hand as though it was too heavy for a neck alone.
"You just gonna feed her? From now on?" Paul D, feeling ungenerous, and surprised by it, heardthe irritability in his voice. "Denver likes her. She's no real trouble. I thought we'd wait till herbreath was better. She still sounds a little lumbar to me." "Something funny 'bout that gal," Paul Dsaid, mostly to himself. "Funny how?""Acts sick, sounds sick, but she don't look sick. Good skin, bright eyes and strong as a bull.""She's not strong. She can hardly walk without holding on to something.""That's what I mean. Can't walk, but I seen her pick up the rocker with one hand.""You didn't.""Don't tell me. Ask Denver. She was right there with her." "Denver! Come in here a minute."Denver stopped rinsing the porch and stuck her head in the window.
"Paul D says you and him saw Beloved pick up the rocking chair single-handed. That so?"Long, heavy lashes made Denver's eyes seem busier than they were; deceptive, even when sheheld a steady gaze as she did now on Paul D. "No," she said. "I didn't see no such thing." Paul Dfrowned but said nothing. If there had been an open latch between them, it would have closed.
RAINWATER held on to pine needles for dear life and Beloved could not take her eyes off Sethe.
Stooping to shake the damper, or snapping sticks for kindlin, Sethe was licked, tasted, eaten byBeloved's eyes. Like a familiar, she hovered, never leaving the room Sethe was in unless requiredand told to. She rose early in the dark to be there, waiting, in the kitchen when Sethe came down tomake fast bread before she left for work. In lamplight, and over the flames of the cooking stove,their two shadows clashed and crossed on the ceiling like black swords. She was in the window attwo when Sethe returned, or the doorway; then the porch, its steps, the path, the road, till finally,surrendering to the habit, Beloved began inching down Bluestone Road further and further eachday to meet Sethe and walk her back to 124. It was as though every afternoon she doubted anewthe older woman's return.
Sethe was flattered by Beloved's open, quiet devotion. The same adoration from her daughter (hadit been forthcoming) would have annoyed her; made her chill at the thought of having raised aridiculously dependent child. But the company of this sweet, if peculiar, guest pleased her the waya zealot pleases his teacher.
Time came when lamps had to be lit early because night arrived sooner and sooner. Sethe wasleaving for work in the dark; Paul D was walking home in it. On one such evening dark and cool,Sethe cut a rutabaga into four pieces and left them stewing. She gave Denver a half peck of peas tosort and soak overnight. Then she sat herself down to rest. The heat of the stove made her drowsyand she was sliding into sleep when she felt Beloved touch her. A touch no heavier than a featherbut loaded, nevertheless, with desire. Sethe stirred and looked around. First at Beloved's soft newhand on her shoulder, then into her eyes. The longing she saw there was bottomless. Some pleabarely in control. Sethe patted Beloved's fingers and glanced at Denver, whose eyes were fixed onher pea-sorting task. "Where your diamonds?" Beloved searched Sethe's face.
"Diamonds? What would I be doing with diamonds?""On your ears.""Wish I did. I had some crystal once. A present from a lady I worked for.""Tell me," said Beloved, smiling a wide happy smile. "Tell me your diamonds."It became a way to feed her. Just as Denver discovered and relied on the delightful effect sweetthings had on Beloved, Sethe learned the profound satisfaction Beloved got from storytelling. Itamazed Sethe (as much as it pleased Beloved) because every mention of her past life hurt.
Ever............