She stopped then and turned her face toward him and the hateful wind. Another woman wouldhave squinted or at least teared if the wind whipped her face as it did Sethe's. Another womanmight have shot him a look of apprehension, pleading, anger even, because what he said suresounded like part one of Goodbye, I'm gone.

　　Sethe looked at him steadily, calmly, already ready to accept, release or excuse an in-need-ortroubleman. Agreeing, saying okay, all right, in advance, because she didn't believe any of them — over the long haul — could measure up. And whatever the reason, it was all right. No fault.

　　Nobody's fault.

　　He knew what she was thinking and even though she was wrong — he was not leaving her,wouldn't ever — the thing he had in mind to tell her was going to be worse. So, when he saw thediminished expectation in her eyes, the melancholy without blame, he could not say it. He couldnot say to this woman who did not squint in the wind, "I am not a man.""Well, say it, Paul D, whether I like it or not."Since he could not say what he planned to, he said something he didn't know was on his mind. "Iwant you pregnant, Sethe. Would you do that for me?"Now she was laughing and so was he.

　　"You came by here to ask me that? You are one crazy-headed man. You right; I don't like it. Don'tyou think I'm too old to start that all over again?" She slipped her fingers in his hand for all theworld like the hand-holding shadows on the side of the road.

　　"Think about it," he said. And suddenly it was a solution: a way to hold on to her, document hismanhood and break out of the girl's spell — all in one. He put the tips of Sethe's fingers on hischeek. Laughing, she pulled them away lest somebody passing the alley see them misbehaving inpublic, in daylight, in the wind.

　　Still, he'd gotten a little more time, bought it, in fact, and hoped the price wouldn't wreck him. Likepaying for an afternoon in the coin of life to come.

　　They left off playing, let go hands and hunched forward as they left the alley and entered the street.

　　The wind was quieter there but the dried-out cold it left behind kept pedestrians fast-moving, stiffinside their coats. No men leaned against door frames or storefront windows. The wheels ofwagons delivering feed or wood screeched as though they hurt. Hitched horses in front of thesaloons shivered and closed their eyes. Four women, walking two abreast, approached, their shoesloud on the wooden walkway. Paul D touched Sethe's elbow to guide her as they stepped from theslats to the dirt to let the women pass.

　　Half an hour later, when they reached the city's edge, Sethe and Paul D resumed catching andsnatching each other's fingers, stealing quick pats on the behind. Joyfully embarrassed to be thatgrownup and that young at the same time.

　　Resolve, he thought. That was all it took, and no motherless gal was going to break it up. No lazy,stray pup of a woman could turn him around, make him doubt himself, wonder, plead or confess.

　　Convinced of it, that he could do it, he threw his arm around Sethe's shoulders and squeezed. Shelet her head touch his chest, and since the moment was valuable to both of them, they stopped andstood that way — not breathing, not even caring if a passerby passed them by. The winter light was low. Sethe closed her eyes. Paul D looked at the black trees lining the roadside, theirdefending arms raised against attack. Softly, suddenly, it began to snow, like a present come downfrom the sky. Sethe opened her eyes to it and said, "Mercy." And it seemed to Paul D that it was —a little mercy — something given to them on purpose to mark what they were feeling so theywould remember it later on when they needed to.

　　Down came the dry flakes, fat enough and heavy enough to crash like nickels on stone. It alwayssurprised him, how quiet it was. Not like rain, but like a secret.

　　"Run!" he said.

　　"You run," said Sethe. "I been on my feet all day.""Where I been? Sitting down?" and he pulled her along.

　　"Stop! Stop!" she said. "I don't have the legs for this." "Then give em to me," he said and beforeshe knew it he had backed into her, hoisted her on his back and was running down the road pastbrown fields turning white.

　　Breathless at last, he stopped and she slid back down on her own two feet, weak from laughter.

　　"You need some babies, somebody to play with in the snow." Sethe secured her headcloth.

　　Paul D smiled and warmed his hands with his breath. "I sure would like to give it a try. Need awilling partner though.""I'll say," she answered. "Very, very willing."It was nearly four o'clock now and 124 was half a mile ahead. Floating toward them, barely visiblein the drifting snow, was a figure, and although it was the same figure that had been meeting Sethefor four months, so complete was the attention she and Paul D were paying to themselves theyboth felt a jolt when they saw her close in.

　　Beloved did not look at Paul D; her scrutiny was for Sethe. She had no coat, no wrap, nothing onher head, but she held in her hand a long shawl. Stretching out her arms she tried to circle it aroundSethe.

　　"Crazy girl," said Sethe. "You the one out here with nothing on." And stepping away and in frontof Paul D, Sethe took the shawl and wrapped it around Beloved's head and shoulders. Saying,"You got to learn more sense than that," she enclosed her in her left arm. Snowflakes stuck now.

　　Paul D felt icy cold in the place Sethe had been before Beloved came. Trailing a yard or so behindthe women, he fought the anger that shot through his stomach all the way home. When he sawDenver silhouetted in the lamplight at the window, he could not help thinking, "And whose allyyou?"It was Sethe who ............