"There was this piece of goods Mrs. Garner gave me. Calico.

　　Stripes it had with little flowers in between. 'Bout a yard — not enough for more 'n a head tie. ButI been wanting to make a shift for my girl with it. Had the prettiest colors. I don't even know whatyou call that color: a rose but with yellow in it. For the longest time I been meaning to make it forher and do you know like a fool I left it behind? No more than a yard, and I kept putting it offbecause I was tired or didn't have the time. So when I got here, even before they let me get out ofbed, I stitched her a little something from a piece of cloth Baby Suggs had. Well, all I'm saying isthat's a selfish pleasure I never had before. I couldn't let all that go back to where it was, and Icouldn't let her nor any of em live under schoolteacher. That was out."Sethe knew that the circle she was making around the room, him, the subject, would remain one.

　　That she could never close in, pin it down for anybody who had to ask. If they didn't get it right off— she could never explain. Because the truth was simple, not a long drawn-out record of floweredshifts, tree cages, selfishness, ankle ropes and wells. Simple: she was squatting in the garden andwhen she saw them coming and recognized schoolteacher's hat, she heard wings. Littlehummingbirds stuck their needle beaks right through her headcloth into her hair and beat theirwings. And if she thought anything, it was No. No. Nono. Nonono. Simple. She just flew.

　　Collected every bit of life she had made, all the parts of her that were precious and fine andbeautiful, and carried, pushed, dragged them through the veil, out, away, over there where no onecould hurt them. Over there. Outside this place, where they would be safe. And the hummingbirdwings beat on. Sethe paused in her circle again and looked out the window. She remembered whenthe yard had a fence with a gate that somebody was always latching and unlatching in the. timewhen 124 was busy as a way station. She did not see the whiteboys who pulled it down, yanked upthe posts and smashed the gate leaving 124 desolate and exposed at the very hour when everybodystopped dropping by. The shoulder weeds of Bluestone Road were all that came toward the house.

　　When she got back from the jail house, she was glad the fence was gone. That's where they hadhitched their horses — where she saw, floating above the railing as she squatted in the garden,school-teacher's hat. By the time she faced him, looked him dead in the eye, she had something inher arms that stopped him in his tracks. He took a backward step with each jump of the baby heartuntil finally there were none.

　　"I stopped him," she said, staring at the place where the fence used to be. "I took and put my babieswhere they'd be safe." The roaring in Paul D's head did not prevent him from hearing the pat shegave to the last word, and it occurred to him that what she wanted for her children was exactlywhat was missing in 124: safety. Which was the very first message he got the day he walkedthrough the door. He thought he had made it safe, had gotten rid of the danger; beat the shit out ofit; run it off the pl............