124 WAS QUIET.
    Denver, who thought she knew all about silence, was surprised to learn hungercould do that: quiet you down and wear you out. Neither Sethe nor Beloved knew or cared about itone way or another. They were too busy rationing their strength to fight each other. So it was shewho had to step off the edge of the world and die because if she didn't, they all would. The fleshbetween her mother's forefinger and thumb was thin as china silk and there wasn't a piece ofclothing in the house that didn't sag on her. Beloved held her head up with the palms of her hands,slept wherever she happened to be, and whined for sweets although she was getting bigger,plumper by the day. Everything was gone except two laying hens, and somebody would soon haveto decide whether an egg every now and then was worth more than two fried chickens. Thehungrier they got, the weaker; the weaker they got, the quieter they were — which was better thanthe furious arguments, the poker slammed up against the wall, all the shouting and crying thatfollowed that one happy January when they played. Denver had joined in the play, holding back abit out of habit, even though it was the most fun she had ever known. But once Sethe had seen thescar, the tip of which Denver had been looking at whenever Beloved undressed — the little curvedshadow of a smile in the kootchy-kootchy-coo place under her chin — once Sethe saw it, fingeredit and closed her eyes for a long time, the two of them cut Denver out of the games. The cookinggames, the sewing games, the hair and dressing-up games. Games her mother loved so well shetook to going to work later and later each day until the predictable happened: Sawyer told her notto come back. And instead of looking for another job, Sethe played all the harder with Beloved,who never got enough of anything: lullabies, new stitches, the bottom of the cake bowl, the top ofthe milk. If the hen had only two eggs, she got both. It was as though her mother had lost her mind,like Grandma Baby calling for pink and not doing the things she used to. But different because,unlike Baby Suggs, she cut Denver out completely. Even the song that she used to sing to Denvershe sang for Beloved alone: "High Johnny, wide Johnny, don't you leave my side, Johnny."At first they played together. A whole month and Denver loved it. From the night they ice-skatedunder a star-loaded sky and drank sweet milk by the stove, to the string puzzles Sethe did for themin afternoon light, and shadow pictures in the gloaming. In the very teeth of winter and Sethe, hereyes fever bright, was plotting a garden of vegetables and flowers — talking, talking about whatcolors it would have. She played with Beloved's hair, braiding, puffing, tying, oiling it until itmade Denver nervous to watch her They changed beds and exchanged clothes. Walked arm in armand smiled all the time. When the weather broke, they were on their knees in the backyarddesigning a garden in dirt too hard to chop. The thirty-eight dollars of life savings went to feedthemselves with fancy food and decorate themselves with ribbon and dress goods, which Sethe cutand sewed like they were going somewhere in a hurry. Bright clothes — with blue stripes andsassy prints. She walked the four miles to John Shillito's to buy yellow ribbon, shiny buttons andbits of black lace. By the end of March the three of them looked like carnival women with nothingto do. When it became clear that they were only interested in each other, Denver began to driftfrom the play, but she watched it, alert for any sign that Beloved was in............