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She
looked
at
the
thin
forms
,
tossing
before
her
,
the
sheets
about
them
moist
and
dark
from
dripping
water
.
She
did
not
like
Suellen
.
She
saw
it
now
with
a
sudden
clarity
.
She
had
never
liked
her
.
She
did
not
especially
love
Carreen
--
she
could
not
love
anyone
who
was
weak
.
But
they
were
of
her
blood
,
part
of
Tara
.
No
,
she
could
not
let
them
live
out
their
lives
in
their
aunts
'
homes
as
poor
relations
.
An
O'Hara
a
poor
relation
,
living
on
charity
bread
and
sufferance
!
Oh
,
never
that
!
Was
there
no
escape
from
this
dead
end
?
Her
tired
brain
moved
so
slowly
.
She
raised
her
hands
to
her
head
as
wearily
as
if
the
air
were
water
against
which
her
arms
struggled
.
She
took
the
gourd
from
between
the
glass
and
bottle
and
looked
in
it
.
There
was
some
whisky
left
in
the
bottom
,
how
much
she
could
not
tell
in
the
uncertain
light
.
Strange
that
the
sharp
smell
did
not
offend
her
nostrils
now
.
She
drank
slowly
but
this
time
the
liquid
did
not
burn
,
only
a
dull
warmth
followed
.
She
set
down
the
empty
gourd
and
looked
about
her
.
This
was
all
a
dream
,
this
smoke-filled
dim
room
,
the
scrawny
girls
,
Mammy
shapeless
and
huge
crouching
beside
the
bed
,
Dilcey
a
still
bronze
image
with
the
sleeping
pink
morsel
against
her
dark
breast
--
all
a
dream
from
which
she
would
awake
,
to
smell
bacon
frying
in
the
kitchen
,
hear
the
throaty
laughter
of
the
negroes
and
the
creaking
of
wagons
fieldward
bound
,
and
Ellen
's
gentle
insistent
hand
upon
her
.
Then
she
discovered
she
was
in
her
own
room
,
on
her
own
bed
,
faint
moonlight
pricking
the
darkness
,
and
Mammy
and
Dilcey
were
undressing
her
.
The
torturing
stays
no
longer
pinched
her
waist
and
she
could
breathe
deeply
and
quietly
to
the
bottom
of
her
lungs
and
her
abdomen
.
She
felt
her
stockings
being
stripped
gently
from
her
and
heard
Mammy
murmuring
indistinguishable
comforting
sounds
as
she
bathed
her
blistered
feet
.
How
cool
the
water
was
,
how
good
to
lie
here
in
softness
,
like
a
child
.
She
sighed
and
relaxed
and
after
a
time
which
might
have
been
a
year
or
a
second
,
she
was
alone
and
the
room
was
brighter
as
the
rays
of
the
moon
streamed
in
across
the
bed
.
She
did
not
know
she
was
drunk
,
drunk
with
fatigue
and
whisky
.
She
only
knew
she
had
left
her
tired
body
and
floated
somewhere
above
it
where
there
was
no
pain
and
weariness
and
her
brain
saw
things
with
an
inhuman
clarity
.
She
was
seeing
things
with
new
eyes
for
,
somewhere
along
the
long
road
to
Tara
,
she
had
left
her
girlhood
behind
her
.
She
was
no
longer
plastic
clay
,
yielding
imprint
to
each
new
experience
.
The
clay
had
hardened
,
some
time
in
this
indeterminate
day
which
had
lasted
a
thousand
years
.
Tonight
was
the
last
time
she
would
ever
be
ministered
to
as
a
child
.
She
was
a
woman
now
and
youth
was
gone
.
No
,
she
could
not
,
would
not
,
turn
to
Gerald
's
or
Ellen
's
families
.
The
O'Haras
did
not
take
charity
.
The
O'Haras
looked
after
their
own
.
Her
burdens
were
her
own
and
burdens
were
for
shoulders
strong
enough
to
bear
them
.
She
thought
without
surprise
,
looking
down
from
her
height
,
that
her
shoulders
were
strong
enough
to
bear
anything
now
,
having
borne
the
worst
that
could
ever
happen
to
her
.
She
could
not
desert
Tara
;
she
belonged
to
the
red
acres
far
more
than
they
could
ever
belong
to
her
.
Her
roots
went
deep
into
the
blood-colored
soil
and
sucked
up
life
,
as
did
the
cotton
.
She
would
stay
at
Tara
and
keep
it
,
somehow
,
keep
her
father
and
her
sisters
,
Melanie
and
Ashley
's
child
,
the
negroes
.
Tomorrow
--
oh
,
tomorrow
!
Tomorrow
she
would
fit
the
yoke
about
her
neck
.
Tomorrow
there
would
be
so
many
things
to
do
.
Go
to
Twelve
Oaks
and
the
MacIntosh
place
and
see
if
anything
was
left
in
the
deserted
gardens
,
go
to
the
river
swamps
and
beat
them
for
straying
hogs
and
chickens
,
go
to
Jonesboro
and
Lovejoy
with
Ellen
's
jewelry
--
there
must
be
someone
left
there
who
would
sell
something
to
eat
.
Tomorrow
--
tomorrow
--
her
brain
ticked
slowly
and
more
slowly
,
like
a
clock
running
down
,
but
the
clarity
of
vision
persisted
.
Of
a
sudden
,
the
oft-told
family
tales
to
which
she
had
listened
since
babyhood
,
listened
half-bored
,
impatient
and
but
partly
comprehending
,
were
crystal
clear
.
Gerald
,
penniless
,
had
raised
Tara
;
Ellen
had
risen
above
some
mysterious
sorrow
;
Grandfather
Robillard
,
surviving
the
wreck
of
Napoleon
's
throne
,
had
founded
his
fortunes
anew
on
the
fertile
Georgia
coast
;
Great-grandfather
Prudhomme
had
carved
a
small
kingdom
out
of
the
dark
jungles
of
Haiti
,
lost
it
,
and
lived
to
see
his
name
honored
in
Savannah
.
There
were
the
Scarletts
who
had
fought
with
the
Irish
Volunteers
for
a
free
Ireland
and
been
hanged
for
their
pains
and
the
O'Haras
who
died
at
the
Boyne
,
battling
to
the
end
for
what
was
theirs
.
