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so many times in the summer。 Her feet had just taken her here
without her knowing。 When she came to the house she waited
to be sure no person could see。 Then she went through the side
yard。
The radio was on as usual。 For a second she stood by the
window and watched the people inside。 The bald…headed man
and the gray…haired lady were playing cards at a table。 Mick
sat on the ground。 This was a very fine and secret place。 Close
around were thick cedars so that she was completely hidden
by herself。 The radio was no good tonight—somebody sang
popular songs that all ended in the same way。 It was like she
was empty。 She reached in her pockets and felt around with
her fingers。 There were raisins and a buckeye and a string of
beads— one cigarette with matches。 She lighted the cigarette
and put her arms around her knees。 It was like she was so
empty there wasn't even a feeling or thought in her。
One program came on after another； and all of them100
CARSON McCULLERS
were punk。 She didn't especially care。 She smoked and picked
a little bunch of grass blades。 After a while a new announcer
started talking。 He mentioned Beethoven。 She had read in the
library about that musician—his name was pronounced with
an a and spelled with double e。 He was a German fellow like
Mozart When he was living he spoke in a foreign language
and lived in a foreign place— like she wanted to do。 The
announcer said they were going to play his third symphony。
She only halfway listened because she wanted to walk some
more and she didn't care much what they played。 Then the
music started。 Mick raised her head and her fist went up to her
throat。
How did it come？ For a minute the opening balanced from one
side to the other。 Like a walk or march。 Like God strutting in
the night。 The outside of her was suddenly froze and only that
first part of the music was hot inside her heart。 She could not
even hear what sounded after； but she sat there waiting and
froze； with her fists tight。 After a while the music came again；
harder and loud。 It didn't have anything to do with God。 This
was her； Mick Kelly； walking in the daytime and by herself at
night。 In the hot sun and in the dark with all the plans and
feelings。 This music was her—the real plain her。
She could not listen good enough to hear it alL The music
boiled inside her。 Which？ To hang on to certain wonderful
parts and think them over so that later she would not forget—
or should she let go and listen to each part that came without
thinking or trying to remember？ Golly！ The whole world was
this music and she could not listen hard enough。 Then at last
the opening music came again； with all the different
instruments bunched together for each note like a hard； tight
fist that socked at her heart And the first part was over。
This music did not take a long time or a short time。 It did not
have anything to do with time going by at all。 She sat with her
arms held tight around her legs； biting her salty knee very
hard。 It might have been five minutes she listened or half the
night。 The second part was black…colored—a slow march。 Not
sad； but like the whole world was dead and black and there
was no use thinking back how it was before。 One of those
horn kind of instruments played a sad and silver tune。 Then
the music rose up angry
and with excitement underneath。 And finally the black march
again。
But maybe the last part of the symphony was the music she
loved the best—glad and like the greatest people in the world
running and springing up in a hard； free way。 Wonderful
music nice this was the worst hurt there could be。 The whole
world was this symphony； and there was not enough of her to
listen。
It was over； and she sat very stiff with her arms around her
knees。 Another program came on the radio and she put her
fingers in her ears。 The music left only this bad hurt in her；
and a blankness。 She could not remember any of the
symphony； not even the last few notes。 She tried to remember；
but no sound at all came to her。 Now that it was over there
was only her heart like a rabbit and this terrible hurt。
The radio and the lights in the house were turned off。 The
night was very dark。 Suddenly Mick began hitting her thigh
with her fists。 She pounded the same muscle with all her
strength until the tears came down her face。 But she could not
feel this hard enough。 The rocks under the bush were sharp。
She grabbed a handful of them and began scraping them up
and down on the same spot until her hand was bloody。 Then
she fell back to the ground and lay looking up at the night。
With the fiery hurt in her leg she felt better。 She was limp on
the wet grass； and after a while her breath came slow and easy
again。
Why hadn't the explorers known by looking at the sky that the
world was round？ The sky was curved； like the inside of a
huge glass ball； very dark blue with the sprinkles of bright
stars。 The night was quiet。 There was the smell of warm
cedars。 She was not trying to think of the music at all when it
came back to her。 The first part happened hi her mind just as it
had been played。 She listened in a quiet； slow way and thought
the notes out like a problem in geometry so she would
remember。 She could see the shape of the sounds very clear
and she would not forget them。
Now she felt good。 She whispered some words out loud： 'Lord
forgiveth me； for I knoweth not what I do。' Why did she think
of that？ Everybody in the past few years knew there wasn't
any real God。 When she thought of what she102
used to imagine was God she could only see Mister Singer
with a long； white sheet around him。 God was silent— maybe
that was why she was reminded。 She said the words again； just
as she would speak them to Mister Singer： 'Lord forgiveth me；
for I knoweth not what I do。'
This part of the music was beautiful and clear。 She could sing
it now whenever she wanted to。 Maybe later on； when she had
just waked up some morning； more of the music would come
back to her。 If ever she heard the symphony again there would
be other parts to add to what was already in her mind。 And
maybe if she could hear it four more times； just four more
times； she would know it all。 Maybe。
Once again she listened to this opening part of the music。
Then the notes grew slower and soft and it was like she was
sinking down slowly into the dark ground。
Mick awoke with a jerk。 The air had turned chilly； and as she
was coming up out of the sleep she dreamed old Etta Kelly
was taking all the cover。 'Gimme some blanket
' she tried to say。 Then she opened her eyes。 The sky
was very black and all the stars were gone。 The grass was wet。
She got up in a hurry because her Dad would be worried。 Then
she remembered the music。 She couldn't tell whether the time
was midnight or three in the morning； so she started beating it
for home in a rush。 The air had a smell in it like autumn。 The
music was loud and quick in her mind； and she ran faster and
faster on the sidewalks leading to the home block。
B
。 Y OCTOBER the days were blue and