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begun to follow him in and out。 And now for a month Singer
had been dead and buried。 And the riddle was still in him； so
that he could not be tranquil。306
307
There was something not natural about it all—something like
an ugly joke。 When he thought of it he felt uneasy and in some
unknown way afraid。
He had managed about the funeral。 They had left all that to
him。 Singer's affairs were in a mess。 There were installments
due on everything he owned and the beneficiary of his life
insurance was deceased。 There was just enough to bury him。
The funeral was at noon。 The sun burned down on them with
savage heat as they stood around the open dank grave。 The
flowers curled and turned brown in the sun。 Mick cried so
hard that she choked herself and her father had to beat her on
the back。 Blount scowled down at the grave with his fist to his
mouth。 The town's Negro doctor； who was somehow related to
poor Willie； stood on the edge of the crowd and moaned to
himself。 And there were strangers nobody had ever seen or
heard of before。 God knows where they came from or why
they were there。
The silence in the room was deep as the night itself。 Biff stood
transfixed； lost in his meditations。 Then suddenly he felt a
quickening in him。 His heart turned and he leaned his back
against the counter for support。 For in a swift radiance of
illumination he saw a glimpse of human struggle and of valor。
Of the endless fluid passage of humanity through endless
time。 And of those who labor and of those who—one word—
love。 His soul expanded。 But for a moment only。 For in him he
felt a warning； a shaft of terror。 Between the two worlds he
was suspended。 He saw that he was looking at his own face in
the counter glass before him。 Sweat glistened on his temples
and his face was contorted。 One eye was opened wider than
the other。 The left eye delved narrowly into the past while the
right gazed wide and affrighted into a future of blackness；
error； and ruin。 And he was suspended between radiance and
darkness。 Between bitter irony and faith。 Sharply he turned
away。
'Louis！' he called。 'Louis！ Louis！'
Again there was no answer。 But； motherogod； was he a
sensible man or was he not？ And how could this terror throttle
him nice this when he didn't even know what caused it？ And
would he just stand here like a jittery ninny or would he pull
himself together and be reasonable？ For
after all was he a sensible man or was he not？ Biff wet his
handkerchief beneath the water tap and patted his drawn；
tense face。 Somehow he remembered that the awning had not
yet been raised。 As he went to the door his walk gained
steadiness。 And when at last he was inside again he composed
himself soberly to await the morning sun。