"I can't no more. I can't no more.""Can't what? What can't you?""I can't live here. I don't know where to go or what to do, but I can't live here. Nobody speaks tous. Nobody comes by. Boys don't like me. Girls don't either.""Honey, honey.""What's she talking 'bout nobody speaks to you?" asked Paul D. "It's the house. People don't — ""It's not! It's not the house. It's us! And it's you!""Denver!""Leave off, Sethe. It's hard for a young girl living in a haunted house. That can't be easy.""It's easier than some other things.""Think, Sethe. I'm a grown man with nothing new left to see or do and I'm telling you it ain't easy.Maybe you all ought to move. Who owns this house?"
Over Denver's shoulder Sethe shot Paul D a look of snow. "What you care?""They won't let you leave?""No.""Sethe.""No moving. No leaving. It's all right the way it is.""You going to tell me it's all right with this child half out of her mind?"Something in the house braced, and in the listening quiet that followed Sethe spoke.
"I got a tree on my back and a haint in my house, and nothing in between but the daughter I amholding in my arms. No more running — from nothing. I will never run from another thing on thisearth. I took one journey and I paid for the ticket, but let me tell you something, Paul D Garner: itcost too much! Do you hear me? It cost too much. Now sit down and eat with us or leave us be."Paul D fished in his vest for a little pouch of tobacco — concentrating on its contents and the knotof its string while Sethe led Denver into the keeping room that opened off the large room he wassitting in. He had no smoking papers, so he fiddled with the pouch and listened through the opendoor to Sethe quieting her daughter. When she came back she avoided his look and went straight toa small table next to the stove. Her back was to him and he could see all the hair he wanted withoutthe distraction of her face.
"What tree on your back?""Huh." Sethe put a bowl on the table and reached under it for flour.
"What tree on your back? Is something growing on your back?I don't see nothing growing on your back.""It's there all the same.""Who told you that?""Whitegirl. That's what she called it. I've never seen it and never will. But that's what she said itlooked like. A chokecherry tree. Trunk, branches, and even leaves. Tiny little chokecherry leaves.
But that was eighteen years ago. Could have cherries too now for all I know."Sethe took a little spit from the tip of her tongue with her forefinger. Quickly, lightly she touchedthe stove. Then she trailed her fingers through the flour, parting, separating small hills and ridgesof it, looking for mites. Finding none, she poured soda and salt into the crease of her folded handand tossed both into the flour. Then she reached into a can and scooped half a handful of lard.