It was gone. Denver wandered through the silence to the stove. She ashed over the fire and pulledthe pan of biscuits from the oven. The jelly cupboard was on its back, its contents lying in a heapin the corner of the bottom shelf. She took out a jar, and, looking around for a plate, found half ofone by the door. These things she carried out to the porch steps, where she sat down.
The two of them had gone up there. Stepping lightly, easy-footed, they had climbed the whitestairs, leaving her down below. She pried the wire from the top of the jar and then the lid. Under it was cloth and under that a thin cake of wax. She removed it all and coaxed the jelly onto one halfof the half a plate. She took a biscuit and pulled off its black top. Smoke curled from the soft whiteinsides. She missed her brothers. Buglar and Howard would be twenty two and twenty-three now.
Although they had been polite to her during the quiet time and gave her the whole top of the bed,she remembered how it was before: the pleasure they had sitting clustered on the white stairs —she between the knees of Howard or Buglar — while they made up die-witch! stories with provenways of killing her dead. And Baby Suggs telling her things in the keeping room. She smelled likebark in the day and leaves at night, for Denver would not sleep in her old room after her brothersran away.
Now her mother was upstairs with the man who had gotten rid of the only other company she had.
Denver dipped a bit of bread into the jelly. Slowly, methodically, miserably she ate it.NOT QUITE in hurry, but losing no time, Sethe and Paul D climbed the white stairs. Overwhelmedasmu(a) ch by the downright luck of finding her house and her in it as by the certaintyof giving her his sex, Paul D dropped twenty-five years from his recent memory. A stair stepbefore him was Baby Suggs' replacement, the new girl they dreamed of at night and fucked cowsfor at dawn while waiting for her to choose. Merely kissing the wrought iron on her back hadshook the house, had made it necessary for him to beat it to pieces. Now he would do more.
She led him to the top of the stairs, where light came straight from the sky because the second-story windows of that house had been placed in the pitched ceiling and not the walls. There weretwo rooms and she took him into one of them, hoping he wouldn't mind the fact that she was notprepared; that though she could remember desire, she had forgotten how it worked; the clutch andhelplessness that resided in the hands; how blindness was altered so that what leapt to the eye wereplaces to lie down, and all else — door knobs, straps, hooks, the sadness that crouched in corners,and the passing of time — was interference.
It was over before they could get their clothes off. Half-dressed and short of breath, they lay sideby side resentful of one another and the skylight above them. His dreaming of her had been toolong and too long ago. Her deprivation had been not having any dreams of her own at all. Nowthey were sorry and too shy to make talk.