William Faulkner, SANCTUARY â WordPress.com - literature save 2

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"Let him go somewheres else, then," the proprietor said. "I just done this as an accommodation. I aint running no funeral parlor." The orchestra played Nearer, My God, To Thee. The audience grew quiet. A woman in a red dress came in the door unsteadily. "Whoopee," she said, "so long, Red. He'll be in hell before I could even reach Little Rock." "Shhhhhhhh!" voices said. She fell into a seat. Gene came to the door and stood there until the music stopped. "Come on, folks," he shouted, jerking his arms in a fat, sweeping gesture, "come and get it. It's on Gene. I dont want a dry throat or eye in this place in ten minutes." Those at the rear moved toward the door. The proprietor sprang to his feet and jerked his hand at the orchestra. The cornetist rose and played In That Haven of Rest in solo, but the crowd at the back of the room continued to dwindle through the door where Gene stood waving his arms. Two middle-aged women were weeping quietly beneath flowered hats. They surged and clamored about the diminishing bowl. From the dance hall came the rich blare of the cornet. Two soiled young men worked their way toward the table, shouting "Gangway. Gangway" monotonously, carrying suit cases. They opened them and set bottles on the table, while Gene, frankly weeping now, opened them and decanted them into the bowl. "Come up, folks. I couldn't a loved him no better ii he'd been my own son," he shouted hoarsely, dragging his sleeve across his face. A waiter edged up to the table with a bowl of ice and fruit and went to put them into the punch bowl. "What the hell you doing?" Gene said, "putting that slop in there? Get to hell away from here." "Ra-a-a-a-y-y-y-yl" they shouted, clasping their cups, drowning all save the pantomime as Gene knocked the bowl of fruit from the waiter's hand and fell again to dumping liquor into the bowl, sploshing it into and upon the extended hands and cups. The two youths opened bottles furiously. As though swept there upon a brassy blare of music the proprietor appeared in the door, his face harried, waving his arms. "Come on, folks," he shouted, "let's finish the musical program. It's costing us money." "Hell with it," they shouted. "Costing who money?" "Who cares?" "Costing who money?" "Who begrudges it? I'll pay it. By God, I'll buy him two funerals." "Folks! Folks!" the proprietor shouted. "Dont you realise there's a bier in that room?" "Costing who money?" "Beer?" Gene said. "Beer?" he said in a broken voice. "Is anybody here trying to insult me by--" "He begrudges Red the money." "Who does?" "Joe does, the cheap son of a bitch." "Is somebody here trying to insult me--" "Let's move the funeral, then. This is not the only place in town." "Let's move Joe." "Put the son of a bitch in a coffin. Let's have two funerals."
"Beer? Beer? Is somebody--" "Put the son of a bitch in a coffin. See how he likes it." "Put the son of a bitch in a coffin," the woman in red shrieked. They rushed toward the door, where the proprietor stood waving his hand above his head, his voice shrieking out of the uproar before he turned and fled. In the main room a male quartet engaged from a vaudeville house was singing. They were singing mother songs in close harmony; they sang Sonny Boy. The weeping was general among the older women. Waiters were now carrying cups of punch in to them and they sat holding the cups in their fat, ringed hands, crying. The orchestra played again. The woman in red staggered into the room. "Come on, Joe," she shouted, "open the game. Get that damn stiff out of here and open the game." A man tried to hold her; she turned upon him with a burst of filthy language and went on to the shrouded crap table and hurled a wreath to the floor. The proprietor rushed toward her, followed by the bouncer. The proprietor grasped the woman as she lifted another floral piece. The man who had tried to hold her intervened, the woman cursing shrilly and striking at both of them impartially with the wreath. The bouncer caught the man's arm; he whirled and struck at the bouncer, who knocked him halfway across the room. Three more men entered. The fourth rose from the floor and all four of them rushed at the bouncer. He felled the first and whirled and sprang with an unbelievable celerity, into the main room. The orchestra was playing. It was immediately drowned in a sudden pandemonium of chairs and screams. The bouncer whirled again and met the rush of the four men. They mingled; a second man flew out and skittered along the floor on his back; the bouncer sprang free. Then he whirled and rushed them; in a whirling plunge they bore down upon the bier and crashed into it. The orchestra had ceased and were now climbing onto their chairs with their instruments. The floral offerings flew; the coffin teetered. "Catch it!" a voice shouted. They sprang forward but the coffin crashed heavily to the floor, coming open. The corpse tumbled slowly and sedately out and came to rest with its face in the center of a wreath. "Play something!" the proprietor bawled, waving his arms; .,play! Play!" When they raised the corpse the wreath came too, attached to him by a hidden end of a wire driven into his cheek. He had worn a cap which, tumbling off, exposed a small blue hole in the center of his forehead. It had been neatly plugged with wax and was painted, but the wax had been jarred out and lost. They couldn't find it, but by unfastening the snap in the peak, they could draw the cap down to his eyes. As the cortège neared the downtown section more cars joined in. The hearse was followed by six Packard touring cars with the tops back, driven by liveried chauffeurs and filled with flowers. They looked exactly alike and were of the type rented by the hour by the better class agencies. Next came a nondescript line of taxis, roadsters, sedans, which increased as the procession moved slowly through the restricted district where faces peered from beneath lowered shades, toward the main artery that led back out of town, toward the cemetery. On the avenue the hearse increased its speed, the procession stretching out at swift intervals. Presently the private cars and the cabs began to drop out. At each intersection they would turn this way or that, until at last only the hearse and the six Packards were
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William Faulkner SANCTUARY First pu
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"Through all them trees?" Popeye sa
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and stooped above an open packing c
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somebody else's wife, you start off
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Tommy guffawed, in undertone. The r
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"Some women want a man to marry a c
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slanted against the glare. The brok
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small clouds rosy with sunlight dro
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"Putty hard walkin', aint it?" he s
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stand fer nobody drinkin' hyer cep
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They went on in the path. Popeye wa
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we stopped at Dumfries and he went
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worth, and all the rest of it you t
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"Here," Gowan said across the table
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there, he said, stopping, then he s
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They swung Gowan onto the bed. His
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at her with a quality furious and q
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"A rat?" she wailed, "a rat? Open t
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The blind man's stick clattered aga
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Temple sprang back into the kitchen
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house. Instead he went on across th
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she was about halfway back to the h
Page 45 and 46:
"Goodwin and I were both talking. H
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him who was already dead singing ab
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"And go on back to Kinston until th
Page 51 and 52:
"You dont think I am lawyer enough,
Page 53 and 54: kept on talking, sitting there in h
Page 55 and 56: "No," he said, "I didn't. I didn't
Page 57 and 58: together, listening to the hot minu
Page 59 and 60: They reached Memphis in mid-afterno
Page 61 and 62: glared with choleric ferocity, thei
Page 63 and 64: and hurled the covers over her head
Page 65 and 66: owl and pitcher and a row of towels
Page 67 and 68: "But that girl," Horace said. "she
Page 69 and 70: "Yes; Gowan. And, by the Lord, he'd
Page 71 and 72: Horace. He could hear them breathin
Page 73 and 74: delicate paradox, as though the Cre
Page 75 and 76: shoulders and his gestures. The tra
Page 77 and 78: She took shape vaguely, approaching
Page 79 and 80: As the train neared Memphis Virgil
Page 81 and 82: "Caint be her husband," Fonzo said.
Page 83 and 84: When they reached home Fonzo stoppe
Page 85 and 86: "This is Snopes," he said. "How're
Page 87 and 88: "And what's your price?" Horace sai
Page 89 and 90: special bed made and sent down here
Page 91 and 92: to herself sitting on the bed, list
Page 93 and 94: teacher in school and it was a litt
Page 95 and 96: Temple turned from the door and sto
Page 97 and 98: she smoked swiftly, moving about th
Page 99 and 100: toward his armpit. He caught her wr
Page 101 and 102: still alive; she felt long shudderi
Page 103: and black and navy blue, and glitte
Page 107 and 108: They began to talk politely, in dec
Page 109 and 110: "I knew it all the time," Miss Reba
Page 111 and 112: "Going down to Jackson for a couple
Page 113 and 114: Two days before it opened Snopes em
Page 115 and 116: "Then I guess it's time to think ab
Page 117 and 118: "Yes," she said. She held the bon-b
Page 119 and 120: man is going to let me walk out of
Page 121 and 122: "Sustained," the Court said. "Strik
Page 123 and 124: "He had the pistol in his hand. Wha
Page 125 and 126: loomed. In the yard, beneath the ba
Page 127 and 128: he said, when Horace descended from
Page 129 and 130: "The strikers. I dont care a damn w
Page 131 and 132: "What's your name? Calvin Coolidge?
Page 133 and 134: "Sure. Tell it to them. I dont know
Page 135: he quit jerking his neck and stood
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