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

him eggs cooked in olive oil. One after- noon the grocer's boy, entering the area-way on a
bicycle, skidded and fell. Something leaked from the package. "It aint eggs," the boy
said. "See?" It was a bottle of olive oil. "You ought to buy that oil in cans anyway," the
boy said. "He cant tell no difference in it. I'll bring you another one. And you want to
have that gate fixed. Do you want I should break my neck on it?"
He had not returned by six o'clock. It was summer. There was no fire, not a match
in the house. "I'll be back in five minutes," the daughter said.
She left the house. The grandmother watched her disappear. Then she wrapped
the child up in a light blanket and left the house. The street was a side street, just off a
main street where there were markets, where the rich people in limousines stopped on the
way home to shop. When she reached the corner, a car was just drawing in to the curb. A
woman got out and entered a store, leaving a negro driver behind the wheel. She went to
the car.
"I want a half a dollar," she said.
The negro looked at her. "A which?"
"A half a dollar. The boy busted the bottle."
"Oh," the negro said. He reached in his pocket. "How am I going to keep it
straight, with you collecting out here? Did she send you for the money out here?"
"I want a half a dollar. He busted the bottle."
"I reckon I better go in, then," the negro said. "Seem like to me you folks would
see that folks got what they buy, folks that been trading here long as we is."
"It's a half a dollar," the woman said. He gave her a half dollar and entered the
store. The woman watched him. Then she laid the child on the seat of the car, and
followed the negro. It was a self-serve place, where the customers moved slowly along a
railing in single file. The negro was next to the white woman who had left the car. The
grandmother watched the woman pass back to the negro a loose handful of bottles of
sauce and catsup. "That'll be a dollar and a quarter," she said. The negro gave her the
money. She took it and passed them and crossed the room. There was a bottle of imported
Italian olive oil, with a price tag. "I got twenty-eight cents more," she said. She moved
on, watching the price tags, until she found one that said twenty-eight cents. It was seven
bars of bath soap. With the two parcels she left the store. There was a policeman at the
corner. "I'm out of matches," she said.
The policeman dug into his pocket. "Why didn't you buy some while you were
there?" he said.
"I just forgot it. You know how it is, shopping with a child."
"Where is the child?" the policeman said.
"I traded it in," the woman said.
"You ought to be in vaudeville," the policeman said. "How many matches do you
want? I aint got but one or two."
"Just one," the woman said. "I never do light a fire with but one."
"You ought to be in vaudeville," the policeman said. "You'd bring down the
house."
"I am," the woman said. "I bring down the house."
"What house?" He looked at her. "The poor house?"
"I'll bring it down," the woman said. "You watch the papers tomorrow. I hope
they get my name right."