Requiem for a Nun

214 WILLIAM FAULKNER

I'm trying. I'm really trying. Maybe it wouldn't be so hard if I could

just understand why they dont stinkwhat reason they would have for not

stinking. . . .

(she stops; it is as if she had heard a sound presaging Gow-

an's return, or perhaps simply knew by instinct or from

knowledge of her own house that he had had time to heat a

cup of milk. Then continues, rapid and quiet)

There was no man there. You see? I told you, warned you, that you would

get nothing from me. Oh, I know; you could have put me on the stand at

any time, under oath; of course, your jury wouldn't have liked it-that

wanton crucifixion of a bereaved mamma, but what's that in the balance

with justice? I dont know why you didn't. Or maybe you still intend

to-provided you can catch us before we cross the Tennessee line tonight.

(quick, tense, bard)

All right. I'm sorry. I know better. So maybe it's just my own stinking

after all that I find impossible to doubt.

(the pantry door slaps again; they both hear it)

Because I'm not even going to take Gowan with me when I say good-bye and

go up stairs.-And who knows-

She stops. Gowan enters, carrying a small tray bearing a glass of milk, a

salt-shaker and a napkin, and comes to the table.

GOWAN

What are you talking about now?

TEMPLE

Nothing. I was telling Uncle Gavin that he had something of Virginia or

some sort of gentleman in him too that he must have inherited from you

through your grandfather, and that I'm going up to give Bucky his bath

and supper.

(she touches the glass for heat, then takes it up, to Gowan)

Thank you, dear.

GOWAN

Right, dear.