the rear wall looks down into the street. It is mid-morning of a sunny day.
The door, left, opens with a heavy clashing of the steel lock, and swings
backward and outward. Temple enters, followed by Stevens and the Jailor.
Temple has changed her dress, but wears the fur coat and the same hat.
Stevens is dressed exactly as he was in Act Two. The Jailor is a typical
small-town turnkey, in shirt-sleeves and no necktie, carrying the heavy
keys on a big iron ring against his leg as a farmer carries a lantern, say.
He is drawing the door to behind him as he enters.
Temple stops just inside the room. Stevens perforce stops also. The Jailor
closes the door and locks it on the inside with another clash and clang of
steel, and turns.
JAILOR
Well, Lawyer, singing school will be over after tonight, huh?
(to Temple)
You been away, you see. You dont know about this, you aint up with
what's-
(he stops himself quickly; he is about to commit what he
would call a very bad impoliteness, what in the tenets of
his class and kind would be the most grave of gaucherie and
bad taste: referring directly to a recent bereavement in the
presence of the bereaved, particularly one of
REQUIEM FOR A NUN 325
this nature, even though by this time tomorrow the State itself
will have made restitution with the perpetrator's life. He tries
to rectify it)
Not that I wouldn't too, if I'd a been the ma of the very-
(stopping himself again; this is getting worse than ever; now he
not only is looking at Stevens, but actually addressing him)
Every Sunday night, and every night since last Sunday except last night-come
to think of it, Lawyer, where was you last night? We missed you-Lawyer here
and Na-the prisoner have been singing hymns in her cell. The first time, he
just stood out there on the sidewalk while she stood in that window yonder.
Which was all right, not doing no harm, just singing church hymns. Because
all of us home folks here in Jefferson and Yoknapatawpha County both know
Lawyer Stevens, even if some of us might have thought he got a little out of
line-
(again it is getting out of hand; he realises it, but there is
nothing he can do now; he is like someone walking a foot-log: all
he can do is move as fast as he dares until he can reach solid
ground or at least pass another log to leap to)
defending a nigger murderer, let alone when it was his own niece was mur-
(and reaches another log and leaps to it without stopping: at
least one running at right angles for a little distance into
simple generality)
-maybe suppose some stranger say, some durn Yankee tourist, happened to be
passing through in a car, when we get enough durn criticism from Yankees
like it is-besides, a white man standing out there in the cold, while a
durned nigger murderer is up here all warm and comfortable; so it happened
that me and Mrs Tubbs hadn't went to prayer meeting that night, so we
invited hirn to come in; and to tell the truth, we come to enjoy it too.
Because as soon as they found out there wasn't going to be no objection to
it,
326 WILLIAM FAULKNER
the other nigger prisoners (I got five more right now, but I taken
them out back and locked them up in the coal house so you could have
some privacy) joined in too, and by the second or third Sunday night,
folks were stopping along the street to listen to them instead of
going to regular church. Of course, the other niggers would just be
in and out over Saturday and Sunday night for fighting or gambling or
vagrance or drunk, so just about the time they would begin to get in
tune, the whole choir would be a complete turnover. In fact, I had a
idea at one time to have the Marshal comb the nigger dives and joints
not for drunks and .-amblers, but basses and baritones.
(he starts to laugh, guffaws once, then catches himself;
he looks at Temple with something almost gentle, almost
articulate, in his face, taking (as though) by the borns,
facing frankly and openly the dilemma of his own in-
escapable vice)
Excuse me, Mrs Stevens. I talk too much. All I want to say is, this
whole county, not a man or woman, wife or mother either in the whole
state of Mississippi, that dont-dont feel-
(stopping again, looking at Temple)
There I am, still at it, still talking too much.
Wouldn't you like for Mrs Tubbs to bring you up a cup of coffee or
maybe a Coca-Cola? She's usually got a bottle or two of sody pop in
the icebox.
TEMPLE
No thank you, Mr Tubbs. If we could just see Nancy-
JAILOR
(turning) Sure, sure.
He crosses toward the rear, right, and disappears into the passage.
TEMPLE
The blindfold again. Out of a Coca-Cola bottle this time or a cup of
county-owned coffee.
Stevens takes the same pack of cigarettes from his overcoat pocket, though
Temple has declined before he can even offer them.
REQUIEM FOR A NUN 327
No, thanks. My hide's toughened now. I hardly feel it. People. They're
really innately, inherently gentle and compassionate and kind. That's
what wrings, wrenches . . . something. Your entrails, maybe. The
member of the mob who holds up the whole ceremony for seconds or even
minutes while he dislodges a family of bugs or lizards from the log
he is about to put on the fire-
(there is the clash of another steel door off-stage as the
Jailor unlocks Nancy's cell. Temple pauses, turns and
listens, then continues rapidly)
And now I've got to say 'I forgive you, sister' to the nigger who
murdered my baby. No: it's worse: I've even got to transpose it, turn
it around. I've got to start off my new life being forgiven again. How
can I say that? Tell me. How can I?
She stops again and turns farther as Nancy enters from the rear alcove,
followed by the Jailor, who passes Nancy and comes on, carrying the ring
of keys once more like a farmer's lantern.
JAILOR
(to Stevens)
Okay, Lawyer. How much,time you want? Thirty minutes? an hour?
STEVENS
Thirty minutes should be enough.
JAILOR
(still moving toward the exit, left)
Okay.
(to Temple)
You sure you dont want that coffee or a Coca-Cola.? I could bring you
up a rocking chair-
TEMPLE
Thank you just the same, Mr Tubbs.
JAILOR
Okay.
(at the exit door, unlocking it) Thirty minutes, then.
He unlocks the door, opens it, exits, closes and locks it behind him; the
lock clashes, his footsteps die away. Nancy has slowed and stopped where
the Jailor passed her; she now stands about six feet to the rear of Temple
and Stevens. Her face is calm,
328 WILLIAM FAULKNER
unchanged. She is dressed exactly as before, except for the apron; she