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Wednesday 27 March 2013

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Barn Burning by William Faulkner

 

The store in which the jurist of the Peaces court was sit canisterg smelled of cheese. The boy, crouched on his nail keg at the back of the crowded room, knew he smelled cheese, and more: from where he sit down he could see the ranked shelves close-packed with the solid, squat, dynamic shapes of tin cans whose labels his stomach read, not from the lettering which meant nothing to his mind tho from the scarlet devils and the silver curve of fish - this, the cheese which he knew he smelled and the hermetic meat which his intestines believed he smelled coming in intermittent gusts momentary and brief between the other unremitting one, the smell and sense just a little of fearfulness because mostly of despair and grief, the old fierce pull of blood. He could not see the table where the Justice sat and forward which his father and his fathers enemy (our enemy he thought in that despair; ourn! mine and hisn both! Hes my father!) stood, but he could hear them, the two of them that is, because his father had said no give-and-take yet:

But what proof have you, Mr. Harris?

I told you. The hogg got into my corn. I caught it up and sent it back to him. He had no fence that would hold it. I told him so, warned him. The next conviction I put the hog in my pen.

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When he came to deposit it I gave him enough wire to patch up his pen. The next time I put the hog up and kept it. I rode down to his house and saw the wire I gave him stillness rolled on to the spool in his yard. I told him he could have the hog when he paid me a long horse pound fee. That evening a nigra came with the dollar and got the hog. He was a strange nigger. He said, He say to sort out you timberland and hay kin burn. I said, What? That whut he say to split up you, the nigger said. Wood and hay kin burn. That night my barn burned. I got the stock out but I lost the barn.

Where is the nigger? Have you got him?

He was a strange nigger, I tell you. I dont know what became of him.

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