Requiem for a Nun by William Faulkner Page B

to defend a murdering nigger, he can certainly bend it in nothing but a wool overcoat—at least to take a drink with the victim’s mother.

    (quickly: to Temple)

    Sorry. Maybe you were right all the time, and I was wrong. Maybe we’ve both got to keep on saying things like that until we can get rid of them, some of them, a little of them—

    Temple
    All right, why not? Here goes then.

    (she is watching, not Gowan but Stevens, who watches her in return, grave and soberly)

    Dont forget the father too, dear.

    Gowan
    (mixing the drink)

    Why should I, dear? How could I, dear? Except that the child’s father is unfortunately just a man. In the eyes of the law, men are not supposed to suffer: they are merely appellants or appellees. The law is tender only of women and children—particularly of women, particularly particular of nigger dope-fiend whores who murder white children.

    (hands the highball to Stevens, who takes it)

    So why should we expect Defense Attorney Stevens to be tender of a man or a woman who just happen to be the parents of the child that got murdered?

    Temple
    (harshly)

    Will you for God’s sake please get through? Then will you for God’s sake please hush?

    Gowan
    (quickly: turns)

    Sorry.

    (he turns toward her, sees her hand empty, then sees her full glass beside his own on the tray)

    No drink?

    Temple
    I dont want it. I want some milk.

    Gowan
    Right. Hot, of course.

    Temple
    Please.

    Gowan
    (turning)

    Right. I thought of that too. I put a pan on to heat while I was getting the drinks.

    (crossing toward dining room exit)

    Dont let Uncle Gavin get away until I get back.

    Lock the door, if you have to. Or maybe just telephone that nigger freedom agent—what’s his name?—
    He exits. They dont move until the slap of the pantry door sounds.

    Temple
    (rapid and hard)

    How much do you know?

    (rapidly)

    Dont lie to me; dont you see there’s not time?

    Stevens
    Not time for what? Before your plane leaves tonight? She has a little time yet—four months, until March, the thirteenth of March—

    Temple
    You know what I mean—her lawyer—seeing her every day—just a nigger, and you a white man—even if you needed anything to frighten her with—you could just buy it from her with a dose of cocaine or a pint of . . .

    (she stops, stares at him, in a sort of amazement, despair; her voice is almost quiet)

    Oh, God, oh, God, she hasn’t told you anything. It’s me; I’m the one that’s—Dont you see? It’s that I cannot believe—will not believe—impossible—

    Stevens
    Impossible to believe that all human beings really don’t—as you would put it—stink? Even—as you put it—dope-fiend-nigger whores? No, she told me nothing more.

    Temple
    (prompts)

    Even if there was anything more.

    Stevens
    Even if there was.

    Temple
    Then what is it you think you know? Never mind where you got it; just tell me what you think it is.

    Stevens
    There was a man there that night.

    Temple
    (quick, glib, almost before he has finished)

    Gowan.

    Stevens
    That night? When Gowan had left with Bucky at six that morning to drive to New Orleans in a car?

    Temple
    (quick, harsh)

    So I was right. Did you frighten her, or just buy it?

    (interrupts herself)

    I’m trying. I’m really trying. Maybe it wouldn’t be so hard if I could just understand why they dont stink—what reason they would have for not stinking . . . .

    (she stops; it is as if she had heard a sound presaging Gowan’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