Temple had hidden them, and getting the letters and getting rid
272 WILLIAM FAULKNER
of him forever, instead of hiding the money and jewels from Temple in her
turn-which was what Temple herself thought too apparently, since she-
Temple-told him a lie about how much the money was, telling him it was
only two hundred dollars when it was actually almost two thousand. So you
would have said that he wanted the money indeed, and just how much, how
badly, to have been willing to pay that price for it. Or maybe he was
being wise, smart,' he would have called it-beyond his years and time,
and without having actually planned it that way, was really inventing a
new and safe method of kidnapping: that is, pick up an adult victim
capable of signing her own checks-also with an infant in arms for added
persuasion-and not forcing but actually persuading her to come along
under her own power and then-still peaceably-extracting the money later
at your leisure, using the tender welfare of the infant as a fulcrum for
your lever. Or maybe we're both wrong and both should give credit-what
little of it-is due, since it was just the money with her too at first,
though he was probably still thinking it was just the money at the very
time when, having got her own jewelry together and found where her
husband kept the key to the strongbox (and I imagine, even opened it one
night after her husband was in bed asleep and counted the money in it or
at least made sure there was money in it or anyway that the key would
actually open it), she found herself still trying to rationalise why she
had not paid over the money and got the letters and destroyed them and
so rid herself forever of her Damocles' roof. Which was what she did not
do. Because Hemingway-his girl-was quite right: all you have got to do
is, refuse to accept it. Only, you have got to be told truthfully
beforehand what you must refuse; the gods owe you that-at least a clear
picture and a clear choice. Not to be fooled by . . . who knows? probably
even gentleness, after a fashion, back there on those afternoons or
whenever they were in the Memphis . . . all right: honeymoon, even with
a witness; in this case certainly anything much better lacked, and
indeed, who knows? (I am Red now) even a little of awe, incredulous
amazement, even a little of trembling at this much fortune, this much
luck dropping out of the very sky itself, into his embrace; at least
(Temple now) no gang: even rape become tender: only one, an indi-
REQUIEM FOR A NUN 273
vidual, still refusable, giving her at least (this time) the
similitude of being wooed, of an opportunity to say Yes first, letting
her even believe she could say either one of yes or no. I imagine that
he (the new one, the blackmailer) even looked like his brother-a
younger Red, the Red of a few years even before she knew him, and-if
you will permit it-less stained, so that in a way it may have seemed
to her that here at last even she might slough away the six years'
soilure of struggle and repentance and terror to no avail. And if this
is what you meant, then you are right too: a man, at least a man,
after six years of that sort of forgiving which debased not only the
forgiven but the forgiven's gratitude too-a bad man of course, a
criminal by intent regardless of bow cramped his opportunities may
have been up to this moment; and, capable of blackmail, vicious and
not merely competent to, but destined to, bring nothing but evil and
disaster and ruin to anyone foolish enough to enter his orbit, cast
her lot with his. Butby comparison, that six years of comparison-at
least a man-a man so single, so hard and ruthless, so impeccable in
amorality, as to have a kind of integrity, purity, who would not only
never need nor intend to forgive anyone anything, he would never even
realise that anyone expected him to forgive anyone anything; who
wouldn't even bother to forgive her if it ever dawned on him that he
had the opportunity, but instead would simply black her eyes and knock
a few teeth out and fling her into the gutter: so that she could rest
secure forever in the knowledge that, until she found herself with a
black eye and or spitting teeth in the gutter, he would never even
know he had anything to forgive her for.
This time, the lights do not flicker. They begin to dim steadily toward
and then into complete darkness as Stevens continues.
Nancy was the confidante, at first, while she-Nancy -still believed
probably that the only problem, factor, was how to raise the money the
blackmailer demanded, without letting the boss, the master, the
husband find out about it; finding, discovering-this is still
Nancy-realising probably that she had not really been a confidante for
a good while, a long while before she discovered that what she
actually was, was a spy: on her employer: not realising until
4.6
274 WILLIAM FAULKNER
after she had discovered that, although Temple had taken the money and
the jewels too from her husband's strongbox, she-Temple-still hadn't
paid them over to the blackmailer and got the letters, that the payment
of the money and jewels was less than half of Temple's plan.
The lights go completely out. The stage is in complete darkness. Stevens'
voice continues.
That was when Nancy in her turn found where Temple had hidden the money
and jewels, and-Nancytook them in her turn and hid them from Temple;
this was the night of the day Gowan left for a week's fishing at
Aransas Pass, taking the older child, the boy, with him, to leave the
child for a week's visit with his grandparents in New Orleans until
Gowan would pick them up on his way home from Texas. (to Temple: in the
darkness) Now tell him.
The stage is in complete darkness.
Scene Two
Interior, Temple's private sitting- or dressing-room. 9:30 P.M. June
thirteenth ante.
The lights go up, lower right, as in Act One in the transition from the
Court room to the Stevens living room, though instead of the living room,
the scene is now Temple's private apartment. A door, left, enters from the
house proper. A door, right, leads into the nursery where the child is
asleep in its crib. At rear, french windows open onto a terrace; this is
a private entrance to the house itself from outdoors. At left, a closet
door stands open. Garments are scattered over the floor about it,
indicating that the closet has been searched, not hurriedly so much as
savagely and ruthlessly and thoroughly. At right, is a fireplace of gas
logs. A desk against the rear wall is open and shows traces of the same
savage and ruthless search. A table, center, bears Temple's hat, gloves
and bag, also a bag such as is associated with infants; two bags, obvi-
ously Temple's, are packed and closed and sit on the floor beside the
table. The whole room indicates Temple's imminent departure, and that
something has been vainly yet savagely
REQUIEM FOR A NUN 275