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bedspring disturbed the silence； and Johnseemed； therefore； to be listening to his own unspeaking doom。 He could believe； almost； that hehad awakened late on that great getting…up morning； that all the saved had been transformed in thetwinkling of an eye； and had risen to meet Jesus in the clouds； and that he was left； with his sinfulbody； to be bound in hell a thousand years。
He had sinned。 In spite of the saints； his mother and his father； the warning he had heardfrom his earliest beginnings； he had sinned with his hands a sin that was hard to forgive。 In theschool lavatory； alone； thinking of the boys； older； bigger； braver； who made bets with each otheras to whose urine could arch higher； he had watched in himself a transformation of which hewould never dare to speak。
And the darkness of John’s sin was like the darkness of the church on Saturday evenings；like the silence of the church while he was there alone； sweeping； and running water into the greatbucket； and overturning chairs； long before the saints arrived。 It was like his thoughts as he movedabout the tabernacle in which his life had been spent； the tabernacle hated； yet loved and feared。 Itwas like Roy’s curses； like the echoes these curses raised in John： he remembered Roy； on somerare Saturday when he had e to help John clean the church； cursing in the house of God； andmaking obscene gestures before the eyes of Jesus。 It was like all this； and it was like the walls thatwitnessed and the placards on the walls which testified that the wages of sin was death。 Thedarkness of his sin was in the hardheartedness with which he resisted God’s power； in the scornthat was often his while he listened to the crying； breaking voices； and watched the black skinglisten while they lifted up their arms and fell on their faces before the Lord。 For he had made hisdecision。 He would not be like his father； or his father’s fathers。 He would have another life。
For John excelled in school； though not； like Elisha； in mathematics or basket…ball； and itwas said that he had a Great Future。 He might bee a Great Leader of His People。 John was notmuch interested in His people and still less in leading them anywhere； but the phrase so oftenrepeated rose in his mind like a great brass gate； opening outward for him on a world where peopledid not live in the darkness of his father’s house； did not pray to Jesus in the darkness of hisfather’s church； where he would eat good food； and wear fine clothes； and go to the movies asoften as he wished。 In this world John； who was； his father said； ugly； who was always the smallestboy in his class； and who had no friends； became immediately beautiful； tall； and popular。 Peoplefell all over themselves to meet John Grimes。 He was a poet； or a college president； or a moviestar； he drank expensive whisky； and he smoke Lucky Strike cigarettes in the green package。
It was not only colored people who praised John； since they could not； John felt； in anycase really know； but white people also said it； in fact had said it first and said it still。 It was whenJohn was five years old and in the first grade that he was first noticed； and since he was noticed byan eye altogether alien and impersonal； he began to perceive； in wild uneasiness； his individualexistence。
They were learning the alphabet that day； and six children at a time were sent to theblackboard to write the letters they had memorized。 Six had finished and were waiting for theteacher’s judgment when the back door opened and the school principal； of whom everyone wasterrified； entered the room； No one spoke or moved。 In the silence the principal’s voice said：
‘Which child is that？’
She was pointing to the blackboard； at John’s letters。 The possibility of being distinguishedby her notice did not enter John’s mind； and so he simply stared at her。 Then he realized； by theimmobility of the other children and by the way they avoided looking at him； that it was he whowas selected for punishment。
“Speak up； John；’ said the teacher； gently。
On the edge of tears； he mumbled his name and waited。 The principal； a woman with whitehair and an iron face； looked down at him。
‘You’re a very bright boy； John Grimes；’ she said。 ‘Keep up the good work。’
Then she walked out of the room。
That moment gave him； from that time on； if not a weapon at least a shield； he apprehendedtotally； without belief or understanding； that he had in himself a power that other people lacked；that he could use this to save himself； to raise himself； and that； perhaps； with this power he mightone day win that love which he so longed for。 This was not； in John； a faith subject to death oralteration； nor yet a hope subject to destruction； it was his identity； and part； therefore； of thatwickedness for which his father beat him and to which he clung in order to withstand his father。
His father’s arm； rising and falling； might make him cry； and that voice might cause him totremble； yet his father could never be entirely the victor； for John cherished something that hisfather could not reach。 It was his hatred and his intelligence that he cherished； the one feeding theother。 He lived for the day when his father would be dying and he； John； would curse him on hisdeath…bed。 And this was why； though he had been born in faith and had been surrounded all his lifeby the saints and by their prayers and their rejoicing； and though the tabernacle in which theyworshipped was more pletely real to him that the several precarious homes in which he and hisfamily had lived； John’s heart was hardened against the Lord。 His father was God’s minister； theambassador of the King of Heaven； and John could not bow before the throne of grace without firstkneeling to his father。 On his refusal to do this had his life depended； and John’s secret heart hadflourished in its wickedness until the day his sin first overtook him。
In the midst of all his wonderings he fell asleep again； and when he woke up this time and got outof bed his father had gone to the factory； where he would work for half a day。 Roy was sitting inthe kitchen； quarrelling with their mother。 The baby； Ruth； sat in her high chair banging on the traywith an oatmeal…covered spoon。 This meant that she was in a good mood； she would not spend theday howling； for reasons known only to herself； allowing no one but her mother to touch her。
Sarah was quiet； not chattering to…day； or at any rate not yet； and stood near the stove； arms folded；staring at Roy with the flat black eyes； her father’s eyes； that made her look so old。
Their mother； her head tied up in an old rag； sipped black coffee and watched Roy。 Thepale end…of…winter sunlight filled the room and yellowed all their faces； and John； drugged andmorbid and wondering how it was that he had slept again and had been allowed to sleep so long；saw them for a moment like figures on a screen； an effect that the yellow light intensified。 Theroom was narrow and dirty； nothing could alter its dimensions； no labor could ever make it clean。
Dirt was in the walls and the floorboards； and triumphed beneath the sink where the cockroachesspawned； was in the fine ridges of the pots and pans； scoured daily； burnt black on the bottom；hanging above the stove； was in the wall against which they hung； and revealed itself where thepaint had cracked and leaned outents； the paper…thin undersidewebbed with black。 Dirt was in every corner； angle； crevice of the monstrous stove； and livedbehind it in delirious munion with the corrupted wall。 Dirt was in the baseboard that Johnscrubbed every Sunday； and roughened the cupboard shelves that held the cracked and gleamingdishes。 Under this dark weight the walls leaned； under it the ceiling； with a great crack likelightning in its center； sagged。 The windows gleamed like beaten gold or silver； but now John saw；in the yellow light； how fine dust veiled their doubtful glory。 Dirt crawled in the gray mop hungout of the windows to dry。 John thought with shame and horror； yet in angry hardness of heart： Hewho is filthy； let him be filthy still。 Then he looked at his mother； seeing； as though she weresomeone else； the dark； hard lines running downward from her eyes； and the deep； perpetual scowlin her forehead； and the downturned； tightened mouth； and the strong； thin； brown； and bonyhands； and the phrase turned against him like a two…edged sword； for was it not he； in his falsepride and his evil imagination； who was filthy？ Through a storm of tears that did not reach hiseyes； he stared at the yellow room； and the room shifted； the light of the sun darkened； and hismother’s face changed。 He face became the face that he gave her in his dreams； the face that hadbeen hers in a photograph he had seen once； long ago； a photograph taken before he was born。 Thisface was young and proud； uplifted； with a smile that made the wide mouth beautiful and glowedin the enormous eyes。 It was the face of a girl who knew that no evikl could undo her； and whocould laugh； surely； as his mother did not laugh now。 Between the two faces there stretched adarkness and a mystery that John feared； and that sometimes caused him to hate her。
Now she saw him and she asked； breakin