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  CARSON MCCULLERS

  STORIES, PLAYS & OTHER WRITINGS

  Complete Stories

  The Member of the Wedding: A Play

  The Sojourner

  The Square Root of Wonderful

  Essays, Poems & Autobiography

  Carlos L. Dews, editor

  THE LIBRARY OF AMERICA

  Volume compilation, notes, and chronology copyright © 2017

  by Literary Classics of the United States, Inc., New York, N.Y.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any manner whatsoever

  without the permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief

  quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  The Ballad of the Sad Café and Other Stories copyright © 1951

  by Carson McCullers, renewed 1979 by Floria V. Lasky.

  The Mortgaged Heart: Selected Writings copyright © 1971

  by Floria V. Lasky, Executrix of the Estate of Carson McCullers.

  Published by arrangement with Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Publishing Company.

  The Member of the Wedding: The Play copyright © 1949, 1951

  by Carson McCullers.

  Published by arrangement with New Directions Publishing Corporation.

  All other works published by arrangement with the Estate of

  Carson McCullers.

  Distributed to the trade in the United States

  by Penguin Random House Inc.

  and in Canada by Penguin Random House Canada Ltd.

  LIBRARY OF AMERICA, a nonprofit publisher, is dedicated to publishing, and keeping in print, authoritative editions of America’s best and most significant writing. Each year the Library adds new volumes to its collection of essential works by America’s foremost novelists, poets, essayists, journalists, and statesmen.

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  Library of Congress Control Number: 2016935749

  ISBN 978–1–59853–511–2

  eISBN 978–1–59853–549–5

  First Printing

  The Library of America—287

  Manufactured in the United States of America

  Contents

  COMPLETE STORIES

  Sucker

  Court in the West Eighties

  Poldi

  Breath from the Sky

  The Orphanage

  Instant of the Hour After

  Like That

  Wunderkind

  The Aliens

  Untitled Piece

  The Jockey

  Madame Zilensky and the King of Finland

  Correspondence

  A Tree. A Rock. A Cloud.

  Art and Mr. Mahoney

  The Sojourner

  A Domestic Dilemma

  The Haunted Boy

  Who Has Seen the Wind?

  The March

  THE MEMBER OF THE WEDDING: A PLAY

  THE SOJOURNER

  THE SQUARE ROOT OF WONDERFUL

  ESSAYS AND OTHER WRITINGS

  Christmas

  Home for Christmas

  The Discovery of Christmas

  A Hospital Christmas Eve

  The War Years

  Look Homeward, Americans

  Night Watch Over Freedom

  We Carried Our Banners—We Were Pacifists, Too

  Love’s Not Time’s Fool (by a War Wife)

  Our Heads Are Bowed

  American Places, American Identity

  Brooklyn Is My Neighbourhood

  Loneliness . . . An American Malady

  The Great Eaters of Georgia

  Books and Authors

  Books I Remember

  The Russian Realists and Southern Literature

  Isak Dinesen: Winter’s Tales

  Isak Dinesen: In Praise of Radiance

  The Writer’s Work

  How I Began to Write

  Author’s Outline of “The Mute”

  The Flowering Dream: Notes on Writing

  The Theater

  The Vision Shared

  Playwright Tells of Pangs

  The Dark Brilliance of Edward Albee

  POEMS

  The Mortgaged Heart

  When We Are Lost

  The Dual Angel

  Stone Is Not Stone

  Saraband

  AUTOBIOGRAPHY

  Illumination and Night Glare

  APPENDIX

  The Sojourner: Broadcast Transcription

  Chronology

  Note on the Texts

  Notes

  COMPLETE STORIES

  Sucker

  IT WAS ALWAYS like I had a room to myself. Sucker slept in my bed with me but that didn’t interfere with anything. The room was mine and I used it as I wanted to. Once I remember sawing a trap door in the floor. Last year when I was a sophomore in high school I tacked on my wall some pictures of girls from magazines and one of them was just in her underwear. My mother never bothered me because she had the younger kids to look after. And Sucker thought anything I did was always swell.

  Whenever I would bring any of my friends back to my room all I had to do was just glance once at Sucker and he would get up from whatever he was busy with and maybe half smile at me, and leave without saying a word. He never brought kids back there. He’s twelve, four years younger than I am, and he always knew without me even telling him that I didn’t want kids that age meddling with my things.

  Half the time I used to forget that Sucker isn’t my brother. He’s my first cousin but practically ever since I remember he’s been in our family. You see his folks were killed in a wreck when he was a baby. To me and my kid sisters he was like our brother.

  Sucker used to always remember and believe every word I said. That’s how he got his nick-name. Once a couple of years ago I told him that if he’d jump off our garage with an umbrella it would act as a parachute and he wouldn’t fall hard. He did it and busted his knee. That’s just one instance. And the funny thing was that no matter how many times he got fooled he would still believe me. Not that he was dumb in other ways—it was just the way he acted with me. He would look at everything I did and quietly take it in.

  There is one thing I have learned, but it makes me feel guilty and is hard to figure out. If a person admires you a lot you despise him and don’t care—and it is the person who doesn’t notice you that you are apt to admire. This is not easy to realize. Maybelle Watts, this senior at school, acted like she was the Queen of Sheba and even humiliated me. Yet at this same time I would have done anything in the world to get her attentions. All I could think about day and night was Maybelle until I was nearly crazy. When Sucker was a little kid and on up until the time he was twelve I guess I treated him as bad as Maybelle did me.

  Now that Sucker has changed so much it is a little hard to remember him as he used to be. I never imagined anything would suddenly happen that would make us both very different. I never knew that in order to get what has happened straight in my mind I would want to think back on him as he used to be and compare and try to get things settled. If I could have seen ahead maybe I would have acted different.

  I never noticed him much or thought about him and when you consider how long we have had the same room together it is funny the few things I remember. He used to talk to himself a lot when he’d think he was alone—all about him
fighting gangsters and being on ranches and that sort of kids’ stuff. He’d get in the bathroom and stay as long as an hour and sometimes his voice would go up high and excited and you could hear him all over the house. Usually, though, he was very quiet. He didn’t have many boys in the neighborhood to buddy with and his face had the look of a kid who is watching a game and waiting to be asked to play. He didn’t mind wearing the sweaters and coats that I outgrew, even if the sleeves did flop down too big and make his wrists look as thin and white as a little girl’s. That is how I remember him—getting a little bigger every year but still being the same. That was Sucker up until a few months ago when all this trouble began.

  Maybelle was somehow mixed up in what happened so I guess I ought to start with her. Until I knew her I hadn’t given much time to girls. Last fall she sat next to me in General Science class and that was when I first began to notice her. Her hair is the brightest yellow I ever saw and occasionally she will wear it set into curls with some sort of gluey stuff. Her fingernails are pointed and manicured and painted a shiny red. All during class I used to watch Maybelle, nearly all the time except when I thought she was going to look my way or when the teacher called on me. I couldn’t keep my eyes off her hands, for one thing. They are very little and white except for that red stuff, and when she would turn the pages of her book she always licked her thumb and held out her little finger and turned very slowly. It is impossible to describe Maybelle. All the boys are crazy about her but she didn’t even notice me. For one thing she’s almost two years older than I am. Between periods I used to try and pass very close to her in the halls but she would hardly ever smile at me. All I could do was sit and look at her in class—and sometimes it was like the whole room could hear my heart beating and I wanted to holler or light out and run for Hell.

  At night, in bed, I would imagine about Maybelle. Often this would keep me from sleeping until as late as one or two o’clock. Sometimes Sucker would wake up and ask me why I couldn’t get settled and I’d tell him to hush his mouth. I suppose I was mean to him lots of times. I guess I wanted to ignore somebody like Maybelle did me. You could always tell by Sucker’s face when his feelings were hurt. I don’t remember all the ugly remarks I must have made because even when I was saying them my mind was on Maybelle.

  That went on for nearly three months and then somehow she began to change. In the halls she would speak to me and every morning she copied my homework. At lunch time once I danced with her in the gym. One afternoon I got up nerve and went around to her house with a carton of cigarettes. I knew she smoked in the girls’ basement and sometimes outside of school—and I didn’t want to take her candy because I think that’s been run into the ground. She was very nice and it seemed to me everything was going to change.

  It was that night when this trouble really started. I had come into my room late and Sucker was already asleep. I felt too happy and keyed up to get in a comfortable position and I was awake thinking about Maybelle a long time. Then I dreamed about her and it seemed I kissed her. It was a surprise to wake up and see the dark. I lay still and a little while passed before I could come to and understand where I was. The house was quiet and it was a very dark night.

  Sucker’s voice was a shock to me. “Pete? . . .”

  I didn’t answer anything or even move.

  “You do like me as much as if I was your own brother, don’t you, Pete?”

  I couldn’t get over the surprise of everything and it was like this was the real dream instead of the other.

  “You have liked me all the time like I was your own brother, haven’t you?”

  “Sure,” I said.

  Then I got up for a few minutes. It was cold and I was glad to come back to bed. Sucker hung on to my back. He felt little and warm and I could feel his warm breathing on my shoulder.

  “No matter what you did I always knew you liked me.”

  I was wide awake and my mind seemed mixed up in a strange way. There was this happiness about Maybelle and all that—but at the same time something about Sucker and his voice when he said these things made me take notice. Anyway I guess you understand people better when you are happy than when something is worrying you. It was like I had never really thought about Sucker until then. I felt I had always been mean to him. One night a few weeks before I had heard him crying in the dark. He said he had lost a boy’s beebee gun and was scared to let anybody know. He wanted me to tell him what to do. I was sleepy and tried to make him hush and when he wouldn’t I kicked at him. That was just one of the things I remembered. It seemed to me he had always been a lonesome kid. I felt bad.

  There is something about a dark cold night that makes you feel close to someone you’re sleeping with. When you talk together it is like you are the only people awake in the town.

  “You’re a swell kid, Sucker,” I said.

  It seemed to me suddenly that I did like him more than anybody else I knew—more than any other boy, more than my sisters, more in a certain way even than Maybelle. I felt good all over and it was like when they play sad music in the movies. I wanted to show Sucker how much I really thought of him and make up for the way I had always treated him.

  We talked for a good while that night. His voice was fast and it was like he had been saving up these things to tell me for a long time. He mentioned that he was going to try to build a canoe and that the kids down the block wouldn’t let him in on their football team and I don’t know what all. I talked some too and it was a good feeling to think of him taking in everything I said so seriously. I even spoke of Maybelle a little, only I made out like it was her who had been running after me all this time. He asked questions about high school and so forth. His voice was excited and he kept on talking fast like he could never get the words out in time. When I went to sleep he was still talking and I could still feel his breathing on my shoulder, warm and close.

  During the next couple of weeks I saw a lot of Maybelle. She acted as though she really cared for me a little. Half the time I felt so good I hardly knew what to do with myself.

  But I didn’t forget about Sucker. There were a lot of old things in my bureau drawer I’d been saving—boxing gloves and Tom Swift books and second rate fishing tackle. All this I turned over to him. We had some more talks together and it was really like I was knowing him for the first time. When there was a long cut on his cheek I knew he had been monkeying around with this new first razor set of mine, but I didn’t say anything. His face seemed different now. He used to look timid and sort of like he was afraid of a whack over the head. That expression was gone. His face, with those wide-open eyes and his ears sticking out and his mouth never quite shut, had the look of a person who is surprised and expecting something swell.

  Once I started to point him out to Maybelle and tell her he was my kid brother. It was an afternoon when a murder mystery was on at the movie. I had earned a dollar working for my Dad and I gave Sucker a quarter to go and get candy and so forth. With the rest I took Maybelle. We were sitting near the back and I saw Sucker come in. He began to stare at the screen the minute he stepped past the ticket man and he stumbled down the aisle without noticing where he was going. I started to punch Maybelle but couldn’t quite make up my mind. Sucker looked a little silly—walking like a drunk with his eyes glued to the movie. He was wiping his reading glasses on his shirt tail and his knickers flopped down. He went on until he got to the first few rows where the kids usually sit. I never did punch Maybelle. But I got to thinking it was good to have both of them at the movie with the money I earned.

  I guess things went on like this for about a month or six weeks. I felt so good I couldn’t settle down to study or put my mind on anything. I wanted to be friendly with everybody. There were times when I just had to talk to some person. And usually that would be Sucker. He felt as good as I did. Once he said: “Pete, I am gladder that you are like my brother than anything else in the world.”

  Then something happened between Maybelle and me. I never have fig
ured out just what it was. Girls like her are hard to understand. She began to act different toward me. At first I wouldn’t let myself believe this and tried to think it was just my imagination. She didn’t act glad to see me anymore. Often she went out riding with this fellow on the football team who owns this yellow roadster. The car was the color of her hair and after school she would ride off with him, laughing and looking into his face. I couldn’t think of anything to do about it and she was on my mind all day and night. When I did get a chance to go out with her she was snippy and didn’t seem to notice me. This made me feel like something was the matter—I would worry about my shoes clopping too loud on the floor or the fly of my pants, or the bumps on my chin. Sometimes when Maybelle was around, a devil would get into me and I’d hold my face stiff and call grown men by their last names without the Mister and say rough things. In the night I would wonder what made me do all this until I was too tired for sleep.

  At first I was so worried I just forgot about Sucker. Then later he began to get on my nerves. He was always hanging around until I would get back from high school, always looking like he had something to say to me or wanted me to tell him. He made me a magazine rack in his Manual Training class and one week he saved his lunch money and bought me three packs of cigarettes. He couldn’t seem to take it in that I had things on my mind and didn’t want to fool with him. Every afternoon it would be the same—him in my room with this waiting expression on his face. Then I wouldn’t say anything or I’d maybe answer him rough-like and he would finally go on out.

  I can’t divide that time up and say this happened one day and that the next. For one thing I was so mixed up the weeks just slid along into each other and I felt like Hell and didn’t care. Nothing definite was said or done. Maybelle still rode around with this fellow in his yellow roadster and sometimes she would smile at me and sometimes not. Every afternoon I went from one place to another where I thought she would be. Either she would act almost nice and I would begin thinking how nice things would finally clear up and she would care for me—or else she’d behave so that if she hadn’t been a girl I’d have wanted to grab her by that white little neck and choke her. The more ashamed I felt for making a fool of myself the more I ran after her.