It was the second question that made it impossible for so long to ask Sethe about the first. Thething that leapt up had been coiled in just such a place: a darkness, a stone, and some other thingthat moved by itself. She went deaf rather than hear the answer, and like the little four o'clocks thatsearched openly for sunlight, then closed themselves tightly when it left, Denver kept watch for thebaby and withdrew from everything else. Until Paul D came. But the damage he did came undonewith the miraculous resurrection of Beloved.
Just ahead, at the edge of the stream, Denver couldsee her silhouette, standing barefoot in the water, liking her black skirts up above her calves, thebeautiful head lowered in rapt attention.
Blinking fresh tears Denver approached her — eager for a word, a sign of forgiveness.
Denver took off her shoes and stepped into the water with her. It took a moment for her to drag hereyes from the spectacle of Beloved's head to see what she was staring at.
A turtle inched along the edge, turned and climbed to dry ground. Not far behind it was anotherone, headed in the same direction. Four placed plates under a hovering motionless bowl. Behindher in the grass the other one moving quickly, quickly to mount her. The impregnable strength ofhim — earthing his feet near her shoulders. The embracing necks — hers stretching up toward hisbending down, the pat pat pat of their touching heads. No height was beyond her yearning neck,stretched like a finger toward his, risking everything outside the bowl just to touch his face. Thegravity of their shields, clashing, countered and mocked the floating heads touching.
Beloveddropped the folds of her skirt. It spread around her. The hem darkened in the water.