【文章內(nèi)容簡介】 o.　　I39。ll get used to it, I said. Ream it out again.　　Well, soon we got the name out of the way. Asalamalakim had a name twice as long and three times as hard. After I tripped over it two or three times he told me to just call him Hakimabarber. I wanted to ask him was he a barber, but I didn39。t really think he was, so I don39。t ask.　　You must belong to those beetcattle peoples down the road, I said. They said Asalamalakirn when they met you too, but they didn39。t Shake hands. Always too busy feeding the cattle, fixing the fences, putting up saltlick shelters, throwing down hay. When the white folks poisoned some of the herd the men stayed up all night with rifles in their hands. I walked a mile and a half just to see the sight.　　Hakimabarber said, I accept some of their doctrines, but farming and raising cattle is not my style. (They didn39。t tell me, and I didn39。t ask, whether Wangero (Dee) had really gone and married him.)　　We sat down to eat and right away he said he didn39。t eat collards and pork was unclean. Wangero, though, went on through the chitlins and corn bread, the greens and everything else. She talked a blue streak over the sweet potatoes. Everything delighted her. Even the fact that we still used the benches her daddy made for the table when we couldn39。t afford to buy chairs.　　Oh, Mama! she cried. Then turned to Hakimabarber. I never knew how lovely these benches are. You can feel the rump prints, she said, running her hands underneath her and along the bench. Then she gave a sigh and her hand closed over Grandma Dee39。s butter dish. That39。s it! she said. I knew there was something I wanted to ask you if I could have. She jumped up from the table and went over in the corner where the churn stood, the milk in it clabber by now. She looked at the churn and looked at it.　　This churn top is what I need, she said. Didn39。t Uncle Buddy whittle it out of a tree you all used to have?　　Yes, I said.　　Uh huh, she said happily. And I want the dasher,too.　　Uncle Buddy whittle that, too? asked the barber.　　Dee (Wangero) looked up at me.　　Aunt Dee39。s first husband whittled the dash, said Maggie so low you almost couldn39。t hear her. His name was Henry, but they called him Stash.　　Maggie39。s brain is like an elephants, Wanglero said, laughing. I can use the churn top as a center piece for the alcove table,”she said, sliding a plate over the churn, and I39。ll think of something artistic to do with the dasher.　　回答人的補(bǔ)充 20090930 18:56 When she finished wrapping the dasher the handle stuck out. I took it for a moment in my hands. You didn39。t even have to look close to see where hands pushing the dasher up and down to make butter had left a kind of sink in the wood. In fact, there were a lot of small sinks。 you could see where thumbs and fingers had sunk into the wood. It was beautiful light yellow wood, from a tree that grew in the yard where Big Dee and Stash had lived.　　After dinner Dee (Wangero) went to the trunk at the foot of my bed and started rifling through it. Maggie hung back in the kitchen over the dishpan. Out came Wangero with two quilts. They had been pieced by Grandma Dee and then Big Dee and me had hung them on the quilt frames on the front porch and quilted them. One was in the Lone Star pattern. The other was Walk Around the Mountain. In both of them were scraps of dresses Grandma Dee had worn fifty and more years ago. Bit sand pieces of Grandpa Jarrell39。s Paisley shirts. And one teeny faded blue piece, about the size of a penny matchbox, that was from Great Grandpa Ezra39。s uniform that he wore in the Civil War.　　Mama, Wangero said sweet as a bird. Can I have these old quilts?　　I heard something fall in the kitchen, and a minute later the kitchen door slammed.　　Why don39。t you take one or two of the others?” 1 asked. These old things was just done by me and Big Dee from some tops your grandma pieced before she died.　　No, said Wangero. I don39。t want those. They are stitched around the borders by machine.　　That39。ll make them last better, I said.　　That39。s not the point, said Wanglero. These are all pieces of dresses Grandma used to wear. She did all this stitching by hand. Imagine! She held the quilts securely in her arms, stroking them.　　Some of the pieces, like those lavender ones, e from old clothes her mother handed down to her,” I said, moving up to touch the quilts. Dee (Wangero) moved back just enough so that I couldn39。t reach the quilts. They already belonged to her. Imagine! she breathed again, clutching them closely to her bosom.　　The truth is, I said, I promised to give them quilts to Maggie, for when she marries John Thomas.　　She gasped like a bee had stung her.　　Maggie can39。t appreciate these quilts! she said. She39。d probably be backward enough to put them to everyday use.　　I reckon she would, I said. God knows I been savage ’em for long enough with nobody using 39。em. I hope she will! ” I didn39。t want to bring up how I had offered Dee (Wangero) a quilt when she went away to college. Then she had told me they were oldfashioned, out of style.　　But they39。re priceless! she was saying now, furiously, for she has a temper. Maggie would put them on the bed and in five years they39。d be in rags. Less than that! She can always make some more,” I said. Maggie knows how to quilt. 　　Dee (Wangero) looked at me with hatred. You just will not understand. The point is these quilts, these quilts!　　Well, I said, stumped. What would you do with them?　　Hang them, she said. As it that was the only thing you could do with quilts.　　Maggie by now was standing in the door. I could almost hear the sound her feet