Beloved looked at the tooth and thought, This is it. Next would be her arm, her hand, a toe. Pieces of her would drop maybe one at a time, maybe all at once. Or on one of those mornings beforeDenver woke and after Sethe left she would fly apart. It is difficult keeping her head on her neck,her legs attached to her hips when she is by herself. Among the things she could not remember waswhen she first knew that she could wake up any day and find herself in pieces. She had twodreams: exploding, and being swallowed. When her tooth came out — an odd fragment, last in therow — she thought it was starting.
"Must be a wisdom," said Denver. "Don't it hurt?"
"Yes."
"Then why don't you cry?"
"What?"
"If it hurts, why don't you cry?"
And she did. Sitting there holding a small white tooth in the palm of her smooth smooth hand. Cried the way she wanted to when turtles came out of the water, one behind the other, right afterthe blood-red bird disappeared back into the leaves. The way she wanted to when Sethe went tohim standing in the tub under the stairs. With the tip of her tongue she touched the salt water thatslid to the corner of her mouth and hoped Denver's arm around her shoulders would keep themfrom falling apart.
The couple upstairs, united, didn't hear a sound, but below them, outside, all around 124 the snowwent on and on and on. Piling itself, burying itself. Higher. Deeper.