Beloved (short) Paper

"There is a loneliness that can be rocked."

There is a loneliness that can be shocking.

"Arms crossed knees drawn up, holding, holding on, this motion, unlike a ship's, smooths and contains the rocker."

The person who is folded into the fetal position is soothed by the person or thing rocking them.

"Its an inside kind - wrapped tight like skin."

Confined, restricted within the womb. Protected?

"Then there is a loneliness that roams."

There is another type of loneliness that travels.

"No rocking can hold it down. It is alive, on its own."

This loneliness can't be calmed. It exists on its own.

"A dry and spreading thing that makes the sound of one's own feet going seem to come from a far-off place."

An unwelcoming feeling that makes you feel as if you're traveling the same distance over and over again.

"Everybody knew what she was called, but nobody anywhere knew her name."

She has no real identity although she's called by a nickname.

"Disremembered and unaccounted for, she cannot be lost because no one is looking for her, and even if they were, how can they call her if they don't know her name?"

Although she is forgotten, she can't be lost because no one is looking for her. If they were, they have no name to call her by.

"Although she has claim, she is not claimed."

Although she lived a life, she nor her life was confirmed into existence.

"In the place where long grass opens, the girl who waited to be loved and cry shame erupts into her separate parts, to make it easy for the chewing laughter to swallow her all away."

Within her grave feeling humiliated she still longed to be loved. She cried uncontrollably making it easy for the humiliation to consume her.

"It was not a story to pass on"

This was not a story to ignore

"They forgot her like a bad dream."

They quickly shrugged her off.

"After they made up their tales, shaped and decorated them, those that saw her that day on the porch quickly and deliberately forgot her. It took longer for those who has spoken to her, lived with her, fallen in love with her to forget, until they realized they couldn't remember or repeat a single thing she said, and began to believe that, other than what they themselves were thinking, she hadn't said anything at all."

After having their laugh and gossip session they made it a point to not remember her. Those who had encountered her had a harder time forgetting her. She stayed on their minds for while and slowly began to fade until they couldn't remember if she was real or something they'd imagined.

"So, in the end, they forgot her too. Remembering seemed unwise."

In the end, they forgot about her mother too. It seemed better that way.

"They never knew where or why she crouched, or whose was the underwater face she needed like that."

They never found out where she came from and who the person under the water was.

"Where the memory of the smile under her chin might have been and was not, a latch latched and lichen attached its apple'green bloom to the metal."

They couldn't remember where the slit on her neck was or wasn't. Nor if it healed or remained open?

"What made her think her fingernails could open locks the rain rained on?"

Who told her she could open old wounds?

"It was not a story to pass on."

This was not a story to forget.

"So they forgot her. Like an unpleasant dream during a troubling sleep."

Still they continued to ignore her.

"Occasionally, however, the rustle of a skirt hushes when they wake, and the knuckles brushing a cheek in sleep seem to belong to the sleeper."

Occasionally it appears as though its the sleepers imagination

"Sometimes the photograph of a close friend or relative - looked at too long - shifts, and something more familiar than the dear face itself moves there."

Sometimes you look at picture at a weird angle or with a quick glance and yourself within you ancestor's face. Your ancestors are within you. You are a piece of them.

"They can touch it if they like, but don't, because they know things will never be the same if they do."

People tend to be afraid of change so they run from it instead of moving toward it and welcoming it.

"This is not a story to pass on."

This is a story to consider.

"Down by the stream in back of 124 her footprints come and go, come and go."

Down by the stream in back of 124 history repeats itself.

"They are so familiar. Should a child, an adult place his feet in them, they will fit."

This is your history, young and old.

"Take them out and they disappear again as though nobody ever walked there."

This history can be erased as if it never happened if you let it.

"By and by all trace is gone, and what is forgotten is not only the footprints but the water too and what it is down there."

If it's erased your story as well as your ancestor's stories and the roads they've traveled disappear.

"The rest is weather."

Forever changed.

"Not the breath of the disremembered and unaccounted for, but wind in the eaves, or spring ice thawing too quickly."

Your ancestors and your people become stuck and frozen in time.

"Just weather"

Forever changed

"Certainly no clamor for a kiss."

Definitely not a plea for love.

I'm not quite sure what to make of the last two pages as a whole. What I know is that there is something very deep and life changing about this book, about this story as well as a strong message that is there for anyone's taking.

"Everybody knew what she was called, but nobody anywhere knew her name."

She has no real identity although she's called by a nickname

This quote and interpretation relates to the scene on page 137

"I want you to touch me. On the inside part. And you have to call me mt name."
As long as his eyes were locked on the silver of the lard can he was safe.
If he trembled like Lot's wife and felt some womanish need to see the nature of the sin behind him; feel a sympathy, perhaps, for the cursing cursed, or want to hold it in his arms out of respect for the connection between them, he too would be lost.
"Call me my name."
"No."
"Please call it. I'll go if you call it." t, but she did not go. She moved closer with a footfall he didn't hear and he didn't hear the whisper that the flakes of rust made either as they fell away from the seams of his tobacco tin. So when the lid gave he didn't know it. What he  knew was that when he reached the inside part he was saying, "Red heart. Red heart," over and over again. Softly then so loud it woke Denver, then Paul D himself. "Red heart/ Red heart. Red heart."

In this passage, Beloved has seduced Paul D out of Sethe's house into the ice house. Here is where she attempts to have Paul D call her by her name. Calling her by name would give her identity, it would acknowledge her as a person. Paul D refuses to call Beloved by her name. In turn, Beloved tell him that if he calls her by her name she'll leave the ice house. He does but she does not leave. While doing this, Paul D  received something unexpected. His tin box that represents his heart that has been rusted closed for a long time is  was healed. The rust had fallen away and made way for him to be able to love and trust again.

"What made her think her fingernails could open locks the rain rained on?"

Who told her she could heal old wounds?

This quote and interpretation also relates to this scene.

Beloved heals Paul D's old wound, his rusted, closed-off heart. This line also makes you think, if Beloved is a ghost what makes her want to heal and not hurt as ghosts are sometimes thought to do? In Beloved's selfishness to have Sethe to herself  she unintentionally healed Paul D.