Beloved recognizes Sethe's song

One winter night, after the three women of 124 had spent the evening ice skating on the frozen creek and warming themselves with sweet milk by the stove, a small but profound event occurred that would alter the course of their lives. As they sat wrapped in quilts before the fire, Beloved began to hum a melody. Sethe, who had been lost in thought, suddenly recognized the tune—it was a song she had composed herself, a lullaby she had sung only to her children. The recognition struck her with the force of a revelation, confirming what she had begun to suspect: that Beloved was not a stranger who had wandered in from the woods, but her own daughter, the baby whose throat she had cut, returned to her in the flesh.

The Song and Its Significance

The song Beloved hummed was one Sethe had made up and sung to her children, a private melody that no one else knew. When Sethe heard it, she was stunned. She turned to look at Beloved's profile, studying the chin, mouth, nose, and forehead, which were copied and exaggerated in the huge shadow the fire threw on the wall behind her. Beloved's hair, braided by Denver into twenty or thirty plaits, curved toward her shoulders like arms. Sethe could not examine the details—the hairline, the eyebrows, the lips, the birthmark, the color of the gums, the shape of the ears, the fingers, their nails—but she knew there would be time. The click had clicked; things were where they ought to be or poised and ready to glide in.

Sethe had always remembered the song as her own, a creation she had given to her children. When Beloved said, "I know it," Sethe's heart must have raced. This was not a song that could be learned by chance; it was a bond between mother and child, a secret language that only they shared. The recognition was a confirmation of the impossible: that Beloved had indeed come back from the dead, that the ghost that had haunted 124 had taken on flesh and blood.

The Context of the Revelation

The moment came after a period of joy and play. Sethe, Denver, and Beloved had spent the evening ice skating, laughing, and falling on the ice, their skirts flying like wings and their skin turning pewter in the cold and dying light. They had returned to the house, cold and happy, and had drunk warm milk with cane syrup and vanilla. The atmosphere was one of contentment and closeness, a rare moment of peace in a house that had known so much sorrow. It was in this warm, intimate setting that Beloved's humming triggered the revelation.

Sethe had been thinking about the past, about the things she could now forget because Beloved understood everything. She had been planning a garden, thinking about the colors of vegetables and flowers, and had been filled with a sense of hope. The song, however, brought her back to the present with a jolt, reminding her of the bond she had with her children, a bond that she had thought was broken forever.

The Confirmation of Identity

For Sethe, the recognition of the song was the final proof she needed. She had already noticed the scar on Beloved's chin, the little curved shadow of a smile in the kootchy-kootchy-coo place under her chin, which she had fingered and closed her eyes over. She had seen the fingernail prints on Beloved's forehead, marks she had made when she held her baby's head in the shed. But the song was different; it was a living memory, a piece of herself that she had given to her children and that had now been returned to her.

Sethe's belief that Beloved was her daughter was not just a hope; it was a certainty. She had been dreaming of this moment for years, ever since she had seen the dress and shoes sitting in the front yard, and her water had broken. Now, with the song, the dream had become reality. Beloved was her daughter, and she was back.

The Aftermath and Its Implications

The recognition of the song marked a turning point in the relationship between Sethe and Beloved. From that moment on, Sethe's devotion to Beloved became even more intense, as she sought to make up for the years of separation and the terrible act she had committed. She began to play with Beloved, to dress her in bright clothes, to give her everything she wanted. The two of them became inseparable, and Denver, who had once been the center of Sethe's world, was gradually pushed aside.

This shift in dynamics would eventually lead to the deterioration of the household, as Sethe's obsession with Beloved grew and the two women became locked in a love that wore everybody out. But in that moment, by the fire, the recognition of the song was a moment of pure joy and confirmation. It was the moment when Sethe knew, beyond any doubt, that her daughter had come home.

The song itself, "High Johnny, wide Johnny, don't you leave my side, Johnny," was a lullaby that Sethe had sung to her children. It was a song of love and protection, a promise that she would always be there for them. When Beloved hummed it, she was not just recalling a tune; she was claiming her identity as Sethe's daughter, and Sethe was claiming her as her own. The moment was a testament to the power of memory and love, and to the enduring bond between a mother and her child, even beyond death.