jg.paintedhouse-第23部分

按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！


　　　〃Did　you　see　her？〃　my　mother　whispered　as　we　were　leaving。　I　shook　my　head。
　　　As　we　drove　away；　the　Latchers　were　crawling　over　and　around　the　two　boxes　as　if　they　hadn't　eaten　in　a　week。
　　　We'd　return　in　a　few　days　with　another　load　of　produce　in　a　second　attempt　to　confirm　the　rumors。　As　long　as　they　kept　Libby　hidden；　the　Latchers　would　be　well　fed。
　　　
　　　The　St。　Francis　River　was　fifty　feet　deep；　according　to　my　father；　and　around　the　bottom　of　the　bridge　pier　there　were　channel　catfish　that　weighed　sixty　pounds　and　ate　everything　that　floated　within　reach。　They　were　large；　dirty　fish…scavengers　that　moved　only　when　food　was　nearby。　Some　lived　for　twenty　years。　According　to　family　legend；　Ricky　caught　one　of　the　monsters　when　he　was　thirteen。　It　weighed　forty…four　pounds；　and　when　he　slit　its　belly　with　a　cleaning　knife；　all　sorts　of　debris　spilled　onto　the　tailgate　of　Pappy's　truck：　a　spark　plug；　a　marble；　lots　of　half…eaten　minnows　and　small　fish；　two　pennies；　and　some　suspicious　matter　that　was　eventually　determined　to　be　human　waste。
　　　Gran　never　fried　another　catfish。　Pappy　gave　up　river　food　altogether。
　　　With　red　worms　as　bait；　I　fished　the　shallow　backwaters　around　a　sandbar　for　bream　and　crappie；　two　small　species　that　were　plentiful　and　easy　to　catch。　I　waded　barefoot　through　the　warm；　swirling　waters　and　occasionally　heard　my　mother　yell；　〃That's　far　enough；　Luke！〃　The　bank　was　lined　with　oaks　and　willows；　and　the　sun　was　behind　them。　My　parents　sat　in　the　shade；　on　one　of　the　many　quilts　the　ladies　at　the　church　made　during　the　winter；　and　shared　a　cantaloupe　from　our　garden。
　　　They　talked　softly；　almost　in　whispers；　and　I　didn't　try　to　listen；　because　it　was　one　of　the　few　moments　during　the　picking　season　when　they　could　be　alone。　At　night；　after　a　day　in　the　fields；　sleep　came　fast　and　hard；　and　I　rarely　heard　them　talk　in　bed。　They　sometimes　sat　on　the　porch　in　the　darkness；　waiting　for　the　heat　to　pass；　but　they　weren't　really　alone。
　　　The　river　scared　me　enough　to　keep　me　safe。　I　had　not　yet　learned　to　swim…I　was　waiting　for　Ricky　to　e　home。　He　had　promised　to　teach　me　the　next　summer；　when　I　would　be　eight。　I　stayed　close　to　the　bank；　where　the　water　barely　covered　my　feet。
　　　Drownings　were　not　unmon；　and　all　my　life　I'd　heard　colorful　tales　of　grown　men　caught　in　shifting　sandbanks　and　being　swept　away　while　entire　families　watched　in　horror。　Calm　waters　could　somehow　turn　violent；　though　I'd　never　witnessed　this　myself。　The　mother　of　all　drownings　supposedly　took　place　in　the　St。　Francis；　though　the　exact　location　varied　according　to　the　narrator。　A　small　child　was　sitting　innocently　on　a　sandbar　when　suddenly　it　shifted；　and　the　child　was　surrounded　by　water　and　sinking　fast。　An　older　sibling　saw　it　happen　and　dashed　into　the　swirling　waters；　only　to　be　met　with　a　fierce　current　that　carried　him　away；　too。　Next；　an　even　older　sibling　heard　the　cries　of　the　first　two；　and　she　charged　into　the　river　and　was　waist…deep　before　she　remembered　she　couldn't　swim。　Undaunted；　she　bravely　thrashed　onward；　yelling　at　the　younger　two　to　hold　steady；　she'd　get　there　somehow。　But　the　sandbar　collapsed　entirely；　sort　of　like　an　earthquake；　and　new　currents　went　in　all　directions。
　　　The　three　children　were　drifting　farther　and　farther　away　from　shore。　The　mother；　who　may　or　may　not　have　been　pregnant；　and　who　may　or　may　not　have　been　able　to　swim；　was　fixing　lunch　under　a　shade　tree　when　she　heard　the　screams　of　her　children。　She　flung　herself　into　the　river；　whereupon　she；　too；　was　soon　in　trouble。
　　　The　father　was　fishing　off　a　bridge　when　he　heard　the　motion；　and　rather　than　waste　time　running　to　the　shore　and　entering　from　that　venue；　he　simply　jumped　headlong　into　the　St。　Francis　and　broke　his　neck。
　　　The　entire　family　perished。　Some　of　the　bodies　were　found。　Some　were　not。　Some　were　eaten　by　the　channel　cats；　and　the　others　were　swept　out　to　sea；　wherever　the　sea　was。　There　was　no　shortage　of　theories　as　to　what　finally　happened　to　the　bodies　of　this　poor　family；　which；　oddly；　had　remained　nameless　through　the　decades。
　　　This　story　was　repeated　so　that　kids　like　myself　would　appreciate　the　dangers　of　the　river。　Ricky　loved　to　scare　me　with　it；　but　often　got　his　versions　confused。　My　mother　said　it　was　all　fiction。
　　　Even　Brother　Akers　managed　to　weave　it　through　a　sermon　to　illustrate　how　Satan　was　always　at　work　spreading　misery　and　heartache　around　the　world。　I　was　awake　and　listening　very　closely；　and　when　he　left　out　the　part　about　the　broken　neck；　I　figured　he　was　exaggerating；　too。
　　　But　I　was　determined　not　to　drown。　The　fish　were　biting；　small　bream　that　I　hooked　and　threw　back。　I　found　a　seat　on　a　stump　near　a　lagoon　and　caught　one　fish　after　another。　It　was　almost　as　much　fun　as　playing　baseball。　The　afternoon　passed　slowly　by；　and　I　was　thankful　for　the　solitude。　Our　farm　was　crowded　with　strangers。　The　fields　were　waiting　with　the　promise　of　backbreaking　labor。　I'd　seen　a　man　get　killed；　and　I　had　somehow　gotten　myself　in　the　middle　of　it。
　　　The　gentle　rushing　sound　of　the　shallow　water　was　soothing。　Why　couldn't　I　just　fish　all　day？　Sit　by　the　river　in　the　shade？　Anything　but　pick　cotton。　I　wasn't　going　to　be　a　farmer。　I　didn't　need　the　practice。
　　　〃Luke；〃　came　my　father's　voice　from　down　the　bank。　I　pulled　in　the　hook　and　worm；　and　walked　to　where　they　were　sitting。
　　　〃Yes　sir；〃　I　said。
　　　〃Sit　down；〃　he　said。　〃Let's　talk。〃
　　　I　sat　at　the　very　edge　of　the　quilt；　as　far　from　them　as　possible。　They　didn't　appear　to　be　angry；　in　fact；　my　mother's　face　was　pleasant。
　　　But　my　father's　voice　was　stern　enough　to　worry　me。　〃Why　didn't　you　tell　us　about　the　fight？〃　he　asked。
　　　The　fight　that　wouldn't　go　away。
　　　I　wasn't　really　surprised　to　hear　the　question。　〃I　was　scared；　I　guess。〃
　　　〃Scared　of　what？〃
　　　〃Scared　of　gettin'　caught　behind　the　Co…op　watchin'　a　fight。〃
　　　〃Because　I　told　you　not　to；　right？〃　asked　my　mother。
　　　〃Yes　ma'am。　And　I'm　sorry。〃
　　　Watching　a　fight　was　not　a　major　act　of　disobedience；　and　all　three　of　us　knew　it。　What　were　boys　supposed　to　do　on　Saturday　afternoon　when　the　town　was　packed　and　excitement　was　high？　She　smiled　because　I　said　I　was　sorry。　I　was　trying　to　look　as　pitiful　as　possible。
　　　〃I'm　not　too　worried　about　you　watchin'　a　fight；〃　my　father　said。
　　　〃But　secrets　can　get　you　in　trouble。　You　shoulda　told　me　what　you　saw。〃
　　　〃I　saw　a　fight。　I　didn't　know　Jerry　Sisco　was　gonna　die。〃
　　　My　logic　stopped　him　for　a　moment。　Then　he　said；　〃Did　you　tell　Stick　Powers　the　truth？〃
　　　〃Yes　sir。〃　i
　　　〃Did　one　of　the　Siscos　pick　up　the　piece　of　wood　first？　Or　was　it　Hank　Spruill？〃
　　　If　I　told　the　truth；　then　I　would　be　admitting　that　I　had　lied　in　my　earlier　version。　Tell　the　truth　or　tell　a　lie；　that　was　the　question　that　always　remained。　I　decided　to　try　to　blur　things　a　bit。　〃Well；　to　be　honest；　Dad；　things　happened　so　fast。　There　were　bodies　fallin'　and　flyin'　everywhere。　Hank　was　just　throwin'　those　boys　around　like　little　toys。　And　the　crowd　was　movin'　and　hollerin'。　Then　I　saw　a　stick；　of　wood。〃　I
　　　Surprisingly；　this　satisfied　him。　After　all；　I　was　only　seven　years　old；　。　and　had　been　caught　up　in　a　mob　of　spectators；　all　watching　a　horrible　brawl　unfold　behind　the　Co…op。　Who　could　blame　me　if　I　wasn't　sure　about　what　happened？
　　　〃Don't　talk　to　anyone　about　this；　all　right？　Not　a　soul。〃
　　　〃Yes　sir。〃
　　　〃Little　boys　who　keep　secrets　from　their　parents　get　into　big　trouble；〃　my　mother　said。　〃You　can　always　tell　us。〃
　　　〃Yes　ma'am。〃
　　　〃Now　go　fish　some　more；〃　my　father　said；　and　I　ran　back　to　my　spot。
　
　
　Chapter　11
　　　
　　　The　week　began　in　the　semidarkness　of　Monday　morning。　We　met　at　the　trailer　for　the　ride　into　the　fields；　a　ride　that　grew　shorter　each　day　as　the　picking　slowly　moved　away　from　the　river　back　toward　the　house。
　　　Not　a　word　was　spoken。　Before　us　were　five　endless　days　of　overwhelming　labor　and　heat；　followed　by　Saturday；　which　on　Monday　seemed　as　far　away　as　Christmas。
　　　I　looked　down　from　my　perch　on　the　tractor　and　prayed　for　the　day　when　the　Spruills　would　leave　our　farm。　They　were　grouped　together；　as　dazed　and　sleepy　as　I　was。　Trot　was　not　with　them；　nor　would　he　be　joining　us