jg.paintedhouse-第32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！


　　　Gotta　run。　Love　to　all；　Ricky
　　　…
　　　We　passed　it　around　and　read　it　again　and　again；　then　Gran　placed　it　in　a　cigar　box　next　to　the　radio。　All　of　Ricky's　letters　were　there；　and　it　was　not　unmon　to　walk　through　the　kitchen　at　night　and　catch　Pappy　or　Gran　rereading　them。
　　　The　new　letter　made　us　forget　about　our　stiff　muscles　and　burned　skin；　and　we　all　ate　in　a　hurry　so　we　could　sit　around　the　table　and　write　to　Ricky。
　　　Using　my　Big　Chief　writing　tablet　and　a　pencil；　I　told　him　all　about　Jerry　Sisco　and　Hank　Spruill；　and　I　spared　no　detail。　Blood；　splintered　wood；　Stick　Powers；　everything。　I　didn't　know　how　to　spell　a　lot　（if　the　words；　so　I　simply　guessed。　If　anyone　would　forgive　me　for　misspelling；　it　was　Ricky。　Since　I　didn't　want　them　to　know　that　I　was　spreading　gossip　all　the　way　to　Korea；　I　covered　my　tablet　as　best　I　could。
　　　Five　letters　were　written　at　the　same　time；　and　I'm　sure　five　versions　of　the　same　events　were　described　to　Ricky。　The　adults　told　funny　stories　as　we　wrote。　It　was　a　happy　moment　in　the　midst　of　the　harvest。　Pappy　turned　on　the　radio；　and　we　got　the　Cardinals　as　our　letters　grew　longer　and　longer。
　　　Sitting　around　the　kitchen　table；　laughing　and　writing　and　listening　to　the　game；　there　was　not　a　single　doubt　that　Ricky　would　soon　be　home。
　　　He　said　he　would　be。
　
　
　
　Chapter　15
　　　
　　　Thursday　afternoon；　my　mother　found　me　in　the　fields　and　said　that　I　was　needed　in　the　garden。　I　happily　unstrapped　my　picking　sack　and　left　the　other　laborers　lost　in　the　cotton。　We　walked　to　the　house；　both　of　us　relieved　that　the　workday　was　over。
　　　〃We　need　to　visit　the　Latchers；〃　she　said　along　the　way。　〃I　worry　about　them　so。　They　might　be　hungry；　you　know。〃
　　　The　Latchers　had　a　garden；　though　not　much　of　one。　I　doubted　if　anyone　was　going　hungry。　They　certainly　didn't　have　a　crumb　to　spare；　but　starvation　was　unheard　of　in　Craighead　County。　Even　the　poorest　of　the　sharecroppers　managed　to　grow　tomatoes　and　cucumbers。　Every　farm　family　had　a　few　chickens　laying　eggs。
　　　But　my　mother　was　determined　to　see　Libby　so　that　the　rumors　could　be　confirmed　or　denied。
　　　As　we　entered　our　garden；　I　realized　what　my　mother　was　doing。　If　we　hurried；　and　made　it　to　the　Latchers'　before　quitting　time；　then　the　parents　and　all　those　kids　would　be　in　the　fields。　Libby；　if　she　was　in　fact　pregnant；　would　be　hanging　around　the　house；　most　likely　alone。　She　would　have　no　choice　but　to　e　out　and　accept　our　vegetables。　We　could　blindside　her；　nail　her　with　Christian　goodness　while　her　protectors　were　away。　It　was　a　brilliant　plan。
　　　Under　the　strict　supervision　of　my　mother；　I　began　picking　tomatoes；　cucumbers；　peas；　butter　beans；　corn…almost　everything　in　the　garden。　〃Get　that　small　red　tomato　there；　Luke；　to　your　right；〃　she　said。　〃No；　no；　those　peas　can　wait。〃　And；　〃No；　that　cucumber　isn't　quite　ready。〃
　　　Though　she　often　gathered　the　produce　herself；　she　preferred　to　oversee　matters。　A　balance　to　the　garden　could　be　maintained　if　she　could　keep　her　distance；　survey　the　entire　plot；　and　with　the　eye　of　an　artist；　direct　my　efforts；　or　my　father's；　in　removing　the　food　from　the　vines。
　　　I　hated　the　garden；　but　at　that　moment　I　hated　the　fields　even　more。　Anything　was　better　than　picking　cotton。
　　　As　I　reached　for　an　ear　of　corn；　I　saw　something　between　the　stalks　that　stopped　me　cold。　Beyond　the　garden　was　a　small；　shaded　strip　of　grass；　too　narrow　to　play　catch　on；　and　thus　good　for　nothing。　Next　to　it　was　the　east　wall　of　our　house；　the　side　away　from　any　traffic。　On　the　west　side　was　the　kitchen　door；　the　parking　place　for　our　truck；　the　footpaths　that　led　to　the　barn；　the　outbuildings；　and　the　fields。　Everything　happened　on　the　west　side；　nothing　on　the　cast。
　　　At　the　corner；　facing　the　garden　and　out　of　view　of　everyone；　someone　had　painted　a　portion　of　the　bottom　board。　Painted　it　white。　The　rest　of　the　house　was　the　same　pale　brown　it　had　always　been；　the　same　drab　color　of　old；　sturdy　oak　planks。
　　　〃What　is　it；　Luke？〃　my　mother　asked。　She　was　never　in　a　hurry　in　the　garden；　because　it　was　her　sanctuary；　but　today　she　was　planning　an　ambush；　and　time　was　crucial。
　　　〃I　don't　know；〃　I　said；　still　frozen。
　　　She　stepped　beside　me　and　peered　through　the　cornstalks　that　bordered　and　secluded　her　garden；　and　when　her　eyes　settled　upon　the　painted　board；　she；　too；　stood　still。
　　　The　paint　was　thick　at　the　corner；　but　thinned　as　the　board　ran　toward　the　rear　of　the　house。　It　was　obviously　a　work　in　progress。　Someone　was　painting　our　house。
　　　〃It's　Trot；〃　she　said　softly；　a　smile　forming　at　the　corners　of　her　mouth。
　　　I　hadn't　thought　of　him；　hadn't　yet　had　time　to　consider　a　culprit；　but　it　immediately　became　clear　that　he　was　the　painter。　Who　else　could　it　be？　Who　else　loitered　around　the　front　yard　all　day　with　nothing　to　do　while　the　rest　of　us　slaved　in　the　fields？　Who　else　would　work　at　such　a　pitiful　pace？　Who　else　would　be　dense　enough　to　paint　another　man's　house　without　permission？
　　　And　it　had　been　Trot　who'd　yelled　at　Hank　to　stop　torturing　me　about　our　little　unpainted；　sodbuster　house。　Trot　had　e　to　my　rescue。
　　　But　where　would　Trot　get　the　money　to　buy　paint？　And　why　would　he　do　it　in　the　first　place？　Oh；　there　were　dozens　of　questions。
　　　She　took　a　step　back；　then　left　the　garden。　I　followed　her　to　the　corner　of　the　house；　where　we　examined　the　paint。　We　could　smell　it　there；　and　it　appeared　to　be　sticky。　She　surveyed　the　front　yard。　Trot　was　nowhere　to　be　seen。
　　　〃What're　we　gonna　do？〃　I　asked。
　　　〃Nothing；　at　least　not　now。〃
　　　〃You　gonna　tell　anybody？〃
　　　〃I'll　talk　to　your　father　about　it。　In　the　meantime；　let's　keep　it　a　secret。〃
　　　〃You　told　me　secrets　were　bad　for　boys。〃
　　　〃They're　bad　when　you　keep　them　from　your　parents。〃
　　　We　filled　two　straw　baskets　with　vegetables　and　loaded　them　into　the　truck。　My　mother　drove　about　once　a　month。　She　could　certainly　handle　Pappy's　truck；　but　she　could　not　relax　behind　the　wheel。　She　gripped　it　fiercely；　pumped　the　clutch　and　brakes；　then　turned　the　key。　We　jerked　and　lurched　in　reverse；　and　even　laughed　as　the　old　truck　slowly　got　turned　around。　As　we　left；　I　saw　Trot　lying　under　the　Spruill　truck；　watching　us　from　behind　a　rear　tire。
　　　The　frolicking　stopped　minutes　later　when　we　got　to　the　river。　〃Hang　on；　Luke；〃　she　said　as　she　shifted　into　low　and　leaned　over　the　wheel；　her　eyes　wild　with　fear。　Hang　on　to　what？　It　was　a　one…lane　bridge　with　no　guardrails。　If　she　drove　off；　then　we'd　both　drown。
　　　〃You　can　do　it；　Mom；〃　I　said　without　much　conviction。
　　　〃Of　course　I　can；〃　she　said。　I'd　crossed　the　bridge　with　her　before；　and　it　was　always　an　adventure。　We　crept　over　it；　both　afraid　to　look；　down。　We　didn't　breathe　until　we　hit　dirt　on　the　other　side。
　　　〃Good　job；　Mom；〃　I　said。
　　　〃Nothin'　to　it；〃　she　said；　finally　exhaling。
　　　At　first　I　couldn't　see　any　Latchers　in　the　fields；　but　as　we　approached　the　house；　I　saw　a　cluster　of　straw　hats　deep　in　the　cotton；　at　the　far　end　of　their　crop。　I　couldn't　tell　if　they　heard　us；　but　they　did　not　stop　picking。　We　parked　close　to　the　front　porch　as　the　dust　settled　around　the　truck。　Before　we　could　get　out；　Mrs。　Latcher　was　ing　down　the　front　steps；　wiping　her　hands　nervously　on　a　rag　of　some　sort。　She　seemed　to　be　talking　to　herself　and　appeared　very　worried。
　　　〃Hello；　Mrs。　Chandler；〃　she　said；　looking　off。　I　never　knew　why　she　didn't　use　my　mother's　first　name。　She　was　older　and　had　at　least　six　more　children。
　　　〃Hello；　Darla。　We've　brought　some　vegetables。〃
　　　The　two　women　were　facing　each　other。　〃I'm　so　glad　you're　here；〃　Mrs。　Latcher　said；　her　voice　very　anxious。
　　　〃What's　the　matter？〃
　　　Mrs。　Latcher　glanced　at　me；　but　only　for　a　second。　〃I　need　you　…help。　It's　Libby。　I　think　she's　about　to　have　a　baby。〃
　　　〃A　baby？〃　my　mother　said；　as　if　she　hadn't　a　clue。
　　　〃Yes。　I　think　she's　in　labor。〃
　　　〃Then　let's　call　the　doctor。〃
　　　〃Oh　no。　We　can't　do　that。　No　one　can　know　about　this。　No　one。　It　has　to　be　kept　quiet。〃
　　　I　had　moved　to　the　rear　of　the　truck；　and　I　was　crouching　down　a　bit　so　Mrs。　Latcher　couldn't　see　me。　That　way；　I　figured　she'd　talk　more。　Something　big　was　about　to　happen；　and　I　didn't　want　to　miss　any　of　it。
　　　〃We're