jg.paintedhouse-第47部分

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　about　driving　out　to　the　Fletcher　place　to　inspect　the　destruction。
　　　〃What'd　it　look　like？〃　somebody　asked。
　　　〃Black　as　coal；〃　Mr。　Red　said。　〃Sounded　like　a　freight　train。〃
　　　This　was　even　more　exciting　because　our　twisters　had　been　a　light　gray　in　color；　almost　white。　His　had　been　black。　Apparently；　all　manner　of　tornadoes　had　ravaged　our　county。
　　　Mrs。　Fletcher　appeared　at　his　side；　her　arm　heavily　bandaged　and　in　a　sling；　and　we　couldn't　help　but　stare。　She　looked　as　though　she　might　just　pass　out　on　the　sidewalk。　She　displayed　her　wound　and　received　plenty　of　attention　until　Mr。　Red　realized　he'd　lost　the　audience；　so　he　stepped　forward　and　resumed　his　narrative。　He　said　his　tornado　left　the　ground　and　began　hopping　about。　He　jumped　in　his　truck　and　tried　to　follow　it。　He　gave　it　a　good　chase　through　a　driving　hailstorm　and　almost　caught　up　with　it　as　it　circled　back。
　　　Mr。　Red's　truck　was　older　than　Pappy's。　Some　of　those　in　the　crowd　began　looking　around　in　disbelief。　I　wanted　one　of　the　adults　to　ask；　〃What　were　you　gonna　do　if　you　caught　it；　Red？〃　Anyway；　he　said　he　soon　gave　up　the　chase　and　returned　home　to　see　about　Mrs。　Fletcher。　When　he　had　seen　it　last；　his　tornado　was　headed　straight　for　town。
　　　Pappy　told　me　later　that　Mr。　Red　Fletcher　would　tell　a　lie　when　the　truth　sounded　better。
　　　There　was　a　lot　of　lying　that　afternoon　in　Black　Oak；　or　perhaps　just　a　lot　of　exaggerating。　Twister　stories　were　told　and　retold　from　one　end　of　Main　Street　to　the　other。　In　front　of　the　Co…op；　Pappy　described　what　we'd　seen；　and　for　the　most　part　he　stuck　to　the　facts。　The　double…twister　story　carried　the　moment　and　had　everyone's　attention　until　Mr。　Dutch　Lamb　stepped　forward　and　claimed　to　have　seen　three！　His　wife　verified　it；　and　Pappy　went　to　the　truck。
　　　By　the　time　we　left　town；　it　was　a　miracle　that　hundreds　hadn't　been　killed。
　　　The　last　of　the　clouds　were　gone　by　dark；　but　the　heat　did　not　return。　We　sat　on　the　porch　after　supper　and　waited　for　the　Cardinals。　The　air　was　clear　and　light…the　first　hint　of　autumn。
　　　Six　games　were　left；　three　against　the　Reds　and　three　against　the　Cubs；　all　to　be　played　at　home　at　Sportsman's　Park；　but　with　the　Dodgers　seven　games　in　first　place；　the　season　was　over。　Stan　the　Man　Musial　was　leading　the　league　in　batting　and　slugging；　and　he　also　had　more　hits　and　doubles　than　anybody　else。　The　Cardinals　would　not　win　the　pennant；　but　we　still　had　the　greatest　player　in　the　game。　At　home　after　a　road　trip　to　Chicago；　the　boys　were　happy　to　be　back　in　St。　Louis；　according　to　Harry　Caray；　who　often　passed　along　greetings　and　gossip　as　if　all　the　players　lived　in　his　house。
　　　Musial　hit　a　single　and　a　triple；　and　the　score　was　tied　at　three　after　nine　innings。　It　was　late；　but　we　weren't　tired。　The　storm　had　chased　us　from　the　fields；　and　the　cool　weather　was　something　to　be　savored。　The　Spruills　were　sitting　around　a　fire；　talking　softly　and　enjoying　a　moment　without　Hank。　He　often　disappeared　after　supper。
　　　In　the　bottom　of　the　tenth；　Red　Schoendienst　singled；　and　when　Stan　Musial　came　to　the　plate；　the　fans　went　wild；　according　to　Harry　Caray；　who；　as　Pappy　said；　often　watched　one　game　and　described　another。　The　attendance　was　fewer　than　ten　thousand；　we　could　tell　the　crowd　was　slim。　But　Harry　was　making　enough　noise　for　the　other　twenty　thousand。　After　148　games；　he　was　just　as　excited　as　he'd　been　on　opening　day。　Musial　ripped　a　double；　his　third　hit　of　the　game；　scoring　Schoendienst　and　winning　it　four　to　three。
　　　A　month　earlier　we　would　have　celebrated；　along　with　Harry；　on　the　front　porch。　I　would　have　sprinted　around　the　bases　in　the　yard；　sliding　into　second；　just　like　Stan　the　Man。　Such　a　dramatic　victory　would　have　sent　us　all　to　bed　happy；　though　Pappy　would　still　want　to　fire　the　manager。
　　　But　things　were　different　now。　The　win　meant　little；　the　season　was　ending　with　the　Cardinals　in　third　place。　The　front　yard　had　been　overwhelmed　by　the　Spruills。　Summer　was　gone。
　　　Pappy　turned　off　the　radio　with　Harry　winding　down。　〃There's　no　way　Baumholtz　can　catch　him；〃　Pappy　said。　Frankie　Baumholtz　of　the　Cubs　was　six　points　behind　Musial　in　the　race　for　the　hitting　title。
　　　My　father　grunted　his　agreement。　The　men　had　been　quieter　than　usual　during　the　game。　The　storms　and　cool　weather　had　struck　them　like　an　illness。　The　seasons　were　changing；　yet　nearly　one　third　of　the　cotton　was　still　out　there。　We'd　had　near　perfect　weather　for　seven　months；　surely　it　was　time　for　a　change。
　
　
　Chapter　21
　　　
　　　Autumn　lasted　less　than　twenty…four　hours。　By　noon　the　next　day　the　heat　was　back；　the　cotton　was　dry；　the　ground　was　hard；　and　all　those　pleasant　thoughts　about　cool　days　and　blowing　leaves　were　forgotten。　We　had　returned　to　the　edge　of　the　river　for　the　second　picking。　A　third　one　might　materialize　later　in　the　fall；　a　〃Christmas　picking；〃　as　it　was　known；　in　which　the　last　remnants　of　cotton　were　gathered。　By　then　the　hill　people　and　the　Mexicans　would　be　long　gone。
　　　I　stayed　close　to　Tally　for　most　of　the　day　and　worked　hard　to　keep　up　with　her。　She　had　bee　aloof　for　some　reason；　and　I　was　desperate　to　learn　why。　The　Spruills　were　a　tense　bunch；　no　more　singing　or　laughing　in　the　fields；　very　few　words　spoken　among　them。　Hank　came　to　work　mid…morning　and　began　picking　at　a　leisurely　pace。　The　rest　of　the　Spruills　seemed　to　avoid　him。
　　　Late　in　the　afternoon　I　dragged　myself　back　to　the　trailer…for　the　final　time；　I　hoped。　It　was　an　hour　before　quitting　time；　and　I　was　looking　for　my　mother。　Instead　I　saw　Hank　with　Bo　and　Dale　at　the　opposite　end　of　the　trailer；　waiting　in　the　shade　for　either　Pappy　or　my　father　to　weigh　their　cotton。　I　ducked　low　in　the　stalks　so　they　wouldn't　see　me　and　waited　for　friendlier　voices。
　　　Hank　was　talking　loudly；　as　usual。　〃I'm　tired　of　pickin'　cotton；〃　he　said。　〃Damned　tired　of　it！　So　I　been　thinkin'　about　a　new　job；　and　I　done　figured　a　new　way　to　make　money。　Lots　of　it。　I'm　gonna　follow　that　carnival　around；　go　from　town　to　town；　sorta　hide　in　the　shadows　while　ol'　Samson　and　his　woman　rake　in　the　cash。　I'll　wait　till　the　money　piles　up；　I'll　watch　him　fling　them　little　sodbusters　outta　the　ring；　and　then　late　at　night；　when　he's　good　and　tired；　I'll　jump　up　outta　nowhere；　lay　down　fifty　bucks；　whip　his　ass　again；　and　walk　away　with　all　his　money。　If　I　do　it　once　a　week；　that's　two　thousand　dollars　a　month；　twenty…four　thousand　bucks　a　year。　All　cash。　Hell；　I'll　get　rich。〃
　　　There　was　mischief　in　his　voice；　and　Bo　and　Dale　were　laughing　by　the　time　he　finished。　Even　I　had　to　admit　it　was　funny。
　　　〃What　if　Samson　gets　tired　of　it？〃　Bo　asked。
　　　〃Are　you　kiddin'？　He's　the　world's　greatest　wrestler；　straight　from　Egypt。　Samson　fears　no　man。　Hell；　I　might　take　his　woman；　too。　She　looked　pretty　good；　didn't　she？〃
　　　〃You'll　have　to　let　him　win　every　now　and　then；〃　Bo　said。　〃Otherwise　he　won't　fight　you。〃
　　　〃I　like　the　part　about　takin'　his　woman；〃　Dale　said。　〃I　really　liked　her　legs。〃
　　　〃Rest　of　her　wasn't　bad；〃　Hank　said。　〃Wait…I　got　it！　I'll　run　'im　off　and　bee　the　new　Samson！　I'll　grow　my　hair　down　to　my　ass；　dye　it　black；　get　me　some　little　leopard…skin　shorts；　talk　real　funny；　and　these　ignorant　rednecks　'round　here'll　think　I'm　from　Egypt；　too。　Delilah　won't　be　able　to　keep　her　hands　off　me。〃
　　　They　laughed　hard　and　long；　and　their　amusement　was　contagious。　I　chuckled　to　myself　at　the　notion　of　Hank　strutting　around　the　ring　in　tight　shorts；　trying　to　convince　people　he　was　from　Egypt。　But　he　was　too　stupid　to　be　a　showman。　He　would　hurt　people　and　scare　away　his　challengers。
　　　Pappy　arrived　at　the　trailer　and　started　weighing　the　cotton。　My　mother　drifted　in；　too；　and　whispered　to　me　that　she　was　ready　to　go　to　the　house。　So　was　I。　We　made　the　long　walk　together；　in　silence；　both　happy　that　the　day　was　almost　over。
　　　
　　　The　house　painting　had　resumed。　We　noticed　it　from　the　garden；　and　upon　closer　inspection　saw　where　our　painter…Trot；　we　still　presumed…had　worked　his　way　up　to　the　fifth　board　from　the　bottom　and　had　applied　the　first　coat　to　an　area　about　the　size　of　a　small　window。　My　mother　touched　it　gently；　the　paint　stuck　to　her　finger。
　　　〃It's　fresh；〃　she　said；　glancing　toward　t