jg.paintedhouse-第61部分

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the　post　office　on　Main　Street。
　　　My　mother　read　me　the　story　of　Daniel　in　the　lions'　den；　one　of　my　favorites。　Once　the　weather　broke　and　the　nights　became　cool；　we　spent　less　time　on　the　porch　and　more　time　reading　before　bed。　My　mother　and　I　read；　the　others　did　not。　She　preferred　Bible　stories；　and　this　suited　me　fine。　She　would　read　awhile；　then　explain　things。　Then　read　some　more。　There　was　a　lesson　in　every　story；　and　she　made　sure　I　understood　each　one。　Nothing　irritated　me　more　than　for　Brother　Akers　to　screw　up　the　details　in　one　of　his　long…winded　sermons。
　　　When　I　was　ready　for　bed；　I　asked　her　if　she　would　stay　there；　in　Ricky's　bed　with　me；　until　I　fell　asleep。
　　　〃Of　course　I　will；〃　she　said。
　
　
　Chapter　27
　　　
　　　After　a　day　of　rest；　there　was　no　way　my　father　would　tolerate　further　absence　from　the　fields。　He　pulled　me　out　of　bed　at　five；　and　we　went　about　our　routine　chores　of　gathering　eggs　and　milk。
　　　I　knew　I　couldn't　continue　to　hide　in　the　house　with　my　mother；　so　I　bravely　went　through　the　motions　of　getting　ready　to　pick　cotton。　I'd　have　to　face　Cowboy　at　some　point　before　he　left。　It　was　best　to　get　it　over　with　and　to　do　it　with　plenty　of　folks　around。
　　　The　Mexicans　were　walking　to　the　fields；　skipping　the　morning　ride　on　the　flatbed　trailer。　They　could　start　picking　a　few　minutes　earlier；　plus　it　kept　them　away　from　the　Spruills。　We　left　the　house　just　before　dawn。　I　held　firm　to　Pappy's　seat　on　the　tractor　and　watched　my　mother's　face　slowly　disappear　in　the　kitchen　window。　I'd　prayed　long　and　hard　the　night　before；　and　something　told　me　she　would　be　safe。
　　　As　we　made　our　way　along　the　field　road；　I　studied　the　John　Deere　tractor。　I'd　spent　hours　on　it；　plowing；　disking；　planting；　even　hauling　cotton　to　town　with　my　father　or　Pappy；　and　its　operation　had　always　seemed　sufficiently　plex　and　challenging。　Now；　after　thirty　minutes　on　the　road　grader；　with　its　puzzling　array　of　levers　and　pedals；　the　tractor　seemed　quite　simple。　Pappy　just　sat　there；　hands　on　the　wheel；　feet　still；　half…asleep…while　Otis　had　been　a　study　in　constant　motion…another　reason　why　I　should　grade　roads　and　not　farm　if；　of　course；　the　baseball　career　did　not　work　out；　a　most　unlikely　event。
　　　The　Mexicans　were　already　half　a　row　down；　lost　in　the　cotton　and　oblivious　to　our　arrival。　I　knew　Cowboy　was　with　them；　but　in　the　early　light　I　couldn't　tell　one　Mexican　from　the　other。
　　　I　avoided　him　until　we　broke　for　lunch。　Evidently　he'd　seen　me　during　the　morning；　and　I　guess　he　figured　a　little　reminder　would　be　appropriate。　While　the　rest　of　his　pals　ate　leftovers　under　the　shade　of　the　cotton　trailer；　Cowboy　rode　in　with　us。　He　sat　alone　on　one　side　of　the　flatbed；　and　I　ignored　him　until　we　were　almost　to　the　house。
　　　When　I　finally　mustered　the　courage　to　look　at　him；　he　was　cleaning　his　fingernails　with　his　switchblade；　and　he　was　waiting　for　me。　He　smiled…a　wicked　grin　that　conveyed　a　thousand　words…and　he　gently　waved　the　knife　at　me。　No　one　else　saw　it；　and　I　looked　away　immediately。
　　　Our　agreement　had　just　been　solidified　even　further。
　　　By　late　afternoon　the　cotton　trailer　was　full。　After　a　quick　dinner　Pappy　announced　that　he　and　I　would　haul　it　to　town。　We　went　to　the　fields　and　hooked　it　to　the　truck；　then　left　the　farm　on　our　newly　graded　road。　Otis　was　quite　a　craftsman。　The　road　was　smooth；　even　in　Pappy's　old　truck。
　　　As　usual；　Pappy　said　nothing　as　he　drove；　and　this　was　fine　with　me　because　I　also　had　nothing　to　say。　Lots　of　secrets　but　no　way　to　unload　them。　We　crossed　the　bridge　slowly；　and　I　scanned　the　thick；　slow　waters　below　but　saw　nothing　out　of　the　ordinary…no　sign　of　blood　or　of　the　crime　I'd　witnessed。
　　　More　than　a　full　day　had　passed　since　the　killing；　a　normal　day　of　work　and　drudgery　on　the　farm。　I　thought　about　the　secret　with　every　breath；　but　I　was　masking　it　well；　I　thought。　My　mother　was　safe；　and　that　was　all　that　mattered。
　　　We　passed　the　road　to　the　Latchers'；　and　Pappy　glanced　their　way。　For　the　moment；　they　were　just　a　minor　nuisance。
　　　On　the　highway；　farther　away　from　the　farm；　I　began　to　think　that　one　day　soon　I　might　be　able　to　unload　my　burden。　I　could　tell　Pappy；　alone；　just　the　two　of　us。　Before　long　Cowboy　would　be　back　in　Mexico；　safe　in　that　foreign　world。　The　Spruills　would　return　home；　and　Hank　wouldn't　be　there。　I　could　tell　Pappy；　and　he　would　know　what　to　do。
　　　We　entered　Black　Oak　behind　another　trailer　and　followed　it　to　the　gin。　When　we　parked　I　scrambled　out　and　stuck　close　to　Pappy's　side。　Some　farmers　were　huddled　just　outside　the　gin　office；　and　a　serious　discussion　had　been　under　way　for　a　while。　We　walked　up　on　them　and　listened。
　　　The　news　was　somber　and　threatening。　The　night　before；　heavy　rains　had　hit　Clay　County；　north　of　us。　Some　places　reported　six　inches　in　ten　hours。　Clay　County　was　upstream　on　the　St。　Francis。　The　creeks　and　streams　were　flooded　up　there　and　pouring　into　the　river。
　　　The　water　was　rising。
　　　There　was　a　debate　as　to　whether　this　would　affect　us。　The　minority　opinion　was　that　the　storm　would　have　little　impact　on　the　river　near　Black　Oak。　We　were　too　far　away　and；　absent　more　rains；　a　small　rise　in　the　St。　Francis　wouldn't　flood　anything。　But　the　majority　view　was　far　more　pessimistic；　and　since　the　bulk　of　them　were　professional　worriers　anyway；　the　news　was　accepted　with　great　concern。
　　　One　farmer　said　his　almanac　called　for　heavy　rains　in　mid…October。
　　　Another　said　his　cousin　in　Oklahoma　was　getting　flooded；　and　since　our　weather　came　from　the　West；　he　felt　it　was　a　sure　sign　that　the　rains　were　inevitable。
　　　Pappy　mumbled　something　to　the　effect　that　the　weather　from　Oklahoma　traveled　faster　than　any　news。
　　　There　was　much　debate　and　lots　of　opinions；　and　the　overall　tone　was　one　of　gloom。　We'd　been　beaten　so　many　times　by　the　weather；　or　by　the　markets；　or　by　the　price　of　seed　and　fertilizer；　that　we　expected　the　worst。
　　　〃We　ain't　had　a　flood　in　October　in　twenty　years；〃　declared　Mr。　Red　Fletcher；　and　this　set　off　a　heated　debate　on　the　history　of　autumn　floods。　There　were　so　many　different　versions　and　recollections　that　the　issue　was　hopelessly　confused。
　　　Pappy　didn't　join　the　fray；　and　after　half　an　hour　of　listening　we　backed　away。　He　unhooked　the　trailer；　and　we　headed　home；　in　silence；　of　course。　A　couple　of　times　I　cut　my　eyes　at　him　and　found　him　just　as　I　expected…mute；　worried；　driving　with　both　hands；　forehead　wrinkled；　his　mind　on　nothing　but　the　ing　flood。
　　　We　parked　at　the　bridge　and　walked　through　the　mud　to　the　edge　of　the　St。　Francis　River。　Pappy　inspected　it　for　a　moment　as　if　he　might　see　it　rise。　I　was　terrified　that　Hank　would　suddenly　float　to　the　top　and　e　ashore　right　in　front　of　us。　Without　a　word；　Pappy　picked　up　a　stick　of　driftwood　about　an　inch　in　diameter　and　three　feet　long。　He　knocked　a　small　limb　off　it　and　drove　it　with　a　rock　into　the　sandbar　where　the　water　was　two　inches　deep。　With　his　pocketknife；　he　notched　it　at　water　level。　〃We'll　check　it　in　the　mornin'；〃　he　said；　his　first　words　in　a　long　time。
　　　We　studied　our　new　gauge　for　a　few　moments；　both　certain　that　we　would　see　the　river　rise。　When　it　didn't　happen；　we　returned　to　the　truck。
　　　The　river　scared　me　and　not　because　it　might　flood。　Hank　was　out　there；　cut　and　dead　and　bloated　with　river　water；　ready　to　wash　ashore　where　someone　would　find　him。　We'd　have　a　real　murder　on　our　hands；　not　a　just　a　killing　like　the　Sisco　beating；　but　a　genuine　slaying。
　　　The　rains　would　get　rid　of　Cowboy。　And　the　rains　would　swell　the　river　and　move　it　faster。　Hank；　or　what　was　left　of　him；　would　get　swept　downstream　to　another　county　or　maybe　even　another　state　where　someday　someone　would　find　him　and　not　have　the　slightest　clue　as　to　who　he　was。
　　　Before　I　fell　asleep　that　night；　I　prayed　for　rain。　I　prayed　as　hard　as　I　possibly　could。　I　asked　God　to　send　the　biggest　flood　since　Noah。
　　　We　were　in　the　middle　of　breakfast　on　Saturday　morning　when　Pappy　stomped　in　from　the　back　porch。　One　look　at　his　face　satisfied　our　curiosity。　〃River's　up　four　inches；　Luke；〃　he　said　to　me　as　he　took　his　seat　and　began　reaching　for　food。　〃And　there's　lightnin'　to　the　west。〃
　　　My　father　frowned　but　kep