jg.paintedhouse-第15部分

快捷操作: 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! 如果本书没有阅读完，想下次继续接着阅读，可使用上方 "收藏到我的浏览器" 功能 和 "加入书签" 功能！

is　feet。　Jerry　was　crumpled　to　one　side；　clutching　his　ribs　and　whimpering。
　　　Hank　kicked　Bobby　between　the　legs。　When　the　boy　yelped；　Hank　let　out　a　hideous　laugh。
　　　He　then　clutched　Billy　by　the　throat　and　began　lashing　his　face　with　the　back　of　his　right　hand。　Blood　was　spurting　everywhere；　it　covered　Billy's　face　and　was　pouring　down　his　chest。
　　　Finally；　Hank　released　Billy　and　turned　to　the　rest　of　the　Siscos。　〃Anybody　want　some　more！〃　he　shouted。　〃e　on！　Get　you　some！〃
　　　The　other　Siscos　cowered　behind　one　another　while　their　three　heroes　floundered　in　the　dirt。
　　　The　fight　should've　been　over；　but　Hank　had　other　plans。　With　delight　and　deliberation；　he　kicked　each　of　the　three　in　their　faces　and　heads　until　they　stopped　moving　and　groaning。　The　crowd　began　to　disperse。
　　　〃Let's　go；〃　a　man　said　from　behind　me。　〃You　kids　don't　need　to　see　this。〃　But　I　couldn't　move。
　　　Then　Hank　found　a　broken　piece　of　an　old　two…by…four。　For　a　moment　the　crowd　stopped　its　exit　to　watch　with　morbid　curiosity。
　　　When　Hank　hit　Jerry　across　the　nose；　someone　in　the　crowd　said；　〃Oh　my　God。〃
　　　Another　voice　in　the　mob　said　something　about　finding　the　sheriff。
　　　〃Let's　get　outta　here；〃　an　old　farmer　said；　and　the　crowd　began　leaving　again；　this　time　a　little　quicker。
　　　Hank　still　wasn't　finished。　His　face　was　red　with　anger；　his　eyes　flashed　like　a　demon's。　He　kept　pounding　them　until　the　old　two…by…four　began　to　shatter　into　small　pieces。
　　　I　didn't　see　any　of　the　other　Spruills　in　the　crowd。　As　the　beating　became　a　butchering；　everyone　fled。　No　one　in　Black　Oak　wanted　to　tangle　with　the　Siscos。　And　now　nobody　wanted　to　face　this　madman　from　the　hills。
　　　When　we　were　back　on　the　sidewalk；　those　of　us　who'd　seen　the　fight　were　silent。　It　was　still　happening。　I　wondered　if　Hank　would　beat　them　until　they　were　dead。
　　　Neither　Dewayne　nor　I　said　a　word　as　we　darted　through　the　crowd　and　ran　toward　the　movie　house。
　　　
　　　The　Saturday　afternoon　movie　was　a　special　time　for　all　of　us　farm　kids。　We　didn't　have　televisions；　and　entertainment　was　considered　sinful。　For　two　hours　we　were　transported　from　the　harshness　of　life　in　the　cotton　patch　to　a　fantasy　land　where　the　good　guys　always　won。　Through　the　movies　we　learned　how　criminals　operated；　how　cops　caught　them；　how　wars　were　fought　and　won；　how　history　was　made　in　the　Wild　West。　It　was　even　through　a　movie　that　I　learned　the　sad　truth　that　the　South　had；　in　fact；　not　won　the　Civil　War；　contrary　to　what　I'd　been　told　both　at　home　and　at　school。
　　　But　this　Saturday　the　Gene　Autry　western　bored　Dewayne　and　me。　Every　time　there　was　a　fistfight　on　the　screen；　I　thought　of　Hank　Spruill　and　could　see　him　still　out　there　behind　the　Co…op　hammering　the　Siscos。　Autry's　scuffles　were　tame　pared　to　the　real…life　carnage　we'd　just　witnessed。　The　movie　was　almost　over　before　I　mustered　the　courage　to　tell　Dewayne。
　　　〃That　big　hillbilly　we　saw　beat　the　Siscos？〃　I　whispered。　〃He's　working　on　our　farm。〃
　　　〃You　know　him？〃　he　whispered　back；　disbelieving。
　　　〃Yep。　Know　him　real　well。〃
　　　Dewayne　was　impressed　and　wanted　to　ask　more　questions；　but　the　place　was　packed　and　Mr。　Starnes；　the　manager；　enjoyed　patrolling　the　aisles　with　his　flashlight；　just　looking　for　trouble。　Any　kid　caught　talking　would　be　yanked　up　by　the　ear　and　ejected。　Also；　Brenda　with　the　freckles　had　managed　to　get　the　seat　directly　behind　Dewayne；　making　us　both　unfortable。
　　　There　were　a　few　adults　sprinkled　throughout　the　audience；　but　they　were　mostly　town　people。　Mr。　Starnes　made　the　Mexicans　sit　in　the　balcony；　but　it　didn't　seem　to　bother　them。　Only　a　handful　would　waste　money　on　a　picture　show。
　　　We　rushed　out　at　the　end；　and　within　minutes　we　were　behind　the　Co…op　again；　half…expecting　to　see　the　bloody　corpses　of　the　Sisco　boys。　But　no　one　was　there。　There　was　no　evidence　of　any　fight…no　blood；　no　limbs；　no　shattered　two…by…four。
　　　Pappy　held　the　opinion　that　people　with　self…respect　should　leave　town　on　Saturday　before　dark。　Bad　things　happened　on　Saturday　night。　Other　than　the　fights；　though；　I'd　never　witnessed　any　true　evil。　I'd　heard　there　were　drinking　and　dice　games　behind　the　gin；　and　even　more　fights；　but　all　that　was　kept　out　of　sight　and　was　engaged　in　by　very　few　people。　Still；　Pappy　was　afraid　we'd　somehow　be　contaminated。
　　　Ricky　was　the　hell…raiser　of　the　Chandler　family；　and　my　mother　told　me　that　he　had　the　reputation　of　staying　in　town　too　long　on　Saturday。　There　was　an　arrest　somewhere　in　the　recent　family　history；　but　I　could　never　get　the　details。　She　said　that　Pappy　and　Ricky　had　fought　for　years　over　what　time　they　should　leave。　I　could　remember　several　occasions　when　we　left　without　him。　I'd　cry　because　I　was　sure　I'd　never　see　him　again；　then　Sunday　morning　he　would　be　sitting　in　the　kitchen　drinking　coffee　as　if　nothing　had　happened。　Ricky　always　came　home。
　　　We　met　at　the　truck；　which　was　now　surrounded　by　dozens　of　other　vehicles　parked　haphazardly　around　the　Baptist　church　because　the　farmers　were　still　rolling　in。　The　crowd　was　thicker　along　Main　Street　and　seemed　to　be　congregating　near　the　school；　where　fiddlers　and　banjo　pickers　sometimes　broke　out　into　bluegrass　sessions。　I　didn't　want　to　leave；　and　in　my　opinion　there　was　no　hurry　to　get　home。
　　　Gran　and　my　mother　had　some　last…minute　business　inside　the　church；　where　most　of　the　women　found　something　to　do　on　the　day　before　the　Sabbath。　From　the　other　side　of　the　truck；　I　overheard　my　dad　and　Pappy　talking　about　a　fight。　Then　I　heard　the　name　Sisco；　and　I　became　very　still。　Miguel　and　some　of　the　Mexicans　arrived　and　wouldn't　stop　chattering　in　Spanish；　so　I　missed　any　further　gossip。
　　　A　few　minutes　later；　Stick　Powers；　one　of　Black　Oak's　two　deputies；　walked　over　from　the　street　and　said　hello　to　Pappy　and　my　father。　Stick　was　supposed　to　have　been　a　POW　in　the　war；　and　he　walked　with　a　limp；　which　he　claimed　was　the　result　of　abuse　in　a　German　camp。　Pappy　said　he'd　never　left　Craighead　County；　never　heard　a　shot　fired　in　anger。
　　　〃One　of　them　Sisco　boys　is　near　'bout　dead；〃　I　heard　him　say　as　I　moved　in　closer。　It　was　almost　dark　now；　and　no　one　was　watching　me。
　　　〃Nothing　wrong　with　that；〃　Pappy　said。
　　　〃They　say　that　hillbilly　is　working　out　at　your　place。〃
　　　〃I　didn't　see　the　fight；　Stick；〃　Pappy　said；　his　quick　temper　already　rising。　〃You　got　a　name？〃
　　　〃Hank　something　or　other。〃
　　　〃We　got　lots　of　somethings　and　others。〃
　　　〃Mind　if　I　ride　out　tomorrow　and　look　around？〃　Stick　asked。
　　　〃I　can't　stop　you。〃
　　　〃No；　you　can't。〃　Stick　wheeled　on　his　good　leg　and　gave　the　Mexicans　a　look　as　if　they　were　guilty　as　sin。
　　　I　eased　around　to　the　other　side　of　the　truck　and　said；　〃What　was　that　all　about？〃
　　　As　usual；　when　it　was　something　I　was　not　supposed　to　know　or　hear；　they　simply　ignored　me。
　　　We　rode　home　in　the　dark；　the　lights　of　Black　Oak　fading　behind　us；　the　cool　wind　from　the　road　blowing　our　hair。　At　first；　I　wanted　to　tell　my　father　about　the　fight；　but　I　couldn't　do　it　in　front　of　the　Mexicans。　Then　I　decided　not　to　be　a　witness。　I　wouldn't　tell　anybody　since　there　was　no　way　to　win。　Any　involvement　with　the　Siscos　would　make　my　life　dangerous；　and　I　didn't　want　the　Spruills　to　get　mad　and　leave。　The　picking　had　hardly　begun；　and　I　was　already　tired　of　it。　And　most　important；　I　didn't　want　Hank　Spruill　angry　with　me　or　my　father　or　Pappy。
　　　Their　old　truck　was　not　in　our　front　yard　when　we　arrived　home。　They　were　still　in　town；　probably　visiting　with　other　hill　people。
　　　After　supper；　we　took　our　places　on　the　porch　as　Pappy　fiddled　with　his　radio。　The　Cardinals　were　at　Philadelphia；　playing　under　the　lights。　Musial　came　to　bat　in　the　top　of　the　second；　and　I　began　to　dream。
　
　
　Chapter　8
　　　
　　　We　awoke　at　dawn　Sunday　to　the　crack　of　lightning　and　the　rumble　of　low　thunder。　A　storm　blew　from　the　southwest；　delaying　sunrise；　and　as　I　lay　in　the　darkness　of　Ricky's　room；　I　again　asked　the　great　question　of　why　it　rained　on　Sundays。　Why　not　during　the　week；　so　I　wouldn't　be　forced　to　pick　cotton？　Sunday　was　already　a　day　of　rest。
　　　My　grandmother　came　for　me　and　told　me　to　sit　on　the　porch　so　we　could　watch　the　rain　together。　She　fixed　my　coffee；　mixing　it　with　plenty　of　milk　and　sugar；　and　we　rocked　gently　in　the　swing　as　the　wind　howled。　The　Spruills　were　scurrying　about；　throwing　things　in　boxes；　trying　to　find　shelter　away　from　their　leaking　tents。
　　　The　rain　fell　in　waves；　as　if　trying　to　make　up　for　two　weeks　of　dry　weather。　A　mist　swirled　around　the　porch　like　a　fog；　and　above　us　the　tin　roof　sang　under　the　torrents。
　　　Gran　carefully　picked　her　moments　to　speak。　There　were　times；　usually　once　a　week；　when　she　would　take　me　for　a　walk；　or　meet　me　on　the　porch；　just　the　two　of　us。　Because　she'd　been　married　to　Pappy　for　thirty…five　years；　she'd　learned　the　art　of　silence。　She　could　walk　or　swing　for　long　periods　of　time　while　saying　little。
　　　〃How's　the　coffee？〃　she　asked；　barely　audible　above　the　storm。
　　　〃It's　fine；　Gran；〃　I　said。
　　　〃What　would　you　like　for　breakfast？〃
　　　〃Biscuits。〃
　　　〃Then　I'll　make　us　some　biscuits。〃
　　　The　Sunday　routine　was　a　little　more　relaxed。　We　generally　slept　later；　though　the　rain　had　awakened　us　early　today。　And