jg.paintedhouse-第17部分

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　　　I　glanced　at　Dewayne；　who　had　one　eye　on　me。
　　　There　was　something　odd　about　this。　As　Baptists；　we'd　been　taught　from　the　cradle　that　the　only　way　you　made　it　to　heaven　was　by　believing　in　Jesus　and　trying　to　follow　His　example　in　living　a　clean　and　moral　Christian　life。　It　was　a　simple　message；　one　that　was　preached　from　the　pulpit　every　Sunday　morning　and　every　Sunday　night；　and　every　revival　preacher　who　passed　through　Black　Oak　repeated　the　message　loud　and　clear。　We　heard　it　at　Sunday　school；　at　Wednesday　night　prayer　service；　and　at　Vacation　Bible　School。　It　was　in　our　music；　our　devotionals；　and　our　literature。　It　was　straightforward；　unwavering；　and　without　loopholes；　promise；　or　wiggle　room。
　　　And　anyone　who　did　not　accept　Jesus　and　live　a　Christian　life　simply　went　to　hell。　That's　where　Jerry　Sisco　was；　and　we　all　knew　it。
　　　But　Miss　Cooley　prayed　on。　She　prayed　for　all　the　Siscos　in　this　time　of　grief　and　loss；　and　she　prayed　for　our　little　town　as　it　reached　out　to　help　this　family。
　　　I　couldn't　think　of　a　single　soul　in　Black　Oak　who　would　reach　out　to　the　Siscos。
　　　It　was　a　strange　prayer；　and　when　she　finally　said　〃amen；〃　I　was　pletely　bewildered。　Jerry　Sisco　had　never　been　near　a　church；　but　Miss　Cooley　prayed　as　if　he　were　with　God　at　that　very　moment。　If　outlaws　like　the　Siscos　could　make　it　to　heaven；　the　pressure　was　off　the　rest　of　us。
　　　Then　she　started　on　Jonah　and　the　whale　again；　and　for　a　while　we　forgot　about　the　killing。
　　　
　　　An　hour　later；　during　worship；　I　sat　in　my　usual　spot；　in　the　same　pew　where　the　Chandlers　always　sat；　halfway　back　on　the　left　side；　between　Gran　and　my　mother。　The　pews　were　not　marked　or　reserved；　but　everyone　knew　where　everybody　else　was　supposed　to　sit。　In　three　more　years；　when　I　was　ten；　my　parents　said　I　would　be　allowed　to　sit　with　my　friends；　providing　of　course　that　I　could　do　so　without　misbehaving。　This　promise　had　been　extracted　by　me　from　both　parents。　It　might　as　well　have　been　twenty　years。
　　　The　windows　were　up；　but　the　heavy　air　was　not　moving。　The　ladies　fanned　themselves　while　the　men　sat　still　and　sweated。　By　the　time　Brother　Akers　rose　to　preach；　my　shirt　was　stuck　to　my　back。
　　　He　was　angry；　as　usual；　and　he　began　shouting　almost　immediately。　He　attacked　sin　right　off　the　bat；　sin　had　brought　tragedy　to　Black　Oak。　Sin　had　brought　death　and　destruction；　as　it　always　had　and　always　would。　We　sinners　drank　and　gambled　and　cursed　and　lied　and　fought　and　killed　and　mitted　adultery　because　we　allowed　ourselves　to　be　separated　from　God；　and　that's　why　a　young　man　from　our　town　had　lost　his　life。　God　didn't　intend　for　us　to　kill　one　another。
　　　I　was　confused　again。　I　thought　Jerry　Sisco　got　himself　killed　because　he'd　finally　met　his　match。　It　had　nothing　to　do　with　gambling　and　adultery　and　most　of　the　other　sins　Brother　Akers　was　so　worked　up　over。　And　why　was　he　yelling　at　us？　We　were　the　good　folks。　We　were　in　church！
　　　I　seldom　understood　what　Brother　Akers　was　preaching　about；　and　occasionally　I'd　hear　Gran　mumble　over　Sunday　dinner　that　she'd　also　been　hopelessly　confused　during　one　of　his　sermons。　Ricky　had　once　told　me　he　thought　the　old　man　was　half　crazy。
　　　The　sins　grew；　one　piling　on　top　of　the　other　until　my　shoulders　began　to　sag。　I　had　yet　to　lie　about　watching　the　fight；　but　I　was　already　beginning　to　feel　the　heat。
　　　Then　Brother　Akers　traced　the　history　of　murder；　beginning　with　Cain　slaying　Abel；　and　he　walked　us　through　the　bloody　path　of　biblical　carnage。　Gran　closed　her　eyes；　and　I　knew　she　was　praying…she　always　was。　Pappy　was　staring　at　a　wall；　probably　thinking　about　how　a　dead　Sisco　might　affect　his　cotton　crop。　My　mother　seemed　to　be　paying　attention；　and　mercifully　I　began　to　nod　off。
　　　When　I　awoke；　my　head　was　in　Gran's　lap；　but　she　didn't　care。　When　she　was　worried　about　Ricky；　she　wanted　me　near　her。　The　piano　was　now　playing；　and　the　choir　was　standing。　It　was　time　for　the　invitation。　We　stood　and　sang　five　stanzas　of　〃Just　As　I　Am；〃　and　then　the　Reverend　dismissed　us。
　　　Outside；　the　men　gathered　under　a　shade　tree　and　started　a　long　discussion　about　something　or　other。　Pappy　was　in　the　middle　of　things；　talking　in　a　hushed　voice；　waving　his　hands　in　an　urgent　manner。　I　knew　better　than　to　get　close。
　　　The　women　grouped　in　small　clusters　and　gossiped　along　the　front　lawn；　where　the　children　also　played　and　the　old　folks　said　their　farewells。　There　was　never　any　hurry　to　leave　church　on　Sundays。　There　was　little　to　do　at　home　except　eat　lunch；　take　a　nap；　and　get　ready　for　another　week　of　picking　cotton。
　　　Slowly；　we　made　our　way　to　the　parking　lot。　We　said　good…bye　to　our　friends　again；　then　waved　as　we　pulled　away。　Alone　in　the　back　of　the　truck　with　my　father；　I　tried　to　muster　the　courage　to　tell　him　about　watching　the　fight。　The　men　at　church　had　talked　of　nothing　else。　I　wasn't　sure　how　I　figured　into　the　plot；　but　my　instincts　told　me　to　confess　it　all　to　my　father　and　then　hide　behind　him。　But　Dewayne　and　I　had　promised　to　keep　quiet　until　confronted；　then　we'd　start　squirming。　I　said　nothing　as　we　drove　home。
　　　About　a　mile　from　our　farm；　where　the　gravel　thinned　and　eventually　surrendered　to　dirt；　the　road　met　the　St。　Francis　River；　where　a　one…lane　wooden　bridge　crossed　over。　The　bridge　had　been　built　in　the　thirties　as　a　WPA　project；　so　it　was　sturdy　enough　to　withstand　the　weight　of　tractors　and　loaded　cotton　trailers。　But　the　thick　planks　popped　and　creaked　every　time　we　drove　over；　and　if　you　looked　at　the　brown　water　directly　below；　you'd　swear　the　bridge　was　swaying。
　　　We　crept　across；　and　on　the　other　side　we　saw　the　Spruills。　Bo　and　Dale　were　in　the　river；　shirtless；　their　pants　rolled　up　to　their　knees；　skipping　rocks。　Trot　was　sitting　on　a　thick　branch　of　driftwood；　his　feet　dangling　in　the　water。　Mr。　and　Mrs。　Spruill　were　hiding　under　a　shade　tree；　where　food　was　spread　on　a　blanket。
　　　Tally　was　also　in　the　water；　her　legs　bare　up　to　her　thighs；　her　long　hair　loose　and　falling　onto　her　shoulders。　My　heart　pounded　as　I　watched　her　kick　the　water；　alone　in　her　own　world。
　　　Downriver；　in　a　spot　where　few　fish　had　ever　been　caught；　was　Hank　with　a　small　cane　pole。　His　shirt　was　off；　and　his　skin　was　already　pink　from　the　sun。　I　wondered　if　he　knew　that　Jerry　Sisco　was　dead。　Probably　not。　He　would　find　out　soon　enough；　though。
　　　We　waved　slowly　at　them。　They　froze　as　if　they　had　been　caught　trespassing；　then　they　smiled　and　nodded。　But　Tally　never　looked　up。　Neither　did　Hank。
　
　
　Chapter　9
　　　
　　　Sunday　lunch　was　always　fried　chicken；　biscuits；　and　gravy；　and　though　the　women　cooked　as　fast　as　they　could；　it　still　took　an　hour　to　prepare。　We　were　famished　by　the　time　we　sat　down　to　eat。　I　often　thought；　to　myself　of　course；　that　if　Brother　Akers　didn't　bark　and　ramble　so　long；　we　wouldn't　be　nearly　as　hungry。
　　　Pappy　gave　thanks。　The　food　was　passed　around；　and　we　were　just　beginning　to　eat　when　a　car　door　slammed　close　to　the　house。　We　stopped　eating　and　looked　at　one　another。　Pappy　stood　silently　and　walked　to　the　kitchen　window。　〃It's　Stick　Powers；〃　he　said；　looking　out；　and　my　appetite　vanished。　The　law　had　arrived；　and　nothing　good　was　about　to　happen。
　　　Pappy　met　him　at　the　back　porch。　We　could　hear　every　word。
　　　〃Good　afternoon；　Eli。〃
　　　〃Stick。　What　can　I　do　for　you？〃
　　　〃I　guess　you　heard　that　Sisco　boy　died。〃
　　　〃I　heard；〃　Pappy　said　without　the　slightest　hint　of　sadness。
　　　〃I　need　to　talk　to　one　of　your　hands。〃
　　　〃It　was　just　a　fight；　Stick。　The　usual　Saturday　foolishness　that　the　Siscos　have　been　doin'　for　years。　You　never　stopped　'em。　Now　one　of　'em　bit　off　more'n　he　could　chew。〃
　　　〃I　still　gotta　investigate。〃
　　　〃You'll　have　to　wait　till　after　lunch。　We　just　sat　down。　Some　folks　go　to　church。〃
　　　My　mother　cringed　when　Pappy　said　this。　Gran　slowly　shook　her　head。
　　　〃I　been　on　duty；〃　Stick　said。
　　　According　to　the　gossip；　Stick　had　a　bout　with　the　Spirit　every　four　years；　when　it　was　election　time。　Then　for　three　and　a　half　years　he　didn't　feel　the　need　to　worship。　In　Black　Oak；　if　you　didn't　go　to　church；　folks　knew　it。　We　had　to　have　somebody　to　pray　for　during　revivals。
　　　〃You're　wele　to　sit　on　the　porch；〃　Pappy　said；　then　returned　to　the　kitchen　table。　When　he　took　his　seat；　the　others　began　eating　again。　I　now　had　a　knot　in　my　throat　the　size　of　a　baseball；　and　the　fried　chicken　simply　wouldn't　go　down。
　　　〃Has　he　had　lunch？〃　Gran　whispered　across　the　table。
　　　Pappy　shrugged　as　if　he　couldn't　have　cared　less。　It　was　almost　two…thirty。　If　Stick　hadn't　found　something　to　eat　by　then；　why　should　we　worry？
　　　But　Gran　cared。　She　stood　and　pulled　a　plate　from　the　cabinet。　As　we　watched；　she　covered　it　with　potatoes　and　gravy；　sliced　tomatoes　and　cucumbers；　two　biscuits　that　she　carefully　buttered；　and　a　thigh　and　a　breast。　Then　she　filled　a　tall　glass　with　iced　tea　and　took　it　to　the　back　porch。　Again；　we　heard　every　word。
　　　〃Here；　Stick；〃　she　said。　〃Nobody　misses　a　meal　around　here。〃
　　　〃Thanks；　Miss　Ruth；　but　I've　already　ate。〃
　　　〃Then　eat　again。〃
　　　〃I　really　shouldn't。〃
　　　We　knew　that　by　then　Stick's　fleshy　nostrils　had　caught　a　whiff　of　the　chicken　and　the　biscuits。
　　　〃Thank　you；　Miss　Ruth。　This　is　mighty　kind。〃