jg.paintedhouse-第20部分

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　　　〃Nice　to　see　you；　Darla；〃　my　mother　said。　My　father　busied　himself　at　the　back　of　the　truck；　fiddling　with　the　boxes；　killing　time　while　the　ladies　handled　the　chitchat。　We　did　not　expect　to　see　Mr。　Latcher。　Pride　would　prevent　him　from　ing　forward　and　accepting　food。　Let　the　women　take　care　of　it。
　　　As　they　talked　about　the　harvest　and　how　hot　it　was；　I　moved　away　from　the　truck；　under　the　watchful　eyes　of　all　those　kids。　I　walked　to　the　side　of　the　house；　where　the　tallest　boy　was　loafing　in　the　shade；　trying　to　ignore　us。　His　name　was　Percy；　and　he　claimed　to　be　twelve；　though　I　had　my　doubts。　He　didn't　look　big　enough　to　be　twelve；　but　since　the　Latchers　didn't　go　to　school；　it　was　impossible　to　lump　him　together　with　boys　his　own　age。　He　was　shirtless　and　barefoot；　his　skin　a　dark　bronze　from　hours　in　the　sun。
　　　〃Hi；　Percy；〃　I　said；　but　he　did　not　respond。　Sharecroppers　were　funny　like　that。　Sometimes　they　would　speak；　other　times　they　just　gave　you　a　blank　look；　as　if　they　wanted　you　to　leave　them　alone。
　　　I　studied　their　house；　a　square　little　box；　and　wondered　once　more　how　so　many　people　could　live　in　such　a　tiny　place。　Our　tool　shed　was　almost　as　large。　The　windows　were　open；　and　the　torn　remains　of　curtains　hung　still。　There　were　no　screens　to　keep　the　flies　and　mosquitoes　out；　and　certainly　no　fans　to　push　the　air　around。
　　　I　felt　very　sorry　for　them。　Gran　was　fond　of　quoting　the　Scriptures：　〃Blessed　are　the　poor　in　spirit；　for　theirs　is　the　kingdom　of　heaven；〃　and　〃The　poor　will　always　be　with　you。〃　But　it　seemed　cruel　for　anyone　to　live　in　such　conditions。　They　had　no　shoes。　Their　clothes　were　so　old　and　worn；　they　were　embarrassed　to　go　to　town。　And　because　they　had　no　electricity；　they　couldn't　listen　to　the　Cardinals。
　　　Percy　had　never　owned　a　ball　or　a　glove　or　a　bat；　had　never　played　catch　with　his　dad；　had　never　dreamed　of　beating　the　Yankees。　In　fact；　he'd　probably　never　dreamed　of　leaving　the　cotton　patch。　That　thought　was　almost　overwhelming。
　　　My　father　produced　the　first　box　of　vegetables　while　my　mother　called　out　its　contents；　and　the　Latcher　kids　moved　onto　the　front　steps；　eagerly　looking　on　but　still　keeping　their　distance。　Percy　didn't　move；　he　stared　at　something　in　the　fields；　something　neither　he　nor　I　could　see。
　　　There　was　a　girl　in　the　house。　Her　name　was　Libby；　age　fifteen；　the　oldest　of　the　brood；　and　according　to　the　latest　rumors　in　Black　Oak；　she　was　pregnant。　The　father　had　yet　to　be　named；　in　fact；　the　gossip　currently　held　that　she　was　refusing　to　reveal　to　anyone；　including　her　parents；　the　name　of　the　boy　who'd　gotten　her　pregnant。
　　　Such　gossip　was　more　than　Black　Oak　could　stand。　War　news；　a　fist…fight；　a　case　of　cancer；　a　car　wreck；　a　new　baby　on　the　way　from　two　people　lawfully　wed…all　these　events　kept　the　talk　flying。　A　death　followed　by　a　good　funeral；　and　the　town　buzzed　for　days。　An　arrest　of　even　the　lowliest　of　citizens　was　an　event　to　be　dissected　for　weeks。　But　a　fifteen…year…old　girl；　even　a　sharecropper's　daughter；　having　an　illegitimate　baby　was　something　so　extraordinary　that　the　town　was　beside　itself。　Problem　was；　the　pregnancy　had　not　been　confirmed。　Only　rumored。　Since　the　Latchers　never　left　the　farm；　it　was　proving　to　be　quite　difficult　to　nail　down　the　evidence。　And　since　we　lived　closest　to　them；　it　had　apparently　fallen　upon　my　mother　to　investigate。
　　　She　had　enlisted　me　to　help　with　the　verifying。　She'd　shared　some　of　the　gossip　with　me；　and　because　I'd　been　watching　farm　animals　breed　and　reproduce　all　my　life；　I　knew　the　basics。　But　I　was　still　reluctant　to　get　involved。　Nor　was　I　pletely　certain　why　we　had　to　confirm　the　pregnancy。　It　had　been　talked　about　so　much　that　the　entire　town　already　believed　the　poor　girl　was　expecting。　The　big　mystery　was　the　identity　of　the　father。　〃They　ain't　gonna　pin　it　on　me；〃　I'd　heard　Pappy　say　at　the　Co…op；　and　all　the　old　men　roared　with　laughter。
　　　〃How's　the　cotton？〃　I　asked　Percy。　Just　a　couple　of　real　farmers。
　　　〃Still　out　there；〃　he　said；　nodding　at　the　fields；　which　began　just　a　few　feet　away。　I　turned　and　stared　at　their　cotton；　which　looked　the　same　as　ours。　I　was　paid　1。60　for　every　hundred　pounds　I　picked。　Sharecropper　children　were　paid　nothing。
　　　Then　I　looked　at　the　house　again；　at　the　windows　and　the　curtains　and　the　sagging　boards；　and　I　stared　into　the　backyard；　where　their　wash　hung　on　the　clothesline。　I　studied　the　stretch　of　dirt　that　led　past　their　outhouse　to　the　river；　and　there　was　no　sign　of　Libby　Latcher。　They　probably　had　her　locked　in　a　room；　with　Mr。　Latcher　guarding　the　door　with　a　shotgun。　One　day　she'd　have　the　baby；　and　no　one　would　know　it。　Just　another　Latcher　running　around　naked。
　　　〃My　sister　ain't　here；〃　he　said；　still　lost　in　the　distance。　〃That's　what　you're　lookin'　for。〃
　　　My　mouth　fell　open；　and　my　cheeks　got　very　hot。　All　I　could　say　was；　〃What？〃
　　　〃She　ain't　here。　Now　get　back　to　your　truck。〃
　　　My　father　hauled　the　rest　of　the　food　onto　the　porch；　and　I　walked　away　from　Percy。
　　　〃Did　you　see　her？〃　my　mother　whispered　as　we　were　leaving。　I　shook　my　head。
　　　As　we　drove　away；　the　Latchers　were　crawling　over　and　around　the　two　boxes　as　if　they　hadn't　eaten　in　a　week。
　　　We'd　return　in　a　few　days　with　another　load　of　produce　in　a　second　attempt　to　confirm　the　rumors。　As　long　as　they　kept　Libby　hidden；　the　Latchers　would　be　well　fed。
　　　
　　　The　St。　Francis　River　was　fifty　feet　deep；　according　to　my　father；　and　around　the　bottom　of　the　bridge　pier　there　were　channel　catfish　that　weighed　sixty　pounds　and　ate　everything　that　floated　within　reach。　They　were　large；　dirty　fish…scavengers　that　moved　only　when　food　was　nearby。　Some　lived　for　twenty　years。　According　to　family　legend；　Ricky　caught　one　of　the　monsters　when　he　was　thirteen。　It　weighed　forty…four　pounds；　and　when　he　slit　its　belly　with　a　cleaning　knife；　all　sorts　of　debris　spilled　onto　the　tailgate　of　Pappy's　truck：　a　spark　plug；　a　marble；　lots　of　half…eaten　minnows　and　small　fish；　two　pennies；　and　some　suspicious　matter　that　was　eventually　determined　to　be　human　waste。
　　　Gran　never　fried　another　catfish。　Pappy　gave　up　river　food　altogether。
　　　With　red　worms　as　bait；　I　fished　the　shallow　backwaters　around　a　sandbar　for　bream　and　crappie；　two　small　species　that　were　plentiful　and　easy　to　catch。　I　waded　barefoot　through　the　warm；　swirling　waters　and　occasionally　heard　my　mother　yell；　〃That's　far　enough；　Luke！〃　The　bank　was　lined　with　oaks　and　willows；　and　the　sun　was　behind　them。　My　parents　sat　in　the　shade；　on　one　of　the　many　quilts　the　ladies　at　the　church　made　during　the　winter；　and　shared　a　cantaloupe　from　our　garden。
　　　They　talked　softly；　almost　in　whispers；　and　I　didn't　try　to　listen；　because　it　was　one　of　the　few　moments　during　the　picking　season　when　they　could　be　alone。　At　night；　after　a　day　in　the　fields；　sleep　came　fast　and　hard；　and　I　rarely　heard　them　talk　in　bed。　They　sometimes　sat　on　the　porch　in　the　darkness；　waiting　for　the　heat　to　pass；　but　they　weren't　really　alone。
　　　The　river　scared　me　enough　to　keep　me　safe。　I　had　not　yet　learned　to　swim…I　was　waiting　for　Ricky　to　e　home。　He　had　promised　to　teach　me　the　next　summer；　when　I　would　be　eight。　I　stayed　close　to　the　bank；　where　the　water　barely　covered　my　feet。
　　　Drownings　were　not　unmon；　and　all　my　life　I'd　heard　colorful　tales　of　grown　men　caught　in　shifting　sandbanks　and　being　swept　away　while　entire　families　watched　in　horror。　Calm　waters　could　somehow　turn　violent；　though　I'd　never　witnessed　this　myself。　The　mother　of　all　drownings　supposedly　took　place　in　the　St。　Francis；　though　the　exact　location　varied　according　to　the　narrator。　A　small　child　was　sitting　innocently　on　a　sandbar　when　suddenly　it　shifted；　and　the　child　was　surrounded　by　water　and　sinking　fast。　An　older　sibling　saw　it　happen　and　dashed　into　the　swirling　waters；　only　to　be　met　with　a　fierce　current　that　carried　him　away；　too。　Next；　an　even　older　sibling　heard　the　cries　of　the　first　two；　and　she　charged　into　the　river　and　was　waist…deep　before　she　remembered　she　couldn't　swim。　Undaunted；　she　bravely　thrashed　onward；　yelling　at　the　younger　two　to　hold　steady；　she'd　get　there　somehow。　But　the　sandbar　collapsed　entirely；　sort　of　like　an　earthquake；　and　new　currents　went　in　all　directions。
　　　The　three　children　were　drifting　farther　and　farther　away　from　shore。　The　mother；　who　may　or　may　not　have　been　pregnant；　and　who　may　or　may　not　have　been　able　to　swim；　was　fixing　lunch　under　a　shade　tree　when　she　heard　the　screams　of　her　children。　She　flung　herself　into　the　river；　whereupon　she；　too；　was　soon　in　trouble。
　　　The　father　was　fishing　off　a　bridge　when　he　heard　the　motion；　and　rather　than　waste　time　running　to　the　shore　and　entering　from　that　venue；　he　simply　jumped　headlong　into　the　St。　Francis　and　broke　his　neck。
　　　The　entire　family　perished。　Some　of　the　bodies　were　found。　Some　were　not。　Some　were　eaten　by　the　channel　cats；　and　the　others　were　swept　out　to　sea；　wherever　the　sea　was。　There　was　no　shortage　of　theories　as　to　what　finally　happened　to　the　bodies　of　this　poor　family；　which；　oddly；　had　remained　nameless　through　the　decades。
　　　This　story　was　repeated　so　that　kids　like　myself　would　appreciate　the　dangers　of　the　river。　Ricky　loved　to　scare