jg.paintedhouse-第27部分

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ans　would　work　a　little　farther　away；　and　the　cotton　trailer　would　act　as　a　dividing　line　between　the　two　groups。　Distance　was　needed　between　Hank　and　Cowboy；　otherwise　there　would　be　another　killing。
　　　〃I　don't　want　any　more　trouble；〃　I　heard　Pappy　say。　Everyone　knew　the　switchblade　would　never　leave　Cowboy's　pocket；　and　we　doubted　that　Hank；　dumb　as　he　was；　would　be　stupid　enough　to　attack　him　again。　Over　breakfast　that　morning　Pappy　had　ventured　the　guess　that　Cowboy　wasn't　the　only　armed　Mexican。　One　reckless　move　by　Hank；　and　there　might　be　switchblades　flying　everywhere。　This　had　been　shared　with　Mr。　Spruill；　who　had　assured　Pappy　that　there　would　be　no　more　trouble。　But　by　then　no　one　believed　that　Mr。　Spruill；　or　anybody　else；　could　control　Hank。
　　　It　had　rained　late　last　night；　but　there　was　no　trace　of　it　in　the　fields；　the　cotton　was　dry；　the　soil　almost　dusty。　But　the　rain　had　been　seen　by　Pappy　and　my　father　as　an　ominous　warning　of　the　inevitable　flooding；　and　there　was　an　anxiousness　about　the　two　that　was　contagious。
　　　Our　crops　were　nearly　perfect；　and　we　had　just　a　few　more　weeks　to　gather　them　before　the　skies　opened。　When　the　tractor　stopped　near　the　cotton　trailer；　we　quickly　grabbed　our　sacks　and　disappeared　among　the　stalks。　There　was　no　laughing　or　singing　from　the　Spruills；　not　a　sound　from　the　Mexicans　in　the　distance。　And　no　napping　on　my　part。　I　picked　as　fast　as　I　could。
　　　The　sun　rose　quickly　and　cooked　the　dew　from　the　bolls　of　cotton。　The　thick　air　clung　to　my　skin　and　soaked　my　overalls；　and　sweat　dripped　from　my　chin。　One　slight　advantage　in　being　so　small　was　that　most　of　the　stalks　were　taller　than　me；　I　was　partially　shaded。
　　　
　　　Two　days　of　heavy　picking；　and　the　cotton　trailer　was　full。　Pappy　took　it　to　town；　always　Pappy；　never　my　father。　Like　my　mother　and　（he　garden；　it　was　one　of　those　chores　that　had　been　designated　long　before　I　came　along。　I　was　expected　to　ride　with　him；　something　I　always　enjoyed　because　it　meant　a　trip　to　town；　if　only　to　the　gin。
　　　After　a　quick　dinner；　we　took　the　truck　to　the　field　and　hitched　up　the　cotton　trailer。　Then　we　climbed　along　its　edges　and　secured　the　tarp　so　that　no　bolls　would　blow　away。　It　seemed　a　crime　to　waste　a　single　ounce　of　something　we'd　worked　so　hard　to　gather。
　　　As　we　drove　back　to　the　house；　I　saw　the　Mexicans　behind　the　barn；　grouped　tightly；　slowly　eating　their　tortillas。　My　father　was　at　the　tool　shed；　patching　an　inner　tube　for　a　front　tire　on　the　John　Deere。　The　women　were　washing　dishes。　Pappy　abruptly　stopped　the　truck。　〃Stay　here；〃　he　said　to　me。　〃I'll　be　right　back。〃　He'd　forgotten　something。
　　　When　he　returned　from　the　house；　he　was　carrying　his　twelve…gauge　shotgun；　which　he　slid　under　the　seat　without　a　word。
　　　〃We　goin'　huntin'？〃　I　asked；　knowing　full　well　that　I　would　not　get　an　answer。
　　　The　Sisco　affair　had　not　been　discussed　over　dinner　or　on　the　front　porch。　I　think　the　adults　had　agreed　to　leave　the　subject　alone；　at　least　in　my　presence。　But　the　shotgun　suggested　an　abundance　of　possibilities。
　　　I　immediately　thought　of　a　gunfight；　Gene　Autry　style；　at　the　gin。　The　good　guys；　the　farmers；　of　course；　on　one　side；　blasting　away　while　ducking　behind　and　between　their　cotton　trailers；　the　bad　guys；　the　Siscos　and　their　friends；　on　the　other　side　returning　fire。　Freshly　picked　cotton　flying　through　the　air　as　the　trailers　took　one　hit　after　another。　Windows　crashing。　Trucks　exploding。　By　the　time　we　crossed　the　river；　there　were　casualties　all　over　the　gin　lot。
　　　〃You　gonna　shoot　somebody？〃　I　asked；　in　an　effort　to　force　Pappy　to　say　something。
　　　〃Tend　to　your　own　business；〃　he　said　gruffly　as　he　shifted　gears。
　　　Perhaps　he　had　a　score　to　settle　with　some　offending　soul。　This　brought　to　mind　one　of　the　favorite　Chandler　stories。　When　Pappy　was　much　younger；　he；　like　all　farmers；　worked　the　fields　with　a　team　of　mules。　This　was　long　before　tractors；　and　all　farming　was　done　by　man　and　animal。　A　ne'er…do…well　neighbor　named　Woolbright　saw　Pappy　in　the　fields　one　day；　and　evidently　Pappy　was　having　a　bad　day　with　the　mules。　According　to　Woolbright；　Pappy　was　beating　the　poor　beasts　about　their　heads　with　a　large　stick。　As　Woolbright　later　told　the　story　at　the　Tea　Shoppe；　he'd　said；　〃If　I'd　had　a　wet　burlap　sack；　I'd've　taught　Eli　Chandler　a　thing　or　two。〃　Word　filtered　back；　and　Pappy　heard　what　Woolbright　said。　A　few　days　later；　after　a　long　hot　day　in　the　fields；　Pappy　took　a　burlap　sack；　put　it　in　a　bucket　of　water；　and　skipping　dinner；　walked　three　miles　to　Woolbright's　house。　Or　five　miles　or　ten　miles；　depending　on　who　happened　to　be　telling　the　story。
　　　Once　there；　he　called　on　Woolbright　to　e　out　and　settle　things。　Woolbright　was　just　finishing　dinner；　and　he　may　or　may　not　have　had　a　houseful　of　kids。　Anyway；　Woolbright　walked　to　the　screen　door；　looked　out　into　his　front　yard；　and　decided　things　were　safer　inside。
　　　Pappy　yelled　at　him　repeatedly　to　e　on　out。　〃Here's　your　burlap　sack；　Woolbright！〃　he　yelled。　〃Now　e　on　out　and　finish　the　job。〃
　　　Woolbright　retreated　deeper　into　his　house；　and　when　it　was　evident　he　wasn't　ing　out；　Pappy　threw　the　wet　burlap　sack　through　the　screen　door。　Then　he　walked　three　or　five　or　ten　miles　back　home　and　went　to　bed；　without　dinner。
　　　I'd　heard　the　story　enough　to　believe　it　was　true。　Even　my　mother　believed　it。　Eli　Chandler　had　been　a　hot…tempered　brawler　in　his　younger　days；　and　at　the　age　of　sixty　he　still　had　a　short　fuse。
　　　But　he　wouldn't　kill　anybody；　unless　it　was　in　self…defense。　And　he　preferred　to　use　his　fists　or　less　menacing　weapons　like　burlap　sacks。　The　gun　was　traveling　with　us　just　in　case。　The　Siscos　were　crazy　people。
　　　The　gin　was　roaring　when　we　arrived。　A　long　line　of　trailers　waited　ahead　of　us；　and　I　knew　we'd　be　there　for　hours。　It　was　dark　when　Pappy　turned　off　the　engine　and　tapped　his　fingers　on　the　wheel。　The　Cardinals　were　playing；　and　I　was　anxious　to　get　home。
　　　Before　getting　out　of　the　truck；　Pappy　surveyed　the　trailers　and　the　trucks　and　tractors；　and　he　watched　the　farmhands　and　gin　workers　go　about　their　business。　He　was　looking　for　trouble；　and　seeing　none；　he　finally　said；　〃I'll　go　check　in。　You　wait　here。〃
　　　I　watched　him　shuffle　across　the　gravel　and　stop　at　a　group　of　men　outside　the　office。　He　stayed　there　awhile；　talking　and　listening。　Another　group　was　congregated　near　a　trailer　in　the　line　ahead　of　us；　young　men　smoking　and　talking　and　waiting。　Though　the　gin　was　the　center　of　activity；　things　moved　slowly。
　　　I　caught　a　glimpse　of　a　figure　as　it　appeared　from　somewhere　behind　our　truck。　〃Howdy；　Luke；〃　the　voice　said；　giving　me　a　start。　When　I　jerked　around；　I　saw　the　friendly　face　of　Jackie　Moon；　an　older　boy　from　north　of　town。
　　　〃Hi；　Jackie；〃　I　said；　very　relieved。　For　a　split　second　I　thought　one　of　the　Siscos　had　started　the　ambush。　He　leaned　on　the　front　fender　with　his　back　to　the　gin；　and　produced　a　cigarette；　one　that　he'd　already　rolled。　〃Y'all　heard　from　Ricky？〃　he　asked。
　　　I　watched　the　cigarette。　〃Not　lately；〃　I　said。　〃We　got　a　letter　a　couple　of　weeks　ago。〃
　　　〃How's　he　doin'？〃
　　　〃Fine；　I　guess。〃
　　　He　scraped　a　match　on　the　side　of　our　truck　and　lit　the　cigarette。　He　was　tall　and　skinny　and　had　been　a　basketball　star　at　Monette　High　School　for　as　long　as　I　could　remember。　He　and　Ricky　had　played　together；　until　Ricky　got　caught　smoking　behind　the　school。　The　coach；　a　veteran　who'd　lost　a　leg　in　the　war；　bounced　Ricky　from　the　team。　Pappy　had　stomped　around　the　Chandler　farm　for　a　week　threatening　to　kill　his　younger　son。　Ricky　told　me　privately　that　he　was　tired　of　basketball　anyway。　He　wanted　to　play　football；　but　Monette　couldn't　have　a　team　because　of　cotton　picking。
　　　〃I　might　be　goin'　over　there；〃　Jackie　said。
　　　〃To　Korea？〃
　　　〃Yep。〃
　　　I　wanted　to　ask　why　he　thought　he　was　needed　in　Korea。　As　much　as　I　hated　picking　cotton；　I　would　much　rather　do　it　than　get　shot　at。　〃What　about　basketball？〃　I　asked。　There　was　a　rumor　that　Arkansas　State　was　recruiting　Jackie。
　　　〃I'm　quittin'　school；〃　he　said；　and　blew　a　cloud　into　the　air。
　　　〃Why？〃
　　　〃I'm　tired　of　it。　Been　goin'　for　twelve　years　already；　on　and　off。
　　　That's　more　'an　anybody　else　in　my　family。　I　figure　I've　learned　enough。〃
　　　Kids　quit　school　all　the　time　in　our　county。　Ricky　tried　several　times；　and　Pappy　had　bee　indifferent。　Gran；　on　the　other　hand；　laid　down　the　law；　and　he　finally　graduated。
　　　〃Lot　of　boys　gettin'　shot　over　there；〃　he　said；　staring　into　the　distance。
　　　That　was　not　something　I　wanted　to　hear；　so　I　said　nothing。　He　finished　his　cigarette　and　thrust　his　hands　deep　into　his　pockets。　〃They're　tellin'　that　you　saw　that　Sisco　fight；〃　he　said；　again　without　looking　at　me。
　　　I　figured　that　somehow　the　fight　would　get　discussed　during　this　trip　to　town。　I　remembered　my　father's　stern　warning　not　to　discuss　the　incident　with　anyone。
　　　But　I　could　trust　Jackie。　He　and　Ricky　had　grown　up　together。
　　　〃Lots　of　folks　saw　it；〃　I　said。
　　　〃Yeah；　but　ain't　nobody　talkin'。　Hillbillies　ain't　sayin'　a　word　'cause　it's　one　of　their　own。　Locals　ain't　talkin'　'cause　Eli's　told　everybody　to　shut　up。　That's　what　they're　tellin'；　anyway。〃
　　　I　believed　him。　I　didn't　doubt　for　a　second　that　El