jg.paintedhouse-第41部分

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　　　Tornadoes　were　mon　in　our　part　of　Arkansas；　and　I'd　heard　stories　about　them　all　of　my　life。　Decades　earlier　Gran's　father　had　supposedly　survived　a　horrible　twister；　one　that　had　run　in　circles　and　struck　the　same　small　farm　more　than　once。　It　was　a　tall　tale；　one　that　Gran　told　without　much　conviction。　Twisters　were　a　way　of　life；　but　I'd　not　seen　one　until　now。
　　　〃Kathleen！〃　my　father　yelled　toward　the　house。　He　didn't　want　my　mother　to　miss　such　a　spectacle。　I　glanced　at　the　barn；　where　the　Mexicans　were　as　still　and　as　amazed　as　we　were。　A　couple　of　them　were　pointing。
　　　We　watched　the　funnel　in　muted　fascination；　without　fear　or　terror；　because　it　was　nowhere　near　our　farm　and　going　away；　to　the　north　and　east。　It　moved　slowly；　as　if　it　were　searching　for　the　perfect　place　to　touch　down。　Its　tail　was　clearly　visible　above　the　horizon；　way　above　the　land；　and　it　skipped　along　in　midair；　dancing　at　times　while　it　decided　where　and　when　to　strike。　The　bulk　of　the　funnel　spun　tightly；　a　perfect　upside…down　cone　whirling　in　a　fierce　spiral。
　　　The　screen　door　slammed　behind　us。　My　mother　and　Gran　were　on　the　steps；　both　of　them　wiping　their　hands　with　dish　towels。
　　　〃It's　headed　for　town；〃　Pappy　said　with　great　authority；　as　if　he　could　predict　where　tornadoes　would　hit。
　　　〃I　think　so；〃　my　father　added；　suddenly　another　expert　weatherman。
　　　The　twister's　tail　sank　lower　and　stopped　skipping。　It　appeared　as　if　it　had　indeed　touched　down　somewhere　far　away；　because　we　could　no　longer　see　the　end　of　it。
　　　The　church；　the　gin；　the　movie　theater；　Pop　and　Pearl's　grocery…　I　was　tallying　the　damage　when　suddenly　the　twister　lifted　itself　up　and　seemed　to　disappear　pletely。
　　　There　was　another　roar　behind　us。　Across　the　road；　deep　into　the　Jeter　property；　another　tornado　had　arrived。　It　had　crept　up　on　us　while　we　were　watching　the　first　one。　It　was　a　mile　or　two　away　and　seemed　headed　straight　for　our　house。　We　watched　in　horror；　unable　to　move　for　a　second　or　two。
　　　〃Let's　get　in　the　barn！〃　Pappy　shouted。　Some　of　the　Spruills　were　already　running　toward　their　camp；　as　if　they'd　be　safe　inside　a　tent。
　　　〃Over　here！〃　Mr。　Spruill　shouted　and　pointed　to　the　barn。　Suddenly　everyone　was　yelling　and　pointing　and　scurrying　about。　My　father　grabbed　my　hand；　and　we　began　running。　The　ground　was　shaking　and　the　wind　was　screaming。　The　Mexicans　were　scattering　in　all　directions；　some　thought　it　best　to　hide　in　the　fields；　others　were　headed　toward　our　house　until　they　saw　us　running　to　the　barn。　Hank　flew　past　me　with　Trot　on　his　back。　Tally　outran　us；　too。
　　　Before　we　made　it　to　the　barn；　the　twister　left　the　ground　and　rose　quickly　into　the　sky。　Pappy　stopped　and　watched；　and　then　so　did　everybody　else。　The　funnel　went　slightly　to　the　east　of　our　farm；　and　instead　of　a　frontal　assault；　it　left　behind　only　a　sprinkling　of　thick　brown　rainwater　and　specks　of　mud。　We　watched　it　jump　along　in　midair；　looking　for　another　site　to　drop　down　in；　just　like　the　first　one。
　　　For　a　few　minutes　we　were　too　stunned　and　too　frightened　to　say　much。
　　　I　studied　the　clouds　in　all　directions；　determined　not　to　be　blind…sided　again。　I　wasn't　the　only　one　cutting　my　eyes　around。
　　　Then　it　started　raining　once　more；　and　we　went　to　the　house。
　　　
　　　The　storm　raged　for　two　hours　and　threw　almost　everything　in　nature's　arsenal　at　us：　gale…force　winds　and　blinding　rains；　twisters；　hail；　and　lightning　so　quick　and　so　close　that　we　hid　under　our　beds　at　times。　The　Spruills　took　refuge　in　our　living　room；　while　we　cowered　throughout　the　rest　of　the　house。　My　mother　kept　me　close。　She　was　deathly　afraid　of　storms　and　that　made　the　entire　ordeal　even　worse。　I　wasn't　exactly　sure　how　we　would　die…blown　away　by　the　wind　or　seared　by　a　lightning　bolt　or　swept　away　by　the　water…but　it　was　obvious　to　me　that　the　end　had　e。　My　father　slept　through　most　of　it；　though；　and　his　indifference　was　a　great　fort。　He'd　lived　in　foxholes　and　been　shot　at　by　the　Germans；　so　nothing　frightened　him。　The　three　of　us　lay　on　the　floor　of　their　bedroom…my　father　snoring；　my　mother　praying；　and　me　in　the　middle　listening　to　the　sounds　of　the　storm。　I　thought　of　Noah　and　his　forty　days　of　rain；　and　I　waited　for　our　little　house　to　simply　lift　up　and　begin　floating。
　　　
　　　When　the　rain　and　wind　finally　passed；　we　went　outside　to　survey　the　destruction。　Other　than　wet　cotton；　there　was　surprisingly　little　damage…several　scattered　tree　branches；　the　usual　washed…out　gullies；　and　some　ripped…up　tomato　plants　in　the　garden。　The　cotton　would　be　dry　by　the　next　morning；　and　we'd　be　back　in　business。
　　　During　a　late　lunch　Pappy　said；　〃I　reckon　I　better　go　check　on　the　gin。〃　We　were　anxious　to　get　to　town。　What　if　it　had　been　leveled　by　the　twister？
　　　〃I'd　like　to　see　the　church；〃　Gran　said。
　　　〃Me；　too；〃　I　said。
　　　〃Why　do　you　wanna　see　the　church？〃　my　father　asked。
　　　〃To　see　if　the　twister　got　it。〃
　　　〃Let's　go；〃　Pappy　said；　and　we　jumped　from　our　chairs。　The　dishes　were　piled　into　the　sink　and　left　unwashed；　something　I'd　never　seen　before。
　　　Our　road　was　nothing　but　mud；　and　in　places　large　sections　had　been　washed　away。　We　slipped　and　slid　for　a　quarter　of　a　mile　until　we　came　to　a　crater。　Pappy　rammed　it　in　low　and　tried　to　plow　through　the　ditch　on　the　left　side；　next　to　the　Jeters'　cotton。　The　truck　stopped　and　settled；　and　we　were　hopelessly　stuck。　My　father　hiked　back　to　the　house　to　get　the　John　Deere　while　we　waited。　As　usual；　I　was　in　the　back　of　the　truck；　and　so　I　had　plenty　of　room　to　move　around。　My　mother　was　packed　in　the　front　with　Pappy　and　Gran。　I　think　it　was　Gran　who　said　something　to　the　effect　that　perhaps　it　wasn't　such　a　good　idea　to　go　to　town　after　all。　Pappy　just　stewed。
　　　When　my　father　returned；　he　hooked　a　twenty…foot　log　chain　to　the　front　bumper　and　slowly　pulled　us　out　of　the　ditch。　The　men　had　decided　it　was　best　for　the　tractor　to　drag　us　all　the　way　to　the　bridge。　When　we　got　there；　Pappy　unhitched　the　chain；　and　my　father　rode　over　on　the　tractor。　Then　we　crossed　in　the　truck。　The　road　on　the　other　side　was　even　worse；　according　to　the　men；　so　they　rehitched　the　chain；　and　the　tractor　pulled　the　truck　for　two　miles　until　we　came　to　a　gravel　road。　We　left　the　John　Deere　there　and　headed　for　town；　if；　in　fact；　it　was　still　there。　God　only　knew　what　carnage　awaited　us。　I　could　barely　conceal　my　excitement。
　　　We　finally　made　it　to　the　highway；　and　when　we　turned　toward　Black　Oak；　we　left　a　long　trail　of　mud　on　the　asphalt。　Why　couldn't　all　roads　be　paved？　I　asked　myself。
　　　Things　appeared　normal　as　we　drove　along。　No　flattened　trees　or　crops；　no　debris　slung　for　miles；　no　gaping　holes　through　the　landscape。　All　the　houses　seemed　to　be　in　order。　The　fields　were　empty　because　the　cotton　was　wet；　but　other　than　that；　life　had　not　been　disturbed。
　　　Standing　in　the　back　of　the　truck；　looking　over　the　cab　with　my　father；　I　strained　my　eyes　for　the　first　glimpse　of　town。　It　arrived　soon　enough。　The　gin　was　roaring　as　usual。　God　had　protected　the　church。　The　stores　along　Main　Street　were　intact。　〃Thank　God；〃　my　father　said。　I　was　not　unhappy　to　see　the　buildings　untouched；　but　things　could've　been　more　interesting。
　　　We　weren't　the　only　curious　ones。　Traffic　was　heavy　on　Main　Street；　and　people　crowded　the　sidewalks。　This　was　unheard　of　for　a　Monday。　We　parked　at　the　church；　and　once　we　determined　that　it　had　not　been　hit；　I　scampered　down　to　Pop　and　Pearl's；　where　the　foot　traffic　appeared　to　be　particularly　thick。　Mr。　Red　Fletcher　had　a　group　going；　and　I　got　there　just　in　time。
　　　According　to　Mr。　Red；　who　lived　west　of　town；　he　had　known　a　twister　was　about　to　appear　because　his　old　beagle　was　hiding　under　the　kitchen　table；　a　most　ominous　sign。　Taking　his　cue　from　his　dog；　Mr。　Red　began　studying　the　sky；　and　before　long　was　not　surprised　to　see　it　turn　black。　He　heard　the　twister　before　he　saw　it。　It　dipped　down　from　nowhere；　came　straight　for　his　farm；　and　stayed　on　the　ground　long　enough　to　flatten　two　chicken　coops　and　peel　the　roof　off　his　house。　A　piece　of　glass　struck　his　wife　and　drew　blood；　so　we　had　a　bona　fide　casualty。　Behind　me　I　heard　folks　whisper　excitedly　about　driving　out　to　the　Fletcher　place　to　inspect　the　destruction。
　　　〃What'd　it　look　like？〃　somebody　asked。
　　　〃Black　as　coal；〃　Mr。　Red　said。　〃Sounded　like　a　freight　train。〃
　　　This　was　even　more　exciting　because　our　twisters　had　been　a　light　gray　in　color；　almost　white。　His　had　been　black。　Apparently；　all　manner　of　tornadoes　had　ravaged　our　county。
　　　Mrs。　Fletcher　appeared　at　his　side；　her　arm　heavily　bandaged　and　in　a　sling；　and　we　couldn't　help　but　stare。　She　looked　as　though　she　might　just　pass　out　on　the　sidewalk。　She　displayed　her　wound　and　received　plenty　of　attention　until　Mr。　Red　realized　he'd　lost　the　audience；　so　he　stepped　forward　and　resumed　his　narrative。　He　said　his　tornado　left　the　ground　and　began　hopping　about。　He　jumped　in　his　truck　and　tried　to　follow　it。　He　gave　it　a　good　chase　through　a　driving　hailstorm　and　almost　caught　up　with　it　as　it　circled　back。
　　　Mr。　Red's　truck　was　older　than　Pappy's。　Some　of　those　in　the　crowd　began　looking　around　in　disbelief。　I　wanted　one　of　the　adults　to　ask；　〃What　were　you　gonna　do　if　you　caught　it；