jg.paintedhouse-第54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！

ans　and　the　Spruills　out　of　our　lives；　with　Ricky　home；　with　the　Latchers　gone；　with　the　nightmare　of　Hank　erased　from　my　memory。　I　was　tired　of　secrets；　tired　of　seeing　things　I　was　not　supposed　to　see。
　　　And　so　I　just　cried。
　　　My　mother　held　me　tightly。　When　I　realized　she　was　frightened；　I　managed　to　tell　her　about　the　dead　monkey。
　　　〃Did　you　see　it？〃　she　asked　in　horror。
　　　I　shook　my　head　and　kept　explaining。　We　walked　back　to　the　porch　and　sat　for　a　long　time。
　　　
　　　Hank's　departure　was　confirmed　at　some　point　during　the　day。　Over　supper　my　father　said　that　Mr。　Spruill　had　told　him　that　Hank　had　left　during　the　night。　He　was　hitchhiking　back　to　their　home　in　Eureka　Springs。
　　　Hank　was　floating　at　the　bottom　of　the　St。　Francis　River；　and　when　I　thought　about　him　down　there　with　the　channel　catfish；　I　lost　my　appetite。　The　adults　were　watching　me　closer　than　usual。　During　the　past　twenty…four　hours　I'd　fainted；　had　nightmares；　cried　several　times；　and；　as　far　as　they　knew；　gone　for　a　long　walk　in　my　sleep。　Something　was　wrong　with　me；　and　they　were　concerned。
　　　〃Wonder　if　he'll　make　it　home；〃　Gran　said。　This　launched　a　round　of　stories　about　folks　who'd　disappeared。　Pappy　had　a　cousin　who　had　been　migrating　with　his　family　from　Mississippi　to　Arkansas。　They　were　traveling　in　two　old　trucks。　They　came　to　a　railroad　crossing。　The　first　truck；　the　one　driven　by　the　cousin　in　question；　crossed　first。　A　train　came　roaring　by；　and　the　second　truck　waited　for　it　to　pass。　It　was　a　long　train；　and　when　it　finally　cleared；　there　was　no　sign　of　the　first　truck　on　the　other　side。　The　second　truck　crossed　and　came　to　a　fork　in　the　road。　The　cousin　was　never　seen　again；　and　that　had　been　thirty　years　ago。　No　sign　of　him　or　the　truck。
　　　I'd　heard　this　story　many　times。　I　knew　Gran　would　go　next；　and　sure　enough；　she　told　the　tale　about　her　mother's　father；　a　man　who'd　sired　six　kids　then　hopped　on　a　train　and　fled　to　Texas。　Someone　in　the　family　stumbled　across　him　twenty　years　later。　He　had　another　wife　and　six　more　kids。
　　　〃You　okay；　Luke？〃　Pappy　said　when　the　eating　was　over。　All　of　his　gruffness　was　gone。　They　were　telling　stories　for　my　benefit；　trying　to　amuse　me　because　I　had　them　worried。
　　　〃Just　tired；　Pappy；〃　I　said。
　　　〃You　want　to　go　to　bed　early？〃　my　mother　asked；　and　I　nodded。
　　　I　went　to　Ricky's　room　while　they　washed　the　dishes。　My　letter　to　him　was　now　two　pages　long；　a　monumental　effort。　It　was　still　in　my　writing　tablet；　hidden　under　the　mattress；　and　it　covered　most　of　the　Latcher　conflict。　I　read　it　again　and　was　quite　pleased　with　myself。　I　toyed　with　the　idea　of　telling　Ricky　about　Cowboy　and　Hank；　but　decided　to　wait　until　he　came　home。　By　then　the　Mexicans　would　be　gone；　things　would　be　safe　again；　and　Ricky　would　know　what　to　do。
　　　I　decided　that　the　letter　was　ready　to　be　mailed；　then　started　worrying　about　how　I　might　acplish　mailing　it。　We　always　sent　our　letters　at　the　same　time；　often　in　the　same　large　manila　envelope。　I　decided　that　I'd　consult　with　Mr。　Lynch　Thornton　at　the　post　office　on　Main　Street。
　　　My　mother　read　me　the　story　of　Daniel　in　the　lions'　den；　one　of　my　favorites。　Once　the　weather　broke　and　the　nights　became　cool；　we　spent　less　time　on　the　porch　and　more　time　reading　before　bed。　My　mother　and　I　read；　the　others　did　not。　She　preferred　Bible　stories；　and　this　suited　me　fine。　She　would　read　awhile；　then　explain　things。　Then　read　some　more。　There　was　a　lesson　in　every　story；　and　she　made　sure　I　understood　each　one。　Nothing　irritated　me　more　than　for　Brother　Akers　to　screw　up　the　details　in　one　of　his　long…winded　sermons。
　　　When　I　was　ready　for　bed；　I　asked　her　if　she　would　stay　there；　in　Ricky's　bed　with　me；　until　I　fell　asleep。
　　　〃Of　course　I　will；〃　she　said。
　
　
　Chapter　27
　　　
　　　After　a　day　of　rest；　there　was　no　way　my　father　would　tolerate　further　absence　from　the　fields。　He　pulled　me　out　of　bed　at　five；　and　we　went　about　our　routine　chores　of　gathering　eggs　and　milk。
　　　I　knew　I　couldn't　continue　to　hide　in　the　house　with　my　mother；　so　I　bravely　went　through　the　motions　of　getting　ready　to　pick　cotton。　I'd　have　to　face　Cowboy　at　some　point　before　he　left。　It　was　best　to　get　it　over　with　and　to　do　it　with　plenty　of　folks　around。
　　　The　Mexicans　were　walking　to　the　fields；　skipping　the　morning　ride　on　the　flatbed　trailer。　They　could　start　picking　a　few　minutes　earlier；　plus　it　kept　them　away　from　the　Spruills。　We　left　the　house　just　before　dawn。　I　held　firm　to　Pappy's　seat　on　the　tractor　and　watched　my　mother's　face　slowly　disappear　in　the　kitchen　window。　I'd　prayed　long　and　hard　the　night　before；　and　something　told　me　she　would　be　safe。
　　　As　we　made　our　way　along　the　field　road；　I　studied　the　John　Deere　tractor。　I'd　spent　hours　on　it；　plowing；　disking；　planting；　even　hauling　cotton　to　town　with　my　father　or　Pappy；　and　its　operation　had　always　seemed　sufficiently　plex　and　challenging。　Now；　after　thirty　minutes　on　the　road　grader；　with　its　puzzling　array　of　levers　and　pedals；　the　tractor　seemed　quite　simple。　Pappy　just　sat　there；　hands　on　the　wheel；　feet　still；　half…asleep…while　Otis　had　been　a　study　in　constant　motion…another　reason　why　I　should　grade　roads　and　not　farm　if；　of　course；　the　baseball　career　did　not　work　out；　a　most　unlikely　event。
　　　The　Mexicans　were　already　half　a　row　down；　lost　in　the　cotton　and　oblivious　to　our　arrival。　I　knew　Cowboy　was　with　them；　but　in　the　early　light　I　couldn't　tell　one　Mexican　from　the　other。
　　　I　avoided　him　until　we　broke　for　lunch。　Evidently　he'd　seen　me　during　the　morning；　and　I　guess　he　figured　a　little　reminder　would　be　appropriate。　While　the　rest　of　his　pals　ate　leftovers　under　the　shade　of　the　cotton　trailer；　Cowboy　rode　in　with　us。　He　sat　alone　on　one　side　of　the　flatbed；　and　I　ignored　him　until　we　were　almost　to　the　house。
　　　When　I　finally　mustered　the　courage　to　look　at　him；　he　was　cleaning　his　fingernails　with　his　switchblade；　and　he　was　waiting　for　me。　He　smiled…a　wicked　grin　that　conveyed　a　thousand　words…and　he　gently　waved　the　knife　at　me。　No　one　else　saw　it；　and　I　looked　away　immediately。
　　　Our　agreement　had　just　been　solidified　even　further。
　　　By　late　afternoon　the　cotton　trailer　was　full。　After　a　quick　dinner　Pappy　announced　that　he　and　I　would　haul　it　to　town。　We　went　to　the　fields　and　hooked　it　to　the　truck；　then　left　the　farm　on　our　newly　graded　road。　Otis　was　quite　a　craftsman。　The　road　was　smooth；　even　in　Pappy's　old　truck。
　　　As　usual；　Pappy　said　nothing　as　he　drove；　and　this　was　fine　with　me　because　I　also　had　nothing　to　say。　Lots　of　secrets　but　no　way　to　unload　them。　We　crossed　the　bridge　slowly；　and　I　scanned　the　thick；　slow　waters　below　but　saw　nothing　out　of　the　ordinary…no　sign　of　blood　or　of　the　crime　I'd　witnessed。
　　　More　than　a　full　day　had　passed　since　the　killing；　a　normal　day　of　work　and　drudgery　on　the　farm。　I　thought　about　the　secret　with　every　breath；　but　I　was　masking　it　well；　I　thought。　My　mother　was　safe；　and　that　was　all　that　mattered。
　　　We　passed　the　road　to　the　Latchers'；　and　Pappy　glanced　their　way。　For　the　moment；　they　were　just　a　minor　nuisance。
　　　On　the　highway；　farther　away　from　the　farm；　I　began　to　think　that　one　day　soon　I　might　be　able　to　unload　my　burden。　I　could　tell　Pappy；　alone；　just　the　two　of　us。　Before　long　Cowboy　would　be　back　in　Mexico；　safe　in　that　foreign　world。　The　Spruills　would　return　home；　and　Hank　wouldn't　be　there。　I　could　tell　Pappy；　and　he　would　know　what　to　do。
　　　We　entered　Black　Oak　behind　another　trailer　and　followed　it　to　the　gin。　When　we　parked　I　scrambled　out　and　stuck　close　to　Pappy's　side。　Some　farmers　were　huddled　just　outside　the　gin　office；　and　a　serious　discussion　had　been　under　way　for　a　while。　We　walked　up　on　them　and　listened。
　　　The　news　was　somber　and　threatening。　The　night　before；　heavy　rains　had　hit　Clay　County；　north　of　us。　Some　places　reported　six　inches　in　ten　hours。　Clay　County　was　upstream　on　the　St。　Francis。　The　creeks　and　streams　were　flooded　up　there　and　pouring　into　the　river。
　　　The　water　was　rising。
　　　There　was　a　debate　as　to　whether　this　would　affect　us。　The　minority　opinion　was　that　the　storm　would　have　little　impact　on　the　river　near　Black　Oak。　We　were　too　far　away　and；　absent　more　rains；　a　small　rise　in　the　St。　Francis　wouldn't　flood　anything。　But　the　majority　view　was　far　more　pessimistic；　and　since　the　bulk　of　them　were　professional　worriers　anyway；　the　news　was　accepted　with　great　concern。
　　　One　farmer　said　his　almanac　called　for　heavy　rains　in　mid…October。
　　　Another　said　his　cousin　in　Oklahoma　was　getting　flooded；　and　since　our　weather　came　from　the　West；　he　felt　it　was　a　sure　sign　that　the　rains　were　inevitable。
　　　Pappy　mumbled　something　to　the　effect　that　the　weather　from　Oklahoma　traveled　faster　than　any　news。
　　　There　was　much　debate　and　lots　of　opinions；　and　the　overall　tone　was　one　of　gloom。　We'd　been　beaten　so　many　times　by　the　weather；　or　by　the　markets；　or　by　the　price　of　seed　and　fertilizer；　that　we　expected　the　worst。
　　　〃We　ain't　had　a　flood　in　October　in　twenty　years；〃　declared　Mr。　Red　Fletcher；　and　this　set　off　a　heated　debate　on　the　history　of　autumn　floods。　There　were　so　many　different　versions　and　recollections　that　the　issue　was　hopelessly　confused。
　　　Pappy　didn'