jg.paintedhouse-第55部分

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so　many　different　versions　and　recollections　that　the　issue　was　hopelessly　confused。
　　　Pappy　didn't　join　the　fray；　and　after　half　an　hour　of　listening　we　backed　away。　He　unhooked　the　trailer；　and　we　headed　home；　in　silence；　of　course。　A　couple　of　times　I　cut　my　eyes　at　him　and　found　him　just　as　I　expected…mute；　worried；　driving　with　both　hands；　forehead　wrinkled；　his　mind　on　nothing　but　the　ing　flood。
　　　We　parked　at　the　bridge　and　walked　through　the　mud　to　the　edge　of　the　St。　Francis　River。　Pappy　inspected　it　for　a　moment　as　if　he　might　see　it　rise。　I　was　terrified　that　Hank　would　suddenly　float　to　the　top　and　e　ashore　right　in　front　of　us。　Without　a　word；　Pappy　picked　up　a　stick　of　driftwood　about　an　inch　in　diameter　and　three　feet　long。　He　knocked　a　small　limb　off　it　and　drove　it　with　a　rock　into　the　sandbar　where　the　water　was　two　inches　deep。　With　his　pocketknife；　he　notched　it　at　water　level。　〃We'll　check　it　in　the　mornin'；〃　he　said；　his　first　words　in　a　long　time。
　　　We　studied　our　new　gauge　for　a　few　moments；　both　certain　that　we　would　see　the　river　rise。　When　it　didn't　happen；　we　returned　to　the　truck。
　　　The　river　scared　me　and　not　because　it　might　flood。　Hank　was　out　there；　cut　and　dead　and　bloated　with　river　water；　ready　to　wash　ashore　where　someone　would　find　him。　We'd　have　a　real　murder　on　our　hands；　not　a　just　a　killing　like　the　Sisco　beating；　but　a　genuine　slaying。
　　　The　rains　would　get　rid　of　Cowboy。　And　the　rains　would　swell　the　river　and　move　it　faster。　Hank；　or　what　was　left　of　him；　would　get　swept　downstream　to　another　county　or　maybe　even　another　state　where　someday　someone　would　find　him　and　not　have　the　slightest　clue　as　to　who　he　was。
　　　Before　I　fell　asleep　that　night；　I　prayed　for　rain。　I　prayed　as　hard　as　I　possibly　could。　I　asked　God　to　send　the　biggest　flood　since　Noah。
　　　We　were　in　the　middle　of　breakfast　on　Saturday　morning　when　Pappy　stomped　in　from　the　back　porch。　One　look　at　his　face　satisfied　our　curiosity。　〃River's　up　four　inches；　Luke；〃　he　said　to　me　as　he　took　his　seat　and　began　reaching　for　food。　〃And　there's　lightnin'　to　the　west。〃
　　　My　father　frowned　but　kept　chewing。　When　it　came　to　the　weather；　he　was　always　pessimistic。　If　the　weather　was　fine；　then　it　was　just　a　matter　of　time　before　it　turned　bad。　If　it　was　bad；　then　that's　what　he'd　expected　all　along。　Gran　took　the　news　with　no　expression　at　all。　Her　younger　son　was　fighting　in　Korea；　and　that　was　far　more　important　than　the　next　rain。　She　had　never　left　the　soil；　and　she　knew　that　some　years　were　good；　some　bad；　but　life　didn't　stop。　God　gave　us　life　and　health　and　plenty　of　food；　and　that　was　more　than　most　folks　could　say。　Plus；　Gran　had　little　patience　for　all　the　fretting　over　the　weather。　〃Can't　do　anything　about　it；〃　she　said　over　and　over。
　　　My　mother　didn't　smile　or　frown；　but　she　had　a　curious　look　of　contentment。　She　was　determined　not　to　spend　her　life　scratching　a　meager　existence　from　the　land。　And　she　was　even　more　determined　that　I　would　not　farm。　Her　days　on　the　farm　were　numbered；　and　another　lost　crop　could　only　hasten　our　departure。
　　　By　the　time　we　finished　eating；　we　heard　thunder。　Gran　and　my　mother　cleared　the　dishes；　then　made　another　pot　of　coffee。　We　sat　at　the　table；　talking　and　listening；　waiting　to　see　how　rough　the　storm　would　be。　I　thought　my　prayer　was　about　to　be　answered；　and　I　felt　guilty　for　such　a　devious　wish。
　　　But　the　thunder　and　lightning　moved　to　the　north。　No　rain　fell。　By　7　A。　M。　we　were　in　the　fields；　picking　hard　and　longing　for　noon。
　　　
　　　When　we　left　for　town；　only　Miguel　hopped　in　the　back　of　the　truck。　The　rest　of　the　Mexicans　were　working；　he　explained；　and　he　needed　to　buy　a　few　things　for　them。　I　was　relieved　beyond　words。　I　wouldn't　be　forced　to　ride　in　with　Cowboy　crouched　just　a　few　feet　away　from　me。
　　　We　hit　rain　at　the　edge　of　Black　Oak；　a　cool　drizzle　instead　of　a　fierce　storm。　The　sidewalks　were　busy　with　folks　moving　slowly　under　the　store　canopies　and　balconies；　trying；　but　failing；　to　stay　dry。
　　　The　weather　kept　many　farm　families　away　from　town。　This　was　evident　when　the　four　o'clock　matinee　began　at　the　Dixie　theater。　Half　the　seats　were　empty；　a　sure　sign　that　it　was　not　a　normal　Saturday。　Halfway　through　the　first　show　the　aisle　lights　flickered；　then　the　screen　went　blank。　We　sat　in　the　darkness；　ready　to　panic　and　bolt；　and　listened　to　the　thunder。
　　　〃Power's　out；〃　said　an　official　voice　in　the　rear。　〃Please　leave　slowly。〃
　　　We　huddled　into　the　cramped　lobby　and　watched　the　rain　fall　in　sheets　along　Main　Street。　The　sky　was　dark　gray；　and　the　few　cars　that　passed　by　used　their　headlights。
　　　Even　as　kids　we　knew　that　there　was　too　much　rain；　too　many　storms；　too　many　rumors　of　rising　waters。　Floods　happened　in　the　spring；　rarely　during　the　harvest。　In　a　world　where　everyone　either　farmed　or　traded　with　farmers；　a　wet　season　in　mid…October　was　quite　depressing。
　　　When　it　slacked　off　a　little；　we　ran　down　the　sidewalk　to　find　our　parents。　Heavy　rains　meant　muddy　roads；　and　the　town　would　soon　be　empty　as　the　farm　families　left　for　home　before　dark。　My　father　had　mentioned　buying　a　saw　blade；　so　I　ducked　into　the　hardware　store　in　hopes　of　finding　him。　It　was　crowded　with　people　waiting　and　watching　the　weather　outside。　In　little　pockets　of　conversation；　old　men　were　telling　stories　of　ancient　floods。　Women　were　talking　about　how　much　rain　there'd　been　in　other　towns…Paragould；　Lepanto；　and　Manila。　The　aisles　were　filled　with　people　who　were　just　talking；　not　buying　or　looking　for　merchandise。
　　　I　worked　my　way　through　the　crowd；　looking　for　my　father。　The　hardware　store　was　ancient；　and　toward　the　rear　it　became　darker　and　cavern…like。　The　wooden　floors　were　wet　from　the　traffic　and　sagged　from　years　of　use。　At　the　end　of　an　aisle；　I　turned　and　came　face…to…face　with　Tally　and　Trot。　She　was　holding　a　gallon　of　white　paint。　Trot　was　holding　a　quart。　They　were　loitering　like　everybody　else；　waiting　for　the　storm　to　pass。　Trot　saw　me　and　tried　to　hide　behind　Tally。　〃Hello；　Luke；〃　she　said　with　a　smile。
　　　〃Howdy；〃　I　said；　looking　at　the　paint　bucket。　She　set　it　on　the　floor　beside　her。　〃What's　the　paint　for？〃
　　　〃Oh；　it's　nothin'；〃　she　said；　smiling　again。　Once　again　I　was　reminded　that　Tally　was　the　prettiest　girl　I'd　ever　met；　and　when　she　smiled　at　me　my　mind　went　blank。　Once　you've　seen　a　pretty　girl　naked；　you　feel　a　certain　attachment　to　her。
　　　Trot　wedged　himself　tightly　behind　her；　like　a　toddler　hiding　behind　his　mother。　She　and　I　talked　about　the　storm；　and　I　relayed　the　exciting　news　about　the　power　going　out　in　the　middle　of　the　matinee。　She　listened　with　interest；　and　the　more　I　talked　the　more　I　wanted　to　talk。　I　told　her　about　the　rumors　of　rising　waters　and　about　the　gauge　Pappy　and　I　had　set　at　the　river。　She　asked　about　Ricky；　and　we　talked　about　him　for　a　long　time。
　　　Of　course　I　forgot　about　the　paint。
　　　The　lights　flickered；　and　the　power　returned。　It　was　still　raining；　though；　and　no　one　left　the　store。
　　　〃How's　that　Latcher　girl？〃　she　asked；　her　eyes　darting　around　as　if　someone　might　hear　her。　It　was　one　of　our　great　secrets。
　　　I　was　about　to　say　something；　when　it　suddenly　hit　me　that　Tally's　brother　was　dead；　and　she　knew　nothing　about　it。　The　Spruills　probably　thought　Hank　was　home　by　now；　back　in　Eureka　Springs；　back　in　their　nice　little　painted　house。　They'd　see　him　in　a　few　weeks；　sooner　if　it　kept　raining。　I　looked　at　her　and　tried　to　speak；　but　all　I　could　think　about　was　how　shocked　she'd　be　if　I　said　what　I　was　thinking。
　　　I　adored　Tally；　in　spite　of　her　moods　and　her　secrets；　in　spite　of　her　funny　business　with　Cowboy。　I　couldn't　help　but　adore　her；　and　I　certainly　didn't　want　to　hurt　her。　The　very　thought　of　blurting　out　that　Hank　was　dead　made　me　weak　in　the　knees。
　　　I　stuttered　and　stammered　and　looked　at　the　floor。　I　was　suddenly　cold　and　scared。　〃See　you　later；〃　I　managed　to　say；　then　turned　and　backtracked　to　the　front。
　　　During　a　break　in　the　rain；　the　stores　emptied　and　folks　scurried　along　the　sidewalks；　heading　for　the　cars　and　trucks。　The　clouds　were　still　dark；　and　we　wanted　to　get　home　before　the　showers　hit　again。
　
　
　Chapter　28
　　　
　　　Sunday　was　gray　and　overcast；　and　my　father　didn't　care　for　the　notion　of　getting　wet　while　riding　in　the　back　of　the　truck　on　the　way　to　church。　Plus；　our　truck　was　not　exactly　waterproof；　and　the　women　usually　got　dripped　on　while　riding　in　the　cab　during　a　good　shower。　We　rarely　missed　a　Sunday　worship；　but　the　threat　of　rain　occasionally　kept　us　at　home。　We　hadn't　missed　a　service　in　months；　and　so　when　Gran　suggested　we　eat　a　late　breakfast　and　listen　to　the　radio　we　quickly　agreed。　Bellevue　Baptist　was　the　largest　church　in　Memphis；　and　its　services　were　broadcast　on　station　WHBQ。　Pappy　didn't　like　the　preacher；　said　he　was　too　liberal；　but　we　enjoyed　hearing　him　nonetheless。　And　the　choir　had　a　hundred　voices；　which　was　about　eighty　more　than　the　one　at　the　Black　Oak　Baptist　Church。
　　　Long　after　breakfast；　we　sat　at　the　kitchen　table；　sipping　coffee　（myself　included）；　listening　to　a　sermon　being　delivered　to　a　congregation　of　three　thousand　members；　and　worrying　about　the　drastic　change　in　the　weather。　The　adults　were　worryin