jg.paintedhouse-第58部分

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　　　〃Wonder　where　he　is？〃
　　　〃Ain't　none　of　my　concern；〃　Pappy　said。
　　　〃I　ain't　through　with　him；　you　know。　When　I　find　him；　I'm　gonna　put　his　big　ass　in　the　jail　in　Jonesboro；　and　we're　gonna　have　us　a　trial。〃
　　　〃You　do　that；　Stick；〃　Pappy　said；　then　turned　around。　〃You　do　that。〃
　　　Stick's　bald　tires　slipped　and　spun　in　the　mud；　but　he　finally　got　to　the　road。　My　mother　and　Gran　returned　to　the　kitchen　to　start　cooking。
　　　Pappy　got　his　tools　and　spread　them　on　the　tailgate　of　the　truck。　He　opened　the　hood　and　began　a　thorough　inspection　of　the　engine　I　sat　on　the　fender；　handing　him　wrenches；　watching　every　move。
　　　〃Why　would　a　nice　girl　like　Tally　want　to　marry　a　Mexican？〃　I　asked。
　　　Pappy　was　tightening　a　fan　belt。　There　was　little　doubt　that　Cowboy　hadn't　bothered　to　stop；　open　the　hood；　and　meddle　with　the　engine　while　he　was　fleeing　with　Tally；　but　Pappy　nonetheless　was　pelled　to　adjust　and　fix　and　tinker　as　if　the　vehicle　had　been　sabotaged。　〃Women；〃　he　said。
　　　〃What　do　you　mean？〃
　　　〃Women　do　stupid　things。〃
　　　I　waited　for　clarification；　but　his　answer　was　plete。
　　　〃I　don't　understand；〃　I　finally　said。
　　　〃Neither　do　I。　Neither　will　you。　You're　not　supposed　to　understand　women。〃
　　　He　removed　the　air　filter　and　gazed　with　suspicion　at　the　carburetor。　For　a　moment　it　looked　as　if　he'd　found　evidence　of　tampering；　but　then　he　turned　a　screw　and　seemed　content。
　　　〃You　think　they'll　ever　find　her？〃　I　asked。
　　　〃They　ain't　lookin'。　We　got　the　truck　back；　so　there's　no　crime；　no　police　tryin'　to　find　'em。　I　doubt　if　the　Spruills'll　go　look　for　'em。　Why　bother？　If　they　got　lucky　and　found　'em；　what're　they　gonna　do？〃
　　　〃Can't　they　make　her　e　home？〃
　　　〃No。　Once　she　gets　married；　then　she's　an　adult。　You　can't　make　a　married　woman　do　a　damned　thing。〃
　　　He　cranked　the　engine　and　listened　to　it　idle。　It　sounded　the　same　to　me；　but　Pappy　thought　he　heard　a　new　rattle。　〃Let's　take　it　for　spin；〃　he　said。　Wasting　gasoline　was　a　sin　in　Pappy's　book；　but　he　seemed　anxious　to　burn　a　little　of　the　free　stuff　Tally　and　Cowboy　had　left　behind。
　　　We　got　in　and　backed　onto　the　road。　I　was　sitting　where　Tally　had　been；　just　hours　earlier；　when　they'd　sneaked　away　during　the　storm。　I　thought　of　nothing　but　her；　and　I　was　as　bewildered　as　ever。
　　　The　road　was　too　wet　and　muddy　to　allow　Pappy　to　reach　his　perfect　speed　of　thirty…seven　miles　an　hour；　but　he　still　thought　he　could　tell　that　something　was　wrong　with　the　engine。　We　stopped　at　the　bridge　and　looked　at　the　river。　The　gravel　bars　and　sandbars　were　gone；　there　was　nothing　but　water　between　the　banks…water　and　debris　from　upriver。　It　rushed　by；　faster　than　I　had　ever　seen　it。　Pappy's　stick；　his　flood　gauge；　was　long　gone；　washed　away　by　the　swirling　currents。　We　didn't　need　it　to　tell　us　that　the　St。　Francis　was　about　to　flood。
　　　Pappy　seemed　mesmerized　by　the　water　and　its　noise。　I　couldn't　tell　if　he　wanted　to　curse　or　cry。　Neither　would've　helped；　of　course；　and　I　think　that　Pappy；　for　perhaps　the　first　time；　realized　he　was　about　to　lose　another　crop。
　　　Whatever　was　wrong　with　the　engine　had　fixed　itself　by　the　time　we　returned　home。　Pappy　announced　over　supper　that　the　truck　was　as　good　as　ever；　whereupon　we　launched　into　a　long　and　creative　discussion　about　Tally　and　Cowboy　and　where　they　might　be　and　what　they　might　be　doing。　My　father　had　heard　that　there　were　a　lot　of　Mexicans　up　in　Chicago；　and　he　guessed　that　Cowboy　and　his　new　bride　would　simply　blend　into　that　vast　city　and　never　be　seen　again。
　　　I　was　so　worried　about　Tally　that　I　could　barely　force　down　my　food。
　　　
　　　Late　the　next　morning；　with　the　sun　trying　its　best　to　peek　through　the　clouds；　we　returned　to　the　fields　to　pick　cotton。　We　were　tired　of　sitting　around　the　house　watching　the　skies。　Even　I　wanted　to　go　to　the　fields。
　　　The　Mexicans　were　especially　anxious　to　work。　They　were；　after　all；　two　thousand　miles　from　home　and　not　getting　paid。
　　　But　the　cotton　was　too　wet　and　the　ground　was　too　soft。　Mud　caked　on　my　boots；　and　it　stuck　to　my　picking　sack；　so　that　after　an　hour　I　felt　as　if　I　were　dragging　a　tree　trunk。　We　quit　after　two　hours　and　left　for　the　house；　a　sad　and　dispirited　group。
　　　The　Spruills　had　had　enough。　It　came　as　no　surprise　to　see　them　breaking　camp。　They　did　so　slowly；　as　if　they　were　only　reluctantly　admitting　defeat。　Mr。　Spruill　told　Pappy　that　there　was　no　use　in　their　staying　if　they　couldn't　work。　They　were　tired　of　the　rains　and　we　couldn't　blame　them。　They'd　been　camping　out　for　six　weeks　in　our　front　yard。　Their　old　tents　and　tarps　were　sagging　under　the　weight　of　all　the　rain。　The　mattresses　they　slept　on　were　half…exposed　to　the　weather　and　splattered　with　mud。　I　would've　left　a　long　time　before。
　　　We　sat　on　the　porch　and　watched　them　gather　their　junk　and　pack　it　all　haphazardly　into　the　truck　and　trailer。　There　would　be　more　room　now　with　Hank　and　Tally　gone。
　　　I　was　suddenly　frightened　by　their　leaving。　They　would　be　home　soon；　and　Hank　wouldn't　be　there。　They　would　wait；　then　search；　then　start　asking　questions。　I　wasn't　sure　if　and　how　this　might　one　day　affect　me；　but　I　was　scared　just　the　same。
　　　My　mother　forced　me　into　the　garden；　where　we　gathered　enough　food　for　twenty　people。　We　washed　the　corn；　cucumbers；　tomatoes；　okra；　and　greens　in　the　kitchen　sink；　then　she　carefully　arranged　it　all　in　a　cardboard　box。　Gran　put　together　a　dozen　eggs；　two　pounds　of　country　ham；　a　pound　of　butter；　and　two　quart　jars　of　strawberry　preserves。　The　Spruills　would　not　leave　without　food　for　the　trip。
　　　By　mid…afternoon　they　had　finished　packing。　Their　truck　and　trailer　were　hopelessly　overloaded…boxes　and　burlap　sacks　clung　to　the　sides；　loosely　secured　by　baling　wire　and　destined　to　fall　off。　When　it　was　apparent　they　were　about　to　leave；　we　walked　as　a　family　down　the　front　steps　and　across　the　yard　to　say　our　farewells。　Mr。　and　Mrs。　Spruill　met　us　and　accepted　our　food。　They　apologized　for　leaving　before　the　cotton　was　picked；　but　we　all　knew　there　was　a　good　chance　the　crops　were　finished　anyway。　They　tried　to　smile　and　be　gracious；　but　their　pain　was　obvious。　Watching　them；　I　couldn't　help　but　think　that　they　would　always　regret　the　day　they　decided　to　work　on　our　farm。　If　they　had　picked　another　one；　Tally　wouldn't　have　met　Cowboy。　And　Hank　might　still　be　alive；　though　given　his　lust　for　violence　he　was　probably　doomed　to　an　early　death。　〃He　who　lives　by　the　sword　dies　by　the　sword；〃　Gran　was　fond　of　quoting。
　　　I　felt　guilty　about　all　the　evil　thoughts　I'd　held　against　them。　And　I　felt　like　a　thief　because　I　knew　the　truth　about　Hank；　and　they　didn't。
　　　I　said　good…bye　to　Bo　and　Dale；　neither　of　whom　had　much　to　say。　Trot　was　hiding　behind　the　trailer。　As　the　farewells　were　winding　down；　he　shuffled　toward　me　and　mumbled　something　I　did　not　understand。　Then　he　stuck　out　his　hand　and　offered　me　his　paintbrush。　I　had　no　choice　but　to　take　it。
　　　The　exchange　was　witnessed　by　the　adults；　and　for　a　moment　nothing　was　said。
　　　〃Over　here；〃　Trot　grunted；　and　he　pointed　to　their　truck。　Bo　took　the　cue　and　reached　for　something　just　inside　the　tailgate。　He　pulled　forward　a　gallon　of　white　enamel；　a　clean　unopened　bucket　with　a　bright　Pittsburgh　Paint　logo　across　the　front。　He　set　it　on　the　ground　in　front　of　me；　then　produced　another　one。
　　　〃It's　for　you；〃　Trot　said。
　　　I　looked　at　the　two　gallons　of　paint；　then　I　looked　at　Pappy　and　Gran。　Though　the　house　painting　had　not　been　discussed　in　days；　we　had　known　for　some　time　that　Trot　would　never　finish　the　project。　Now　he　was　passing　the　job　to　me。　I　glanced　at　my　mother　and　saw　a　curious　smile　on　her　lips。
　　　〃Tally　bought　it；〃　Dale　said。
　　　I　tapped　the　brush　on　my　leg　and　finally　managed　to　say；　〃Thanks。〃　Trot　gave　me　a　goofy　grin；　which　made　the　rest　of　them　smile。　Once　again　they　headed　toward　their　truck；　but　this　time　they　managed　to　get　in。　Trot　was　in　the　trailer；　alone　now。　Tally　had　been　with　him　when　we　first　saw　them。　He　looked　sad　and　deserted。
　　　Their　truck　started　with　great　reluctance。　The　clutch　whined　and　scraped；　and　when　it　finally　released；　the　entire　assemblage　lurched　forward。　The　Spruills　were　off；　pots　and　pans　rattling；　boxes　shaking　from　side　to　side；　Bo　and　Dale　bouncing　on　a　mattress；　and　Trot　curled　into　a　corner　of　the　trailer；　bringing　up　the　rear。　We　waved　until　they　were　out　of　sight。
　　　There'd　been　no　talk　of　next　year。　The　Spruills　were　not　ing　back。　We　knew　we'd　never　see　them　again。
　　　What　little　grass　was　left　in　the　front　yard　had　been　flattened；　and　when　I　surveyed　the　damage　I　was　instantly　glad　they　were　gone。　I　kicked　the　ashes　where　they'd　built　their　fires　on　home　plate　and　once　again　marveled　at　how　insensitive　they'd　been。　There　were　ruts　from　their　truck　and　holes　from　their　tent　poles。　Next　year　I'd　put　up　a　fence　to　keep　hill　people　off　my　baseball　field。
　　　My　immediate　project；　however；　was　to　finish　what　Trot　had　begun。　I　hauled　the　paint　to　the　front　porch；　one　gallon　at　a　time；　and　was　surprised　by　the　weight。　I　was　expecting　Pappy　to　say　something；　but　the　situation　drew　no　ment　from　him。　My　mother；　however；　gave　some　orders　to　my　father；　who　quickly　erected　a　scaffold　on　the　east　side　of　the　house。　It　was　a　two…by…six　oak