jg.paintedhouse-第9部分

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ear；　I　fought　a　nap　with　as　much　vigor　as　I　put　into　planning　my　baseball　career。
　　　But　during　the　harvest；　everybody　rested　after　lunch。　The　Mexicans　ate　quickly　and　sprawled　under　a　maple　tree　near　the　barn。　The　Spruills　ate　leftover　ham　and　biscuits　and　likewise　found　shade。
　　　I　wasn't　allowed　to　use　my　bed　because　I　was　dirty　from　the　fields；　so　I　slept　on　the　floor　in　my　bedroom。　I　was　tired　and　stiff　from　my　labors。　I　dreaded　the　afternoon　session　because　it　always　seemed　longer；　and　it　was　certainly　hotter。　I　drifted　away　immediately　and　was　even　stiffer　when　I　awoke　a　half　hour　later。
　　　Trot　was　causing　concern　in　the　front　yard。　Gran；　who　fancied　herself　as　some　sort　of　country　medicine　woman；　had　gone　to　check　on　him；　no　doubt　with　the　intention　of　whipping　up　one　of　her　dreadful　concoctions　to　force　down　his　throat。　They　had　him　on　an　old　mattress　under　a　tree　with　a　wet　cloth　on　his　forehead。　It　was　obvious　he　couldn't　go　back　to　the　fields；　and　Mr。　and　Mrs。　Spruill　were　reluctant　to　leave　him　alone。
　　　They；　of　course；　had　to　pick　cotton　to　earn　money　to　live　on。　I　did　not。　A　plan　had　been　devised　in　my　absence　to　require　me　to　sit　with　Trot　while　everybody　else　worked　in　the　heat　for　the　rest　of　the　afternoon。　If　Trot　somehow　took　a　turn　for　the　worse；　I　was　supposed　to　sprint　to　the　lower　forty　and　fetch　the　nearest　Spruill。　I　tried　to　appear　unhappy　with　this　arrangement　when　my　mother　explained　it　to　me。
　　　〃What　about　my　Cardinals　jacket？〃　I　asked　her　with　as　much　concern　as　I　could　muster。
　　　〃There's　plenty　of　cotton　left　for　you；〃　she　said。　〃Just　sit　with　him　this　afternoon。　He　should　be　better　tomorrow。〃
　　　There　were；　of　course；　eighty　acres　of　cotton；　all　of　which　had　to　be　picked　twice　during　the　next　two　months　or　so。　If　I　lost　my　Cardinals　jacket；　it　wouldn't　be　because　of　Trot。
　　　I　watched　the　trailer　leave　again；　this　time　with　my　mother　and　Gran　sitting　with　the　field　hands。　It　squeaked　and　rattled　away　from　the　house；　past　the　barn；　down　the　field　road；　and　was　finally　lost　among　the　rows　of　cotton。　I　couldn't　help　but　wonder　whether　Tally　and　Cowboy　were　making　eyes　at　each　other。　If　I　found　the　courage；　I　would　ask　my　mother　about　this。
　　　When　I　walked　to　the　mattress；　Trot　was　lying　perfectly　still　with　his　eyes　closed。　He　didn't　appear　to　be　breathing。
　　　〃Trot；〃　I　said　loudly；　suddenly　terrified　that　he　had　died　on　my　watch。
　　　He　opened　his　eyes；　and　very　slowly　sat　up　and　looked　at　me。　Then　he　glanced　around；　as　if　to　make　certain　we　were　alone。　His　withered　left　arm　wasn't　much　thicker　than　a　broom　handle；　and　it　hung　from　his　shoulder　without　moving　much。　His　black　hair　shot　out　in　all　directions。
　　　〃Are　you　okay？〃　I　asked。　I'd　yet　to　hear　him　speak；　and　I　was　curious　to　know　if　he　could　do　so。
　　　〃I　guess；〃　he　grunted；　his　voice　thick　and　his　words　blurred。　I　couldn't　tell　if　he　had　a　speech　impediment　or　if　he　was　just　tired　and　dazed。　He　kept　looking　around　to　make　sure　everyone　else　was　gone；　and　it　occurred　to　me　that　perhaps　Trot　had　been　faking　a　bit。　I　began　to　admire　him。
　　　〃Does　Tally　like　baseball？〃　I　asked；　one　of　a　hundred　questions　I　wanted　to　drill　him　with。　I　thought　it　was　a　simple　question；　but　he　was　overe　by　it　and　immediately　closed　his　eyes　and　rolled　to　one　side；　then　curled　his　knees　to　his　chest　and　began　another　nap。
　　　A　breeze　rustled　the　top　of　the　pin　oak。　I　found　a　thick；　grassy　spot　in　the　shade　near　his　mattress；　and　stretched　out。　Watching　the　leaves　and　branches　high　above；　I　considered　my　good　fortune。　The　rest　of　them　were　sweating　in　the　sun　as　time　crept　along。　For　a　moment　I　tried　to　feel　guilty；　but　it　didn't　work。　My　luck　was　only　temporary；　so　I　decided　to　enjoy　it。
　　　As　did　Trot。　While　he　slept　like　a　baby；　I　watched　the　sky。　Soon；　though；　boredom　hit。　I　went　to　the　house　to　get　a　ball　and　my　base…hall　glove。　I　threw　myself　pop　flies　near　the　front　porch；　something　I　could　do　for　hours。　At　one　point　I　caught　seventeen　in　a　row。
　　　Throughout　the　afternoon；　Trot　never　left　the　mattress。　He　would　sleep；　then　sit　up　and　look　around；　then　watch　me　for　a　moment。　If　I　tried　to　strike　up　a　conversation；　he　usually　rolled　over　and　continued　his　nap。　At　least　he　wasn't　dying。
　　　The　next　casualty　from　the　cotton　patch　was　Hank。　He　ambled　in　late　in　the　day；　walking　slowly　and　plaining　about　the　heat。　Said　he　needed　to　check　on　Trot。
　　　〃I　picked　three　hundred　pounds；〃　he　said；　as　if　this　would　impress　me。　〃Then　the　heat　got　me。〃　His　face　was　red　with　sunburn。　He　wore　no　hat；　which　said　a　lot　about　his　intelligence。　Every　head　was　covered　in　the　fields。
　　　He　looked　Trot　over　for　a　second；　then　went　to　the　back　of　the　truck　and　began　rummaging　through　their　boxes　and　sacks　like　a　starving　bear。　He　crammed　a　cold　biscuit　into　his　huge　mouth；　then　stretched　out　under　the　tree。
　　　〃Fetch　me　some　water；　boy；〃　he　growled　abruptly　in　my　direction。
　　　I　was　too　surprised　to　move。　I'd　never　heard　a　hill　person　give　an　order　to　one　of　us。　I　wasn't　sure　what　to　do。　But　he　was　grown；　and　I　was　just　a　kid。
　　　〃Sir？〃　I　said。
　　　〃Fetch　me　some　water！〃　he　repeated；　his　voice　rising。
　　　I　was　certain　they　had　water　stored　somewhere　among　their　things。　I　took　a　very　awkward　step　toward　their　truck。　This　upset　him。
　　　〃Cold　water；　boy！　From　the　house。　And　hurry！　I　been　workin'　all　day。　You　ain't。〃
　　　I　rushed　into　the　house；　to　the　kitchen；　where　Gran　kept　a　gallon　jug　of　water　in　the　refrigerator。　My　hands　shook　as　I　poured　the　water　into　a　glass。　I　knew　that　when　I　reported　this；　it　would　cause　trouble。　My　father　would　have　words　with　Leon　Spruill。
　　　I　handed　Hank　the　glass。　He　drained　it　quickly；　smacked　his　lips；　then　said；　〃Gimme　another　glass。〃
　　　Trot　was　sitting　and　watching　this。　I　ran　back　to　the　house　and　refilled　it。　When　Hank　finished　the　second；　he　spat　near　my　feet。　〃You're　a　good　boy；〃　he　said；　and　tossed　me　the　glass。
　　　〃Thanks；〃　I　said；　catching　it。
　　　〃Now　leave　us　alone；〃　he　said　as　he　lay　down　on　the　grass。　I　retreated　to　the　house　and　waited　for　my　mother。
　　　You　could　quit　picking　at　five　if　you　wanted。　That　was　when　Pappy　pulled　the　trailer　back　to　the　house。　Or　you　could　stay　in　the　fields　until　dark；　like　the　Mexicans。　Their　stamina　was　amazing。　They　would　pick　until　they　couldn't　see　the　bolls　anymore；　then　walk　a　half　mile　with　their　heavy　sacks　to　the　barn；　where　they　would　build　a　small　fire　and　eat　a　few　tortillas　before　sleeping　hard。
　　　The　other　Spruills　gathered　around　Trot；　who　managed　to　look　even　sicker　for　the　short　minute　or　so　they　examined　him。　Once　it　was　determined　that　he　was　alive　and　somewhat　alert；　they　hurriedly　turned　their　attention　to　dinner。　Mrs。　Spruill　built　a　fire。
　　　Next；　Gran　hovered　over　Trot。　She　appeared　to　be　deeply　concerned；　and　I　think　the　Spruills　appreciated　this。　I　knew；　however；　that　she　merely　wanted　to　conduct　experiments　on　the　poor　boy　with　one　of　her　vile　remedies。　Since　I　was　the　smallest　victim　around；　I　was　usually　the　guinea　pig　for　any　new　brew　she　discovered。　I　knew　from　experience　that　she　could　whip　up　a　concoction　so　curative　that　Trot　would　bolt　from　the　mattress　and　run　like　a　scalded　dog。　After　a　few　minutes；　Trot　got　suspicious　and　began　watching　her　closely。　He　now　seemed　more　aware　of　things；　and　Gran　took　this　as　a　sign　that　he　didn't　need　any　medicine；　at　least　not　immediately。　But　she　placed　him　under　surveillance；　and　she'd　make　her　rounds　again　tomorrow。
　　　My　worst　chore　of　the　late　afternoon　was　in　the　garden。　I　thought　it　was　cruel　to　force　me；　or　any　other　seven…year…old　kid　for　that　matter；　to　awake　before　sunrise；　work　in　the　fields　all　day；　and　then　pull　garden　duty　before　supper。　But　I　knew　we　were　lucky　to　have　such　a　beautiful　garden。
　　　At　some　point　before　I　was　born；　the　women　had　sectioned　off　little　areas　of　turf；　both　inside　the　house　and　out；　and　laid　claim　to　them。　I　don't　know　how　my　mother　got　the　entire　garden；　but　there　was　no　doubt　it　belonged　to　her。
　　　It　was　on　the　east　side　of　our　house；　the　quiet　side；　away　from　the　kitchen　door　and　the　barnyard　and　the　chicken　coop。　Away　from　Pappy's　pickup　and　the　small　dirt　drive　where　the　rare　visitor　parked。　It　was　enclosed　in　a　wire　fence　four　feet　tall；　built　by　my　father　under　my　mother's　direction；　and　designed　to　keep　out　deer　and　varmints。
　　　Corn　was　planted　around　the　fence　so　that　once　you　closed　the　rickety　gate　with　the　leather　latch；　you　stepped　into　a　secret　world　hidden　by　the　stalks。
　　　My　job　was　to　take　a　straw　basket　and　follow　my　mother　around　as　she　gathered　whatever　she　deemed　ripe。　She　had　a　basket；　too；　and　she　slowly　filled　it　with　tomatoes；　cucumbers；　squash；　peppers；　onions；　and　eggplant。　She　talked　quietly；　not　necessarily　to　me；　but　to　the　garden　in　general。
　　　〃Look　at　the　corn；　would　you？　We'll　eat　those　next　week。〃
　　　〃Yes　ma'am。〃
　　　〃The　pumpkins　should　be　just　right　for　Halloween。〃
　　　〃Yes　ma'am。〃
　　　She　was　constantly　searching　for　weeds；　little　trespassers　that　survived　only　momentarily　in　our　garden。　She　stopped；　pointed；　and　said；　〃Pull　those　weeds　there；　Luke；　by　the　watermelons。〃
　　　I　set　the　basket　on　the　dirt　trail　and　pulled　with　a　vengeance。
　　　The　garden　work　was　not　as　rough　in　the　late　summer　as　it　was　in　the　spring；　when　th