jg.paintedhouse-第16部分

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　Hank　stepped　in　to　help　the　man　from　the　hills。〃
　　　〃Right　then；　was　it　two　against　one；　or　two　against　two？〃　Stick　asked。
　　　〃Two　against　one。〃
　　　〃What　happened　to　the　first　hill　boy？〃
　　　〃I　don't　know。　He　just　left。　I　think　he　was　hurt　pretty　bad。〃
　　　〃All　right。　Keep　goin'。　And　tell　the　truth。〃
　　　〃He's　tellin'　the　truth！〃　Pappy　snarled。
　　　〃Go　on。〃
　　　I　glanced　around　again　to　make　sure　Tally　was　still　watching。　Not　only　was　she　studying　me　closely；　but　now　she　had　a　pleasant　little　smile。　〃Then；　all　of　a　sudden；　Bobby　Sisco　charged　from　the　crowd　and　attacked　Mr。　Hank。　It　was　three　against　one；　just　like　Mr。　Hank　said。〃
　　　Hank's　face　did　not　relax。　If　anything；　he　looked　at　me　with　even　more　viciousness。　He　was　thinking　ahead；　and　he　wasn't　finished　with　me。
　　　〃I　guess　that　settles　it；〃　Pappy　said。　〃I　ain't　no　lawyer；　but　I　could　sway　a　jury　if　it's　three　against　one。〃
　　　Stick　ignored　him　and　leaned　even　closer　to　me。　〃Who　had　the　two…by…four？〃　he　asked；　his　eyes　narrowing　as　if　this　were　the　most　important　question　of　all。
　　　Hank　suddenly　exploded。　〃Tell　him　the　truth；　boy！〃　he　shouted。　〃One　of　them　Siscos　picked　up　that　stick　of　wood；　didn't　he？〃
　　　I　could　feel　the　stares　of　Gran　and　my　mother　behind　me。　And　I　knew　Pappy　wanted　to　reach　over　and　shake　me　by　the　neck　and　somehow　make　the　right　words　e　out。
　　　In　front　of　me；　not　too　far　away；　Tally　was　pleading　with　her　eyes。　Bo　and　Dale；　and　even　Trot；　were　looking　at　me。
　　　〃Didn't　he；　boy！〃　Hank　barked　again。
　　　I　met　Stick's　gaze　and　began　nodding；　slowly　at　first；　a　timid　little　lie　delivered　without　a　word。　And　I　kept　nodding；　and　kept　lying；　and　in　doing　so；　did　more　to　harvest　our　cotton　than　six　months　of　good　weather。
　　　I　was　skirting　around　the　edges　of　the　fiery　depths。　Satan　was　waiting；　and　I　could　feel　the　heat。　I'd　run　to　the　woods　and　pray　for　forgiveness　as　soon　as　I　could。　I'd　ask　God　to　go　easy　on　me。　He'd　given　us　the　cotton；　it　was　up　to　us　to　protect　it　and　gather　the　crops。
　　　Stick　slowly　stood；　but　he　kept　staring　at　me；　our　eyes　locked　together；　because　both　of　us　knew　I　was　lying。　Stick　didn't　want　to　arrest　Hank　Spruill；　not　then　anyway。　First；　he'd　have　to　put　the　handcuffs　on　him；　a　task　that　could　turn　ugly。　Second；　he'd　upset　all　the　farmers。
　　　My　father　grabbed　me　by　the　shoulder　and　shoved　me　back　toward　the　women。　〃You've　scared　him　to　death；　Stick；〃　he　said　with　an　awkward　laugh；　trying　to　break　the　tension　and　get　me　out　of　there　before　I　said　something　wrong。
　　　〃Is　he　a　good　boy？〃　Stick　asked。
　　　〃He　tells　the　truth；〃　my　father　said。
　　　〃Of　course　he　tells　the　truth；〃　Pappy　said　with　a　good　dose　of　anger。
　　　The　truth　had　just　been　rewritten。
　　　〃I'm　gonna　keep　askin'　around；〃　Stick　said　and　began　walking　toward　his　car。　〃I　might　be　back　later。〃
　　　He　slammed　the　door　of　his　old　patrol　car　and　left　our　yard。　We　watched　him　drive　away　until　he　was　out　of　sight。
　
　
　Chapter　10
　　　
　　　Since　we　didn't　work　on　Sunday；　the　house　became　smaller　as　my　parents　and　grandparents　busied　themselves　with　the　few　light　chores　that　were　permitted。　Naps　were　attempted；　then　abandoned　because　of　the　heat。　Occasionally；　when　the　moods　were　edgy；　my　parents　tossed　me　in　the　back　of　the　pickup；　and　we　went　for　a　long　drive。　There　was　nothing　to　see…all　the　land　was　flat　and　covered　with　cotton。　The　views　were　the　same　as　those　from　our　front　porch。　But　it　was　important　to　get　away。
　　　Not　long　after　Stick　left；　I　was　marched　into　the　garden　and　ordered　to　haul　food。　A　road　trip　was　in　the　making。　Two　cardboard　boxes　were　filled　with　vegetables。　They　were　so　heavy　that　my　father　had　to　place　them　in　the　back　of　the　truck。　As　we　drove　off；　the　Spruills　were　scattered　across　the　front　yard　in　various　stages　of　rest。　I　didn't　want　to　look　at　them。
　　　I　sat　in　the　back　between　the　boxes　of　vegetables　and　watched　the　dust　boil　from　behind　the　truck；　forming　gray　clouds　that　rose　quickly　and　hung　over　the　road　in　the　heavy　air　before　slowly　dissipating　from　the　lack　of　wind。　The　rain　and　the　mud　from　the　early　morning　were　long　forgotten。　Everything　was　hot　again：　the　wooden　planks　of　the　truck　bed；　its　rusted　and　unpainted　frame；　even　the　corn　and　potatoes　and　tomatoes　my　mother　had　just　washed。　It　snowed　twice　a　year　in　our　part　of　Arkansas；　and　I　longed　for　a　thick；　cold　blanket　of　white　across　our　winter　fields；　cottonless　and　barren。
　　　The　dust　finally　stopped　at　the　edge　of　the　river；　and　we　crept　across　the　bridge。　I　stood　to　see　the　water　below；　the　thick　brown　stream　barely　moving　along　the　banks。　There　were　two　cane　poles　in　the　back　of　the　truck；　and　my　father　had　promised　we'd　fish　for　a　while　after　the　food　was　delivered。
　　　The　Latchers　were　sharecroppers　who　lived　no　more　than　a　mile　from　our　house；　but　they　might　as　well　have　been　in　another　county。　Their　run…down　shack　was　in　a　bend　of　the　river；　with　elms　and　willows　touching　the　roof　and　cotton　growing　almost　to　the　front　porch。　There　was　no　grass　around　the　house；　just　a　ring　of　dirt　where　a　horde　of　little　Latchers　played。　I　was　secretly　happy　that　they　lived　on　the　other　side　of　the　river。　Otherwise；　I　might　have　been　expected　to　play　with　them。
　　　They　farmed　thirty　acres　and　split　the　crop　with　the　owner　of　the　land。　Half　of　a　little　left　nothing；　and　the　Latchers　were　dirt…poor。　They　had　no　electricity；　no　car　or　truck。　Occasionally；　Mr。　Latcher　would　walk　to　our　house　and　ask　Pappy　for　a　ride　on　the　next　trip　to　Black　Oak。
　　　The　trail　to　their　house　was　barely　wide　enough　for　our　truck；　and　when　we　rolled　to　a　stop；　the　porch　was　already　filled　with　dirty　little　faces。　I　had　once　counted　seven　Latcher　kids；　but　an　accurate　total　was　impossible。　It　was　hard　to　tell　the　boys　from　the　girls；　all　had　shaggy　hair；　narrow　faces　with　the　same　pale　blue　eyes；　and　they　all　wore　raggedy　clothes。
　　　Mrs。　Latcher　emerged　from　the　decrepit　porch；　wiping　her　hands　on　her　apron。　She　managed　to　smile　at　my　mother。　〃Hello；　Mrs。　Chandler；〃　she　said　in　a　soft　voice。　She　was　barefoot；　and　her　legs　were　as　skinny　as　twigs。
　　　〃Nice　to　see　you；　Darla；〃　my　mother　said。　My　father　busied　himself　at　the　back　of　the　truck；　fiddling　with　the　boxes；　killing　time　while　the　ladies　handled　the　chitchat。　We　did　not　expect　to　see　Mr。　Latcher。　Pride　would　prevent　him　from　ing　forward　and　accepting　food。　Let　the　women　take　care　of　it。
　　　As　they　talked　about　the　harvest　and　how　hot　it　was；　I　moved　away　from　the　truck；　under　the　watchful　eyes　of　all　those　kids。　I　walked　to　the　side　of　the　house；　where　the　tallest　boy　was　loafing　in　the　shade；　trying　to　ignore　us。　His　name　was　Percy；　and　he　claimed　to　be　twelve；　though　I　had　my　doubts。　He　didn't　look　big　enough　to　be　twelve；　but　since　the　Latchers　didn't　go　to　school；　it　was　impossible　to　lump　him　together　with　boys　his　own　age。　He　was　shirtless　and　barefoot；　his　skin　a　dark　bronze　from　hours　in　the　sun。
　　　〃Hi；　Percy；〃　I　said；　but　he　did　not　respond。　Sharecroppers　were　funny　like　that。　Sometimes　they　would　speak；　other　times　they　just　gave　you　a　blank　look；　as　if　they　wanted　you　to　leave　them　alone。
　　　I　studied　their　house；　a　square　little　box；　and　wondered　once　more　how　so　many　people　could　live　in　such　a　tiny　place。　Our　tool　shed　was　almost　as　large。　The　windows　were　open；　and　the　torn　remains　of　curtains　hung　still。　There　were　no　screens　to　keep　the　flies　and　mosquitoes　out；　and　certainly　no　fans　to　push　the　air　around。
　　　I　felt　very　sorry　for　them。　Gran　was　fond　of　quoting　the　Scriptures：　〃Blessed　are　the　poor　in　spirit；　for　theirs　is　the　kingdom　of　heaven；〃　and　〃The　poor　will　always　be　with　you。〃　But　it　seemed　cruel　for　anyone　to　live　in　such　conditions。　They　had　no　shoes。　Their　clothes　were　so　old　and　worn；　they　were　embarrassed　to　go　to　town。　And　because　they　had　no　electricity；　they　couldn't　listen　to　the　Cardinals。
　　　Percy　had　never　owned　a　ball　or　a　glove　or　a　bat；　had　never　played　catch　with　his　dad；　had　never　dreamed　of　beating　the　Yankees。　In　fact；　he'd　probably　never　dreamed　of　leaving　the　cotton　patch。　That　thought　was　almost　overwhelming。
　　　My　father　produced　the　first　box　of　vegetables　while　my　mother　called　out　its　contents；　and　the　Latcher　kids　moved　onto　the　front　steps；　eagerly　looking　on　but　still　keeping　their　distance。　Percy　didn't　move；　he　stared　at　something　in　the　fields；　something　neither　he　nor　I　could　see。
　　　There　was　a　girl　in　the　house。　Her　name　was　Libby；　age　fifteen；　the　oldest　of　the　brood；　and　according　to　the　latest　rumors　in　Black　Oak；　she　was　pregnant。　The　father　had　yet　to　be　named；　in　fact；　the　gossip　currently　held　that　she　was　refusing　to　reveal　to　anyone；　including　her　parents；　the　name　of　the　boy　who'd　gotten　her　pregnant。
　　　Such　gossip　was　more　than　Black　Oak　could　stand。　War　news；　a　fist…fight；　a　case　of　cancer；　a　car　wreck；　a　new　baby　on　the　way　from　two　people　lawfully　wed…all　these　events　kept　the　talk　flying。　A　death　followed　by　a　good　funeral；　and　the　town　buzzed　for　days。　An　arrest　of　even　the　lowliest　of　citizens　was　an　event　to　be　dissected　for　weeks。　But　a　fifteen…year…old　girl；　even　a　sharecropper's　daughter；　having　an　illegitimate　baby　was　something　so　extraordinary　that　the　town　was　beside　itself。　Problem　was；　the　pregnancy　had　not　been　confirmed。　Only　rumored。　Since　the　Latchers　never　left　the　farm；　it　was　proving　to　be　quite　difficult　to　nail　down　the　evidence。　And　since　we　lived　closest　to　them；　it　had　apparently　fallen　upon　my　mother　to　investigate。
　　　She　had　enlisted　me　to　help　with　the　verifying。　She'd　shared　some　of　the　gossip　with　me；　and　because　I'd　been　watching　farm　animals　breed　and　reproduce　all　my　life；　I　knew　the　basics。　But　I　was　still　reluctant　to　get　involved。　Nor　was　I　pletely　certain　why　we　had　to　confirm　the　pregnancy。　It　had　been　talked　about　so　much　that　the　entire　town　already　believed　the　poor　girl　was　expecting。　The　big　mystery　was　the　identity　of　the　father。　〃They　ain't　gonna　pin　it　on　me；〃　I'd　heard　Pappy　say　at　the　Co…op；　and　all　the　old　men　roared　with　laughter。
　　　〃How's　the　cotton？〃　I　asked　Percy。　Just　a　couple　of　real　farmers。
　　　〃Still　out　there；〃　he　said；　nodding　at　the　fields；　which　began　just　a　few　feet　away。　I　turned　and　stared　at　their　cotton；　which　looked　the　same　as　ours。　I　was　paid　1。60　for　every　hundred　pounds　I　picked。　Sharecropper　children　were　paid　nothing。
　　　Then　I　looked　at　the　house　again；　at　the　windows　and　the　curtains　and　the　sagging　boards；　and　I　stared　into　the　backyard；　where　their　wash　hung　on　the　clothesline。　I　studied　the　stretch　of　dirt　that　led　past　their　outhouse　to　the　river；　and　there　was　no　sign　of　Libby　Latcher。　They　probably　had　her　locked　in　a　room；　with　Mr。　Latcher　guarding　the　door　with　a　shotgun。　One　day　she'd　have　the　baby；　and　no　one　would　know　it。　Just　another　Latcher　running　around　naked。
　　　〃My　sister　ain't　here；〃　he　said；　still　lost　in　the　distance。　〃That's　what　you're　lookin'　for。〃
　　　My　mouth　fell　open；　and　my　cheeks　got　very　hot。　All　I　could　say　was；　〃What？〃
　　　〃She　ain't　here。　Now　get　back　to　your　truck。〃
　　　My　father　hauled　the　rest　of　the　food　onto　the　porch；　and　I　walked　away　from　Percy。
　　　〃Did　you　see　her？〃　my　mother　whispered　as　we　were　leaving。　I　shook　my　head。
　　　As　we　drove　away；　the　Latchers　were　crawling　over　and　around　the　two　boxes　as　if　they　hadn't　eaten　in　a　w