jg.paintedhouse-第7部分

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ty　pounds　a　day；　and　my　fear　was　that　this　quota　was　about　to　be　increased。
　　　Lying　on　my　back；　I　watched　through　the　stalks　the　perfectly　clear　sky；　hoped　for　clouds；　and　dreamed　of　money。　Every　August　we　received　by　mail　the　latest　edition　of　the　Sears；　Roebuck　catalog；　and　few　events　were　more　momentous；　at　least　in　my　life。　It　came　in　a　brown　wrapper；　all　the　way　from　Chicago；　and　was　required　by　Gran　to　be　kept　at　the　end　of　the　kitchen　table；　next　to　the　radio　and　the　family　Bible。　The　women　studied　the　clothes　and　the　home　furnishings。　The　men　scrutinized　the　tools　and　auto　supplies。　But　I　dwelt　on　the　important　sections…toys　and　sporting　goods。　I　made　secret　Christmas　lists　in　my　mind。　I　was　afraid　to　write　down　all　the　things　I　dreamed　of。　Someone　might　find　such　a　list　and　think　I　was　either　hopelessly　greedy　or　mentally　ill。
　　　On　page　308　of　the　current　catalog　was　an　incredible　ad　for　baseball　warm…up　jackets。　There　was　one　for　almost　every　professional　team。　What　made　the　ad　so　amazing　was　that　the　young　man　doing　the　modeling　was　wearing　a　Cardinals　jacket；　and　it　was　in　color。　A　bright　Cardinal　red；　in　some　type　of　shiny　fabric；　white　buttons　down　the　front。　Of　all　the　teams；　someone　with　uncanny　wisdom　at　Sears；　Roebuck　had　picked　the　Cardinals　to　display。
　　　It　cost　7。50；　plus　shipping。　And　it　came　in　children's　sizes；　which　presented　another　quandary　because　I　was　bound　to　grow　and　I　wanted　to　wear　the　jacket　for　the　rest　of　my　life。
　　　Ten　days　of　hard　labor；　and　I'd　have　enough　money　to　purchase　the　jacket。　I　was　certain　nothing　like　it　had　ever　been　seen　in　Black　Oak；　Arkansas。　My　mother　said　it　was　a　bit　gaudy；　whatever　that　meant。　My　father　said　I　needed　boots。　Pappy　thought　it　was　a　waste　of　money；　but　I　could　tell　he　secretly　admired　it。
　　　At　the　first　hint　of　cool　weather　I　would　wear　the　jacket　to　school　every　day；　and　to　church　on　Sundays。　I　would　wear　it　to　town　on　Saturdays；　a　bolt　of　bright　red　amid　the　drearily　clad　throngs　loitering　on　the　sidewalks。　I　would　wear　it　everywhere；　and　I'd　be　the　envy　of　every　kid　in　Black　Oak　（and　a　lot　of　adults；　too）。
　　　They　would　never　have　the　chance　to　play　for　the　Cardinals。　I；　on　the　other　hand；　would　bee　famous　in　St。　Louis。　It　was　important　to　start　looking　the　part。
　　　〃Lucas！〃　a　stern　voice　shot　through　the　stillness　of　the　fields。　Stalks　were　snapping　nearby。
　　　〃Yes　sir；〃　I　said；　jumping　to　my　feet；　keeping　low；　thrusting　my　hands　at　the　nearest　bolls　of　cotton。
　　　My　father　was　suddenly　standing　over　me。　〃What　are　you　doing？〃　he　asked。
　　　〃I　had　to　pee；〃　I　said；　without　stopping　my　hands。
　　　〃It　took　a　long　time；〃　he　said；　unconvinced。
　　　〃Yes　sir。　It's　all　that　coffee。〃　I　looked　up　at　him。　He　knew　the　truth。
　　　〃Try　to　keep　up；〃　he　said；　turning　around　and　walking　away。
　　　〃Yes　sir；〃　I　said　to　his　back；　knowing　I　could　never　keep　up　with　him。
　　　
　　　A　twelve…foot　sack　like　the　adults　used　held　about　sixty　pounds　of　cotton；　so　by　eight…thirty　or　nine　o'clock　the　men　were　ready　to　weigh。　Pappy　and　my　father　were　in　charge　of　the　scales；　which　hung　from　the　end　of　the　trailer。　The　sacks　were　hoisted　upward　to　one　of　them。　The　straps　were　looped　over　the　hooks　at　the　bottom　of　the　scales。　The　needle　sprang　around　like　the　long　hand　of　a　large　clock。　Everyone　could　see　how　much　each　person　picked。
　　　Pappy　recorded　the　data　in　a　small　book　near　the　scales。　Then　the　cotton　sack　was　shoved　even　higher　and　emptied　into　the　trailer。　No　time　for　a　rest。　You　caught　the　empty　sack　when　it　was　tossed　down。　You　selected　another　row　and　disappeared　for　another　two　hours。
　　　I　was　in　the　middle　of　an　endless　row　of　cotton；　sweating；　boiling　in　the　sun；　bending　at　the　shoulders；　trying　to　be　fast　with　my　hands；　and　stopping　occasionally　to　monitor　the　movements　of　Pappy　and　my　father　so　that　maybe　I　could　arrange　another　nap。　But　there　was　never　an　opportunity　to　drop　my　sack。　Instead；　I　plowed　ahead；　working　hard；　waiting　for　the　sack　to　get　heavy；　and　wondering　for　the　first　time　if　I　really　needed　the　Cardinals　jacket。
　　　After　an　eternity　alone　in　the　fields；　I　heard　the　John　Deere　fire　up；　and　I　knew　it　was　time　for　lunch。　Though　I　had　not　pleted　my　first　row；　I　didn't　really　care　about　my　lack　of　progress。　We　met　at　the　tractor；　and　I　saw　Trot　curled　in　a　knot　on　the　flat　deck　trailer。　Mrs。　Spruill　and　Tally　were　patting　him。　At　first　I　thought　he　might　be　dead；　then　he　moved　a　little。　〃The　heat　got　him；〃　my　father　whispered　to　me；　as　he　took　my　sack　and　whirled　it　around　over　his　shoulder　as　if　it　were　empty。
　　　I　followed　him　to　the　scales；　where　Pappy　quickly　weighed　it。　All　that　back…numbing　labor　for　thirty…one　pounds　of　cotton。
　　　When　the　Mexicans　and　Spruills　were　accounted　for；　we　all　headed　for　the　house。　Lunch　was　at　noon　sharp。　My　mother　and　Gran　had　left　the　fields　an　hour　earlier　to　prepare　it。
　　　From　my　perch　on　the　John　Deere；　I　clutched　the　umbrella　stand　with　my　scratched　and　sore　left　hand　and　watched　the　field　workers　bounce　along。　Mr。　and　Mrs。　Spruill　were　holding　Trot；　who　was　still　lifeless　and　pale。　Tally　sat　nearby；　her　long　legs　stretched　across　the　deck　of　the　trailer。　Bo；　Dale；　and　Hank　seemed　unconcerned　about　poor　Trot。　Like　everyone　else；　they　were　hot　and　tired　and　ready　for　a　break。
　　　On　the　other　side；　the　Mexicans　sat　in　a　row；　shoulder　to　shoulder；　feet　hanging　off　the　side　and　almost　dragging　the　ground。　A　couple　of　them　wore　no　shoes　or　boots。
　　　When　we　were　nearly　at　the　barn；　I　saw　something　that　at　first　I　couldn't　believe。　Cowboy；　sitting　at　the　very　end　of　the　short　trailer；　turned　quickly；　and　glanced　at　Tally。　She　seemed　to　have　been　waiting　for　him　to　look；　because　she　gave　him　one　of　her　pretty　little　smiles；　similar　to　the　ones　I'd　been　getting。　Though　he　didn't　return　the　smile；　it　was　obvious　he　was　pleased。
　　　It　happened　in　a　flash；　and　nobody　saw　it　but　me。
　
　
　Chapter　5
　　　
　　　According　to　Gran　and　my　mother；　conspiring　together；　the　early　afternoon　nap　was　crucial　to　the　proper　growth　of　a　child。　I　believed　this　only　when　we　were　picking　cotton。　For　the　rest　of　the　year；　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　a