jg.paintedhouse-第13章

按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！


m　my　prized　perch　next　to　his　seat。　Of　particular　interest　this　morning　was　any　activity　between　the　loathsome　Cowboy　and　my　beloved　Tally。　I　didn't　notice　any。　Everyone　was　in　a　daze；　eyes　half…open　and　downcast；　dreading　another　day　of　sun　and　drudgery。
　　　The　trailer　rocked　and　swayed　as　we　slowly　made　our　way　into　the　white　fields。　As　I　gazed　at　the　fields　of　cotton；　I　couldn't　think　of　my　shiny　red　Cardinals　baseball　jacket。　I　tried　mightily　to　pull　up　images　of　the　great　Musial　and　his　muscled　teammates　running　across　the　manicured　green　grass　of　Sportsman's　Park。　I　tried　to　imagine　all　of　them　clad　in　their　red　and　white　uniforms　with　some　no　doubt　wearing　baseball　jackets　just　like　the　one　in　the　Sears；　Roebuck　catalog。　I　tried　to　picture　these　scenes　because　they　never　failed　to　inspire　me；　but　the　tractor　stopped；　and　all　I　could　see　was　the　looming　cotton；　just　standing　there；　row　after　row；　waiting。
　　　
　　　Last　year；　Juan　had　revealed　to　me　the　pleasures　of　Mexican　food；　especially　tortillas。　The　workers　ate　them　three　times　a　day；　so　I　figured　they　must　be　good。　I'd　eaten　lunch　one　day　with　Juan　and　his　group；　after　I'd　eaten　in　our　house。　He'd　fixed　me　two　tortillas；　and　I'd　devoured　them。　Three　hours　later　I　was　on　hands　and　knees　under　the　cotton　trailer；　as　sick　as　a　dog。　I　was　scolded　by　every　Chandler　present；　my　mother　leading　the　pack。
　　　〃You　can't　eat　their　food！〃　she　said　with　as　much　scorn　as　I'd　ever　heard。
　　　〃Why　not？〃　I　asked。
　　　〃Because　it's　not　clean。〃
　　　I　was　expressly　forbidden　to　eat　anything　cooked　by　the　Mexicans。　And　this；　of　course；　made　the　tortillas　taste　even　better。　I　got　caught　again　when　Pappy　made　a　surprise　appearance　at　the　barn　to　check　on　Isabel。　My　father　took　me　behind　the　tool　shed　and　whipped　me　with　his　belt。　I　laid　off　the　tortillas　for　as　long　as　I　could。
　　　But　a　new　chef　was　with　us；　and　I　was　eager　to　measure　Miguel's　food　against　Juan's。　After　lunch；　when　I　was　certain　everyone　was　asleep；　I　sneaked　out　the　kitchen　door　and　walked　nonchalantly　toward　the　barn。　It　was　a　dangerous　little　excursion　because　Pappy　and　Gran　did　not　nap　well；　even　when　they　were　exhausted　from　the　fields。
　　　The　Mexicans　were　sprawled　in　the　shade　of　the　north　end　of　the　barn；　most　of　them　sleeping　on　the　grass。　Miguel　knew　I　was　ing　because　we'd　talked　for　a　moment　earlier　in　the　morning　when　we　met　to　get　our　cotton　weighed。　His　haul　was　seventy　pounds；　mine　was　fifteen。
　　　He　knelt　over　the　coals　of　a　small　fire　and　warmed　a　tortilla　in　a　skillet。　He　flipped　it；　and　when　it　was　brown　on　one　side；　he　added　a　thin　layer　of　salsa…finely　chopped　tomatoes　and　onions　and　peppers；　all　from　our　garden。　It　also　contained　jalapenos　and　chopped　red　peppers　that　had　never　been　grown　in　the　state　of　Arkansas。　These　the　Mexicans　imported　themselves　in　their　little　bags。
　　　A　couple　of　the　Mexicans　were　interested　in　the　fact　that　I　wanted　a　tortilla。　The　rest　of　them　were　working　hard　at　their　siestas。　Cowboy　was　nowhere　to　be　seen。　Standing　at　the　corner　of　the　barn；　with　a　full　view　of　the　house　and　any　Chandler　who　might　e　looking；　I　ate　a　tortilla。　It　was　hot　and　spicy　and　messy。　I　couldn't　tell　any　difference　between　Juan's　and　Miguel's。　They　were　both　delicious。　Miguel　asked　if　I　wanted　another；　and　I　could　easily　have　eaten　one。　But　I　didn't　want　to　take　their　food。　They　were　all　small　and　skinny　and　dirt…poor；　and　last　year　when　I　got　caught　and　the　adults　took　turns　scolding　me　and　heaping　untold　measures　of　shame　upon　me；　Gran　had　been　creative　enough　to　invent　the　sin　of　taking　food　from　the　less　fortunate。　As　Baptists；　we　were　never　short　on　sins　to　haunt　us。
　　　I　thanked　him　and　crept　back　to　the　house　and　onto　the　front　porch　without　waking　a　single　Spruill。　I　curled　into　the　swing　as　if　I'd　been　napping　all　along。　No　one　was　stirring；　but　I　couldn't　sleep。　A　breeze　came　from　nowhere；　and　I　daydreamed　of　a　lazy　afternoon　on　the　porch；　no　cotton　to　be　picked；　nothing　to　do　but　maybe　fish　in　the　St。　Francis　and　catch　pop　flies　in　the　front　yard。
　　　The　work　almost　killed　me　during　the　afternoon。　Late　in　the　day；　I　limped　toward　the　cotton　trailer；　lugging　my　harvest　behind　me；　hot　and　thirsty；　soaked　with　sweat；　my　fingers　swollen　from　the　tiny　shallow　punctures　inflicted　by　the　burrs。　I　already　had　forty…one　pounds　for　the　day。　My　quota　was　still　fifty；　and　I　was　certain　I　had　at　least　ten　pounds　in　my　sack。　I　was　hoping　my　mother　would　be　somewhere　near　the　scales　because　she　would　insist　that　I　be　allowed　to　quit　and　go　to　the　house。　Both　Pappy　and　my　father　would　send　me　back　for　more；　quota　or　not。
　　　Only　those　two　were　allowed　to　weigh　the　cotton；　and　if　they　happened　to　be　deep　in　a　row　somewhere；　then　you　got　a　break　while　they　worked　their　way　back　to　the　trailer。　I　saw　neither　of　them；　and　the　idea　of　a　nap　flashed　before　me。
　　　The　Spruills　had　gathered　at　the　east　end　of　the　trailer；　in　the　shade。　They　were　sitting　on　their　bulky　cotton　sacks；　resting　and　looking　at　Trot；　who；　as　far　as　I　could　tell；　hadn't　moved　more　than　ten　feet　during　the　entire　day。
　　　I　freed　myself　from　the　shoulder　strap　of　my　cotton　sack　and　walked　to　the　end　of　the　trailer。　〃Howdy；〃　one　of　the　Spruills　said。
　　　〃How's　Trot？〃　I　asked。
　　　〃Reckon　he'll　be　all　right；〃　Mr。　Spruill　said。　They　were　eating　crackers　and　Vienna　sausages；　a　favorite　pick…me…up　in　the　fields。　Sitting　next　to　Trot　was　Tally；　who　pletely　ignored　me。
　　　〃You　got　anything　to　eat；　boy？〃　Hank　suddenly　demanded；　his　liquid　eyes　flashing　at　me。　For　a　second　I　was　too　surprised　to　say　anything。　Mrs。　Spruill　shook　her　head　and　studied　the　ground。
　　　〃Do　you？〃　he　demanded；　shifting　his　weight　so　that　he　faced　me　squarely。
　　　〃Uh；　no；〃　I　managed　to　say。
　　　〃You　mean　'No　sir；'　don't　you；　boy？〃　he　said　angrily。
　　　〃e　on；　Hank；〃　Tally　said。　The　rest　of　the　family　seemed　to　withdraw。　All　heads　were　lowered。
　　　〃No　sir；〃　I　said。
　　　〃No　sir　what？〃　His　voice　was　sharper。　It　was　obvious　Hank　enjoyed　picking　fights。　They'd　probably　been　through　this　many　times。
　　　〃No　sir；〃　I　said　again。
　　　〃You　farm　people　are　right　uppity；　you　know　that？　You　think　you're　better　than　us　hill　folk　'cause　you　have　this　land　and　'cause　you　pay　us　to　work　it。　Ain't　that　right；　boy？〃
　　　〃That's　enough；　Hank；〃　Mr。　Spruill　said；　but　he　lacked　conviction。　I　suddenly　hoped　Pappy　or　my　father　would　appear。　I　was　ready　for　these　people　to　leave　our　farm。
　　　My　throat　constricted；　and　my　lower　lip　began　to　shake。　I　was　hurt　and　embarrassed　and　didn't　know　what　to　say。
　　　Hank　wasn't　about　to　be　quiet。　He　reclined　on　an　elbow；　and　with　a　nasty　smile　said；　〃We're　just　one　notch　above　them　wetbacks；　ain't　we；　boy？　Just　hired　labor。　Just　a　bunch　of　hillbillies　who　drink　moonshine　and　marry　our　sisters。　Ain't　that　right；　boy？〃
　　　He　paused　for　a　split　second　as　if　he　really　wanted　me　to　respond。　I　was　tempted　to　run　away；　but　I　just　stared　at　my　boots。　The　rest　of　the　Spruills　may　have　felt　sorry　for　me；　but　none　of　them　came　to　my　rescue。
　　　〃We　got　a　house　nicer　than　yours；　boy。　You　believe　that？　A　lot　nicer。〃
　　　〃Quiet　down；　Hank；〃　Mrs。　Spruill　said。
　　　〃It's　bigger；　got　a　long　front　porch；　got　a　tin　roof　without　tar　patches；　and　you　know　what　else　it's　got？　You　ain't　gonna　believe　this；　boy；　but　our　house's　got　paint　on　it。　White　paint。　You　ever　see　paint；　boy？〃
　　　With　that；　Bo　and　Dale；　the　two　teenagers　who　rarely　made　a　sound；　began　chuckling　to　themselves；　as　if　they　wanted　to　appease　Hank　while　not　offending　Mrs。　Spruill。
　　　〃Make　him　stop；　Momma；〃　Tally　said；　and　my　humiliation　was　interrupted；　if　only　for　a　second。
　　　I　looked　at　Trot；　and　to　my　surprise　he　was　resting　on　his　elbows；　his　eyes　as　wide　as　I'd　ever　seen　them；　absorbing　this　one…sided　little　confrontation。　He　seemed　to　be　enjoying　it。
　　　Hank　gave　a　goofy　grin　to　Bo　and　Dale；　and　they　laughed　even　louder。　Mr。　Spruill　also　looked　amused　now。　Perhaps　he'd　been　called　a　hillbilly　once　too　often。
　　　〃Why　don't　you　sodbusters　paint　your　houses？〃　Hank　boomed　in　my　direction。
　　　The　word　〃sodbusters〃　hit　their　nerves。　Bo　and　Dale　shook　with　laughter。　Hank　bellowed　at　his　own　punch　line。　The　entire　bunch　seemed　on　the　verge　of　knee…slapping　when　Trot　said；　with　as　much　volume　as　he