jg.paintedhouse-第69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！
he approved or not； and I'm not sure that it mattered anymore。 There was no spring in his step； no purpose to his movement。 Pappy was just another beaten farmer in the midst of losing yet another cotton crop。
My parents returned from the garden with the baskets laden with produce。 〃Well； if it isn't Tom Sawyer；〃 my mother said to me。
〃Who's he？〃 I asked。
〃I'll tell you the story tonight。〃
They placed the baskets on the porch； careful to avoid the painting area； and went inside。 All the adults were gathered in the kitchen； and I wondered if they were talking about me and the Mexicans。 Gran appeared with a pitcher of iced tea and a tray of glasses。 That was a good sign。 The Mexicans took a break and enjoyed their tea。 They thanked Gran； then immediately started bickering over who got the brushes。
The sun battled the clouds as the afternoon passed。 There were moments when its light was clear and unbroken and the air was warm； almost summerlike。 Inevitably； we would look up at the sky in hopes that the clouds were finally leaving Arkansas； never to return； or at least not until the spring。 Then the earth turned dark again； and cooler。
The clouds were winning； and we all knew it。 The Mexicans would soon be leaving our farm； just as the Spruills had。 We couldn't expect people to sit around for days； watching the sky； trying to stay dry； and not getting paid。
The paint was gone by late afternoon。 The rear of our house； including the porch； was finished； and the difference was astounding。 The brilliant； shiny boards contrasted sharply with the unpainted ones at the corner。 Tomorrow we would attack the west side； assuming I could somehow negotiate more paint。
I thanked the Mexicans。 They laughed all the way back to the barn。 They would fix and eat their tortillas； go to bed early； and hope they could pick cotton tomorrow。
I sat in the cool grass； admiring their work； not wanting to go inside because the adults were not in good spirits。 They would force a smile at me and try to say something amusing； but they were worried sick。
I wished I had a brother…younger or older； I didn't care。 My parents wanted more children； but there were problems of some sort。 I needed a friend； another kid to talk with； play with； conspire with。 I was tired of being the only little person on the farm。
And I missed Tally。 I tried valiantly to hate her； but it simply wasn't working。
Pappy walked around the corner of the house and inspected the new coat of paint。 I couldn't tell if he was upset or not。
〃Let's ride down to the creek；〃 he said； and without another word we walked to the tractor。 He started it； and we followed the ruts in the field road。 Water was standing where the tractor and cotton trailer had gone many times。 The front tires splashed mud as we chugged along。 The rear tires chewed up the ground and made the ruts deeper。 We were slogging through a field that was fast being a marsh。
The cotton itself looked pitiful。 The bolls sagged from the weight of the rainfall。 The stalks were bent from the wind。 A week of blazing sunshine might dry the ground and the cotton and allow us to finish picking； but such weather was long gone。
We turned north and crept along an even soggier trail； the same one Tally and I had walked a few times。 The creek was just ahead。
I stood slightly behind Pappy； clutching the umbrella stand and the brace above the left rear tire； and I watched the side of his face。 His jaws were clenched； his eyes were narrowed。 Other than the occasional flare of temper； he was not one to show emotion。 I'd never seen him cry or even e close。 He worried because he was a farmer； but he did not plain。 If the rains washed away our crops； then there was a reason for it。 God would protect us and provide for us through good years and bad。 As Baptists we believed God was in control of everything。
I was certain there was a reason the Cardinals lost the pennant； but I couldn't understand why God was behind it。 Why would God allow two teams from New York to play in the World Series？ It pletely baffled me。
The water was suddenly deeper in front of us； six inches up the front tires。 The trail was flooded； and for a moment I was puzzled by this。 We were near the creek。 Pappy stopped the tractor and pointed。 〃It's over the banks；〃 he said matter…of…factly； but there was defeat in his voice。 The water was ing through a thicket that once sat high above the creek bed。 Somewhere down there Tally had bathed in a cool； clear stream that had disappeared。
〃It's flooding；〃 he said。 He turned off the tractor； and we listened to the sounds of the current as it came over the sides of Siler's Creek and ran onto the bottomland that was our lower forty acres。 It got lost between the rows of cotton as it crept down the slight valley。 It would stop somewhere in the middle of the field； about halfway to our house； at a point where the land began a gentle slope upward。 There it would gather and gain depth before spreading east and west and covering most of our acreage。
I was finally seeing a flood。 There had been others but I'd been too young to remember them。 All of my young life I'd heard tall tales of rivers out of control and crops submerged； and now I was witnessing it for myself； as if for the first time。 It was frightening because once it started no one knew when it would end。 Nothing held the water； it ran wherever it wanted。 Would it reach our house？ Would the St。 Francis spill over and wipe out everyone？ Would it rain for forty days and forty nights and cause us to perish like the ones who'd laughed at Noah？
Probably not。 There was something in that story about the rainbow as God's promise to never again flood the earth。
It was certainly flooding now。 The sight of a rainbow was almost a holy event in our lives； but we hadn't seen one in weeks。 I didn't understand how God could allow such things to happen。
Pappy had been to the creek at least three times during the day； watching and waiting and probably praying。
〃When did it start？〃 I asked。
〃I reckon an hour ago。 Don't know for sure。〃
I wanted to ask when it would stop； but I already knew the answer。
〃It's backwater；〃 he said。 〃The St。 Francis is too full； there's no place for it to go。〃
We watched it for a long time。 It poured forth and came toward us； rising a few inches on the front tires。 After a while I was anxious to head back。 Pappy； however； was not。 His worries and fears were being confirmed； and he was mesmerized by what he was seeing。
In late March； he and my father had begun plowing the fields； turning over the soil； burying the stalks and roots and leaves from the previous crop。 They were happy then； pleased to be outdoors after a long hibernation。 They watched the weather and studied the almanac； and they had begun hanging around the Co…op to hear what the other farmers were saying。 They planted in early May if the weather was right。 May 15 was an absolute deadline for putting the cotton seeds in the ground。 My contribution to the operation began in early June； when school was out and weeds began sprouting。 They gave me a hoe； pointed me in the right direction； and for many hours a day I chopped cotton； a task almost as hard and mind…numbing as picking the stuff。 All summer as the cotton and the weeds around it grew； we chopped。 If the cotton bloomed by July 4； then it was going to be a bumper crop。 By late August we were ready to pick。 By early September we were searching for hill people and trying to line up some Mexicans。
And now； in mid…October； we were watching it get swept away。 All the labor； the sweat and sore muscles； all the money invested in seed and fertilizer and fuel； all the hopes and plans； everything was now being lost to the backwaters of the St。 Francis River。
We waited； but the flood did not stop。 In fact the front tires of the tractor were half…covered with water when Pappy at last started the engine。 There was barely enough light to see。 The trail was covered with water； and at the rate the flood was spreading we'd lose the lower forty by sunrise。
I had never witnessed such silence over supper。 Not even Gran could find anything pleasant to say。 I played with my bu
