jg.paintedhouse-第11部分

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s　and　mills　roared　with　a　noisy　precision　that　could　be　heard　throughout　Black　Oak。
　　　I　saw　the　Montgomery　twins　throwing　rocks　at　the　weeds　beside　the　gin；　and　I　joined　them。　We　pared　stories　about　Mexicans　and　told　lies　about　how　much　cotton　we'd　personally　picked。　It　was　dark；　and　the　line　of　trailers　moved　slowly。
　　　〃My　pop　says　cotton　prices　are　goin'　down；〃　Dan　Montgomery　said　as　he　tossed　a　rock　into　the　darkness。　〃Says　the　cotton　traders　in　Memphis　are　pushin'　down　prices　'cause　there's　so　much　cotton。〃
　　　〃It's　a　big　crop；〃　I　said。　The　Montgomery　twins　wanted　to　be　farmers　when　they　grew　up。　I　felt　sorry　for　them。
　　　When　the　rains　flooded　the　land　and　wiped　out　the　crops；　the　prices　went　up　because　the　traders　in　Memphis　couldn't　get　enough　cotton。　But　the　farmers；　of　course；　had　nothing　to　sell。　And　when　the　rains　cooperated　and　the　crops　were　huge；　the　prices　went　down　because　the　traders　in　Memphis　had　too　much　cotton。　The　poor　people　who　labored　in　the　fields　didn't　make　enough　to　pay　their　crop　loans。
　　　Good　crops　or　bad　crops；　it　didn't　make　any　difference。
　　　We　talked　baseball　for　a　while。　The　Montgomerys　did　not　own　a　radio；　so　their　knowledge　of　the　Cardinals　was　limited。　Again；　I　felt　sorry　for　them。
　　　When　we　left　the　gin；　Pappy　had　nothing　to　say。　The　wrinkles　in　his　forehead　were　closer　together；　and　his　chin　was　jutting　out　a　bit；　so　I　knew　he'd　heard　bad　news。　I　assumed　it　had　something　to　do　with　the　price　of　cotton。
　　　I　said　nothing　as　we　left　Black　Oak。　When　the　lights　were　behind　us；　I　laid　my　head　on　the　window　opening　so　the　wind　would　hit　my　lace。　The　air　was　hot　and　still；　and　I　wanted　Pappy　to　drive　faster　so　we　could　cool　off。
　　　I　would　listen　more　closely　for　the　next　few　days。　I'd　give　the　adults　time　to　whisper　among　themselves；　then　I'd　ask　my　mother　what　was　going　on。
　　　If　it　involved　bad　news　about　farming；　she　would　eventually　tell　me。
　
　
　Chapter　7
　　　
　　　Saturday　morning。　At　sunrise；　with　Mexicans　on　one　side　and　the　Spruills　on　the　other；　we　were　in　the　trailer　moving　toward　the　fields。　I　kept　close　to　my　father；　for　fear　that　the　monster　Hank　might　e　after　me　again。　I　hated　all　the　Spruills　that　morning；　perhaps　with　the　exception　of　Trot；　my　lone　defender。　They　ignored　me。　I　hoped　they　were　ashamed　of　themselves。
　　　I　tried　not　to　think　about　the　Spruills　as　we　moved　through　the　fields。　It　was　Saturday。　A　magical　day　for　all　the　poor　souls　who　toiled　the　land。　On　the　Chandler　farm；　we'd　work　half　a　day；　then　head　for　town　to　join　all　the　other　farmers　and　their　families　who　went　there　。！　to　buy　food　and　supplies；　to　mix　and　mingle　along　Main　Street；　to　catch　the　gossip；　to　escape　for　a　few　hours　the　drudgery　of　the　cotton　patch。　The　Mexicans　and　the　hill　people　went；　too。　The　men　would　gather　in　groups　in　front　of　the　Tea　Shoppe　and　the　Co…op　and　pare　crops　and　tell　stories　about　floods。　The　women　would　pack　into　Pop　and　Pearl's　and　take　forever　buying　a　few　groceries。　The　kids　were　allowed　to　roam　the　sidewalks　on　Main　Street　and　its　neighboring　alleys　until　four　o'clock；　that　wonderful　hour　when　the　Dixie　opened　for　the　matinee。
　　　When　the　trailer　stopped；　we　hopped　off　and　found　our　cotton　sacks。　I　was　half　asleep；　not　paying　attention　to　anything　in　particular；　when　the　sweetest　voice　said；　〃Good　mornin'；　Luke。〃　It　was　Tally；　just　standing　there　smiling　at　me。　It　was　her　way　of　saying　she　was　sorry　for　yesterday。
　　　Because　I　was　a　Chandler；　I　was　capable　of　deep　stubbornness。　I　turned　my　back　to　her　and　walked　away。　I　told　myself　I　hated　all　Spruills。　I　attacked　the　first　row　of　cotton　as　if　I　might　just　wipe　out　forty　acres　before　lunch。　After　a　few　minutes；　though；　I　was　tired。　I　was　lost　in　the　stalks；　in　the　dark；　and　I　could　still　hear　her　voice　and　see　her　smile。
　　　She　was　only　ten　years　older　than　I　was。
　　　
　　　The　Saturday　bath　was　a　ritual　I　hated　more　than　all　others。　It　took　place　after　lunch；　under　the　stern　supervision　of　my　mother。　The　tub；　hardly　big　enough　for　me；　was　used　later　in　the　day　by　each　member　of　the　family。　It　was　kept　in　a　remote　corner　of　the　back　porch；　shielded　from　view　by　an　old　bedsheets。
　　　First；　I　had　to　haul　the　water　from　the　pump　to　the　back　porch；　where　I　filled　the　tub　about　a　third　full。　This　took　eight　trips　with　a　bucket；　and　I　was　exhausted　before　the　bath　began。　Then　I　pulled　the　bedsheets　across　the　porch　and　stripped　naked　with　remarkable　speed。　The　water　was　very　cold。
　　　With　a　bar　of　store…bought　soap　and　a　washcloth；　I　worked　furiously　to　remove　dirt　and　make　bubbles　and　otherwise　cloud　the　water　so　my　mother　couldn't　see　my　privates　when　she　came　to　direct　matters。　She　appeared　first　to　collect　my　dirty　clothes；　then　to　bring　me　a　clean　change。　Then　she　went　straight　for　the　ears　and　neck。　In　her　hands　the　washcloth　became　a　weapon。　She　scraped　my　tender　skin　as　if　the　soil　I　collected　working　in　the　fields　offended　her。　Throughout　the　process；　she　continued　to　marvel　at　how　dirty　I　could　get。
　　　When　my　neck　was　raw；　she　attacked　my　hair　as　if　it　were　filled　with　lice　and　gnats。　She　poured　cold　water　from　the　bucket　over　my　head　to　rinse　off　the　soap。　My　humiliation　was　plete　when　she　finished　scouring　my　arms　and　feet…mercifully；　she　left　the　midsection　for　me。
　　　The　water　was　muddy　when　I　hopped　out…a　week's　worth　of　dirt　collected　from　the　Arkansas　Delta。　I　pulled　the　plug　and　watched　it　seep　through　the　cracks　of　the　porch　as　I　toweled　off　and　stepped　into　my　clean　overalls。　I　felt　fresh　and　clean　and　five　pounds　lighter；　and　I　was　ready　for　town。
　　　Pappy　decided　that　his　truck　would　make　only　one　run　to　Black　（）ak。　That　meant　that　Gran　and　my　mother　would　ride　in　the　front　with　him　and　my　father　and　I　would　ride　in　the　back　with　all　ten　Mexicans。　Getting　packed　into　a　box　didn't　bother　the　Mexicans　at　all；　but　it　sure　irritated　me。
　　　As　we　drove　away；　I　watched　the　Spruills　as　they　knocked　down　poles　and　unhitched　ropes　and　hurried　about　the　business　of　freeing　their　old　truck　so　they　could　get　to　town。　Everyone　was　busy　but　Hank；　who　was　eating　something　in　the　shade。
　　　To　prevent　the　dust　from　boiling　over　the　fenders　and　choking　us　in　the　back；　Pappy　drove　less　than　five　miles　per　hour　down　our　road。　While　it　was　thoughtful　of　him；　it　didn't　help　matters　much。　We　were　hot　and　suffocating。　The　Saturday　bath　was　a　ritual　in　rural　Arkansas。　In　Mexico；　apparently；　it　was　not。
　　　
　　　On　Saturday；　some　farm　families　arrived　in　town　by　noon。　Pappy　thought　it　was　sinful　to　spend　too　much　time　enjoying　Saturday；　so　we　took　our　time　getting　there。　During　the　winter；　he　even　threatened　to　avoid　town；　except　for　church　on　Sunday。　My　mother　said　he　once　went　a　month　without　leaving　the　farm；　and　this　included　a　boycott　of　church　because　the　preacher　had　somehow　offended　him。　It　didn't　take　much　to　offend　Pappy。　But　we　were　lucky。　A　lot　of　sharecroppers　never　left　the　farm。　They　didn't　have　money　for　groceries　and　didn't　have　a　car　to　get　to　town。　And　there　were　some　renters　like　us　and　landowners　who　seldom　went　to　town。　Mr。　Clovis　Beckly　from　Caraway　hadn't　been　to　town　in　fourteen　years；　according　to　Gran。　And　he　hadn't　been　to　church　since　before　the　First　War。　I'd　heard　folks　openly　praying　for　him　during　revivals。
　　　I　loved　the　traffic　and　the　crowded　sidewalks　and　the　uncertainty　of　whom　you　might　see　next。　I　liked　the　groups　of　Mexicans　camped　under　shade　trees；　eating　ice　cream　and　greeting　their　countrymen　from　other　farms　in　excited　bursts　of　Spanish。　I　liked　the　crowds　of　strangers；　hill　people　who　would　be　gone　before　long。　Pappy　told　me　once　that　when　he　was　in　St。　Louis　before　the　First　War；　there　were　half　a　million　other　people　there　and　that　he　got　lost　just　walking　down　a　street。
　　　That　would　never　happen　to　me。　When　I　walked　down　the　streets　in　St。　Louis；　everybody　would　know　me。
　　　I　followed　my　mother　and　Gran　to　Pop　and　Pearl　Watson's。　The　men　went　to　the　Co…op　because　that's　where　all　the　farmers　went　on　Saturday　afternoon。　I　could　never　determine　exactly　what　they　did　there；　besides　gripe　about　the　price　of　cotton　and　fret　over　the　weather。
　　　Pearl　was　busy　at　the　cash　register。　〃Hi；　Mrs。　Watson；〃　I　said　when　I　could　get　close　enough。　The　store　was　packed　with　women　and　Mexicans。
　　　〃Well；　hello；　Luke；〃　she　said　as　she　winked　at　me。　〃How's　the　cotton？〃　she　asked。　It　was　the　same　question　you　heard　over　and　over。
　　　〃Pickin'　well；〃　I　said；　as　if　I'd　hauled　in　a　ton。
　　　It　took　Gran　and　my　mother　an　hour　to　buy　five　pounds　of　flour；　two　pounds　of　sugar；　two　pounds　of　coffee；　a　bottle　of　vinegar；　a　pound　of　table　salt；　and　two　bars　of　soap。　The　aisles　were　crowded　with　women　more　concerned　with　saying　hello　than　with　buying　food。　They　talked　about　their　gardens　and　the　weather　and　church　the　next　day；　and　about　who　was　definitely　having　a　baby　and　who　might　be。　They　prattled　on　about　a　funeral　here；　a　revival　there；　an　uping　wedding。
　　　Not　one　word　about　the　Cardinals。
　　　My　only　chore　in　town　was　to　haul　the　groceries　back　to　the　truck。　When　this　was　acplished；　I　was　free　to　roam　Main　Street　and　its　alleys　without　being　supervised。　I　moved　with　the　languid　foot　traffic　toward　the　north　end　of　Black　Oak；　past　the　Co…op；　past　the　drugstore　and　the　hardware　store　and　the　Tea　Shoppe。　Along　the　sidewalk；　packs　of　people　stood　gossiping；　with　no　intention　of　moving。　Telephones　were　scarce；　and　there　were　only　a　few　televisions　in　the　county；　so　Saturday　was　meant　for　catching　up　on　the　latest　news　and　events。
　　　I　found　my　friend　Dewayne　Pinter　trying　to　convince　his　mother　that　he　should　be　free　to　roam。　Dewayne　was　a　year　older　than　I　was　but　still　in　the　second　grade。　His　father　let　him　drive　their　tractor　around　the　farm；　and　this　elevated　his　status　among　all　second　graders　at　the　Black　Oak　School。　The　Pinters　were　Baptists　and　Cardinals　fans；　but　for　some　unknown　reason；　Pappy　still　didn't　like　them。
　　　〃Good　afternoon；　Luke；〃　Mrs。　Pinter　said　to　me。
　　　〃Hello；　Mrs。　Pinter。〃
　　　〃Where's　your　mother？〃　she　asked；　looking　behind　me。
　　　〃I　think　she's　still　at　the　drugstore。　I'm　not　sure。〃
　　　With　that；　Dewayne　was　able　to　tear　himself　away。　If　I　could　be　trusted　to　walk　the　streets　alone；　then　so　could　he。　As　we　walked　off；　Mrs。　Pinter　was　still　barking　instructions。　We　went　to　the　Dixie；　where　the　older　kids　were　hanging　out　and　waiting　for　four　o'clock。　In　my　pocket　I　had　a　few　coins…five　cents　for　the　matinee；　five　cents　for　a　Coca…Cola；　three　cents　for　popcorn。　My　mother　had　given　me　I　he　money　as　an　advance　against　what　I　would　earn　picking　cotton。　I　was　supposed　to　pay　it　back　one　day；　but　she　and　I　both　knew　it　would　never　happen。　If　Pappy　tried　to　collect　it；　he　would　have　to　step　around　Mom。
　　　Evidently　Dewayne　had　had　a　better　week　with　the　cotton　than　I　had。　He　had　a　pocket　full　of　dimes　and　couldn't　wait　to　show　them　off。　His　family　also　rented　land；　and　they　owned　twenty　acres　outright；　a　lot　more　than　the　Chandlers。
　　　A　freckle…faced　girl　named　Brenda　lingered　near　us；　trying　to　start　a　conversation　with　Dewayne。　She'd　told　all　of　her　friends　that　she　wanted　to　marry　him。　She　was　making　his　life　unbearable　by　following　him　around　at　church；　shadowing　him　every　Saturday　up　and　down　Main　Street；　and　always　asking　if　he　would　sit　by　her　at　the　mo