jg.paintedhouse-第34部分

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　　　For　a　few　minutes　we　were　too　stunned　and　too　frightened　to　say　much。
　　　I　studied　the　clouds　in　all　directions；　determined　not　to　be　blind…sided　again。　I　wasn't　the　only　one　cutting　my　eyes　around。
　　　Then　it　started　raining　once　more；　and　we　went　to　the　house。
　　　
　　　The　storm　raged　for　two　hours　and　threw　almost　everything　in　nature's　arsenal　at　us：　gale…force　winds　and　blinding　rains；　twisters；　hail；　and　lightning　so　quick　and　so　close　that　we　hid　under　our　beds　at　times。　The　Spruills　took　refuge　in　our　living　room；　while　we　cowered　throughout　the　rest　of　the　house。　My　mother　kept　me　close。　She　was　deathly　afraid　of　storms　and　that　made　the　entire　ordeal　even　worse。　I　wasn't　exactly　sure　how　we　would　die…blown　away　by　the　wind　or　seared　by　a　lightning　bolt　or　swept　away　by　the　water…but　it　was　obvious　to　me　that　the　end　had　e。　My　father　slept　through　most　of　it；　though；　and　his　indifference　was　a　great　fort。　He'd　lived　in　foxholes　and　been　shot　at　by　the　Germans；　so　nothing　frightened　him。　The　three　of　us　lay　on　the　floor　of　their　bedroom…my　father　snoring；　my　mother　praying；　and　me　in　the　middle　listening　to　the　sounds　of　the　storm。　I　thought　of　Noah　and　his　forty　days　of　rain；　and　I　waited　for　our　little　house　to　simply　lift　up　and　begin　floating。
　　　
　　　When　the　rain　and　wind　finally　passed；　we　went　outside　to　survey　the　destruction。　Other　than　wet　cotton；　there　was　surprisingly　little　damage…several　scattered　tree　branches；　the　usual　washed…out　gullies；　and　some　ripped…up　tomato　plants　in　the　garden。　The　cotton　would　be　dry　by　the　next　morning；　and　we'd　be　back　in　business。
　　　During　a　late　lunch　Pappy　said；　〃I　reckon　I　better　go　check　on　the　gin。〃　We　were　anxious　to　get　to　town。　What　if　it　had　been　leveled　by　the　twister？
　　　〃I'd　like　to　see　the　church；〃　Gran　said。
　　　〃Me；　too；〃　I　said。
　　　〃Why　do　you　wanna　see　the　church？〃　my　father　asked。
　　　〃To　see　if　the　twister　got　it。〃
　　　〃Let's　go；〃　Pappy　said；　and　we　jumped　from　our　chairs。　The　dishes　were　piled　into　the　sink　and　left　unwashed；　something　I'd　never　seen　before。
　　　Our　road　was　nothing　but　mud；　and　in　places　large　sections　had　been　washed　away。　We　slipped　and　slid　for　a　quarter　of　a　mile　until　we　came　to　a　crater。　Pappy　rammed　it　in　low　and　tried　to　plow　through　the　ditch　on　the　left　side；　next　to　the　Jeters'　cotton。　The　truck　stopped　and　settled；　and　we　were　hopelessly　stuck。　My　father　hiked　back　to　the　house　to　get　the　John　Deere　while　we　waited。　As　usual；　I　was　in　the　back　of　the　truck；　and　so　I　had　plenty　of　room　to　move　around。　My　mother　was　packed　in　the　front　with　Pappy　and　Gran。　I　think　it　was　Gran　who　said　something　to　the　effect　that　perhaps　it　wasn't　such　a　good　idea　to　go　to　town　after　all。　Pappy　just　stewed。
　　　When　my　father　returned；　he　hooked　a　twenty…foot　log　chain　to　the　front　bumper　and　slowly　pulled　us　out　of　the　ditch。　The　men　had　decided　it　was　best　for　the　tractor　to　drag　us　all　the　way　to　the　bridge。　When　we　got　there；　Pappy　unhitched　the　chain；　and　my　father　rode　over　on　the　tractor。　Then　we　crossed　in　the　truck。　The　road　on　the　other　side　was　even　worse；　according　to　the　men；　so　they　rehitched　the　chain；　and　the　tractor　pulled　the　truck　for　two　miles　until　we　came　to　a　gravel　road。　We　left　the　John　Deere　there　and　headed　for　town；　if；　in　fact；　it　was　still　there。　God　only　knew　what　carnage　awaited　us。　I　could　barely　conceal　my　excitement。
　　　We　finally　made　it　to　the　highway；　and　when　we　turned　toward　Black　Oak；　we　left　a　long　trail　of　mud　on　the　asphalt。　Why　couldn't　all　roads　be　paved？　I　asked　myself。
　　　Things　appeared　normal　as　we　drove　along。　No　flattened　trees　or　crops；　no　debris　slung　for　miles；　no　gaping　holes　through　the　landscape。　All　the　houses　seemed　to　be　in　order。　The　fields　were　empty　because　the　cotton　was　wet；　but　other　than　that；　life　had　not　been　disturbed。
　　　Standing　in　the　back　of　the　truck；　looking　over　the　cab　with　my　father；　I　strained　my　eyes　for　the　first　glimpse　of　town。　It　arrived　soon　enough。　The　gin　was　roaring　as　usual。　God　had　protected　the　church。　The　stores　along　Main　Street　were　intact。　〃Thank　God；〃　my　father　said。　I　was　not　unhappy　to　see　the　buildings　untouched；　but　things　could've　been　more　interesting。
　　　We　weren't　the　only　curious　ones。　Traffic　was　heavy　on　Main　Street；　and　people　crowded　the　sidewalks。　This　was　unheard　of　for　a　Monday。　We　parked　at　the　church；　and　once　we　determined　that　it　had　not　been　hit；　I　scampered　down　to　Pop　and　Pearl's；　where　the　foot　traffic　appeared　to　be　particularly　thick。　Mr。　Red　Fletcher　had　a　group　going；　and　I　got　there　just　in　time。
　　　According　to　Mr。　Red；　who　lived　west　of　town；　he　had　known　a　twister　was　about　to　appear　because　his　old　beagle　was　hiding　under　the　kitchen　table；　a　most　ominous　sign。　Taking　his　cue　from　his　dog；　Mr。　Red　began　studying　the　sky；　and　before　long　was　not　surprised　to　see　it　turn　black。　He　heard　the　twister　before　he　saw　it。　It　dipped　down　from　nowhere；　came　straight　for　his　farm；　and　stayed　on　the　ground　long　enough　to　flatten　two　chicken　coops　and　peel　the　roof　off　his　house。　A　piece　of　glass　struck　his　wife　and　drew　blood；　so　we　had　a　bona　fide　casualty。　Behind　me　I　heard　folks　whisper　excitedly　about　driving　out　to　the　Fletcher　place　to　inspect　the　destruction。
　　　〃What'd　it　look　like？〃　somebody　asked。
　　　〃Black　as　coal；〃　Mr。　Red　said。　〃Sounded　like　a　freight　train。〃
　　　This　was　even　more　exciting　because　our　twisters　had　been　a　light　gray　in　color；　almost　white。　His　had　been　black。　Apparently；　all　manner　of　tornadoes　had　ravaged　our　county。
　　　Mrs。　Fletcher　appeared　at　his　side；　her　arm　heavily　bandaged　and　in　a　sling；　and　we　couldn't　help　but　stare。　She　looked　as　though　she　might　just　pass　out　on　the　sidewalk。　She　displayed　her　wound　and　received　plenty　of　attention　until　Mr。　Red　realized　he'd　lost　the　audience；　so　he　stepped　forward　and　resumed　his　narrative。　He　said　his　tornado　left　the　ground　and　began　hopping　about。　He　jumped　in　his　truck　and　tried　to　follow　it。　He　gave　it　a　good　chase　through　a　driving　hailstorm　and　almost　caught　up　with　it　as　it　circled　back。
　　　Mr。　Red's　truck　was　older　than　Pappy's。　Some　of　those　in　the　crowd　began　looking　around　in　disbelief。　I　wanted　one　of　the　adults　to　ask；　〃What　were　you　gonna　do　if　you　caught　it；　Red？〃　Anyway；　he　said　he　soon　gave　up　the　chase　and　returned　home　to　see　about　Mrs。　Fletcher。　When　he　had　seen　it　last；　his　tornado　was　headed　straight　for　town。
　　　Pappy　told　me　later　that　Mr。　Red　Fletcher　would　tell　a　lie　when　the　truth　sounded　better。
　　　There　was　a　lot　of　lying　that　afternoon　in　Black　Oak；　or　perhaps　just　a　lot　of　exaggerating。　Twister　stories　were　told　and　retold　from　one　end　of　Main　Street　to　the　other。　In　front　of　the　Co…op；　Pappy　described　what　we'd　seen；　and　for　the　most　part　he　stuck　to　the　facts。　The　double…twister　story　carried　the　moment　and　had　everyone's　attention　until　Mr。　Dutch　Lamb　stepped　forward　and　claimed　to　have　seen　three！　His　wife　verified　it；　and　Pappy　went　to　the　truck。
　　　By　the　time　we　left　town；　it　was　a　miracle　that　hundreds　hadn't　been　killed。
　　　The　last　of　the　clouds　were　gone　by　dark；　but　the　heat　did　not　return。　We　sat　on　the　porch　after　supper　and　waited　for　the　Cardinals。　The　air　was　clear　and　light…the　first　hint　of　autumn。
　　　Six　games　were　left；　three　against　the　Reds　and　three　against　the　Cubs；　all　to　be　played　at　home　at　Sportsman's　Park；　but　with　the　Dodgers　seven　games　in　first　place；　the　season　was　over。　Stan　the　Man　Musial　was　leading　the　league　in　batting　and　slugging；　and　he　also　had　more　hits　and　doubles　than　anybody　else。　The　Cardinals　would　not　win　the　pennant；　but　we　still　had　the　greatest　player　in　the　game。　At　home　after　a　road　trip　to　Chicago；　the　boys　were　happy　to　be　back　in　St。　Louis；　according　to　Harry　Caray；　who　often　passed　along　greetings　and　gossip　as　if　all　the　players　lived　in　his　house。
　　　Musial　hit　a　single　and　a　triple；　and　the　score　was　tied　at　three　after　nine　innings。　It　was　late；　but　we　weren't　tired。　The　storm　had　chased　us　from　the　fields；　and　the　cool　weather　was　something　to　be　savored。　The　Spruills　were　sitting　around　a　fire；　talking　softly　and　enjoying　a　moment　without　Hank。　He　often　disappeared　after　supper。
　　　In　the　bottom　of　the　tenth；　Red　Schoendienst　singled；　and　when　Stan　Musial　came　to　the　plate；　the　fans　went　wild；　according　to　Harry　Caray；　who；　as　Pappy　said；　often　watched　one　game　and　described　another。　The　attendance　was　fewer　than　ten　thousand；　we　could　tell　the　crowd　was　slim。　But　Harry　was　making　enough　noise　for　the　other　twenty　thousand。　After　148　games；　he　was　just　as　excited　as　he'd　been　on　opening　day。　Musial　ripped　a　double；　his　third　hit　of　the　game；　scoring　Schoendienst　and　winning　it　four　to　three。
　　　A　month　earlier　we　would　have　celebrated；　along　with　Harry；　on　the　front　porch。　I　would　have　sprinted　around　the　bases　in　the　yard；　sliding　into　second；　just　like　Stan　the　Man。　Such　a　dramatic　victory　would　have　sent　us　all　to　bed　happy；　though　Pappy　would　still　want　to　fire　the　manager。
　　　But　things　were　different　now。　The　win　meant　little；　the　season　was　ending　with　the　Cardinals　in　third　place。　The　front　yard　had　been　overwhelmed　by　the　Spruills。　Summer　was　gone。
　　　Pappy　turned　off　the　radio　with　Harry　winding　down。　〃There's　no　way　Baumholtz　can　catch　him；〃　Pappy　said。　Frankie　Baumholtz　of　the　Cubs　was　six　points　behind　Musial　in　the　race　for　the　hitting　title。
　　　My　father　grunted　his　agreement。　The　men　had　been　quieter　than　usual　during　the　game。　The　storms　and　cool　weather　had　struck　them　like　an　illness。　The　seasons　were　changing；　yet　nearly　one　third　of　the　cotton　was　still　out　there。　We'd　had　near　perfect　weather　for　seven　months；　surely　it　was　time　for　a　change。
　
　
　Chapter　21
　　　
　　　Autumn　lasted　less　than　twenty…four　hours。　By　noon　the　next　day　the　heat　was　back；　the　cotton　was　dry；　the　ground　was　hard；　and　all　those　pleasant　thoughts　about　cool　days　and　blowing　leaves　were　forgotten。　We　had　returned　to　the　edge　of　the　river　for　the　second　picking。　A　third　one　might　materialize　later　in　the　fall；　a　〃Christmas　picking；〃　as　it　was　known；　in　which　the　last　remnants　of　cotton　were　gathered。　By　then　the　hill　people　and　the　Mexicans　would　be　long　gone。
　　　I　stayed　close　to　Tally　for　most　of　the　day　and　worked　hard　to　keep　up　with　her。　She　had　bee　aloof　for　some　reason；　and　I　was　desperate　to　learn　why。　The　Spruills　were　a　tense　bunch；　no　more　singing　or　laughing　in　the　fields；　very　few　words　spoken　among　them。　Hank　came　to　work　mid…morning　and　began　picking　at　a　leisurely　pace。　The　rest　of　the　Spruills　seemed　to　avoid　him。
　　　Late　in　the　afternoon　I　dragged　myself　back　to　the　trailer…for　the　final　time；　I　hoped。　It　was　an　hour　before　quitting　time；　and　I　was　looking　for　my　mother。　Instead　I　saw　Hank　with　Bo　and　Dale　at　the　opposite　end　of　the　trailer；　waiting　in　the　shade　for　either　Pappy　or　my　father　to　weigh　their　cotton。　I　ducked　low　in　the　stalks　so　they　wouldn't　see　me　and　waited　for　friendlier　voices。
　　　Hank　was　talking　loudly；　as　usual。　〃I'm　tired　of　pickin'　cotton；〃　he　said。　〃Damned　tired　of　it！　So　I　been　thinkin'　about　a　new　job；　and　I　done　figured　a　new　way　to　make　money。　Lots　of　it。　I'm　gonna　follow　that　carnival　around；　go　from　town　to　town；　sorta　hide　in　the　shadows　while　ol'　Samson　and　his　woman　rake　in　the　cash。　I'll