jg.paintedhouse-第42部分

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　　　The　argument　was　spinning　in　several　directions。　Hank　said　harsh　things　about　us；　the　Mexicans；　Stick　Powers；　the　Siscos；　the　general　population　of　Black　Oak；　and　he　even　had　a　few　choice　words　for　his　parents　and　Bo　and　Dale。　Only　Tally　and　Trot　went　unscathed。　His　language　grew　worse　and　his　voice　louder；　but　Mr。　and　Mrs。　Spruill　did　not　retreat。
　　　〃All　right；　I'll　leave；〃　he　finally　said；　and　he　stormed　toward　a　tent　to　fetch　something。　I　sneaked　to　the　edge　of　the　road；　then　scampered　across　it　and　fell　into　the　depths　of　the　Jeter　cotton　on　the　other　side。　I　had　a　perfect　view　of　our　front　yard。　Hank　was　stuffing　an　old　canvas　bag　with　food　and　clothes。　My　guess　was　that　he　would　walk　to　the　highway　and　start　hitchhiking。　I　cut　through　the　rows　and　crept　along　the　side　of　the　shallow　ditch；　in　the　direction　of　the　river。　I　wanted　to　see　Hank　when　he　walked　by。
　　　They　had　more　words；　then　Mrs。　Spruill　said；　〃We'll　be　home　in　a　few　weeks。〃　The　talking　stopped；　and　Hank　stomped　by　me；　in　the　center　of　the　road；　a　bag　slung　over　his　shoulder。　I　inched　my　way　to　the　end　of　the　row　and　watched　as　he　headed　for　the　bridge。
　　　I　couldn't　help　but　smile。　Peace　would　be　restored　to　our　farm。　I　squatted　there　for　a　long　time；　long　after　Hank　had　disappeared；　and　thanked　the　stars　above　that　he　was　finally　gone。
　　　I　was　about　to　begin　my　backtracking　when　something　suddenly　moved　directly　across　the　road　from　me。　The　cotton　stalks　rustled　just　slightly；　and　a　man　rose　and　stepped　forward。　He　was　low　and　quick；　obviously　trying　to　avoid　being　seen。　He　glanced　back　down　the　road；　in　the　direction　of　our　house；　and　for　an　instant　the　moonlight　hit　his　face。　It　was　Cowboy。
　　　For　a　few　seconds　I　was　too　scared　to　move。　It　was　safe　on　the　Jeter　side　of　the　road；　hidden　by　their　cotton。　I　wanted　to　retrace　my　steps；　hurry　to　the　house；　crawl　into　Ricky's　bed。
　　　And　I　also　wanted　to　see　what　Cowboy　was　up　to。
　　　Cowboy　stayed　in　the　knee…deep　ditch　and　moved　quickly；　without　a　sound。　He　would　advance；　then　stop　and　listen。　Move　forward；　then　halt。　I　was　a　hundred　feet　behind　him；　still　on　Jeter　property；　moving　as　fast　as　I　dared。　If　he　heard　me；　then　I　would　duck　into　the　thick　cotton。
　　　Before　long　I　could　see　the　hulking　figure　of　Hank；　still　in　the　center　of　the　road；　going　home　in　no　particular　hurry。　Cowboy　slowed　his　chase；　and　I；　too；　slowed　my　pursuit。
　　　I　was　barefoot；　and　if　I　stepped　on　a　cottonmouth　I　would　die　a　horrible　death。　Go　home；　something　told　me。　Get　out　of　there。
　　　If　Cowboy　wanted　to　fight；　why　was　he　waiting？　Our　farm　was　now　out　of　sight　and　sound。　But　the　river　was　just　ahead；　and　maybe　that's　what　Cowboy　wanted。
　　　As　Hank　neared　the　bridge；　Cowboy　quickened　his　pace　and　started　walking　in　the　center　of　the　road。　I　stayed　at　the　edge　of　the　cotton；　sweating　and　out　of　breath　and　wondering　why　I　was　being　so　foolish。
　　　Hank　got　to　the　river　and　started　over　the　bridge。　Cowboy　began　running。　When　Hank　was　about　halfway　over；　Cowboy　stopped　long　enough　to　cock　his　arm　and　throw　a　rock。　It　landed　on　the　boards　near　Hank；　who　stopped　and　whirled　around。　〃e　on；　you　little　wetback；〃　he　growled。
　　　Cowboy　never　stopped　walking。　He　was　on　the　bridge；　heading　up　the　slight　incline；　showing　no　fear　whatsoever　as　Hank　waited　and　cursed　him。　Hank　looked　twice　as　big　as　Cowboy。　They　would　meet　in　the　middle　of　the　bridge；　and　there　was　no　doubt　that　one　of　them　was　about　to　get　wet。
　　　When　they　were　close；　Cowboy　suddenly　cocked　his　arm　again　and　threw　another　rock；　almost　at　point…blank　range。　Hank　ducked；　and　somehow　it　missed　him。　Then　he　charged　at　Cowboy。　The　switchblade　snapped　open；　and　in　a　flash　it　was　introduced　into　the　fray。　Cowboy　held　it　high。　Hank　caught　himself　long　enough　to　swing　wildly　with　his　bag。　It　brushed　Cowboy　and　knocked　off　his　hat。　The　two　circled　each　other　on　the　narrow　bridge；　both　looking　for　an　advantage。　Hank　growled　and　cursed　and　kept　his　eye　on　the　knife；　then　he　reached　into　the　bag　and　removed　a　small　jar　of　something。　He　gripped　it　like　a　baseball　and　got　ready　to　hurl　it。　Cowboy　kept　low；　bending　at　the　knees　and　waist；　waiting　for　the　perfect　moment。　As　they　circled　slowly；　each　came　within　inches　of　the　edge　of　the　bridge。
　　　Hank　gave　a　mighty　grunt　and　threw　the　jar　as　hard　as　he　could　at　Cowboy；　who　was　less　than　ten　feet　away。　It　hit　him　somewhere　in　the　neck　or　throat；　I　couldn't　tell　exactly；　and　for　a　second　Cowboy　wobbled　as　if　he　might　fall。　Hank　threw　the　bag　at　him　and　charged　in。　But　with　amazing　quickness　Cowboy　switched　hands　with　the　knife；　pulled　a　rock　from　his　right　pants　pocket；　and　threw　it　harder　than　any　baseball　he'd　ever　pitched。　It　hit　Hank　somewhere　in　the　face。　I　couldn't　see　it；　but　I　certainly　heard　it。　Hank　screamed　and　clutched　his　face；　and　by　the　time　he　could　recover　it　was　too　late。
　　　Cowboy　ducked　and　hooked　low　and　drove　the　blade　up　through　Hank's　stomach　and　chest。　Hank　let　loose　with　a　painful　squeal；　one　of　horror　and　shock。
　　　Then　Cowboy　yanked　it　out　and　thrust　it　in　again　and　again。　Hank　dropped　to　one　knee；　then　two。　His　mouth　was　open；　but　nothing　came　out。　He　just　stared　at　Cowboy；　his　face　frozen　in　terror。
　　　With　strokes　that　were　quick　and　vicious；　Cowboy　slashed　away　and　finished　the　job。　When　Hank　was　down　and　still；　Cowboy　quickly　went　through　his　pants　pockets　and　robbed　him。　Then　he　dragged　him　to　the　side　of　the　bridge　and　shoved　him　over。　The　corpse　landed　with　a　splash　and　immediately　went　under。　Cowboy　went　through　the　bag；　found　nothing　he　wanted；　and　threw　it　over；　too。　He　stood　at　the　edge　of　the　bridge　and　watched　the　water　for　a　long　time。
　　　I　had　no　desire　to　join　Hank；　so　I　burrowed　between　two　rows　of　cotton　and　hid　so　low　that　I　couldn't　have　found　myself。　My　heart　was　pounding　faster　than　ever　before。　I　was　shaking　and　sweating　and　crying　and　praying；　too。　I　should've　been　in　bed；　safe　and　asleep　with　my　parents　next　door　and　my　grandparents　just　down　the　hall。　But　they　seemed　so　far　away。　I　was　alone　in　a　shallow　foxhole；　alone　and　frightened　and　in　great　danger。　I'd　just　seen　something　that　I　still　didn't　believe。
　　　I　don't　know　how　long　Cowboy　stood　there　on　the　bridge；　watching　the　water；　making　sure　Hank　was　gone。　The　clouds　would　move　over　the　half…moon；　and　I　could　barely　see　him。　They'd　move　again；　and　there　he　was；　still　standing；　his　dirty　cowboy　hat　cocked　to　one　side。　After　a　long　time；　he　walked　off　the　bridge　and　stopped　by　the　edge　of　the　river　to　wash　his　knife。　He　watched　the　river　some　more；　then　turned　and　started　walking　down　the　road。　When　he　passed　me　he　was　twenty　feet　away；　and　I　felt　like　I　was　buried　at　least　two　feet　in　the　ground。
　　　I　waited　forever；　until　he　was　long　out　of　sight；　until　there　was　no　possible　way　he　could　hear　me；　then　I　crawled　out　of　my　little　hole　and　began　my　journey　home。　I　wasn't　sure　what　I　would　do　once　I　got　there；　but　I'd　be　safe。　I'd　think　of　something。
　　　I　stayed　low；　moving　through　the　tall　Johnson　grass　along　the　edge　of　the　field。　As　farmers　we　hated　Johnson　grass；　but　for　the　first　time　in　my　life　I　was　thankful　for　it。　I　wanted　to　hurry；　to　sprint　down　the　middle　of　the　road　and　get　home　as　fast　as　possible；　but　I　was　terrified；　and　my　feet　were　heavy。　Fatigue　and　fear　gripped　me；　and　I　could　hardly　move　at　times。　It　took　forever　before　I　saw　the　outlines　of　our　house　and　barn。　I　watched　the　road　in　front　of　me；　certain　that　Cowboy　was　up　there　somewhere；　watching　his　rear；　watching　his　flanks。　I　tried　not　to　think　about　Hank。　I　was　too　concerned　with　getting　to　the　house。
　　　When　I　stopped　to　catch　my　breath；　I　picked　up　the　unmistakable　smell　of　a　Mexican。　They　seldom　bathed；　and　after　a　few　days　of　picking　cotton　they　took　on　their　own　particular　odor。
　　　It　passed　quickly；　and　after　a　minute　or　two　of　heavy　breathing　I　wondered　if　I　was　just　imagining　things。　Not　taking　chances；　I　retreated　once　again　to　the　depths　of　the　Jeter　cotton　and　slowly　headed　east；　cutting　through　row　after　row　without　a　sound。　When　I　could　see　the　white　tents　of　Camp　Spruill；　I　knew　I　was　almost　home。
　　　What　would　I　tell　about　Hank？　The　truth；　nothing　but。　I　was　burdened　with　enough　secrets；　there　was　room　for　no　more；　especially　one　as　heavy　as　this。　I'd　crawl　into　Ricky's　room；　try　and　get　some　sleep；　and　when　my　father　woke　me　to　collect　eggs　and　milk　I'd　tell　the　whole　story。　Every　step；　every　move；　every　cut　of　the　knife…my　father　would　hear　it　all。　He　and　Pappy　would　head　to　town　to　report　the　killing　to　Stick　Powers；　and　they'd　have　Cowboy　in　jail　before　lunch。　They'd　probably　hang　him　before　Christmas。
　　　Hank　was　dead。　Cowboy　would　be　in　jail。　The　Spruills　would　pack　up　and　leave；　but　I　didn't　care。　I　never　wanted　to　see　another　Spruill；　not　even　Tally。　I　wanted　everybody　off　our　farm　and　out　of　our　lives。
　　　I　wanted　Ricky　to　e　home　and　the　Latchers　to　move　away；　then　everything　would　be　normal　again。
　　　When　I　was　within　sprinting　distance　of　our　front　porch；　I　decided　to　make　my　move。　My　nerves　were　frayed；　my　patience　gone。　I'd　been　hiding　for　hours；　and　I　was　tired　of　it。　I　scooted　to　the　very　end　of　the　cotton　rows　and　stepped　over　the　ditch　into　the　road。　I　ducked　low；　listened　for　a　second；　then　started　to　run。　After　two　steps；　maybe　three；　there　was　a　sound　from　behind；　then　a　hand　slapped　my　feet　together　and　down　I　went。　Cowboy　was　on　top　of　me；　a　knee　in　my　chest；　the　switchblade　an　inch　from　my　nose。　His　eyes　were　glowing。　〃Silence！〃　he　hissed。
　　　We　were　both　breathing　hard　and　sweating　profusely；　and　his　odor　hit　me　hard；　no　doubt　the　same　one　I'd　smelled　just　minutes　earlier。　I　stopped　wiggling　and　gritted　my　teeth。　His　knee　was　crushing　me。
　　　〃Been　to　the　river？〃　he　asked。
　　　I　shook　my　head　no。　Sweat　from　his　chin　dripped　into　my　eyes　and　burned。　He　waved　the　blade　a　little；　as　if　I　couldn't　see　it　already。
　　　〃Then　where　you　been？〃　he　asked。
　　　I　shook　my　head　again；　I　couldn't　speak。　Then　I　realized　my　whole　body　was　shaking；　trembling　in　rigid　fear。
　　　When　it　was　apparent　I　could　not　utter　a　word；　he　took　the　tip　of　the　blade　and　tapped　my　forehead。　〃You　speak　one　word　about　tonight；〃　he　said　slowly；　his　eyes　doing　more　talking　than　his　mouth；　〃and　I　will　kill　your　mother。　Understand？〃
　　　I　nodded　fiercely。　He　stood　and　walked　away；　quickly　disappearing　into　the　blackness　and　leaving　me　in　the　dust　and　dirt　of　our　road。　I　started　crying；　and　crawling；　and　I　made　it　to　our　truck　before　I　passed　out。
　　　
　　　They　found　me　under　their　bed。　In　the　confusion　of　the　moment；　with　my　parents　yelling　at　me　and　quizzing　me　about　everything…my　dirty　clothes；　the　bloody　nicks　on　my　arms；　why　exactly　was　I　sleeping　under　their　bed…I　managed　to　conjure　up　the　tale　that　I'd　had　a　horrible　dream。　Hank　had　drowned！　And　I　had　gone　to　check　on　him。
　　　〃You　were　sleepwalkin'！〃　my　mother　said　in　disbelief；　and　I　seized　this　immediately。
　　　〃I　guess；〃　I　said；　nodding。　Everything　after　that　was　a　blur…I　was　dead　tired　and　scared　and　not　sure　if　what　I'd　seen　at　the　river　had　really　happened　or　had　in　fact　been　a　dream。　I　was　horrified　at　the　thought　of　ever　facing　Cowboy　again。
　　　〃Ricky　used　to　do　that；〃　Gran　added　from　the　hallway。　〃Caught　'im　one　night　out　past　the　silo。〃
　　　This　helped　calm　things　somewhat。　They　led　me　t