jg.paintedhouse-第53部分

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　　　〃It　got　in　the　barn　once；〃　my　father　said。　〃The　year　after　Luke　was　born；　wasn't　it？〃
　　　〃Forty…six；〃　Gran　said。　She　never　missed　a　date。　〃But　it　was　in　May；〃　she　added。　〃Two　weeks　after　we'd　planted。〃
　　　The　morning　was　cool　and　windy　with　high；　thin　clouds　and　little　chance　of　rain。　A　perfect　day　for　painting；　assuming；　of　course；　that　I　could　find　some　help。　The　Mexicans　drifted　close；　but　not　close　enough　to　speak。
　　　They　would　be　leaving　soon；　perhaps　within　hours。　We'd　haul　them　to　the　Co…op　and　wait　for　them　to　be　picked　up　by　a　farmer　with　drier　land。　I　heard　the　adults　discussing　this　over　coffee　before　sunrise；　and　I　almost　panicked。　Nine　Mexicans　could　paint　the　west　side　of　our　house　in　less　than　a　day。　It　would　take　me　a　month。　There　was　no　time　to　be　timid。
　　　As　we　retreated；　I　headed　for　the　Mexicans。　〃Buenos　dias；〃　I　said　to　the　group。　〃o　estd？〃
　　　All　nine　answered　in　some　fashion。　They　were　going　back　to　the　barn　after　another　wasted　day。　I　walked　along　with　them　until　I　was　far　enough　away　that　my　parents　couldn't　hear。　〃Y'all　want　to　paint　some？〃　I　asked。
　　　Miguel　rattled　the　translation；　and　the　entire　group　seemed　to　smile。
　　　Ten　minutes　later　three　of　the　six　paint　buckets　were　open　and　there　were　Mexicans　hanging　all　over　the　west　side　of　our　house。　They　fought　over　the　three　brushes。　Another　crew　was　rigging　a　scaffold。　I　was　pointing　here　and　there；　giving　instructions　that　no　one　seemed　to　hear。　Miguel　and　Roberto　were　spitting　forth　their　own　mands　and　opinions　in　Spanish。　Both　languages　were　being　ignored　in　equal　measure。
　　　My　mother　and　Gran　peeked　at　us　through　the　kitchen　window　as　they　washed　the　breakfast　dishes。　Pappy　went　to　the　tool　shed　to　fiddle　with　the　tractor。　My　father　was　off　on　a　long　walk；　probably　surveying　the　crop　damage　and　wondering　what　to　do　next。
　　　There　was　an　urgency　to　the　painting。　The　Mexicans　joked　and　laughed　and　badgered　one　another；　but　they　worked　twice　as　fast　as　two　days　earlier。　Not　a　second　was　wasted。　The　brushes　changed　hands　every　half　hour　or　so。　The　reinforcements　were　kept　fresh。　By　mid…morning　they　were　halfway　to　the　front　porch。　It　was　not　a　large　house。
　　　I　was　happy　to　retreat　and　stay　out　of　the　way。　The　Mexicans　worked　so　fast　it　seemed　downright　inefficient　for　me　to　take　up　a　brush　and　stall　the　momentum。　Besides；　the　free　labor　was　temporary。　The　hour　was　soon　approaching　when　I'd　be　left　alone　to　finish　the　job。
　　　My　mother　brought　iced　tea　and　cookies；　but　the　painting　did　not　stop。　Those　under　the　shade　tree　with　me　ate　first；　then　three　of　them　changed　places　with　the　painters。
　　　〃Do　you　have　enough　paint？〃　my　mother　whispered　to　me。
　　　〃No　ma'am。〃
　　　She　returned　to　the　kitchen。
　　　Before　lunch；　the　west　side　was　finished；　a　thick；　shiny　coat　sparkling　in　the　intermittent　sun。　There　was　a　gallon　left。　I　took　Miguel　to　the　east　side；　where　Trot　had　begun　a　month　earlier；　and　pointed　up　to　an　unpainted　strip　that　I'd　been　unable　to　reach。　He　barked　some　orders；　and　the　crew　moved　to　the　opposite　side　of　the　house。
　　　A　new　method　was　employed。　Instead　of　makeshift　scaffolding；　Pepe　and　Luis；　two　of　the　smaller　ones；　balanced　themselves　on　the　shoulders　of　Pablo　and　Roberto；　the　two　heaviest　ones；　and　began　painting　just　below　the　roofline。　This；　of　course；　drew　an　endless　stream　of　ments　and　jokes　from　the　others。
　　　When　the　paint　was　gone；　it　was　time　to　eat。　I　shook　hands　with　all　of　them　and　thanked　them　profusely。　They　laughed　and　chattered　all　the　way　back　to　the　barn。　It　was　midday；　the　sun　was　out；　and　the　temperature　was　rising。　As　I　watched　them　walk　away；　I　looked　at　the　field　beside　the　barn。　The　floodwaters　were　in　sight。　It　seemed　odd　that　the　flood　could　advance　when　the　sun　was　shining。
　　　I　turned　and　inspected　the　work。　The　back　and　both　sides　of　our　house　looked　almost　new。　Only　the　front　remained　unpainted；　and　since　by　now　I　was　a　veteran；　I　knew　that　I　could　plete　the　job　without　the　Mexicans。
　　　My　mother　stepped　outside　and　said；　〃Lunchtime；　Luke。〃　I　hesitated　for　a　second；　still　admiring　the　acplishment；　so　she　walked　to　where　I　was　standing；　and　together　we　looked　at　the　house。　〃It's　a　very　good　job；　Luke；〃　she　said。
　　　〃Thanks。〃
　　　〃How　much　paint　is　left？〃
　　　〃None。　It's　all　gone。〃
　　　〃How　much　do　you　need　to　paint　the　front？〃
　　　The　front　was　not　as　long　as　the　east　or　west　side；　but　it　had　the　added　challenge　of　a　porch；　as　did　the　rear。　〃I　reckon　four　or　five　gallons；〃　I　said；　as　if　I'd　been　house　painting　for　decades。
　　　〃I　don't　want　you　to　spend　your　money　on　paint；〃　she　said。
　　　〃It's　my　money。　Y'all　said　I　could　spend　it　on　whatever　I　wanted。〃
　　　〃True；　but　you　shouldn't　have　to　spend　it　on　somethin'　like　this。〃
　　　〃I　don't　mind。　I　want　to　help。〃
　　　〃What　about　your　jacket？〃
　　　I'd　lost　sleep　worrying　about　my　Cardinals　jacket；　but　now　it　seemed　unimportant。　Plus；　I'd　been　thinking　about　another　way　to　get　one。　〃Maybe　Santa　Claus'll　bring　one。〃
　　　She　smiled　and　said；　〃Maybe　so。　Let's　have　lunch。〃
　　　Just　after　Pappy　thanked　the　Lord　for　the　food；　saying　nothing　about　the　weather　or　the　crops；　my　father　grimly　announced　that　the　backwaters　had　begun　trickling　across　the　main　field　road　into　the　back　forty　acres。　This　development　was　absorbed　with　little　ment。　We　were　numb　to　bad　news。
　　　The　Mexicans　gathered　around　the　truck　and　waited　for　Pappy。　They　each　had　a　small　sack　with　their　belongings；　the　same　items　they'd　arrived　with　six　weeks　earlier。　I　shook　hands　with　each　one　and　said　goodbye。　As　always；　I　was　anxious　for　another　ride　to　town；　even　though　this　little　trip　was　not　a　pleasant　one。
　　　〃Luke；　go　help　your　mother　in　the　garden；〃　my　father　said　as　the　Mexicans　were　loading　up。　Pappy　was　starting　the　engine。
　　　〃I　thought　I　was　goin'　to　town；〃　I　said。
　　　〃Don't　make　me　repeat　myself；〃　he　said　sternly。
　　　I　watched　them　drive　away；　all　nine　of　the　Mexicans　waving　sadly　as　they　looked　at　our　house　and　farm　for　the　last　time。　According　to　my　father；　they　were　headed　to　a　large　farm　north　of　Blytheville；　two　hours　away；　where　they　would　work　for　three　or　four　weeks；　weather　permitting；　and　then　go　back　to　Mexico。　My　mother　had　inquired　as　to　how　they　would　be　shipped　home；　by　cattle　truck　or　bus；　but　she　did　not　press　the　issue。　We　had　no　control　over　those　details；　and　they　seemed　much　less　important　with　floodwaters　creeping　through　our　fields。
　　　Food　was　important；　though：　food　for　a　long　winter；　one　that　would　follow　a　bad　crop；　one　in　which　everything　we　ate　would　e　from　the　garden。　There　was　nothing　unusual　about　this；　except　that　there　wouldn't　be　a　spare　dime　to　buy　anything　but　flour；　sugar；　and　coffee。　A　good　crop　meant　there　was　a　little　money　tucked　away　under　a　mattress；　a　few　bills　rolled　up　and　saved　and　sometimes　used　for　luxuries　like　Coca…Cola's；　ice　cream；　saltines；　and　white　bread。　A　bad　crop　meant　that　if　we　didn't　grow　it；　we　didn't　eat。
　　　In　the　fall　we　gathered　mustard　greens；　turnips；　and　peas；　the　late…producing　vegetables　that　had　been　planted　in　May　and　June。　There　were　a　few　tomatoes　left；　but　not　many。
　　　The　garden　changed　with　each　season；　except　for　winter；　when　it　was　finally　at　rest；　replenishing　itself　for　the　months　to　e。
　　　Gran　was　in　the　kitchen　boiling　purple　hull　peas　and　canning　them　as　fast　as　she　could。　My　mother　was　in　the　garden　waiting　for　me。
　　　〃I　wanted　to　go　to　town；〃　I　said。
　　　〃Sorry；　Luke。　We　have　to　hurry。　Much　more　rain　and　the　greens'll　rot。　And　what　if　the　water　reaches　the　garden？〃
　　　〃They　gonna　buy　some　paint？〃
　　　〃I　don't　know。〃
　　　〃I　wanted　to　go　buy　some　more　paint。〃
　　　〃Maybe　tomorrow。　Right　now　we　have　to　get　these　turnips　out　of　the　ground。〃　Her　dress　was　pulled　up　to　her　knees。
　　　She　was　barefoot　with　mud　up　to　her　ankles。　I'd　never　seen　my　mother　so　dirty。　I　fell　to　the　ground　and　attacked　the　turnips。　Within　minutes　I　was　covered　in　mud　from　head　to　foot；
　　　I　pulled　and　picked　vegetables　for　two　hours；　then　cleaned　them　in　the　washtub　on　the　back　porch。　Gran　carried　them　into　the　kitchen；　where　they　got　cooked　and　packed　away　in　quart　jars。
　　　The　farm　was　quiet…no　thunder　or　wind；　no　Spruills　in　the　front　or　Mexicans　out　by　the　barn。　We　were　alone　again；　just　us　Chandlers；　left　to　battle　the　elements　and　to　try　to　stay　above　water。　I　kept　telling　myself　that　life　would　be　better　when　Ricky　came　home　because　I'd　have　someone　to　play　with　and　talk　to。
　　　My　mother　hauled　another　basket　of　greens　to　the　porch。　She　was　tired　and　sweating；　and　she　began　cleaning　herself　with　a　rag　and　a　bucket　of　water。　She　couldn't　stand　to　be　dirty；　a　trait　she　had　been　trying　to　pass　along　to　me。
　　　〃Let's　go　to　the　barn；〃　she　said。　I　hadn't　been　in　the　loft　in　six　weeks；　since　the　Mexicans　had　arrived。
　　　〃Sure；〃　I　said；　and　we　headed　that　way。
　　　We　spoke　to　Isabel；　the　milk　cow；　then　climbed　the　ladder　to　the　hayloft。　My　mother　had　worked　hard　to　prepare　a　clean　place　for　the　Mexicans　to　live。　She　had　spent　the　winter　collecting　old　blankets　and　pillows　for　them　to　sleep　on。　She　had　taken　a　fan；　one　that　for　years　had　found　good　use　on　the　front　porch；　and　placed　it　in　the　loft。　She　had　coerced　my　father　into　running　an　electrical　line　from　the　house　to　the　barn。
　　　〃They're　humans；　regardless　of　what　some　people　around　here　think；〃　I'd　heard　her　say　more　than　once。
　　　The　loft　was　as　clean　and　neat　as　the　day　they'd　arrived。　The　pillows　and　blankets　were　stacked　near　the　fan。　The　floor　had　been　swept。　Not　a　piece　of　trash　or　litter　could　be　found。　She　was　quite　proud　of　the　Mexicans。　She　had　treated　them　with　respect；　and　they　had　returned　the　favor。
　　　We　shoved　open　the　loft　door；　the　same　one　Luis　had　stuck　his　head　through　when　Hank　was　bombing　the　Mexicans　with　rocks　and　dirt　clods；　and　we　sat　on　the　ledge　with　our　feet　hanging　down。　Thirty　feet　up；　we　had　the　best　view　of　any　place　on　our　farm。　The　tree　line　far　to　the　west　was　the　St。　Francis；　and　straight　ahead；　across　our　back　field；　was　the　water　from　Siler's　Creek。
　　　In　places　the　water　was　almost　to　the　tops　of　the　cotton　stalks。　From　this　view　we　could　much　better　appreciate　the　advancing　flood。　We　could　see　it　between　the　perfect　rows　running　directly　toward　the　barn；　and　we　could　see　it　over　the　main　field　road；　seeping　into　the　back　forty。
　　　If　the　St。　Francis　River　left　its　banks；　our　house　would　be　in　danger。
　　　〃I　guess　we're　done　pickin'；〃　I　said。
　　　〃Sure　looks　like　it；〃　she　said；　just　a　little　sad。
　　　〃Why　does　our　land　flood　so　quick？〃
　　　〃Because　it's　low　and　close　to　the　river。　It's　not　very　good　land；　Luke；　never　will　be。　That's　one　reason　we're　leavin'　here。　There's　not　much　of　a　future。〃
　　　〃Where　we　goin'？〃
　　　〃North。　That's　where　the　jobs　are。〃
　　　〃How　long…〃
　　　〃Not　long。　We'll　stay　until　we　can　save　some　money。　Your　father'll　work　in　the　Buick　plant　with　Jimmy　Dale。　They're　payin'　three　dollars　an　hour。　We'll　make　do；　tough　it　out；　you'll　be　in　a　school　up　there；　a　good　school。〃
　　　〃I　don't　want　to　go　to　a　new　school。〃
　　　〃It'll　be　fun；　Luke。　They　have　big；　nice　schools　up　North。〃
　　　It　didn't　sound　like　fun。　My　friends　were　in　Black　Oak。　Other　than　Jimmy　Dale　and　Stacy；　I　didn't　know　a　soul　up　North。　My　mother　put　her　hand　on　my　knee　and　rubbed　it；　as　if　this　would　make　me　feel　better。
　　　〃Ch