jg.paintedhouse-第53节

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　　　My　head　hit　the　leg　of　a　kitchen　chair。　When　I　awoke　on　the　sofa；　my　mother　was　holding　ice　on　a　knot　above　my　right　ear。　She　smiled　and　said；　〃You　fainted；　Luke。〃
　　　I　tried　to　say　something　but　my　mouth　was　too　dry。　She　gave　me　a　sip　of　water　and　told　me　I　wasn't　going　anywhere　for　a　while。　〃Are　you　tired？〃　she　asked。
　　　I　nodded　and　closed　my　eyes。
　　　
　　　Twice　a　year　the　county　sent　a　few　loads　of　gravel　to　our　road。　The　trucks　dumped　it；　and　right　behind　them　a　road　grader　came　along　and　leveled　things　out。　The　grader　was　operated　by　an　old　man　who　lived　near　Caraway。　He　had　a　black　patch　over　one　eye；　and　the　left　side　of　his　face　was　scarred　and　disfigured　to　the　point　of　making　me　cringe　when　I　saw　it。　He'd　been　injured　in　the　First　War；　according　to　Pappy；　who　claimed　to　know　more　about　the　old　man　than　he　was　willing　to　tell。　Otis　was　his　name。
　　　Otis　had　two　monkeys　that　helped　him　grade　the　roads　around　Black　Oak。　They　were　little　black　things　with　long　tails；　and　they　ran　along　the　frame　of　the　grader；　sometimes　hopping　down　on　the　blade　itself；　just　inches　above　the　dirt　and　gravel。　Sometimes　they　sat　on　his　shoulder；　or　on　the　back　of　his　seat；　or　on　the　long　rod　that　ran　from　the　steering　wheel　to　the　front　end。　As　Otis　motored　up　and　down　the　road；　working　the　levers；　changing　the　angle　and　pitch　of　the　blade；　spitting　tobacco　juice；　the　monkeys　jumped　and　swung　without　fear　and　seemed　to　have　a　delightful　time。
　　　If；　for　some　dreadful　reason；　we　kids　didn't　make　it　to　the　Cardinals；　many　of　us　wanted　to　be　road　grader　operators。　It　was　a　big；　powerful　machine　under　the　control　of　one　man；　and　all　those　levers　had　to　be　worked　with　such　precision…hands　and　feet　moving　with　great　coordination。　Plus；　level　roads　were　crucial　to　the　farmers　of　rural　Arkansas。　Few　jobs　were　more　important；　at　least　in　our　opinion。
　　　We　had　no　idea　what　it　paid；　but　we　were　certain　it　was　more　profitable　than　farming。
　　　When　I　heard　the　diesel　engine；　I　knew　Otis　was　back。　I　walked　hand　in　hand　with　my　mother　to　the　edge　of　the　road；　and　sure　enough；　between　our　house　and　the　bridge　were　three　mounds　of　new　gravel。　Otis　was　spreading　it；　slowly　working　his　way　toward　us。　We　stepped　back　under　a　tree　and　waited。
　　　My　head　was　clear；　and　I　felt　strong。　My　mother　kept　tugging　at　my　shoulder；　as　if　she　thought　I　might　faint　again。　As　Otis　drew　near；　I　stepped　closer　to　the　road。　The　engine　roared；　the　blade　churned　up　dirt　and　gravel。　We　were　getting　our　road　fixed；　a　most　important　event。
　　　Sometimes　Otis　waved；　sometimes　he　did　not。　I　saw　his　scars　and　his　black　eye　patch。　Oh；　the　questions　I　had　for　that　man！
　　　And　I　saw　only　one　monkey。　He　was　sitting　on　the　main　frame；　just　beyond　the　steering　wheel；　and　he　looked　very　sad。　I　scanned　the　grader　for　his　little　partner；　but　there　were　no　other　monkeys。
　　　We　waved　at　Otis；　who　glanced　at　us　but　did　not　wave　back。　This　was　a　terrible　sign　of　rudeness　in　our　world；　but　then　Otis　was　different。　Because　of　his　war　wounds；　he　had　no　wife；　no　children；　nothing　but　isolation。
　　　Suddenly　the　grader　stopped。　Otis　turned　and　looked　down　at　me　with　his　good　eye；　then　motioned　for　me　to　climb　aboard。　I　instantly　moved　toward　him；　and　my　mother　rushed　forward　to　say　no。　Otis　yelled；　〃It's　okay！　He'll　be　fine。〃　It　didn't　matter：　I　was　already　climbing　up。
　　　He　yanked　my　hand　and　pulled　me　up　to　the　platform　where　he　sat。　〃Stand　here；〃　he　said　gruffly；　pointing　to　a　little　spot　next　to　him。　〃Hold　on　here；〃　he　growled；　and　I　clutched　a　handle　next　to　an　important…looking　lever　that　I　was　terrified　to　touch。　I　looked　down　at　my　mother；　who　had　her　hands　on　her　hips。　She　was　shaking　her　head　as　if　she　could　choke　me；　but　then　I　saw　a　hint　of　a　smile。
　　　He　hit　the　throttle；　and　the　engine　behind　us　roared　to　life。　He　pushed　the　clutch　with　his　foot；　moved　a　gearshift；　and　we　were　off。　I　could've　walked　faster；　but　with　the　noise　from　the　diesel　it　seemed　as　if　we　were　racing　along。
　　　I　was　on　Otis's　left　side；　very　close　to　his　face；　and　I　tried　not　to　look　at　his　scars。　After　a　couple　of　minutes；　he　seemed　oblivious　to　my　presence。　The　monkey；　however；　was　quite　curious。　He　watched　me　as　if　I　were　an　intruder；　then　he　slinked　along　on　all　fours；　slowly；　prepared　to　lunge　at　me　at　any　moment。　He　jumped　onto　Otis's　right　shoulder；　walked　around　the　back　of　his　neck；　and　settled　onto　his　left　shoulder；　staring　at　me。
　　　I　was　staring　at　him。　He　was　no　bigger　than　a　baby　squirrel；　with　fine　black　fur　and　little　black　eyes　barely　separated　by　the　bridge　of　his　nose。　His　long　tail　fell　down　the　front　of　Otis's　shirt。　Otis　was　working　the　levers；　moving　the　gravel；　mumbling　to　himself；　seemingly　unaware　of　the　monkey　on　his　shoulder。
　　　When　it　was　apparent　that　the　monkey　was　content　just　to　study　me；　I　turned　my　attention　to　the　workings　of　the　road　grader。　Otis　had　the　blade　down　in　the　shallow　ditch；　tilted　at　a　steep　angle　so　that　mud　and　grass　and　weeds　were　being　dug　out　and　shoved　into　the　road。　I　knew　from　previous　observations　that　he　would　go　up　and　down　several　times；　cleaning　the　ditches；　grading　the　center；　spreading　the　gravel。　Pappy　was　of　the　opinion　that　Otis　and　the　county　should　fix　our　road　more　often；　but　most　farmers　felt　that　way。
　　　He　turned　the　grader　around；　ran　the　blade　into　the　other　ditch；　and　headed　back　toward　our　house。　The　monkey　hadn't　moved。
　　　〃Where's　the　other　monkey？〃　I　said　loudly；　not　far　from　Otis's　ear。
　　　He　pointed　down　at　the　blade　and　said；　〃Fell　off。〃
　　　It　took　a　second　for　this　to　register；　and　then　I　was　horrified　at　the　thought　of　that　poor　little　monkey　falling　over　the　blade　and　meeting　such　an　awful　death。　It　didn't　seem　to　bother　Otis；　but　the　surviving　monkey　was　undoubtedly　mourning　the　loss　of　his　buddy。　He　just　sat　there；　sometimes　looking　at　me；　sometimes　gazing　away；　very　much　alone。　And　he　certainly　stayed　away　from　the　blade。
　　　My　mother　hadn't　moved。　I　waved　at　her；　and　she　waved　at　me；　and　again　Otis　took　no　part　in　any　of　it。　He　spat　every　so　often；　a　long　stream　of　brown　tobacco　juice　that　hit　the　ground　in　front　of　the　rear　wheels。　He　wiped　his　mouth　with　a　dirty　sleeve；　both　right　and　left；　depending　on　which　hand　happened　to　be　engaged　with　a　lever。　Pappy　said　that　Otis　was　very　levelheaded…tobacco　juice　ran　out　of　both　corners　of　his　mouth。
　　　Past　our　house　I　could　see；　from　my　lofty　position；　the　cotton　trailer　in　the　middle　of　a　field　and　a　few　straw　hats　scattered　about。　I　searched　until　I　found　the　Mexicans；　in　the　same　general　area　as　usual；　and　I　thought　of　Cowboy　out　there；　switchblade　in　his　pocket；　no　doubt　quite　proud　of　his　latest　killing。　I　wondered　if　he'd　told　his　pals　about　it。　Probably　not。
　　　For　a　moment　I　was　frightened　because　my　mother　was　back　behind　us；　alone。　This　didn't　make　any　sense；　and　I　knew　it；　but　most　of　my　thoughts　were　irrational。
　　　When　I　saw　the　tree　line　along　the　river；　a　new　fear　gripped　me。　I　was　suddenly　afraid　to　see　the　bridge；　the　scene　of　the　crime。　Surely　there　were　bloodstains；　evidence　that　something　awful　had　happened。　Did　the　rain　wash　them　away？　Days　often　went　by　without　a　car　or　truck　passing　over　the　bridge。　Had　anyone　seen　Hank's　blood？　There　was　a　good　chance　the　evidence　would　be　gone。
　　　Had　there　really　been　bloodshed？　Or　was　it　all　a　bad　dream？
　　　Nor　did　I　want　to　see　the　river。　The　water　moved　slowly　this　time　of　the　year；　and　Hank　was　such　a　large　victim。　Could　he　be　ashore　by　now？　Washed　up　on　a　gravel　bar　like　a　beached　whale？　I　certainly　didn't　want　to　be　the　one　to　find　him。
　　　Hank　had　been　cut　to　pieces。　Cowboy　had　the　nearest　switchblade　and　plenty　of　motive。　It　was　a　crime　that　even　Stick　Powers　could　solve。
　　　I　was　the　only　eyewitness；　but　I'd　already　decided　I　would　take　it　to　my　grave。
　　　Otis　shifted　gears　and　turned　around；　no　small　feat　with　a　road　grader；　as　I　was　learning。　I　caught　a　glimpse　of　the　bridge；　but　we　were　too　far　away　to　see　much。　The　monkey　grew　weary　of　staring　at　me　and　shifted　shoulders。　He　peeked　at　me　around　Otis's　head　for　a　minute　or　so；　then　just　sat　there；　perched　like　an　owl；　studying　the　road。
　　　Oh；　if　Dewayne　could　see　me　now！　He'd　burn　with　envy。　He'd　be　humiliated。　He'd　be　so　overe　with　defeat　that　he　wouldn't　speak　to　me　for　a　long　time。　I　couldn't　wait　for　Saturday。　I'd　spread　the　word　along　Main　Street　that　I'd　spent　the　day　with　Otis　on　the　road　grader…Otis　and　his　monkey。　Just　one　monkey；　though；　and　I'd　be　forced　to　tell　what　happened　to　the　other。　And　all　those　levers　and　controls　that；　from　the　ground；　looked　so　thoroughly　intimidating　but　in　reality　were　no　problem　for　me　at　all。　I'd　learned　how　to　operate　them！　It　would　be　one　of　my　finest　moments。
　　　Otis　stopped　in　front　of　our　house。　I　climbed　down　and　yelled；　〃Thank　you！〃　but　he　was　off　without　a　nod　or　word　of　any　sort。
　　　I　suddenly　thought　about　the　dead　monkey；　and　I　started　crying。　I　didn't　want　to　cry；　and　I　tried　not　to；　but　the　tears　were　pouring　out；　and　I　couldn't　control　myself。　My　mother　came　running　from　the　house；　asking　what　was　wrong。　I　didn't　know　what　was　wrong；　I　was　just　crying。　I　was　scared　and　tired；　almost　faint　again；　and　I　just　wanted　everything　to　be　normal；　with　the　Mexicans　and　the　Spruills　out　o