jg.paintedhouse-第64节

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e；　though　there　were　some　bootleggers　in　the　area　who　did　quite　well。　I　knew　this　because　Ricky'd　told　me。　He'd　said　he　didn't　like　whiskey；　but　he　had　a　beer　every　now　and　then。　I'd　heard　so　many　sermons　on　the　evils　of　alcohol　that　I　was　worried　about　Ricky's　soul。　And　while　it　was　sinful　enough　for　men　to　sneak　around　and　drink；　for　women　to　do　so　was　scandalous。
　　　I　wanted　to　ask　Mr。　Thornton　how　I　could　go　about　mailing　my　letter　to　Ricky；　and　do　so　in　a　way　that　no　one　would　know　it。　The　letter　was　three　pages　long；　and　I　was　quite　proud　of　my　effort。　But　it　had　all　the　Latcher　baby　details；　and　I　still　wasn't　sure　I　should　send　it　to　Korea。
　　　〃Howdy；〃　I　said　to　Mr。　Thornton；　who　was　behind　the　counter　adjusting　his　visor　and　settling　in　for　the　morning。
　　　〃You　that　Chandler　boy？〃　he　said；　barely　looking　up。
　　　〃Yes　sir。〃
　　　〃Got　somethin'　for　you。〃　He　disappeared　for　a　second；　then　handed　me　two　letters。　One　was　from　Ricky。
　　　〃That　all？〃　he　said。
　　　〃Yes　sir。　Thank　you。〃
　　　〃How's　he　doin'？〃
　　　〃He's　fine；　I　guess。〃
　　　I　ran　from　the　post　office　back　to　our　truck；　clutching　the　letters。　The　other　was　from　the　John　Deere　place　in　Jonesboro。　I　studied　the　one　from　Ricky。　It　was　addressed　to　all　of　us：　Eli　Chandler　and　Family；　Route　4；　Black　Oak；　Arkansas。　In　the　upper　left　corner　was　the　return　address；　a　confusing　collection　of　letters　and　numbers　with　San　Diego；　California；　on　the　last　line。
　　　Ricky　was　alive　and　writing　letters；　nothing　else　really　mattered。　My　father　was　walking　toward　me。　I　ran　to　meet　him　with　the　letter；　and　we　sat　in　the　doorway　of　the　dry　goods　store　and　read　every　word。　Ricky　was　again　in　a　hurry；　and　his　letter　was　only　one　page。　He　wrote　us　that　his　unit　had　seen　little　action；　and　though　he　seemed　frustrated　by　this；　it　was　music　to　our　ears。　He　also　said　that　rumors　of　a　ceasefire　were　everywhere；　and　that　there　was　even　talk　of　being　home　by　Christmas。
　　　The　last　paragraph　was　sad　and　frightening。　One　of　his　buddies；　a　kid　from　Texas；　had　been　killed　by　a　land　mine。　They　were　the　same　age　and　had　gone　through　boot　camp　together。　When　Ricky　got　home；　he　planned　to　go　to　Fort　Worth　to　see　his　friend's　mother。
　　　My　father　folded　the　letter　and　stuck　it　in　his　overalls。　We　got　in　the　truck　and　left　town。
　　　Home　by　Christmas。　I　couldn't　think　of　a　finer　gift。
　　　
　　　We　parked　under　the　pin　oak；　and　my　father　went　to　the　back　of　the　truck　to　collect　the　paint。　He　stopped；　counted；　then　looked　at　me。
　　　〃How'd　we　end　up　with　six　gallons？〃
　　　〃I　bought　two；〃　I　said。　〃And　I　paid　the　tax。〃
　　　He　didn't　seem　sure　what　to　say。　〃You　use　your　pickin'　money？〃　he　finally　asked。
　　　〃Yes　sir。〃
　　　〃I　wish　you　hadn't　done　that。〃
　　　〃I　want　to　help。〃
　　　He　scratched　his　forehead　and　studied　the　issue　for　a　minute　or　so；　then　said；　〃I　reckon　that's　fair　enough。〃
　　　We　hauled　the　paint　to　the　back　porch；　and　then　he　decided　he　would　go　to　the　back　forty　to　check　on　Pappy　and　the　Mexicans。　If　the　cotton　could　be　picked；　then　he'd　stay　there。　I　was　given　permission　to　start　painting　the　west　side　of　the　house。　I　wanted　to　work　alone。　I　wanted　to　seem　outmatched　and　undermanned　by　the　enormity　of　the　job　before　me　so　that　when　the　Mexicans　returned；　they'd　feel　sorry　for　me。
　　　They　arrived　at　noon；　muddy　and　tired　and　with　little　to　show　for　their　morning。　〃Cotton's　too　wet；〃　I　heard　Pappy　say　to　Gran。　We　ate　fried　okra　and　biscuits；　then　I　went　back　to　my　work。
　　　I　kept　one　eye　on　the　barn；　but　for　an　eternity　I　labored　with　no　relief　in　sight。　What　were　they　doing　back　there？　Lunch　was　over；　the　tortillas　long　since　put　away。　Surely　their　siestas　were　also　plete。　They　knew　the　house　was　half…painted。　Why　wouldn't　they　e　help？
　　　The　sky　darkened　in　the　west；　but　I　didn't　notice　it　until　Pappy　and　Gran　stepped　onto　the　back　porch。　〃Might　rain；　Luke；〃　Pappy　said。　〃Better　stop　paintin'。〃
　　　I　cleaned　my　brush　and　put　the　paint　under　a　bench　on　the　back　porch　as　if　the　storm　might　damage　it。　I　sat　above　it；　with　Pappy　on　one　side　and　Gran　on　the　other；　and　we　once　again　listened　to　the　low　rumblings　in　the　southwest。　We　waited　for　more　rain。
　
　
　Chapter　33
　　　
　　　Our　new　ritual　was　repeated　the　next　day　after　a　late　breakfast。　We　walked　across　the　rain…soaked　grass　between　our　house　and　our　barn；　and　we　stood　at　the　edge　of　the　cotton　field　and　saw　water；　not　rainfall　that　had　collected　during　the　night；　but　the　same　thick　floodwater　from　the　creek。　It　stood　three　inches　deep；　and　seemed　ready　to　swell　beyond　the　field　and　begin　its　slow　march　toward　the　barn；　the　tool　shed；　the　chicken　coops；　and；　eventually；　the　house。
　　　The　stalks　were　slanted　to　the　east；　permanently　bent　by　the　wind　that　had　laid　siege　to　our　farm　last　night。　The　bolls　were　sagging　under　the　weight　of　the　water。
　　　〃Will　it　flood　our　house；　Pappy？〃　I　asked。
　　　He　shook　his　head　and　put　his　arm　around　my　shoulders。　〃No；　Luke；　it's　never　got　to　the　house。　e　close　a　time　or　two；　but　the　house　is　a　good　three　feet　above　where　we're　standin'　right　now。　Don't　you　worry　about　the　house。〃
　　　〃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　ve