jg.paintedhouse-第71节

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matters　were　dull。　Baseball　was　over。　No　one　wanted　to　mention　Ricky。　Not　even　the　weather　could　hold　our　attention。
　　　We　finally　gave　up　and　went　to　bed。　My　mother　tucked　me　in　and　kissed　me　good　night。　Then　Gran　did　the　same。　Pappy　stopped　for　a　few　words；　something　he'd　never　done　before。
　　　When　I　was　finally　alone；　I　said　my　prayers。　Then　I　stared　at　the　dark　ceiling　and　tried　to　believe　that　this　was　my　last　night　on　the　farm。
　
　
　Chapter　36
　　　
　　　My　father　had　been　wounded　in　Italy　in　1944。　He　was　treated　there；　then　on　a　hospital　boat；　then　shipped　to　Boston；　where　he　spent　time　in　physical　rehabilitation。　When　he　arrived　at　the　bus　station　in　Memphis；　he　had　two　U。　S。　Army　duffel　bags　stuffed　with　clothes　and　a　few　souvenirs。　Two　months　later　he　married　my　mother。　Ten　months　after　that；　I　arrived　on　the　scene。
　　　I'd　never　seen　the　duffel　bags。　To　my　knowledge　they　hadn't　been　used　since　the　war。　When　I　walked　into　the　living　room　early　the　next　morning；　they　were　both　half…filled　with　clothing；　and　my　mother　was　busy　arranging　the　other　necessities　to　be　packed。　The　sofa　was　covered　with　her　dresses；　quilts；　and　some　shirts　she'd　pressed　the　day　before。　I　asked　her　about　the　duffel　bags；　and　she　told　me　that　they'd　spent　the　last　eight　years　in　a　storage　attic　above　the　tool　shed。
　　　〃Now　hurry　and　eat　breakfast；〃　she　said；　folding　a　towel。
　　　Gran　was　holding　nothing　back　for　our　final　meal。　Eggs；　sausage；　ham；　grits；　fried　potatoes；　baked　tomatoes；　and　biscuits。　〃It's　a　long　bus　ride；〃　she　said。
　　　〃How　long？〃　I　asked。　I　was　sitting　at　the　table；　waiting　for　my　first　cup　of　coffee。　The　men　were　out　of　the　house　somewhere。
　　　〃Your　father　said　eighteen　hours。　Heaven　knows　when　you'll　get　a　good　meal　again。〃　She　delicately　placed　the　coffee　in　front　of　me；　then　kissed　me　on　the　head。　For　Gran；　the　only　good　meal　was　one　cooked　in　her　kitchen　with　ingredients　that　came　straight　off　the　farm。
　　　The　men　had　already　eaten。　Gran　sat　next　to　me　with　her　coffee　and　watched　as　I　plowed　into　the　feast　she'd　laid　on　the　table。　We　went　through　the　promises　again…to　write　letters；　to　obey　my　parents；　to　read　the　Bible；　to　say　my　prayers；　to　be　diligent　so　as　not　to　bee　a　Yankee。　It　was　a　virtual　roll　call　of　mandments。　I　chewed　my　food　and　nodded　at　the　appropriate　moments。
　　　She　explained　that　my　mother　would　need　help　when　the　new　baby　arrived。　There　would　be　other　Arkansas　people　up　there　in　Flint；　good　Baptist　souls　who　could　be　depended　on；　but　I　had　to　help　with　chores　around　the　house。
　　　〃What　kind　of　chores？〃　I　asked　with　a　mouthful　of　food。　I'd　thought　the　notion　of　chores　was　confined　to　the　farm。　I'd　thought　I　was　leaving　them　behind。
　　　〃Just　house　stuff；〃　she　said；　suddenly　vague。　Gran　had　never　spent　a　night　in　a　city。　She　had　no　idea　where　we　would　be　living；　nor　did　we。　〃You　just　be　helpful　when　the　baby　gets　here；〃　she　said。
　　　〃What　if　it　cries　like　that　Latcher　baby？〃　I　asked。
　　　〃It　won't。　No　baby　has　ever　cried　like　that。〃
　　　My　mother　passed　through　with　a　load　of　clothes。　Her　steps　were　quick。　She'd　been　dreaming　of　this　day　for　years。　Pappy　and　Gran　and　perhaps　even　my　father　thought　that　our　leaving　was　just　a　temporary　departure。　To　my　mother　it　was　a　milestone。　The　day　was　a　turning　point　not　only　in　her　life　but　especially　in　mine。　She　had　convinced　me　at　an　early　age　that　I　would　not　be　a　farmer；　and　in　leaving　we　were　cutting　ties。
　　　Pappy　wandered　into　the　kitchen　and　poured　himself　a　cup　of　coffee。　He　sat　in　his　chair　at　the　end　of　the　table；　next　to　Gran；　and　watched　me　eat。　He　was　not　good　at　greetings；　and　he　certainly　couldn't　handle　farewells。　The　less　said　the　better　in　his　book。
　　　When　I　had　stuffed　myself　to　the　point　of　being　unfortable；　Pappy　and　I　walked　to　the　front　porch。　My　father　was　hauling　the　duffel　bags　to　the　truck。　He　was　dressed　in　starched　khaki　work　pants；　a　starched　white　shirt；　no　overalls。　My　mother　was　wearing　a　pretty　Sunday　dress。　We　didn't　want　to　look　like　refugees　from　the　cotton　fields　of　Arkansas。
　　　Pappy　led　me　into　the　front　yard；　down　to　a　point　where　second　base　used　to　be；　and　from　there　we　turned　and　looked　at　the　house。　It　glowed　in　the　clear　morning　sun。　〃Good　job；　Luke；〃　he　said。　〃You　done　a　good　job。〃
　　　〃Just　wish　we'd　finished；〃　I　said。　To　the　far　right；　at　the　corner　where　Trot　had　begun；　there　was　an　unpainted　section。　We'd　stretched　the　last　four　gallons　as　far　as　possible　and　had　e　up　a　little　short。
　　　〃I　figure　another　half　gallon；〃　Pappy　said。
　　　〃Yes　sir。　That's　about　right。〃
　　　〃I'll　get　it　done　this　winter；〃　he　said。
　　　〃Thanks；　Pappy。〃
　　　〃When　y'all　e　home；　it'll　be　finished。〃
　　　〃I'd　like　that。〃
　　　We　all　converged　at　the　truck；　and　everyone　hugged　Gran　for　the　last　time。　For　a　second　I　thought　she　was　going　to　run　through　the　list　of　promises　again；　but　she　was　too　choked　up。　We　got　ourselves　loaded…Pappy　behind　the　wheel；　me　in　the　middle；　my　mother　by　the　window；　my　father　in　the　back　with　the　duffel　bags…and　we　backed　onto　the　road。
　　　When　we　pulled　away；　Gran　was　sitting　on　the　front　steps；　wiping　her　face。　My　father　had　told　me　not　to　cry；　but　I　couldn't　help　it。　I　clutched　my　mother's　arm　and　hid　my　face。
　　　We　stopped　in　Black　Oak。　My　father　had　a　small　matter　at　the　Co…op。　I　wanted　to　say　good…bye　to　Pearl。　My　mother　had　Libby's　letter　to　Ricky；　which　she　took　to　the　post　office　and　sent　on　its　way。　She　and　I　had　discussed　it　at　length；　and　she；　too；　felt　that　it　was　none　of　our　business。　If　Libby　wanted　to　write　a　letter　to　Ricky　and　break　the　news　about　their　baby；　we　shouldn't　stop　her。
　　　Pearl；　of　course；　knew　we　were　leaving。　She　hugged　my　neck　until　I　thought　it　was　going　to　break；　then　she　produced　a　small　paper　sack　filled　with　candy。　〃You'll　need　this　for　the　trip；〃　she　said。　I　gawked　at　the　endless　supply　of　chocolate　and　mints　and　jawbreakers　in　the　bag。　The　trip　was　already　a　success。　Pop　appeared；　shook　my　hand　as　if　I　were　an　adult；　and　wished　me　luck。
　　　I　hurried　back　to　the　truck　with　my　candy　and　showed　it　to　Pappy；　who　was　still　behind　the　wheel。　My　parents　came　back　quickly；　too。　We　were　not　in　the　mood　for　a　grand　send…off。　Our　leaving　was　due　to　frustration　and　crop　failure。　We　weren't　exactly　anxious　for　the　town　to　know　we　were　fleeing　North。　It　was　mid…morning；　though；　and　the　town　was　still　quiet。
　　　I　watched　the　fields　along　the　highway　to　Jonesboro。　They　were　as　wet　as　ours。　The　road　ditches　were　overflowing　with　brown　water。　The　creeks　and　streams　were　over　their　banks。
　　　We　passed　the　gravel　road　where　Pappy　and　I　had　waited　to　find　hill　people。　There　we　had　met　the　Spruills；　and　I　had　seen　Hank　and　Tally　and　Trot　for　the　first　time。　If　another　farmer　had　been　there　earlier；　or　if　we'd　arrived　later；　then　the　Spruills　would　now　be　back　in　Eureka　Springs　with　their　family　intact。
　　　With　Cowboy　driving；　Tally　had　made　this　same　trip　in　this　same　truck　in　the　middle　of　a　storm　at　night。　Running　away　to　a　better　life　up　North；　just　like　us。　It　was　still　hard　to　believe　she　had　fled　like　that。
　　　I　didn't　see　a　single　person　picking　cotton　until　we　reached　Nettleton；　a　small　town　close　to　Jonesboro。　There　the　ditches　were　not　as　full；　the　ground　wasn't　as　wet。　Some　Mexicans　were　hard　at　work。
　　　Traffic　slowed　us　at　the　edge　of　the　city。　I　sat　up　high　to　take　in　the　sights：　the　stores　and　nice　homes　and　clean　cars　and　people　walking　about。　I　could　not　remember　my　last　visit　to　Jonesboro。　When　a　farm　kid　made　it　to　the　city；　he　talked　about　it　for　a　week。　If　he　made　it　to　Memphis；　then　he　might　go　on　for　a　month。
　　　Pappy　became　visibly　nervous　in　traffic。　He　gripped　the　wheel；　hit　the　brakes；　mumbled　just　under　his　breath。　We　turned　onto　a　street；　and　there　was　the　Greyhound　station；　a　busy　place　with　three　shiny　buses　parked　in　a　row　to　the　left。　We　stopped　at　the　curb　near　a　DEPARTURES　sign　and　quickly　unloaded。　Pappy　wasn't　much　for　hugs；　so　it　didn't　take　long　to　say　good…bye。　But　when　he　pinched　my　cheek；　I　saw　moisture　in　his　eyes。　For　that　reason　he　hustled　back　to　the　truck　and　made　a　hasty　getaway。　We　waved　until　he　was　out　of　sight。　My　heart　ached　as　I　watched　his　old　truck　turn　the　corner　and　disappear。　It　was　headed　back　to　the　farm；　back　to　the　floods；　back　to　the　Latchers；　back　to　a　long　winter。　But　at　the　same　time；　I　was　relieved　not　to　be　going　back。
　　　We　turned　and　walked　into　the　station。　Our　adventure　was　now　beginning。　My　father　placed　the　duffel　bags　near　some　seats；　then　he　and　I　went　to　the　ticket　counter。
　　　〃I　need　three　tickets　to　St。　Louis；〃　he　said。
　　　My　mouth　fell　open；　and　I　looked　at　him　in　plete　amazement。　〃St。　Louis？〃　I　said。
　　　He　grinned　but　said　nothing。
　　　〃Bus　leaves　at　noon；〃　the　clerk　said。
　　　My　father　paid　for　the　tickets；　and　we　took　our　seats　next　to　my　mother。　〃Mom；　we're　goin'　to　St。　Louis！〃　I　said。
　　　〃It's　just　a　stop；　Luke；〃　my　father　said。　〃From　there　we　catch　a　bus　to　Chicago；　then　to　Flint。〃
　　　〃You　think　we'll　see　Stan　Musial？〃
　　　〃I　doubt　it。〃
　　　〃Can　we　see　Sportsman's　Park？〃
　　　〃Not　this　trip。　Maybe　the　next　one。〃
　　　After　a　few　minutes　I　was　released　to　roam　around　the　station　and　inspect　things。　There　was　a　small　cafe　where　two　army　boys　were　drinking　coffee。　I　thought　of　Ricky　and　realize