按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！
tared at their cotton； which looked the same as ours。 I was paid 1。60 for every hundred pounds I picked。 Sharecropper children were paid nothing。
Then I looked at the house again； at the windows and the curtains and the sagging boards； and I stared into the backyard； where their wash hung on the clothesline。 I studied the stretch of dirt that led past their outhouse to the river； and there was no sign of Libby Latcher。 They probably had her locked in a room； with Mr。 Latcher guarding the door with a shotgun。 One day she'd have the baby； and no one would know it。 Just another Latcher running around naked。
〃My sister ain't here；〃 he said； still lost in the distance。 〃That's what you're lookin' for。〃
My mouth fell open； and my cheeks got very hot。 All I could say was； 〃What？〃
〃She ain't here。 Now get back to your truck。〃
My father hauled the rest of the food onto the porch； and I walked away from Percy。
〃Did you see her？〃 my mother whispered as we were leaving。 I shook my head。
As we drove away； the Latchers were crawling over and around the two boxes as if they hadn't eaten in a week。
We'd return in a few days with another load of produce in a second attempt to confirm the rumors。 As long as they kept Libby hidden； the Latchers would be well fed。
The St。 Francis River was fifty feet deep； according to my father； and around the bottom of the bridge pier there were channel catfish that weighed sixty pounds and ate everything that floated within reach。 They were large； dirty fish…scavengers that moved only when food was nearby。 Some lived for twenty years。 According to family legend； Ricky caught one of the monsters when he was thirteen。 It weighed forty…four pounds； and when he slit its belly with a cleaning knife； all sorts of debris spilled onto the tailgate of Pappy's truck： a spark plug； a marble； lots of half…eaten minnows and small fish； two pennies； and some suspicious matter that was eventually determined to be human waste。
Gran never fried another catfish。 Pappy gave up river food altogether。
With red worms as bait； I fished the shallow backwaters around a sandbar for bream and crappie； two small species that were plentiful and easy to catch。 I waded barefoot through the warm； swirling waters and occasionally heard my mother yell； 〃That's far enough； Luke！〃 The bank was lined with oaks and willows； and the sun was behind them。 My parents sat in the shade； on one of the many quilts the ladies at the church made during the winter； and shared a cantaloupe from our garden。
They talked softly； almost in whispers； and I didn't try to listen； because it was one of the few moments during the picking season when they could be alone。 At night； after a day in the fields； sleep came fast and hard； and I rarely heard them talk in bed。 They sometimes sat on the porch in the darkness； waiting for the heat to pass； but they weren't really alone。
The river scared me enough to keep me safe。 I had not yet learned to swim…I was waiting for Ricky to e home。 He had promised to teach me the next summer； when I would be eight。 I stayed close to the bank； where the water barely covered my feet。
Drownings were not unmon； and all my life I'd heard colorful tales of grown men caught in shifting sandbanks and being swept away while entire families watched in horror。 Calm waters could somehow turn violent； though I'd never witnessed this myself。 The mother of all drownings supposedly took place in the St。 Francis； though the exact location varied according to the narrator。 A small child was sitting innocently on a sandbar when suddenly it shifted； and the child was surrounded by water and sinking fast。 An older sibling saw it happen and dashed into the swirling waters； only to be met with a fierce current that carried him away； too。 Next； an even older sibling heard the cries of the first two； and she charged into the river and was waist…deep before she remembered she couldn't swim。 Undaunted； she bravely thrashed onward； yelling at the younger two to hold steady； she'd get there somehow。 But the sandbar collapsed entirely； sort of like an earthquake； and new currents went in all directions。
The three children were drifting farther and farther away from shore。 The mother； who may or may not have been pregnant； and who may or may not have been able to swim； was fixing lunch under a shade tree when she heard the screams of her children。 She flung herself into the river； whereupon she； too； was soon in trouble。
The father was fishing off a bridge when he heard the motion； and rather than waste time running to the shore and entering from that venue； he simply jumped headlong into the St。 Francis and broke his neck。
The entire family perished。 Some of the bodies were found。 Some were not。 Some were eaten by the channel cats； and the others were swept out to sea； wherever the sea was。 There was no shortage of theories as to what finally happened to the bodies of this poor family； which； oddly； had remained nameless through the decades。
This story was repeated so that kids like myself would appreciate the dangers of the river。 Ricky loved to scare me with it； but often got his versions confused。 My mother said it was all fiction。
Even Brother Akers managed to weave it through a sermon to illustrate how Satan was always at work spreading misery and heartache around the world。 I was awake and listening very closely； and when he left out the part about the broken neck； I figured he was exaggerating； too。
But I was determined not to drown。 The fish were biting； small bream that I hooked and threw back。 I found a seat on a stump near a lagoon and caught one fish after another。 It was almost as much fun as playing baseball。 The afternoon passed slowly by； and I was thankful for the solitude。 Our farm was crowded with strangers。 The fields were waiting with the promise of backbreaking labor。 I'd seen a man get killed； and I had somehow gotten myself in the middle of it。
The gentle rushing sound of the shallow water was soothing。 Why couldn't I just fish all day？ Sit by the river in the shade？ Anything but pick cotton。 I wasn't going to be a farmer。 I didn't need the practice。
〃Luke；〃 came my father's voice from down the bank。 I pulled in the hook and worm； and walked to where they were sitting。
〃Yes sir；〃 I said。
〃Sit down；〃 he said。 〃Let's talk。〃
I sat at the very edge of the quilt； as far from them as possible。 They didn't appear to be angry； in fact； my mother's face was pleasant。
But my father's voice was stern enough to worry me。 〃Why didn't you tell us about the fight？〃 he asked。
The fight that wouldn't go away。
I wasn't really surprised to hear the question。 〃I was scared； I guess。〃
〃Scared of what？〃
〃Scared of gettin' caught behind the Co…op watchin' a fight。〃
〃Because I told you not to； right？〃 asked my mother。
〃Yes ma'am。 And I'm sorry。〃
Watching a fight was not a major act of disobedience； and all three of us knew it。 What were boys supposed to do on Saturday afternoon when the town was packed and excitement was high？ She smiled because I said I was sorry。 I was trying to look as pitiful as possible。
〃I'm not too worri