"Thompson, Jim - Cropper's Cabin" - читать интересную книгу автора (Thompson Jim)

"I'd rather you didn't say it," I said.
". . . but it was probably apparent to the authorities that lust, to Mr. Carver, was just a dirty word in the Bible. Let's see, now, where were we? Oh, yes! Item three: the doctors thought you belonged in a higher, dryer climate, so Mt Carver left Mississippi and brought you and Mary here. . . . That's quite a lot for a man to do, isn't it? All for the sake of helping an infant, who wasn't even related to him, to become a man."
"I think it's quite a bit, yes," I said.
"I haven't overlooked anything?"
I shrugged. "I guess not."
"But _you've_ overlooked something. You were out in the fields doing a man's work when you were six years old, and you've never known anything but work since then. All you've got out of life is enough food to keep you working and enough beatings to kill two mules."
"I've got more than that," I said. "And Pa isn't really mean. He's just kind of old-fashioned and strict."
"I see. Well, that makes everything all right, then."
"No," I said, "you don't see, Donna. But I guess I won't be able to talk any more about it now. I would like to have you drive me home, though, if . . ."
"I know. If it wasn't for Pa."
"That wasn't what I was going to say. I was going to say that I could scoot down in the seat and you could drive on past our place and . . ."
She got up abruptly, not speaking, and slid over into the front seat. She started the motor with a roar, slammed in the gears, and sent the car leaping out of the willows and onto the road. I climbed over into the front seat and scooted down, holding on for dear life. The car was doing eighty by this time, sailing and bouncing over the red-clay ruts. But there wasn't a thing I could do. She was all-out Indian-mad; and when they get that way, you can't reason with 'em.
I'd seen her this way just once before; spring a year ago it was, right after she'd finished at the state university. She had a big Chrysler then, and she'd got a flat two-three miles out of the village; and I offered to fix it for her. I knew her, of course, since we share-crop forty acres for Matthew Ontime in addition to our own ten. But it was only in a nodding, good-morning-miss way.
Well, I went to work on the tire, and I don't know as I said anything--rather, it was what I didn't say. The way I acted, sort of too-casual, and indifferent. Because when you've been raised by a man like Pa, you're bound to absorb some of his ideas even when you know they're completely unreasonable. Pa was always telling about how the Five Tribes had been forced out of Georgia and Mississippi and Florida, back in the early 1800's; and how they should have been crowded right on out into the Pacific Ocean, instead of being allowed to hog onto good land that the white folks needed. He was always saying that they were all streaked with the tarbrush--that they were part nigger. He claimed they were lazy and thieving, loaded with all kinds of dirty diseases. And I'd soon learned better than to argue with him. I'd had to listen and listen, never saying anything back, until his way of thinking had almost become mine.
So, I guess I was pretty off-hand with Donna; insulting without saying or doing anything. Anyway, she took it up to a point, not seeming to notice. And then--and I don't know how else to put it--she just went crazy. I was hunkered down, sliding the hub-cap into place, when it happened. I heard a moan, the kind you might hear from a hurt-crazy bobcat. Then she had thrown herself at me, knocking me backwards to the road; and she went down on top of me, kicking and pounding and scratching and biting. And I realized, vaguely, that she was actually trying to kill me. But what I was thinking mostly was that even with her black hair tangled and her face smeared with the dirt of the road, she must be the prettiest girl in the world. I was thinking about what she'd be like, what she was bound to be like, under her clothes.
It stopped as suddenly as it had started. There wasn't any lead-up to it. It was just gone, like a grass fire hit by a flash flood. She went completely motionless, looking at me wide-eyed like she couldn't believe what had happened. Then she buried her head against my chest and began to cry. I picked her up and set her in the car, and .
Well, that's the way it started. That's the way she was. I hope she snapped out of this mad before she wrapped us around a cottonwood.
We went up a rise in the road, I could feel the car shoot upward. Then the brakes went on so hard that I almost slid under the dashboard, and we swung to the left, horn blaring, clear into the ditch. And there was a blinding flash of light and someone yelled, and another horn blared--and I knew we'd almost run down another cat Then, we were back on the road again, still traveling fast but a lot slower than we had been; and Donna laughed softly.
She reached over and pulled my head down into her lap. She scooted forward a little, and I knew she wanted me to put my arms around her hips, so I did. We rode on in silence until we made the turn into Ontime plantation, which was also the turn into our place.
"Perhaps it's best this way," she said, thoughtfully, as if she'd been arguing with herself. "I know I wouldn't like it if you were like the others--kow-towing and falling all over your feet because of the money."
She'd told me about that, how she'd felt about the university crowd; and I liked her enough--so much--that I'd tried to talk her out of it. I wanted her to have the breaks that she deserved; so I told her again that she might be a little hard on people.
"Perhaps," she said. "But you can't help thinking those things. And it's such a wonderful feeling when you know there's someone who's not influenced the least by money, even if . . ."
"Yes," I said.
"I'm like Dad, I guess. I'd rather see someone with the wrong principles than no principles at all."
"Donna, you know . . ."
"I know." She lowered a hand from the wheel and stroked my head. "By the way, I think that was your father we passed back there."
"I thought I recognized his voice," I said. "Could you tell who he was with?"
"I'm afraid--well, it was a red and white car, darling, so I . . ."
"Oh, my gosh," I said, and I sat up.
A red and white car--it was bound to be one of the oilcompany scouts. I'd thought they all knew, by now, that they were wasting their time in trying to lease our ten acres because Matthew Ontime wouldn't lease his, and we were almost spang in the middle of his land. All of 'em should have known it. But, now, here was another one, a new man probably, and he'd be a fast talker like all the lease-hounds were. He'd dangle a fortune in front of Pa, and Pa would ache for it, mainly for what it would mean to me, and he wouldn't be able to touch it.
At the best, he'd be deep-down bitter for days, twice as hard to live with as he usually was. At the worst . . .? Well, it would be bad enough if he only tried to _talk_ to Donna's father. If he only did _that_.
"I wish I could help, darling. Dad will listen to me about a lot of things, but . . ."
"You mustn't try to talk to him," I said. "He'd wonder why you were interested, and--well, anyway, I think he's right. He doesn't need money. There's no reason why he should lease just to accommodate Pa."
"I would." She hesitated. "If I could persuade Dad to give me my inheritance now . . ."
"Let's not talk about it' I said.
"No," she nodded, slowly, "perhaps we'd better not. Shall I drive on past your house, Tommy?"
"No need," I said. "Mary won't say anything."
She throttled the Cadillac down, glancing up into the rearview mirror to make sure that the oil-company car was still out of sight.
"Mary knows about us, doesn't she, Tommy?"
"Well. . . she knows I'm with you whenever I can be. I've had to have her cover up for me a time or two, and . . ."
"She hates me, Tommy."
"Why, that's crazy!" I laughed. "She feels like she has to go along with Pa on everything, sure. You might say she hasn't got a real will of her own, and probably she acts like . . ."
"It wasn't acting. I've seen her in town a few times, with your father, and she's looked at me and . . ." Her voice trailed off.
"You're imagining--things," I said, and I opened the door of the car.
"Tommy. How old is she?"
"Around thirty-three, I guess. She was somewhere around fourteen or fifteen when Pa took her in."
"She's never gone with anyone? Any men?"
"No. Maybe she's been too afraid of Pa, but I kind of think she's never been interested."
"Strange, isn't it? And she's--she could be quite attractive."
"She looks all right, I guess," I said shortly, because somehow I was getting uncomfortable. "I'll have to go now, Donna."