TAILIEUCHUNG - A Painted House

Chapter 1 The hill people and the Mexicans arrived on the same day. It was a Wednesday, early in September 1952. The Cardinals were five games behind the Dodgers with three weeks to go, and the season looked hopeless. The cotton, however, was waist-high to my father, over my head, and he and my grandfather could be heard before supper whispering words that were seldom heard. It could be a “good crop.” They were farmers, hardworking men who embraced pessimism only when discussing the weather and the crops | A Painted House John Grisham A Painted House Author John Grisham Category Thriller Other name Diana C. Website http Date 11-October-2012 Page 1 258 http A Painted House John Grisham Chapter 1 The hill people and the Mexicans arrived on the same day. It was a Wednesday early in September 1952. The Cardinals were five games behind the Dodgers with three weeks to go and the season looked hopeless. The cotton however was waist-high to my father over my head and he and my grandfather could be heard before supper whispering words that were seldom heard. It could be a good crop. They were farmers hardworking men who embraced pessimism only when discussing the weather and the crops. There was too much sun or too much rain or the threat of floods in the lowlands or the rising prices of seed and fertilizer or the uncertainties of the markets. On the most perfect of days my mother would quietly say to me Don t worry. The men will find something to worry about. Pappy my grandfather was worried about the price for labor when we went searching for the hill people. They were paid for every hundred pounds of cotton they picked. The previous year according to him it was per hundred. He d already heard rumors that a farmer over in Lake City was offering . This played heavily on his mind as we rode to town. He never talked when he drove and this was because according to my mother not much of a driver herself he was afraid of motorized vehicles. His truck was a 1939 Ford and with the exception of our old John Deere tractor it was our sole means of transportation. This was no particular problem except when we drove to church and my mother and grandmother were forced to sit snugly together up front in their Sunday best while my father and I rode in the back engulfed in dust. Modern sedans were scarce in rural Arkansas. Pappy drove thirty-seven miles per hour. His theory was that every automobile had a speed at which it ran most efficiently and through

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• truyện tranh tiếng Anh
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