Читать книгу Heathcliff Redux - Lily Tuck - Страница 14

From our house, I could see the Blue Ridge Mountains in the distance. (The reason the mountains appear blue and hazy, I have been told, is on account of the isoprene released from the trees.) Besides the beef cattle, we grew corn to feed them. In the summer, Charlie and a couple of hired farmhands harvested the corn. Some days the temperature reached 100 degrees, and the humidity made the heat feel a lot worse. Always, in the air, there was the threat of rain or, worse, of a thunderstorm. (One summer, it hailed—hail as big as grapefruits­—­breaking car windshields and most of the storefront windows in town.) At midday, I drove the truck down to the field bringing the men cold lemonade and ham sandwiches. I usually wore shorts and I can still recall how my legs stuck uncomfortably to the plastic seat. My hands, too, were sweaty, which made it difficult to hold the wheel and steer.

“How’s it going?” I asked.

“Hot as hell,” Charlie would answer.

“Next time, bring me a beer,” he also said.

The hired hands took the sandwiches and the lemonade without saying a word and without looking at me.

Both of them were black.

“I think it’s going to rain,” I said, looking up at the sky and trying to engage.

“You better get back in the truck and go home,” Charlie said.