cwilleford.cockfighter-第30部分

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　　〃Whooee！〃　he　exploded　with　false　amusement。　〃You　got　yourself　a　guitar　now　for　sure；　Mr。　Frank！〃
　　I　pointed　to　the　door。　Out　in　the　yard　I　gave　Buford　a　tendollar　bill　in　payment　for　looking　after　the　place　for　three　days。　Buford　had　his　own　farm；　a　wife　and　four　children；　but　he　spent　more　time　with　me　than　he　did　with　his　family。　When　I　happened　to　think　about　it；　I'd　slip　him　a　five　or　a　ten；　but　I　didn't　keep　him　on　a　regular　salary　because　I　didn't　need　him　around　in　the　first　place。　He　knew　as　much　about　the　raising　and　handling　of　gamecocks　as　any　Negro　in　the　United　States；　if　not　more。　Unfortunately；　because　of　his　color；　he　was　barred　from　almost　every　white　cockpit　in　the　South。。　He　would　have　been　an　invaluable　assistant　for　me　on　my　trips　to　circuit　cockpits；　but　I　couldn't　take　him　along。　However；　he　helped　me　out　around　the　place；　handled　opposing　cocks　in　my　own　training　pit　and　made　himself　fairly　useful　during　conditioning　periods。　He　loved　game…cocks。　That　much　I　knew　about　him。　And　I　believe　he　would　have　sacrificed　an　arm　or　a　leg　for　the　opportunity　to　fight　them。　Because　I　knew　this　much　about　the　man；　I　was　well　aware　that　his　rich　and　easy　laughter　was　insincere。
　　What　in　the　hell　did　Buford　have　to　laugh　about？
　　〃I　fixed　up　all　them　sun　coops　the　way　you　showed　me；　Mr。　Frank；〃　Buford　said。　〃And　I　put　some　new　slats　in　the　cockhouse　stalls。　But　they　ain't　much　else　to　do；　so　I　won't　be　back　around　till　Saturday。〃
　　I　nodded；　and　Buford　climbed　into　his　car。
　　〃Whooee！〃　he　laughed　through　his　nose。　〃You　got　you　a　git…fiddle　now；　sure　enough！　Wifi　you　play　some　for　me　e　Saturday？〃
　　Again　I　nodded。　As　Buford　made　a　U…turn　onto　the　gravel　road　toward　the　highway；　I　entered　the　shack。
　　The　wonderful　and　unexpected　gift　had　made　my　heart　sing　with　delight；　although　I　had　controlled　my　inner　excitement　from　Buford。　As　soon　as　he　was　gone；　I　connected　the　various　electrical　cords；　following　the　directions　in　the　illustrated　instruction　booklet。　I　plugged　the　cord　into　the　wall　outlet　and　tuned　the　strings。　The　full　tones；　amplified　by　the　speaker　set　at　full　volume；　reverberated　in　the　small　room　and　added　a　new　dimension　to　my　playing。　After　experimenting　with　several　chords；　banging　them　hard　and　listening　to　them　echo　metallically　against　the　iron　ceiling；　I　tried　a　song。
　　Halfway　through　the　song　I　stopped　playing　and　placed　the　guitar　gently　on　the　floor。　Unconsciously；　I　had　played　〃Georgia　Girl〃　first。　The　rich　amplified　tones　brought　suppressed　visions　of　Mary　Elizabeth　flooding　into　my　mind；　and　I　dropped　the　plastic　pick。
　　In　the　sharp　silence；　following　so　closely　on　the　sound　of　the　echoing　song；　I　pictured　Mary　Elizabeth　in　my　mind；　stifi　in　the　same　position　where　I　had　left　her　at　The　Place。　She　sat　quietly；　feet　below　the　surface　of　the　pool；　and　with　dancing　dappled　sunlight　reflecting　on　her　pale　nude　body。　Her　blue…green　eyes　looked　at　me　reproachfully；　and　her　ordinarily　full　lips　were　set　in　a　tight　grim　line。
　　To　make　her　disappear　I　shook　my　head。
　　This　was　a　recurrent　vision　of　Mary　Elizabeth。　Whenever　I　happened　to　think　of　the　woman；　a　guilty；　sinking　feeling　acpanied　the　thought。　She　was　always　nude；　always　at　The　Place。　I　never　thought　of　her　as　fully　clothed…that　was　a　Mary　Elizabeth　I　didn't　want　to　think　about…the　spinsterish；　school…teacherish；　Methodist　kind；　with　a　reproving　expression　on　her　face。　As　a　rule；　when　I　hadn't　seen　Mary　Elizabeth　for　several　months；　her　features　became　indistinct；　except　for　her　hurt　blue？　green？　eyes。　But　her　body　was　always　as　clear　in　my　mind　as　a　Kodachrome　color　print。　I　remembered　every　anatomical　detail；　the　way　her　right　shoulder　dipped　a　quarter　of　an　inch　lower　than　her　left；　the　round；　three…eyed　shape　of　her　button　navel；　and　every　golden　pubic　hair。
　　I　loved　her　and　I　had　always　loved　her　and　I　always　would　love　her；　and　the　dark　guilty　shadows　erased　her　pink…and…white　body　from　my　mind。　No　man　had　ever　treated　a　woman　any　shabbier　than　I　had　Mary　Elizabeth！
　　Suppose；　I　thought　blackly；　she　just　says　the　hell　with　you；　Frank　Mansfield；　and　marries　a　nice　stay…at…home　Georgia　boy。　。　。　a　bloated　bastard　like　Ducky　Winters；　for　instance；　the　manager　of　the　Purina　Feed　Store？　Why　not？　He's　single　and　over　thirty。　What　if　his　bald　head　does　look　like　a　freshly　washed　peach　and　the　roll　of　fat　around　his　waistline　resembles　a　rubber　inner　tube　half　filled　with　water？　He's　got　a　good　job；　and　he's　a　member　of　the　Board　of　Stewards　of　the　Methodist　church　。　。　。　well；　isn't　he？　His　mother　can't　live　forever；　and　he　did　pinch　Mary　Elizabeth　on　the　ass　at　the　box　social　that　time。　。　。　remember？　You　wanted　to　take　him　outside；　but　Mary　Elizabeth　wouldn't　let　you。
　　How　many　good　prospects　does　she　have？　Ducky　Winters；　no　matter　what　you　may　think；　is　one　of　the　better　prospects。　Suppose　she　marries　one　of　those　red…necked　woolhat　cronies　of　her　brother's？　Wright　doesn't　want　her　to　get　married；　but　he　would　approve　of　some　farmer　who　would　keep　her　close　to　home；　just　so　he　would　be　assured　of　seeing　her　every　day。　What　if　she　married　Virgil　Dietch；　whose　farm　is　only　three　miles　down　the　road？　Virgil's　only　forty；　a　widower　with　two　half…grown　boys；　and　he'd　be　damned　happy　to　marry　a　woman　like　Mary　Elizabeth。　With　his　growling　German　accent…despite　three　generations　in　Georgia…and　his　lower　lip　packed　chock…full　of　Copenhagen　snuff；　she　wouldn't　be　able　to　understand　half　of　what　he　said；　but　Wright　liked　Virgil　and　ran　around　with　him。　And　Wright　wouldn't　object　to　a　marriage　between　them。
　　For　more　than　an　hour　I　tortured　myself；　mulling　over　the　list　of　eligible　suitors　in　the　county　Mary　Elizabeth　could　marry　if　she　wanted　to　spite　me。　There　weren't　many　left。　Most　of　the　men　in　rural　Georgia　get　married　young；　and　divorces　are　rare。　The　remaining　eligibles　were　a　sorry　lot；　especially　when　I　considered　the　widowers　who　had　worked　their　wives　into　an　early　grave。
　　It　was　exquisite　torture　to　consider　these　ignorant　woolhatters　who　shaved　only　on　Saturday；　who　wore　a　single　suit　of　long　johns　from　October　15th　to　May　15th；　and　who　didn't　take　a　bath　until　the　Fourth　of　July。　And　yet；　as　far　as　husbands　were　concerned；　every　one　of　these　men　would　make　a　better　husband　than　I　would。　As　a　woman；　she　was　entitled　to　a　home　and　children　and　a　husband　who　stayed　with　her　at　all　times。
　　I　had　provided　Mary　Elizabeth　with　eight　years　of　nothing。　A　quickly　scrawled　line　on　the　back　of　a　picture　postcard；　and　on　one　of　my　rare；　unscheduled　visits；　a　quick　jump　in　a　woodland　glen。　To　make　matters　worse；　I　hadn't　even　talked　to　her　on　my　last　two　visits。　But　I　had　never　been　able　to　talk　to　her　anyway。　She　had　consistently　resisted　every　explanation　I　had　tried　to　give　her　concerning　my　way　of　life　and　had　never　consented　to　share　it　with　me。　Perhaps　I　could　write　her　a　letter；　a　really　good　letter　this　time；　a　letter　that　would　make　her　think？
　　This　year　was　going　to　be　my　year。　I　could　sense　it；　and　my　new　partnership　with　Omar　was　the　turning　point　in　my　run　of　ill　fortune。　I　knew　this。　My　prospects　had　been　as　good　before；　but　they　had　never　been　any　better。　I　couldn't　continue　through　life　silent　and　alone；　and　I　couldn't　keep　Mary　Elizabeth　dangling　on　a　thread…the　thread　would　break；　and　both　of　us　would　be　lost。　If　there　was　to　be　a　break；　it　would　have　to　be　now…Her　way　or　My　way…and　she　could　make　the　choice！
　　I　sat　down　at　the　table　to　write　Mary　Elizabeth　a　letter：
　　
　　Dearest　Darling；
　　
　　I　love　you！　How　inadequate　are　written　words　to　tell　you　of　my　feelings！　To　be　with　you　and　yet　to　be　unable　to　speak；　to　tell　you　again　and　again　that　I　love　you　is　unbearable。　To　leave　without　saying　good…bye；　as　I　did；　hurt　me　more　than　you　can　ever　know。　And　yet；　I　had　to　leave　silently；　like　a　thief　in　the　night。　If　I　had　written　you　a　note　with　a　bare　〃Good…bye；〃　you　would　have　rightfully　demanded　an　explanation　I　couldn't　give　because　I　couldn't　speak！　But　an　explanation　is　due；　my…　Love；　and　on　the　blankness　of　this　page　1　shall　attempt　the　impossible。　Never；　never　doubt　my　love！
　　First；　I　was　home　to　obtain　my　rightfully　owned　property。　You　know　this　now；　of　course；　because　your　brother　bought　my　farmhouse　and　land　from　me。　What　you　don't　know　is　that　Judge　Powell　was　instructed　to　sell　only　to　Wright。　Whether　1　was　right　or　wrong　in　turning　Randall　out　of　his　home　depends　upon　how　you　want　to　look　at　it。　In　the　Holy　Bible　the　eldest　son　gets　the　inheritance　of　his　father；　as　you　know。　In　the　eyes　of　the　Lord；　and　I　recognize　no　other　Master；　I　was　right。　But　even　so；　I　only　sold　my　land　because　I　had　to。
　　For　ten　years　my　goal　has　been　to　be　the　best　cockfighter　in　the　United　States。　Several；　not　many；　times　I've　tried　to　explain　cockfighting　and　my　ambitions　to　you；　but　you　have　never　listened。　Read　this；　now；　and　then　decide。　Our　future　happiness；　yours　and　mine；　depends　upon　your　decision。　Closing　your　ears　to　all　rational　argument；　you　have　always　said　that　cockfighting　was　cruel　and　therefore　wrong。　But　you　have　never　SEEN　a　cockfight；　and　you　said　that　you　never　intended　to。　At　last　I　say　you　must！
　　The　only　way　that　you　can　find　out　that　cockfighting　is　not　a　cruel　sport　is　to　see　for　yourself。　I　am　now　engaged　in　my　very　last　try　to　reach　the　top。　To　continue　fighting　year　after　year　without　success　is　no　longer　possible。　If　I　don't　win　the　two…day　Milled　geville　Tourney　this　year；　I　promise　you　that　I'll　quit　forever！　We　will　be　married　immediately；　and　I'll　enter　any　profession　or　endeavor　YOU　decide　upon！
　　However；　if　I　do　win；　and　I　want　you　physically　present　at　the　Milledgeville　pit；　win　or　lose；　I　intend　to　follow　cockfighting　as　a　full…time　profession　for　the　rest　of　my　natural　life。　If　you　can　accept　this　way　of　life；　we　will　get　married　immediately　and　go　to　Puerto　Rico　on　our　honeymoon。
　　The　remaining　alternative；　of　course；　is　to　tear　this　letter　to　bits　and　put　me　out　of　your　mind　and　life　forever。　If　this　latter　course　is　your　decision；　I'll　abide　by　it；　and　I'll　never；　I　promise；　write　or　see　you　again；　but　my　heart　will　be　pletely　broken！
　　Don't　write　and　tell　me　what　your　decision　is。　If　you　do　write；　I　won't　open　your　le