Read Online Mississippi Cotton by Paul H. Yarbrough - Free Book Online

before the moon was up, there seemed to be a jillion stars. To me they looked like eyes that had come out to look at the land while the sun rested. It was much different out here in the country than it was in Jackson. As we passed the rows of cotton, I thought of the cottonseed plant in Jackson. When we drove downtown, Farley and I would always plead with Daddy to drive close to the cottonseed plant so that we could smell the cottonseed oil cooking. But out in the country there were things to smell that the city didn’t have.
    It was an extra three or four miles out of the way to Mr. Hightower’s house, but that was fine with us. At night, the air felt good blowing on you. Riding in the back of the truck gave us a kind of free feeling that felt especially good as a change from the daytime heat. We had to shout to hear one another over the rush of the wind and the noise from the Firestones against the pavement.
    “Did y’all hear about that dead guy they found in Greenville?”
    “What dead guy?” said Taylor.
    “What dead guy?” said Casey.
    “A dead man they found in the river. He got shot two times. Then he was chunked in the river.” I guess in all the excitement of my arrival I’d forgotten to mention it. But when Mr. Hightower mentioned the bridge at Greenville, I remembered it.
    “Aw, c’mon. Where’d you hear that?” Taylor asked.
    “You mean y’all haven’t heard about it?”
    “Aww you’re jus’ makin this up,” Taylor said.
    “No, I’m not. The deputy sheriff told me.”
    “A deputy told you?” Casey asked.
    “Well, not really jus’ me. I was sittin’ at the counter at the bus station in Greenville and he kinda told everybody—at least everybody sittin’ there.”
    “And you’re not makin’ this up?” Taylor asked.
    “No, really. Some colored man and his son found the body.”

 
     
    CHAPTER 6
    We had a glass of milk when we got home. Then we were off to bed, well before eleven.
    “Do y’all have to sleep in pajamas, still?” I asked. By a certain age, most boys were of the opinion that pajamas were a little sissy.
    “Not really, but Momma would rather we did. Daddy said it wasn’t a big thing on his mind. Besides farm boys have to get up early and quick. Ain’t got time to fool with pajamas.”
    I put mine back in the drawer. Mother had made me pack them, but she didn’t say I had to wear them.
    Cousin Trek came in and told us to get to sleep and not lie down and talk all night, not if we expected to get up and go fishing. These were mostly standard instructions, and we went to sleep as soon as we could. We were excited about the three weeks ahead.
    Cousin Carol let us sleep late, until seven. But we were still tired. We had whispered until after one.
    “Hey, let’s eat and get on out,” Taylor said. He stood on the edge of the lower bunk and was holding on to the top edge while he poked me with his finger.
    “I’m up. Have been for a while. Is Casey up?”
    “I doubt it. He sleeps like a drunken sailor.” That must have been something he heard in a picture show, or maybe one of the men playing checkers had said it. I was pretty sure he had never seen a drunken sailor, sleeping or not.
    “Get up. I’ll go get him,” Taylor said. He went through the open double doors into the adjoining room.
    I threw back my sheet and swung my legs over the edge of the bed. There was a ladder at the end. That was for cowards, since real men jumped out of their beds like firemen or paratroopers. After jumping, I went through my assigned drawer looking for my most worn blue jeans. I was standing there in my underwear when Casey walked in.
    He rubbed his eyes for a moment then stared at me. “Hey! You gotta hole in your underwear. Booty, booty, booty. I—see—your—booty,” he hollered.
    Casey was only eight and he was always doing stuff you’d expect from a guy in the third grade. I dropped my underwear and mooned him.
    “Ahh!” He put his hands over his eyes.
    Taylor broke