The Grapes of Wrath

At the Joad tent Ruthie and Winfield had bolted what little dinner they had, and then they started for the platform. Ma called them back, held up their faces with a hand under each chin, and looked into their nostrils, pulled their ears and looked inside, and sent them to the sanitary unit to wash their hands once more. They dodged around the back of the building and bolted for the platform, to stand among the children, close-packed about the band.

Al finished his dinner and spent half an hour shaving with Tom’s razor. Al had a tight-fitting wool suit and a striped shirt, and he bathed and washed and combed his straight hair back. And when the washroom was vacant for a moment, he smiled engagingly at himself in the mirror, and he turned and tried to see himself in profile when he smiled. He slipped his purple arm-bands on and put on his tight coat. And he rubbed up his yellow shoes with a piece of toilet paper. A late bather came in, and Al hurried out and walked recklessly toward the platform, his eye peeled for girls. Near the dance floor he saw a pretty blond girl sitting in front of a tent. He sidled near and threw open his coat to show his shirt.

“Gonna dance tonight?” he asked. The girl looked away and did not answer. “Can’t a fella pass a word with you? How ’bout you an’ me dancin’?” And he said nonchalantly, “I can waltz.” The girl raised her eyes shyly, and she said, “That ain’t nothin’— anybody can waltz.”

“Not like me,” said Al. The music surged, and he tapped one foot in time. “Come on,” he said.

A very fat woman poked her head out of the tent and scowled at him. “You git along,” she said fiercely. “This here girl’s spoke for. She’s a-gonna be married, an’ her man’s a-comin’ for her.”

Al winked rakishly at the girl, and he tripped on, striking his feet to the music and swaying his shoulders and swinging his arms. And the girl looked after him intently.

Pa put down his plate and stood up. “Come on, John,” he said; and he explained to Ma, “We’re a-gonna talk to some fellas about gettin’ work.” And Pa and Uncle John walked toward the manager’s house.

Tom worked a piece of store bread into the stew gravy on his plate and ate the bread. He handed his plate to Ma, and she put it in the bucket of hot water and washed it, and handed it to Rose of Sharon to wipe. “Ain’t you goin’ to the dance?” Ma asked.

“Sure,” said Tom. “I’m on a committee. We’re gonna entertain some fellas.”

“Already on a committee?” Ma said. “I guess it’s ’cause you got work.” Rose of Sharon turned to put the dish away. Tom pointed at her. “My God, she’s a-gettin’ big,” he said. Rose of Sharon blushed and took another dish from Ma. “Sure she is,” Ma said.

“An’ she’s gettin’ prettier,” said Tom. The girl blushed more deeply and hung her head. “You stop it,” she said softly. “’Course she is,” said Ma. “Girl with a baby always gets prettier.” Tom laughed. “If she keeps a-swellin’ like this, she gonna need a wheelbarra to carry it.”

“Now you stop,” Rose of Sharon said, and she went inside the tent, out of sight. Ma chuckled, “You shouldn’ ought to worry her.”

“She likes it,” said Tom.

“I know she likes it, but it worries her, too. And she’s a-mournin’ for Connie.”

“Well, she might’s well give him up. He’s prob’ly studyin’ to be President of the United States by now.”

“Don’t worry her,” Ma said. “She ain’t got no easy row to hoe.” Willie Eaton moved near, and he grinned and said, “You Tom Joad?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, I’m Chairman the Entertainment Committee. We gonna need you. Fella tol’ me ’bout you.”

“Sure, I’ll play with you,” said Tom. “This here’s Ma.”

“Howdy,” said Willie. “Glad to meet ya.” Willie said, “Gonna put you on the gate to start, an’ then on the floor. Want ya to look over the guys when they come in, an’ try to spot ’em. You’ll be with another fella. Then later I want ya to dance an’ watch.”

“Yeah! I can do that awright,” said Tom. Ma said apprehensively, “They ain’t no trouble?”

“No, ma’am,” Willie said. “They ain’t gonna be no trouble.”

“None at all,” said Tom. “Well, I’ll come ’long. See you at the dance, Ma.” The two young men walked quickly away toward the main gate. Ma piled the washed dishes on a box. “Come on out,” she called, and when there was no answer, “Rosasharn, you come out.” The girl stepped from the tent, and she went on with the dish-wiping. “Tom was on’y jollyin’ ya.”

“I know. I didn’t mind; on’y I hate to have folks look at me.”

“Ain’t no way to he’p that. Folks gonna look. But it makes folks happy to see a girl in a fambly way— makes folks sort of giggly an’ happy. Ain’t you a-goin’ to the dance?”

“I was— but I don’ know. I wisht Connie was here.” Her voice rose. “Ma, I wisht he was here. I can’t hardly stan’ it.” Ma looked closely at her. “I know,” she said. “But, Rosasharn don’ shame your folks.”

“I don’ aim to, Ma.”

“Well, don’ you shame us. We got too much on us now, without no shame.” The girl’s lip quivered. “I— I ain’ goin’ to the dance. I couldn’Mahe’p me!” She sat down and buried her head in her hands.