The Grapes of Wrath

“Well, I’m a-gonna pierce ya.” Ma hurried back into the tent. She came back with a cardboard box. Hurriedly she threaded a needle, doubled the thread and tied a series of knots in it. She threaded a second needle and knotted the thread. In the box she found a piece of cork.

“It’ll hurt. It’ll hurt.” Ma stepped to her, put the cork in back of the ear lobe and pushed the needle through the ear, into the cork. The girl twitched. “It sticks. It’ll hurt.”

“No more’n that.”

“Yes, it will.”

“Well, then. Le’s see the other ear first.” She placed the cork and pierced the other ear. “It’ll hurt.”

“Hush!” said Ma. “It’s all done.” Rose of Sharon looked at her in wonder. Ma clipped the needles off and pulled one knot of each thread through the lobes.

“Now,” she said. “Ever’ day we’ll pull one knot, and in a couple weeks it’ll be all well an’ you can wear ’em. Here— they’re your’n now. You can keep ’em.”

Rose of Sharon touched her ears tenderly and looked at the tiny spots of blood on her fingers. “It didn’ hurt. Jus’ stuck a little.”

“You oughta been pierced long ago,” said Ma. She looked at the girl’s face, and she smiled in triumph. “Now get them dishes all done up. Your baby gonna be a good baby. Very near let you have a baby without your ears was pierced. But you’re safe now.”

“Does it mean somepin?”

“Why, ’course it does,” said Ma. “’Course it does.”

AL STROLLED down the street toward the dancing platform. Outside a neat little tent he whistled softly, and then moved along the street. He walked to the edge of the grounds and sat down in the grass.

The clouds over the west had lost the red edging now, and the cores were black. Al scratched his legs and looked toward the evening sky.

In a few moments a blond girl walked near; she was pretty and sharp-featured. She sat down in the grass beside him and did not speak. Al put his hand on her waist and walked his fingers around.

“Don’t,” she said. “You tickle.”

“We’re goin’ away tomorra,” said Al.

She looked at him, startled. “Tomorra? Where?”

“Up north,” he said lightly.

“Well, we’re gonna git married, ain’t we?”

“Sure, sometime.”

“You said purty soon!” she cried angrily.

“Well, soon is when soon comes.”

“You promised.” He walked his fingers around farther. “Git away,” she cried. “You said we was.”

“Well, sure we are.”

“An’ now you’re goin’ away.”

Al demanded, “What’s the matter with you? You in a fambly way?”

“No, I ain’t.”

Al laughed. “I jus’ been wastin’ my time, huh?”

Her chin shot out. She jumped to her feet. “You git away from me, Al Joad. I don’ wanta see you no more.”

“Aw, come on. What’s the matter?”

“You think you’re jus’— hell on wheels.”

“Now wait a minute.”

“You think I got to go out with you. Well, I don’t! I got lots of chances.”

“Now wait a minute.”

“No, sir— you git away.”

Al lunged suddenly, caught her by the ankle, and tripped her. He grabbed her when she fell and held her and put his hand over her angry mouth. She tried to bite his palm, but he cupped it out over her mouth, and he held her down with his other arm. And in a moment she lay still, and in another moment they were giggling together in the dry grass.

“Why, we’ll be a-comin’ back purty soon,” said Al. “An’ I’ll have a pocketful a jack. We’ll go down to Hollywood an’ see the pitchers.”

She was lying on her back. Al bent over her. And he saw the bright evening star reflected in her eyes, and he saw the black cloud reflected in her eyes. “We’ll go on the train,” he said.

“How long ya think it’ll be?” she asked.

“Oh, maybe a month,” he said.

THE EVENING DARK came down and Pa and Uncle John squatted with the heads of families out by the office. They studied the night and the future. The little manager, in his white clothes, frayed and clean, rested his elbows on the porch rail. His face was drawn and tired. Huston looked up at him. “You better get some sleep, mister.”

“I guess I ought. Baby born last night in Unit Three. I’m getting to be a good midwife.”

“Fella oughta know,” said Huston. “Married fella got to know.”

Pa said, “We’re a-gittin’ out in the mornin’.”

“Yeah? Which way you goin’?”

“Thought we’d go up north a while. Try to get in the first cotton.

We ain’t had work. We’re outa food.”

“Know if they’s any work?” Huston asked.

“No, but we’re sure they ain’t none here.”

“They will be, a little later,” Huston said. “We’ll hold on.”

“We have to go,” said Pa. “Folks been so nice here— an’ the toilets an’ all. But we got to eat. Got a tank of gas. That’ll get us a little piece up the road. We had a bath ever’ day here. Never was so clean in my life. Funny thing— use ta be I on’y got a bath ever’ week an’ I never seemed to stink. But now if I don’ get one ever’ day I stink. Wonder if takin’ a bath so often makes that?”

“Maybe you couldn’t smell yourself before,” the manager said. “Maybe. I wisht we could stay.” The little manager held his temples between his palms. “I think there’s going to be another baby tonight,” he said. “We gonna have one in our fambly ’fore long,” said Pa. “I wisht we could have it here. I sure wisht we could.”