The Grapes of Wrath

Ma studied him. Her hand went blindly out and put the little bag of sugar on the pile in her arm. “Thanks to you,” she said quietly. She started for the door, and when she reached it, she turned about. “I’m learnin’ one thing good,” she said. “Learnin’ it all a time, ever’ day. If you’re in trouble or hurt or need— go to poor people. They’re the only ones that’ll help— the only ones.” The screen door slammed behind her.

The little man leaned his elbows on the counter and looked after her with his surprised eyes. A plump tortoise shell cat leaped up on the counter and stalked lazily near to him. It rubbed sideways against his arms, and he reached out with his hand and pulled it against his cheek. The cat purred loudly, and the tip of its tail jerked back and forth.

TOM AND AL AND PA and Uncle John walked in from the orchard when the dusk was deep. Their feet were a little heavy against the road. “You wouldn’ think jus’ reachin’ up an’ pickin’d get you in the back,” Pa said.

“Be awright in a couple days,” said Tom. “Say, Pa, after we eat I’m a-gonna walk out an’ see what all that fuss is outside the gate. It’s been a-workin’ on me. Wanta come?”

“No,” said Pa. “I like to have a little while to jus’ work an’ not think about nothin’. Seems like I jus’ been beatin’ my brains to death for a hell of a long time. No, I’m gonna set awhile, an’ then go to bed.”

“How ’bout you, Al?” Al looked away. “Guess I’ll look aroun’ in here, first.” he said. “Well, I know Uncle John won’t come. Guess I’ll go her alone. Got me all curious.” Pa said, “I’ll get a hell of a lot curiouser ’fore I’ll do anything about it— with all them cops out there.”

“Maybe they ain’t there at night,” Tom suggested. “Well, I ain’t gonna find out. An’ you better not tell Ma where you’re a-goin’. She’ll jus’ squirt her head off worryin’.” Tom turned to Al. “Ain’t you curious?”

“Guess I’ll jes’ look aroun’ this here camp,” Al said. “Lookin’ for girls, huh?”

“Mindin’ my own business,” Al said acidly. “I’m still a-goin’,” said Tom. They emerged from the orchard into the dusty street between the red shacks. The low yellow light of kerosene lanterns shone from some of the doorways, and inside, in the half-gloom, the black shapes of people moved about. At the end of the street a guard still sat, his shotgun resting against his knee.

Tom paused as he passed the guard. “Got a place where a fella can get a bath, mister?” The guard studied him in the half-light. At last he said, “See that water tank?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, there’s a hose over there.”

“Any warm water?”

“Say, who in hell you think you are, J. P. Morgan?”

“No,” said Tom. “No, I sure don’t. Good night, mister.”

The guard grunted contemptuously. “Hot water, for Christ’s sake. Be wantin’ tubs next.” He stared glumly after the four Joads.

A second guard came around the end house. “’S’matter, Mack?”

“Why, them goddamn Okies. ’Is they warm water?’ he says.”

The second guard rested his gun butt on the ground. “It’s them gov’ment camps,” he said. “I bet that fella been in a gov’ment camp. We ain’t gonna have no peace till we wipe them camps out. They’ll be wantin’ clean sheets, first thing we know.”

Mack asked, “How is it out at the main gate— hear anything?”

“Well, they was out there yellin’ all day. State police got it in hand. They’re runnin’ the hell outa them smart guys. I heard they’s a long lean son-of-a-bitch spark-pluggin’ the thing. Fella says they’ll get him tonight, an’ then she’ll go to pieces.”

“We won’t have no job if it comes too easy,” Mack said.

“We’ll have a job, all right. These goddamn Okies! You got to watch ’em all the time. Things get a little quiet, we can always stir ’em up a little.”

“Have trouble when they cut the rate here, I guess.”

“We sure will. No, you needn’ worry about us havin’ work— not while Hooper’s snubbin’ close.”

The fire roared in the Joad house. Hamburger patties splashed and hissed in the grease, and the potatoes bubbled. The house was full of smoke, and the yellow lantern light threw heavy black shadows on the walls. Ma worked quickly about the fire while Rose of Sharon sat on a box resting her heavy abdomen on her knees.

“Feelin’ better now?” Ma asked.

“Smell a cookin’ gets me. I’m hungry, too.”

“Go set in the door,” Ma said. “I got to have that box to break up anyways.”

The men trooped in. “Meat, by God!” said Tom. “And coffee. I smell her. Jesus, I’m hungry! I et a lot of peaches, but they didn’ do no good. Where can we wash, Ma?”

“Go down to the water tank. Wash down there. I jus’ sent Ruthie an’ Winfiel’ to wash.” The men went out again.

“Go on now, Rosasharn,” Ma ordered. “Either you set in the door or else on the bed. I got to break that box up.”

The girl helped herself up with her hands. She moved heavily to one of the mattresses and sat down on it. Ruthie and Winfield came in quietly, trying by silence and by keeping close to the wall to remain obscure.