The Grapes of Wrath

He was about to get up when a group of men walked by on the edge of the highway. Tom waited until they were far ahead before he stood up and followed them. He watched the side of the road for tents. A few automobiles went by. A stream cut across the fields, and the highway crossed it on a small concrete bridge. Tom looked over the side of the bridge. In the bottom of the deep ravine he saw a tent and a lantern was burning inside. He watched it for a moment, saw the shadows of people against the canvas walls. Tom climbed a fence and moved down into the ravine through brush and dwarf willows; and in the bottom, beside a tiny stream, he found a trail. A man sat on a box in front of the tent.

“Evenin’,” Tom said. “Who are you?”

“Well— I guess, well— I’m jus’ goin’ past.”

“Know anybody here?”

“No. I tell you I was jus’ goin’ past.” A head stuck out of the tent. A voice said, “What’s the matter?”

“Casy!” Tom cried. “Casy! For Chris’ sake, what you doin’ here?”

“Why, my God, it’s Tom Joad! Come on in, Tommy. Come on in.”

“Know him, do ya?” the man in front asked. “Know him? Christ, yes. Knowed him for years. I come west with him. Come on in, Tom.” He clutched Tom’s elbow and pulled him into the tent. Three other men sat on the ground, and in the center of the tent a lantern burned. The men looked up suspiciously. A dark-faced, scowling man held out his hand. “Glad to meet ya,” he said. “I heard what Casy said. This the fella you was tellin’ about?”

“Sure. This is him. Well, for God’s sake! Where’s your folks? What you doin’ here?”

“Well,” said Tom, “we heard they was work this-a-way. An’ we come, an’ a bunch a State cops run us into this here ranch an’ we been a-pickin’ peaches all afternoon. I seen a bunch a fellas yellin’. They wouldn’ tell me nothin’, so I come out here to see what’s goin’ on. How’n hell’d you get here, Casy?”

The preacher leaned forward and the yellow lantern light fell on his high pale forehead. “Jail house is a kinda funny place,” he said. “Here’s me, been a-goin’ into the wilderness like Jesus to try find out somepin. Almost got her sometimes, too. But it’s in the jail house I really got her.” His eyes were sharp and merry. “Great big ol’ cell, an’ she’s full all a time. New guys come in, and guys go out. An’ ’course I talked to all of ’em.”

“’Course you did,” said Tom. “Always talk. If you was up on the gallows you’d be passin’ the time a day with the hangman. Never seen sech a talker.”

The men in the tent chuckled. A wizened little man with a wrinkled face slapped his knee. “Talks all the time,” he said. “Folks kinda likes to hear ’im, though.”

“Use’ ta be a preacher,” said Tom. “Did he tell that?”

“Sure, he told.”

Casy grinned. “Well, sir,” he went on, “I begin gettin’ at things. Some of them fellas in the tank was drunks, but mostly they was there ’cause they stole stuff; an’ mostly it was stuff they needed an’ couldn’ get no other way. Ya see?” he asked.

“No,” said Tom.

“Well, they was nice fellas, ya see. What made ’em bad was they needed stuff. An’ I begin to see, then. It’s need that makes all the trouble. I ain’t got it worked out. Well, one day they give us some beans that was sour. One fella started yellin’, an’ nothin’ happened. He yelled his head off. Trusty come along an’ looked in an’ went on. Then another fella yelled. Well, sir, then we all got yellin’. And we all got on the same tone, an’ I tell ya, it jus’ seemed like that tank bulged an’ give and swelled up. By God! Then somepin happened! They come a-runnin’, and they give us some other stuff to eat— give it to us. Ya see?”

“No,” said Tom.

Casy put his chin down on his hands. “Maybe I can’t tell you,” he said. “Maybe you got to find out. Where’s your cap?”

“I come without it.”

“How’s your sister?”

“Hell, she’s big as a cow. I bet she got twins. Gonna need wheels under her stomach. Got to holdin’ it with her han’s, now. You ain’ tol’ me what’s goin’ on.”

The wizened man said, “We struck. This here’s a strike.”

“Well, fi’ cents a box ain’t much, but a fella can eat.”

“Fi’ cents?” the wizened man cried. “Fi’ cents! They payin’ you fi’ cents?”

“Sure. We made a buck an’ a half.”

A heavy silence fell in the tent. Casy stared out the entrance, into the dark night. “Lookie, Tom,” he said at last. “We come to work there. They says it’s gonna be fi’ cents. They was a hell of a lot of us. We got there an’ they says they’re payin’ two an’ a half cents. A fella can’t even eat on that, an’ if he got kids— So we says we won’t take it. So they druv us off. An’ all the cops in the worl’ come down on us. Now they’re payin’ you five. When they bust this here strike— ya think they’ll pay five?”

“I dunno,” Tom said. “Payin’ five now.”

“Lookie,” said Casy. “We tried to camp together, an’ they druv us like pigs. Scattered us. Beat the hell outa fellas. Druv us like pigs. They run you in like pigs, too. We can’t las’ much longer. Some people ain’t et for two days. You goin’ back tonight?”

“Aim to,” said Tom.