The Grapes of Wrath

Ma said angrily, “Tom! They’s a whole lot I don’ un’erstan’. But goin’ away ain’t gonna ease us. It’s gonna bear us down.” And she went on, “They was the time when we was on the lan’. They was a boundary to us then. Ol’ folks died off, an’ little fellas come, an’ we was always one thing— we was the fambly— kinda whole and clear. An’ now we ain’t clear no more. I can’t get straight. They ain’t nothin’ keeps us clear. Al— he’s a hankerin’ an’ a-jibbitin’ to go off on his own. An’ Uncle John is jus’ a-draggin’ along. Pa’s lost his place. He ain’t the head no more. We’re crackin’ up, Tom. There ain’t no fambly now. An’ Rosasharn—” She looked around and found the girl’s wide eyes. “She gonna have her baby an’ they won’t be no fambly. I don’ know. I been a-tryin’ to keep her goin’. Winfiel’— what’s he gonna be, this-a-way? Gettin’ wild, an’ Ruthie too— like animals. Got nothin’ to trus’. Don’ go, Tom. Stay an’ help.”

“O.K.,” he said tiredly. “O.K., I shouldn’, though. I know it.” Ma went to her dishpan and washed the tin plates and dried them.

“You didn’ sleep.”

“No.”

“Well, you sleep. I seen your clothes was wet. I’ll hang ’em by the stove to dry.” She finished her work. “I’m goin’ now. I’ll pick. Rosasharn, if anybody comes, Tom’s sick, you hear? Don’ let nobody in. You hear?” Rose of Sharon nodded. “We’ll come back at noon. Get some sleep, Tom. Maybe we can get outa here tonight.” She moved swiftly to him. “Tom, you ain’t gonna slip out?”

“No, Ma.”

“You sure? You won’t go?”

“No, Ma. I’ll be here.”

“Awright. ’Member, Rosasharn.” She went out and closed the door firmly behind her. Tom lay still— and then a wave of sleep lifted him to the edge of unconsciousness and dropped him slowly back and lifted him again. “You— Tom!”

“Huh? Yeah!” He started awake. He looked over at Rose of Sharon. Her eyes were blazing with resentment. “What you want?”

“You killed a fella!”

“Yeah. Not so loud! You wanta rouse somebody?”

“What da I care?” she cried. “That lady tol’ me. She says what sin’s gonna do. She tol’ me. What chance I got to have a nice baby? Connie’s gone, an’ I ain’t gettin’ good food. I ain’t gettin’ milk.” Her voice rose hysterically. “An’ now you kill a fella. What chance that baby got to get bore right? I know— gonna be a freak— a freak! I never done no dancin’.”

Tom got up. “Sh!” he said. “You’re gonna get folks in here.”

“I don’ care. I’ll have a freak! I didn’ dance no hug-dance.” He went near to her. “Be quiet.”

“You get away from me. It ain’t the first fella you killed, neither.” Her face was growing red with hysteria. Her words blurred.

“I don’ wanta look at you.” She covered her head with her blanket.

Tom heard the choked, smothered cries. He bit his lower lip and studied the floor. And then he went to Pa’s bed. Under the edge of the mattress the rifle lay, a lever-action Winchester . 38, long and heavy. Tom picked it up and dropped the lever to see that a cartridge was in the chamber. He tested the hammer on half-cock. And then he went back to his mattress. He laid the rifle on the floor beside him, stock up and barrel pointing down. Rose of Sharon’s voice thinned to a whimper. Tom lay down again and covered himself, covered his bruised cheek with the blanket and made a little tunnel to breathe through. He sighed, “Jesus, oh, Jesus!”

Outside a group of cars went by, and voices sounded. “How many men?”

“Jes’ us— three. Whatcha payin’?”

“You go to house twenty-five. Number’s right on the door.”

“O.K., mister. Whatcha payin’?”

“Two and a half cents.”

“Why, goddamn it, a man can’t make his dinner!”

“That’s what we’re payin’. There’s two hundred men coming from the South that’ll be glad to get it.”

“But, Jesus, mister!”

“Go on now. Either take it or go on along. I got no time to argue.”

“But—”

“Look. I didn’ set the price. I’m just checking you in. If you want it, take it. If you don’t, turn right around and go along.”

“Twenty-five, you say?”

“Yes, twenty-five.”

TOM DOZED ON HIS MATTRESS. A stealthy sound in the room awakened him. His hand crept to the rifle and tightened on the grip. He drew back the covers from his face. Rose of Sharon was standing beside his mattress.

“What you want?” Tom demanded.

“You sleep,” she said. “You jus’ sleep off. I’ll watch the door. They won’t nobody get in.”

He studied her face for a moment. “O.K.,” he said, and he covered his face with the blanket again.

IN THE BEGINNING dusk Ma came back to the house. She paused on the doorstep and knocked and said, “It’s me,” so that Tom would not be worried. She opened the door and entered, carrying a bag. Tom awakened and sat up on his mattress. His wound had dried and tightened so that the unbroken skin was shiny. His left eye was drawn nearly shut. “Anybody come while we was gone?” Ma asked.

“No,” he said. “Nobody. I see they dropped the price.”

“How’d you know?”