The Grapes of Wrath

This was Al’s first participation in the conference. Always he had stood behind with the women before. And now he made his report solemnly. “She’s old an’ she’s ornery,” he said gravely. “I gave the whole thing a good goin’-over ’fore we bought her. Didn’ listen to the fella talkin’ what a hell of a bargain she was. Stuck my finger in the differential and they wasn’t no sawdust. Opened the gear box an’ they wasn’t no sawdust. Test’ her clutch an’ rolled her wheels for line. Went under her an’ her frame ain’t splayed none. She never been rolled. Seen they was a cracked cell in her battery an’ made the fella put in a good one. The tires ain’t worth a damn, but they’re a good size. Easy to get. She’ll ride like a bull calf, but she ain’t shootin’ no oil. Reason I says buy her is she was a pop’lar car. Wreckin’ yards is full a Hudson Super-Sixes, an’ you can buy parts cheap. Could a got a bigger, fancier car for the same money, but parts too hard to get, an’ too dear. That’s how I figgered her anyways.” The last was his submission to the family. He stopped speaking and waited for their opinions.

Grampa was still the titular head, but he no longer ruled. His position was honorary and a matter of custom. But he did have the right of first comment, no matter how silly his old mind might be. And the squatting men and the standing women waited for him. “You’re all right, Al,” Grampa said. “I was a squirt jus’ like you, a-fartin’ aroun’ like a dog-wolf. But when they was a job, I done it. You’ve growed up good.” He finished in the tone of a benediction, and Al reddened a little with pleasure.

Pa said, “Sounds right-side-up to me. If it was horses we wouldn’t have to put the blame on Al. But Al’s the on’y automobile fella here.”

Tom said, “I know some. Worked some in McAlester. Al’s right. He done good.” And now Al was rosy with the compliment. Tom went on, “I’d like to say— well, that preacher— he wants to go along.” He was silent. His words lay in the group, and the group was silent. “He’s a nice fella,” Tom added. “We’ve knowed him a long time. Talks a little wild sometimes, but he talks sensible.” And he relinquished the proposal to the family.

The light was going gradually. Ma left the group and went into the house, and the iron clang of the stove came from the house. In a moment she walked back to the brooding council.

Grampa said, “They was two ways a thinkin’. Some folks use’ ta figger that a preacher was poison luck.”

Tom said, “This fella says he ain’t a preacher no more.”

Grampa waved his hand back and forth. “Once a fella’s a preacher, he’s always a preacher. That’s somepin you can’t get shut of. They was some folks figgered it was a good respectable thing to have a preacher along. Ef somebody died, preacher buried ’em. Weddin’ come due, or overdue, an’ there’s your preacher. Baby come, an’ you got a christener right under the roof. Me, I always said they was preachers an’ preachers. Got to pick ’em. I kinda like this fella. He ain’t stiff.”

Pa dug his stick into the dust and rolled it between his fingers so that it bored a little hole. “They’s more to this than is he lucky, or is he a nice fella,” Pa said. “We got to figger close. It’s a sad thing to figger close. Le’s see, now. There’s Grampa an’ Granmathat’s two. An’ me an’ John an’ Ma— that’s five. An’ Noah an’ Tommy an’ Al— that’s eight. Rosasharn an’ Connie is ten, an’ Ruthie an’ Winfiel’ is twelve. We got to take the dogs ’cause what’ll we do else? Can’t shoot a good dog, an’ there ain’t nobody to give ’em to. An’ that’s fourteen.”

“Not countin’ what chickens is left, an’ two pigs,” said Noah.

Pa said, “I aim to get those pigs salted down to eat on the way. We gonna need meat. Carry the salt kegs right with us. But I’m wonderin’ if we can all ride, an’ the preacher too. An’ kin we feed a extra mouth?” Without turning his head he asked, “Kin we, Ma?”

Ma cleared her throat. “It ain’t kin we? It’s will we?” she said firmly. “As far as ’kin,’ we can’t do nothin’, not go to California or nothin’; but as far as ’will,’ why, we’ll do what we will. An’ as far as ’will’— it’s a long time our folks been here and east before, an’ I never heerd tell of no Joads or no Hazletts, neither, ever refusin’ food an’ shelter or a lift on the road to anybody that asked. They’s been mean Joads, but never that mean.”

Pa broke in, “But s’pose there just ain’t room?” He had twisted his neck to look up at her, and he was ashamed. Her tone had made him ashamed. “S’pose we jus’ can’t all get in the truck?”

“There ain’t room now,” she said. “There ain’t room for more’n six, an’ twelve is goin’ sure. One more ain’t gonna hurt; an’ a man, strong an’ healthy, ain’t never no burden. An’ any time when we got two pigs an’ over a hundred dollars, an’ we wonderin’ if we kin feed a fella—” She stopped, and Pa turned back, and his spirit was raw from the whipping.

Granma said, “A preacher is a nice thing to be with us. He give a nice grace this morning.”