The Grapes of Wrath

From some little distance there came the sound of the beginning meeting, a sing-song chant of exhortation. The words were not clear, only the tone. The voice rose and fell, and went higher at each rise. Now a response filled in the pause, and the exhortation went up with a tone of triumph, and a growl of power came into the voice. It swelled and paused, and a growl came into the response. And now gradually the sentences of exhortation shortened, grew sharper, like commands; and into the responses came a complaining note. The rhythm quickened. Male and female voices had been one tone, but now in the middle of a response one woman’s voice went up and up in a wailing cry, wild and fierce, like the cry of a beast; and a deeper woman’s voice rose up beside it, a baying voice, and a man’s voice traveled up the scale in the howl of a wolf. The exhortation stopped, and only the feral howling came from the tent, and with it a thudding sound on the earth. Ma shivered. Rose of Sharon’s breath was panting and short, and the chorus of howls went on so long it seemed that lungs must burst.

Ma said, “Makes me nervous. Somepin happened to me.”

Now the high voice broke into hysteria, the gabbling screams of a hyena, the thudding became louder. Voices cracked and broke, and then the whole chorus fell to a sobbing, grunting undertone, and the slap of flesh and the thuddings on the earth; and the sobbing changed to a little whining, like that of a litter of puppies at a food dish.

Rose of Sharon cried softly with nervousness. Granma kicked the curtain off her legs, which lay like gray, knotted sticks. And Granma whined with the whining in the distance. Ma pulled the curtain back in place. And then Granma sighed deeply and her breathing grew steady and easy, and her closed eyelids ceased their flicking. She slept deeply, and snored through her half-open mouth. The whining from the distance was softer and softer until it could not be heard at all any more.

Rose of Sharon looked at Ma, and her eyes were blank with tears. “It done good,” said Rose of Sharon. “It done Granma good. She’s a-sleepin’.”

Ma’s head was down, and she was ashamed. “Maybe I done them good people wrong. Granma is asleep.”

“Whyn’t you ast our preacher if you done a sin?” the girl asked.

“I will— but he’s a queer man. Maybe it’s him made me tell them people they couldn’ come here. That preacher, he’s gettin’ roun’ to thinkin’ that what people does is right to do.” Ma looked at her hands and then she said, “Rosasharn, we got to sleep. ’F we’re gonna go tonight, we got to sleep.” She stretched out on the ground beside the mattress.

Rose of Sharon asked, “How about fannin’ Granma?”

“She’s asleep now. You lay down an’ rest.”

“I wonder where at Connie is?” the girl complained. “I ain’t seen him around for a long time.”

Ma said, “Sh! Get some rest.”

“Ma, Connie gonna study nights an’ get to be somepin.”

“Yeah. You tol’ me about that. Get some rest.”

The girl lay down on the edge of Granma’s mattress. “Connie’s got a new plan. He’s thinkin’ all a time. When he gets all up on ’lectricity he gonna have his own store, an’ then guess what we gonna have?”

“What?”

“Ice— all the ice you want. Gonna have a ice box. Keep it full. Stuff don’t spoil if you got ice.”

“Connie’s thinkin’ all a time,” Ma chuckled. “Better get some rest now.”

Rose of Sharon closed her eyes. Ma turned over on her back and crossed her hands under her head. She listened to Granma’s breathing and to the girl’s breathing. She moved a hand to start a fly from her forehead. The camp was quiet in the blinding heat, but the noises of hot grass— of crickets, the hum of flies— were a tone that was close to silence. Ma sighed deeply and then yawned and closed her eyes. In her half-sleep she heard footsteps approaching, but it was a man’s voice that started her awake.

“Who’s in here?”

Ma sat up quickly. A brown-faced man bent over and looked in. He wore boots and khaki pants and a khaki shirt with epaulets. On a Sam Browne belt a pistol holster hung, and a big silver star was pinned to his shirt at the left breast. A loose-crowned military cap was on the back of his head. He beat on the tarpaulin with his hand, and the tight canvas vibrated like a drum.

“Who’s in here?” he demanded again.

Ma asked, “What is it you want, mister?”

“What you think I want? I want to know who’s in here.”

“Why, they’s jus’ us three in here. Me an’ Granma an’ my girl.”

“Where’s your men?”

“Why, they went down to clean up. We was drivin’ all night.”

“Where’d you come from?”

“Right near Sallisaw, Oklahoma.”

“Well, you can’t stay here.”

“We aim to get out tonight an’ cross the desert, mister.”

“Well, you better. If you’re here tomorra this time I’ll run you in.

We don’t want none of you settlin’ down here.”