The Grapes of Wrath

Ma’s face blackened with anger. She got slowly to her feet. She stooped to the utensil box and picked out the iron skillet. “Mister,” she said, “you got a tin button an’ a gun. Where I come from, you keep your voice down.” She advanced on him with the skillet. He loosened the gun in the holster. “Go ahead,” said Ma. “Scarin’ women. I’m thankful the men folks ain’t here. They’d tear ya to pieces. In my country you watch your tongue.”

The man took two steps backward. “Well, you ain’t in your country now. You’re in California, an’ we don’t want you goddamn Okies settlin’ down.”

Ma’s advance stopped. She looked puzzled. “Okies?” she said softly. “Okies.”

“Yeah, Okies! An’ if you’re here when I come tomorra, I’ll run ya in.” He turned and walked to the next tent and banged on the canvas with his hand. “Who’s in here?” he said.

Ma went slowly back under the tarpaulin. She put the skillet in the utensil box. She sat down slowly. Rose of Sharon watched her secretly. And when she saw Ma fighting with her face, Rose of Sharon closed her eyes and pretended to be asleep.

The sun sank low in the afternoon, but the heat did not seem to decrease. Tom awakened under his willow, and his mouth was parched and his body was wet with sweat, and his head was dissatisfied with his rest. He staggered to his feet and walked toward the water. He peeled off his clothes and waded into the stream. And the moment the water was about him, his thirst was gone. He lay back in the shallows and his body floated. He held himself in place with his elbows in the sand and looked at his toes, which bobbed above the surface.

A pale skinny little boy crept like an animal through the reeds and slipped off his clothes. And he squirmed into the water like a muskrat, and pulled himself along like a muskrat, only his eyes and nose above the surface. Then suddenly he saw Tom’s head and saw that Tom was watching him. He stopped his game and sat up.

Tom said, “Hello.”

“’Lo!”

“Looks like you was playin’ muskrat.”

“Well, I was.” He edged gradually away toward the bank; he moved casually, and then he leaped out, gathered his clothes with a sweep of his arms, and was gone among the willows.

Tom laughed quietly. And then he heard his name called shrilly.

“Tom, oh, Tom!” He sat up in the water and whistled through his teeth, a piercing whistle with a loop on the end. The willows shook, and Ruthie stood looking at him.

“Ma wants you,” she said. “Ma wants you right away.”

“Awright.” He stood up and strode through the water to the shore; and Ruthie looked with interest and amazement at his naked body.

Tom, seeing the direction of her eyes, said, “Run on now. Git!” And Ruthie ran. Tom heard her calling excitedly for Winfield as she went. He put the hot clothes on his cool, wet body and he walked slowly up through the willows toward the tent.

Ma had started a fire of dry willow twigs, and she had a pan of water heating. She looked relieved when she saw him.

“What’s a matter, Ma?” he asked.

“I was scairt,” she said. “They was a policeman here. He says we can’t stay here. I was scairt he talked to you. I was scairt you’d hit him if he talked to you.”

Tom said, “What’d I go an’ hit a policeman for?”

Ma smiled. “Well— he talked so bad— I nearly hit him myself.”

Tom grabbed her arm and shook her roughly and loosely, and he laughed. He sat down on the ground, still laughing. “My God, Ma. I knowed you when you was gentle. What’s come over you?”

She looked serious. “I don’ know, Tom.”

“Fust you stan’ us off with a jack handle, and now you try to hit a cop.” He laughed softly, and he reached out and patted her bare foot tenderly. “A ol’ hell-cat,” he said.

“Tom.”

“Yeah?”

She hesitated a long time. “Tom, this here policeman— he called us— Okies. He says, ’We don’ want you goddamn Okies settlin’ down.’”

Tom studied her, and his hand still rested gently on her bare foot. “Fella tol’ about that,” he said. “Fella tol’ how they say it.” He considered, “Ma, would you say I was a bad fella? Oughta be locked up— like that?”

“No,” she said. “You been tried— No. What you ast me for?”

“Well, I dunno. I’d a took a sock at that cop.”

Ma smiled with amusement. “Maybe I oughta ast you that, ’cause I nearly hit ’im with a skillet.”

“Ma, why’d he say we couldn’ stop here?”

“Jus’ says they don’ want no damn Okies settlin’ down. Says he gonna run us in if we’re here tomorra.”

“But we ain’t use’ ta gettin’ shoved aroun’ by no cops.”

“I tol’ him that,” said Ma. “He says we ain’t home now. We’re in California, and they do what they want.”

Tom said uneasily, “Ma, I got somepin to tell ya. Noah— he went on down the river. He ain’t a-goin’ on.”

It took a moment for Ma to understand. “Why?” she asked softly.

“I don’ know. Says he got to. Says he got to stay. Says for me to tell you.”

“How’ll he eat?” she demanded.

“I don’ know. Says he’ll catch fish.”

Ma was silent a long time. “Family’s fallin’ apart,” she said. “I don’ know. Seems like I can’t think no more. I jus’ can’t think. They’s too much.”