The Grapes of Wrath(179)
“Well, a raggedy kid with no shoes, an’ them other kids with socks on, an’ nice pants, an’ them a-yellin’‘Okie.’ My boy went to school. Had a fight evr’ day. Done good, too. Tough little bastard. Ever’ day he got to fight. Come home with his clothes tore an’ his nose bloody. An’ his ma’d whale him. Made her stop that. No need ever’body beatin’ the hell outa him, poor little fella. Jesus! He give some a them kids a goin’-over, though—them nice-pants sons-a-bitches. I dunno. I dunno.”
Pa demanded, “Well, what the hell am I gonna do? We’re outa money. One of my boys got a short job, but that won’t feed us. I’m a-gonna go an’ take twenty cents. I got to.”
Black Hat raised his head, and his bristled chin showed in the light, and his stringy neck where the whiskers lay flat like fur. “Yeah!” he said bitterly. “You’ll do that. An’ I’m a two-bit man. You’ll take my job for twenty cents. An’ then I’ll git hungry an’ I’ll take my job back for fifteen. Yeah! You go right on an’ do her.”
“Well, what the hell can I do?” Pa demanded. “I can’t starve so’s you can get two bits.”
Black Hat dipped his head again, and his chin went into the shadow. “I dunno,” he said. “I jes’ dunno. It’s bad enough to work twelve hours a day an’ come out jes’ a little bit hungry, but we got to figure all a time, too. My kid ain’t gettin’ enough to eat. I can’t think all the time, goddamn it! It drives a man crazy.” The circle of men shifted their feet nervously.
*
Tom stood at the gate and watched the people coming in to the dance. A floodlight shone down into their faces. Willie Eaton said, “Jes’ keep your eyes open. I’m sendin’ Jule Vitela over. He’s half Cherokee. Nice fella. Keep your eyes open. An’ see if you can pick out the ones.”
“O.K.,” said Tom. He watched the farm families come in, the girls with braided hair and the boys polished for the dance. Jule came and stood beside him.
“I’m with you,” he said.
Tom looked at the hawk nose and the high brown cheek bones and the slender receding chin. “They says you’re half Injun. You look all Injun to me.”
“No,” said Jule. “Jes’ half. Wisht I was a full-blood. I’d have my lan’ on the reservation. Them full-bloods got it pretty nice, some of ’em.”
“Look a them people,” Tom said.
The guests were moving in through the gateway, families from the farms, migrants from the ditch camps. Children straining to be free and quiet parents holding them back.
Jule said, “These here dances done funny things. Our people got nothing, but jes’ because they can ast their frien’s to come here to the dance, sets ’em up an’ makes ’em proud. An’ the folks respects ’em ’count of these here dances. Fella got a little place where I was a-workin’. He come to a dance here. I ast him myself, an’ he come. Says we got the only decent dance in the county, where a man can take his girls an’ his wife. Hey! Look.”
Three young men were coming through the gate—young working men in jeans. They walked close together. The guard at the gate questioned them, and they answered and passed through.
“Look at ’em careful,” Jule said. He moved to the guard. “Who ast them three?” he asked.
“Fella named Jackson, Unit Four.”
Jule came back to Tom. “I think them’s our fellas.”
“How ya know?”
“I dunno how. Jes’ got a feelin’. They’re kinda scared. Foller ’em an’ tell Willie to look ’em over, an’ tell Willie to check with Jackson, Unit Four. Get him to see if they’re all right. I’ll stay here.”
Tom strolled after the three young men. They moved toward the dance floor and took their positions quietly on the edge of the crowd. Tom saw Willie near the band and signaled him.
“What cha want?” Willie asked.
“Them three—see—there?”
“Yeah.”
“They say a fella name’ Jackson, Unit Four, ast ’em.”
Willie craned his neck and saw Huston and called him over. “Them three fellas,” he said. “We better get Jackson, Unit Four, an’ see if he ast ’em.”
Huston turned on his heel and walked away; and in a few moments he was back with a lean and bony Kansan. “This here’s Jackson,” Huston said. “Look, Jackson, see them three young fellas—?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, did you ast ’em?”