The Grapes of Wrath(188)

“How?” Willie asked. “What you gonna do—steal some stuff an’ git in jail? Kill somebody an’ git hung?”

“I don’ know,” said Jule. “Gits me nuts thinkin’ about it. Gets me clear nuts.”

“I’m a-gonna miss them dances,” Tom said. “Them was some of the nicest dances I ever seen. Well, I’m gonna turn in. So long. I’ll be seein’ you someplace.” He shook hands.

“Sure will,” said Jule.

“Well, so long.” Tom moved away into the darkness.

*

In the darkness of the Joad tent Ruthie and Winfield lay on their mattress, and Ma lay beside them. Ruthie whispered, “Ma!”

“Yeah? Ain’t you asleep yet?”

“Ma—they gonna have croquet where we’re goin’?”

“I don’ know. Get some sleep. We want to get an early start.”

“Well, I wisht we’d stay here where we’re sure we got croquet.”

“Sh!” said Ma.

“Ma, Winfiel’ hit a kid tonight.”

“He shouldn’ of.”

“I know. I tol’ ’im, but he hit the kid right in the nose an’, Jesus, how the blood run down!”

“Don’ talk like that. It ain’t a nice way to talk.”

Winfield turned over. “That kid says we was Okies,” he said in an outraged voice. “He says he wasn’t no Okie ’cause he come from Oregon. Says we was goddamn Okies. I socked him.”

“Sh! You shouldn’. He can’t hurt you callin’ names.”

“Well, I won’t let ’im,” Winfield said fiercely.

“Sh! Get some sleep.”

Ruthie said, “You oughta seen the blood run down—all over his clothes.”

Ma reached a hand from under the blanket and snapped Ruthie on the cheek with her finger. The little girl went rigid for a moment, and then dissolved into sniffling, quiet crying.


In the sanitary unit Pa and Uncle John sat in adjoining compartments. “Might’s well get in a good las’ one,” said Pa. “It’s sure nice. ’Member how the little fellas was so scairt when they flushed ’em the first time?”

“I wasn’t so easy myself,” said Uncle John. He pulled his overalls neatly up around his knees. “I’m gettin’ bad,” he said. “I feel sin.”

“You can’t sin none,” said Pa. “You ain’t got no money. Jus’ sit tight. Cos’ you at leas’ two bucks to sin, an’ we ain’t got two bucks amongst us.”

“Yeah! But I’m a-thinkin’ sin.”

“Awright. You can think sin for nothin’.”

“It’s jus’ as bad,” said Uncle John.

“It’s a whole hell of a lot cheaper,” said Pa.

“Don’t you go makin’ light of sin.”

“I ain’t. You jus’ go ahead. You always gets sinful jus’ when hell’s a-poppin’.”

“I know it,” said Uncle John. “Always was that way. I never tol’ half the stuff I done.”

“Well, keep it to yaself.”

“These here nice toilets gets me sinful.”

“Go out in the bushes then. Come on, pull up ya pants an’ le’s get some sleep.” Pa pulled his overall straps in place and snapped the buckle. He flushed the toilet and watched thoughtfully while the water whirled in the bowl.


It was still dark when Ma roused her camp. The low night lights shone through the open doors of the sanitary units. From the tents along the road came the assorted snores of the campers.

Ma said, “Come on, roll out. We got to be on our way. Day’s not far off.” She raised the screechy shade of the lantern and lighted the wick. “Come on, all of you.”

The floor of the tent squirmed into slow action. Blankets and comforts were thrown back and sleepy eyes squinted blindly at the light. Ma slipped on her dress over the underclothes she wore to bed. “We got no coffee,” she said. “I got a few biscuits. We can eat ’em on the road. Jus’ get up now, an’ we’ll load the truck. Come on now. Don’t make no noise. Don’ wanta wake the neighbors.”

It was a few moments before they were fully aroused. “Now don’ you get away,” Ma warned the children. The family dressed. The men pulled down the tarpaulin and loaded up the truck. “Make it nice an’flat,” Ma warned them. They piled the mattress on top of the load and bound the tarpaulin in place over its ridge pole.

“Awright, Ma,” said Tom. “She’s ready.”

Ma held a plate of cold biscuits in her hand. “Awright. Here. Each take one. It’s all we got.”