The Grapes of Wrath(189)
Ruthie and Winfield grabbed their biscuits and climbed up on the load. They covered themselves with a blanket and went back to sleep, still holding the cold hard biscuits in their hands. Tom got into the driver’s seat and stepped on the starter. It buzzed a little, and then stopped.
“Goddamn you, Al!” Tom cried. “You let the battery run down.”
Al blustered, “How the hell was I gonna keep her up if I ain’t got gas to run her?”
Tom chuckled suddenly. “Well, I don’ know how, but it’s your fault. You got to crank her.”
“I tell you it ain’t my fault.”
Tom got out and found the crank under the seat. “It’s my fault,” he said.
“Gimme that crank.” Al seized it. “Pull down the spark so she don’t take my arm off.”
“O.K. Twist her tail.”
Al labored at the crank, around and around. The engine caught, spluttered, and roared as Tom choked the car delicately. He raised the spark and reduced the throttle.
Ma climbed in beside him. “We woke up ever’body in the camp,” she said.
“They’ll go to sleep again.”
Al climbed in on the other side. “Pa ’n’ Uncle John got up top,” he said. “Goin’ to sleep again.”
Tom drove toward the main gate. The watchman came out of the office and played his flashlight on the truck. “Wait a minute.”
“What ya want?”
“You checkin’ out?”
“Sure.”
“Well, I got to cross you off.”
“O.K.”
“Know which way you’re goin’?”
“Well, we’re gonna try up north.”
“Well, good luck,” said the watchman.
“Same to you. So long.”
The truck edged slowly over the big hump and into the road. Tom retraced the road he had driven before, past Weedpatch and west until he came to 99, then north on the great paved road, toward Bakersfield. It was growing light when he came into the outskirts of the city.
Tom said, “Ever’ place you look is restaurants. An’ them places all got coffee. Lookit that all-nighter there. Bet they got ten gallons a coffee in there, all hot!”
“Aw, shut up,” said Al.
Tom grinned over at him. “Well, I see you got yaself a girl right off.”
“Well, what of it?”
“He’s mean this mornin’, Ma. He ain’t good company.”
Al said irritably, “I’m goin’ out on my own purty soon. Fella can make his way lot easier if he ain’t got a fambly.”
Tom said, “You’d have yaself a fambly in nine months. I seen you playin’ aroun’.”
“Ya crazy,” said Al. “I’d get myself a job in a garage an’ I’d eat in restaurants——”
“An’ you’d have a wife an’ kid in nine months.”
“I tell ya I wouldn’.”
Tom said, “You’re a wise guy, Al. You gonna take some beatin’ over the head.”
“Who’s gonna do it?”
“They’ll always be guys to do it,” said Tom.
“You think jus’ because you——”
“Now you jus’ stop that,” Ma broke in.
“I done it,” said Tom. “I was a-badgerin’ him. I didn’ mean no harm, Al. I didn’ know you liked that girl so much.”
“I don’t like no girls much.”
“Awright, then, you don’t. You ain’t gonna get no argument out of me.”
The truck came to the edge of the city. “Look a them hotdog stan’s—hunderds of ’em,” said Tom.
Ma said, “Tom! I got a dollar put away. You wan’ coffee bad enough to spen’ it?”
“No, Ma. I’m jus’ foolin’.”
“You can have it if you wan’ it bad enough.”
“I wouldn’ take it.”
Al said, “Then shut up about coffee.”
Tom was silent for a time. “Seems like I got my foot in it all the time,” he said. “There’s the road we run up that night.”
“I hope we don’t never have nothin’ like that again,” said Ma. “That was a bad night.”
“I didn’ like it none either.”
The sun rose on their right, and the great shadow of the truck ran beside them, flicking over the fence posts beside the road. They ran on past the rebuilt Hooverville.
“Look,” said Tom. “They got new people there. Looks like the same place.”
Al came slowly out of his sullenness. “Fella tol’ me some a them people been burned out fifteen-twenty times. Says they jus’ go hide down the willows an’ then they come out an’ build ’em another weed shack. Jus’ like gophers. Got so use’ to it they don’t even get mad no more, this fella says. They jus’ figger it’s like bad weather.”