“Christ Awmighty! We all need stuff!”
Ma said, “How much’d we make today?”
“Dollar forty-two.”
“Well, you go right over’n get a can a milk for Winfiel’.”
“Now why’d he have to get sick?”
“I don’t know why, but he is. Now you git!” Pa went grumbling out the door. “You stirrin’ that mush?”
“Yeah.” Rose of Sharon speeded up the stirring to prove it.
Al complained, “God Awmighty, Ma! Is mush all we get after workin’ till dark?”
“Al, you know we got to git. Take all we got for gas. You know.”
“But, God Awmighty, Ma! A fella needs meat if he’s gonna work.”
“Jus’ you sit quiet,” she said. “We got to take the bigges’ thing an’ whup it fust. An’ you know what that thing is.”
Tom asked, “Is it about me?”
“We’ll talk when we’ve et,” said Ma. “Al, we got enough gas to go a ways, ain’t we?”
“’Bout a quarter tank,” said Al.
“I wisht you’d tell me,” Tom said.
“After. Jus’ wait.”
“Keep a-stirrin’ that mush, you. Here, lemme put on some coffee. You can have sugar on your mush or in your coffee. They ain’t enough for both.”
Pa came back with one tall can of milk. “’Leven cents,” he said disgustedly.
“Here!” Ma took the can and stabbed it open. She let the thick stream out into a cup, and handed it to Tom. “Give that to Winfiel’.”
Tom knelt beside the mattress. “Here, drink this.”
“I can’t. I’d sick it all up. Leave me be.”
Tom stood up. “He can’t take it now, Ma. Wait a little.”
Ma took the cup and set it on the window ledge. “Don’t none of you touch that,” she warned. “That’s for Winfiel’.”
“I ain’t had no milk,” Rose of Sharon said sullenly. “I oughta have some.”
“I know, but you’re still on your feet. This here little fella’s down. Is that mush good an’ thick?”
“Yeah. Can’t hardly stir it no more.”
“Awright, le’s eat. Now here’s the sugar. They’s about one spoon each. Have it on ya mush or in ya coffee.”
Tom said, “I kinda like salt an’ pepper on mush.”
“Salt her if you like,” Ma said. “The pepper’s out.”
The boxes were all gone. The family sat on the mattresses to eat their mush. They served themselves again and again, until the pot was nearly empty. “Save some for Winfiel’,” Ma said.
Winfield sat up and drank his milk, and instantly he was ravenous. He put the mush pot between his legs and ate what was left and scraped at the crust on the sides. Ma poured the rest of the canned milk in a cup and sneaked it to Rose of Sharon to drink secretly in a corner. She poured the hot black coffee into the cups and passed them around.
“Now will you tell what’s goin’ on?” Tom asked. “I wanta hear.”
Pa said uneasily, “I wisht Ruthie an’ Winfiel’ didn’ hafta hear. Can’t they go outside?”
Ma said, “No. They got to act growed up, even if they ain’t. They’s no help for it. Ruthie—you an’ Winfiel’ ain’t ever to say what you hear, else you’ll jus’ break us to pieces.”
“We won’t,” Ruthie said. “We’re growed up.”
“Well, jus’ be quiet, then.” The cups of coffee were on the floor. The short thick flame of the lantern, like a stubby butterfly’s wing, cast a yellow gloom on the walls.
“Now tell,” said Tom.
Ma said, “Pa, you tell.”
Uncle John slupped his coffee. Pa said, “Well, they dropped the price like you said. An’ they was a whole slew a new pickers so goddamn hungry they’d pick for a loaf a bread. Go for a peach, an’ somebody’d get it first. Gonna get the whole crop picked right off. Fellas runnin’ to a new tree. I seen fights—one fella claims it’s his tree, ’nother fella wants to pick off ’n it. Brang these here folks from as far’s El Centro. Hungrier’n hell. Work all day for a piece a bread. I says to the checker, ‘We can’t work for two an’ a half cents a box,’ an’ he says, ‘Go on, then, quit. These fellas can.’ I says, ‘Soon’s they get fed up they won’t.’ An’ he says, ‘Hell, we’ll have these here peaches in ’fore they get fed up.”’ Pa stopped.
“She was a devil,” said Uncle John. “They say they’s two hunderd more men comin’ in tonight.”