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The Grapes of Wrath(230)

By:John Steinbeck & Robert DeMott


“Can’t tell. They’s a hell of a lot of water got to come down from the hills yet. Can’t tell. Might start up to rain again.”

Al said, “I been a-thinkin’. If she come in, ever’thing’ll get soaked.”

“Yeah.”

“Well, she won’t come up more’n three-four feet in the car ’cause she’ll go over the highway an’ spread out first.”

“How you know?” Pa asked.

“I took a sight on her, off the end of the car.” He held his hand. “’Bout this far up she’ll come.”

“Awright,” Pa said. “What about it? We won’t be here.”

“We got to be here. Truck’s here. Take a week to get the water out of her when the flood goes down.”

“Well—what’s your idear?”

“We can tear out the side-boards of the truck an’ build a kinda platform in here to pile our stuff ’an to set up on.”

“Yeah? How’ll we cook—how’ll we eat?”

“Well, it’ll keep our stuff dry.”

The light grew stronger outside, a gray metallic light. The second little stick floated away from the cat-walk. Pa placed another one higher up. “Sure climbin’,” he said. “I guess we better do that.”

Ma turned restlessly in her sleep. Her eyes started wide open. She cried sharply in warning, “Tom! Oh, Tom! Tom!”

Mrs. Wainwright spoke soothingly. The eyes flicked closed again and Ma squirmed under her dream. Mrs. Wainwright got up and walked to the doorway. “Hey!” she said softly. “We ain’t gonna git out soon.” She pointed to the corner of the car where the apple box was. “That ain’t doin’ no good. Jus’ cause trouble an’ sorra. Couldn’ you fellas kinda—take it out an’ bury it?”

The men were silent. Pa said at last, “Guess you’re right. Jus’ cause sorra. ’Gainst the law to bury it.”

“They’s lots a things ’gainst the law that we can’the’p doin’.”

“Yeah.”

Al said, “We oughta git them truck sides tore off ’fore the water comes up much more.”

Pa turned to Uncle John. “Will you take an’ bury it while Al an me git that lumber in?”

Uncle John said sullenly, “Why do I got to do it? Why don’t you fellas? I don’ like it.” And then, “Sure. I’ll do it. Sure, I will. Come on, give it to me.” His voice began to rise. “Come on! Give it to me.”

“Don’ wake ’em up,” Mrs. Wainwright said. She brought the apple box to the doorway and straightened the sack decently over it.

“Shovel’s standin’ right behin’ you,” Pa said.

Uncle John took the shovel in one hand. He slipped out the doorway into the slowly moving water, and it rose nearly to his waist before he struck bottom. He turned and settled the apple box under his other arm.

Pa said, “Come on, Al. Le’s git that lumber in.”

In the gray dawn light Uncle John waded around the end of the car, past the Joad truck; and he climbed the slippery bank to the highway. He walked down the highway, past the boxcar flat, until he came to a place where the boiling stream ran close to the road, where the willows grew along the road side. He put his shovel down, and holding the box in front of him, he edged through the brush until he came to the edge of the swift stream. For a time he stood watching it swirl by, leaving its yellow foam among the willow stems. He held the apple box against his chest. And then he leaned over and set the box in the stream and steadied it with his hand. He said fiercely, “Go down an’ tell ’em. Go down in the street an’ rot an’ tell ’em that way. That’s the way you can talk. Don’ even know if you was a boy or a girl. Ain’t gonna find out. Go on down now, an’ lay in the street. Maybe they’ll know then.” He guided the box gently out into the current and let it go. It settled low in the water, edged sideways, whirled around, and turned slowly over. The sack floated away, and the box, caught in the swift water, floated quickly away, out of sight, behind the brush. Uncle John grabbed the shovel and went rapidly back to the boxcars. He sloshed down into the water and waded to the truck, where Pa and Al were working, taking down the one-by-six planks.

Pa looked over at him. “Get it done?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, look,” Pa said. “If you’ll he’p Al, I’ll go down the store an’ get some stuff to eat.”

“Get some bacon,” Al said. “I need some meat.”

“I will,” Pa said. He jumped down from the truck and Uncle John took his place.