The Grapes of Wrath

“You be careful,” said Ma. “Might git stopped.” Tom lifted up one side of his cave. In the dimness of the truck the pots jangled. “I can pull her down quick.” he said. “’Sides, I don’ like gettin’ trapped in here.” He rested up on his elbow. “By God, she’s gettin’ cold, ain’t she?”

“They’s clouds up,” said Pa. “Fella says it’s gonna be an early winter.”

“Squirrels a-buildin’ high, or grass seeds?” Tom asked. “By God, you can tell weather from anythin’. I bet you could find a fella could tell weather from a old pair of underdrawers.”

“I dunno,” Pa said. “Seems like it’s gittin’ on winter to me.

Fella’d have to live here a long time to know.”

“Which way we a-goin’?” Tom asked. “I dunno. Al, he turned off lef’. Seems like he’s goin’ back the way we come.”

Tom said, “I can’t figger what’s best. Seems like if we get on the main highway they’ll be more cops. With my face this-a-way, they’d pick me right up. Maybe we oughta keep to back roads.”

Ma said, “Hammer on the back. Get Al to stop.”

Tom pounded the front board with his fist; the truck pulled to a stop on the side of the road. Al got out and walked to the back. Ruthie and Winfield peeked out from under their blanket.

“What ya want?” Al demanded. Ma said, “We got to figger what to do. Maybe we better keep on the back roads. Tom says so.”

“It’s my face,” Tom added. “Anybody’d know. Any cop’d know me.”

“Well, which way you wanta go? I figgered north. We been south.”

“Yeah,” said Tom, “but keep on back roads.” Al asked, “How ’bout pullin’ off an’ catchin’ some sleep, goin’ on tomorra?” Ma said quickly. “Not yet. Le’s get some distance fust.”

“O.K.” Al got back in his seat and drove on. Ruthie and Winfield covered up their heads again. Ma called, “Is Winfiel’ all right?”

“Sure, he’s awright,” Ruthie said. “He been sleepin’.” Ma leaned back against the truck side. “Gives ya a funny feelin’ to be hunted like. I’m gittin’ mean.”

“Ever’body’s gittin’ mean,” said Pa. “Ever’body. You seen that fight today. Fella changes. Down that gov’ment camp we wasn’ mean.”

Al turned right on a graveled road, and the yellow lights shuddered over the ground. The fruit trees were gone now, and cotton plants took their place. They drove on for twenty miles through the cotton, turning, angling on the country roads. The road paralleled a bushy creek and turned over a concrete bridge and followed the stream on the other side. And then, on the edge of the creek the lights showed a long line of red boxcars, wheelless; and a big sign on the edge of the road said, “Cotton Pickers wanted.” Al slowed down. Tom peered between the side-bars of the truck. A quarter of a mile past the boxcars Tom hammered on the car again. Al stopped beside the road and got out again.

“Now what ya want?”

“Shut off the engine an’ climb up here,” Tom said. Al got into the seat, drove off into the ditch, cut lights and engine. He climbed over the tail gate. “Awright,” he said.

Tom crawled over the pots and knelt in front of Ma. “Look,” he said. “It says they want cotton pickers. I seen that sign. Now I been tryin’ to figger how I’m gonna stay with you, an’ not make no trouble. When my face gets well, maybe it’ll be awright, but not now. Ya see them cars back there. Well, the pickers live in them. Now maybe they’s work there. How about if you get work there an’ live in one of them cars?”

“How ’bout you?” Ma demanded. “Well, you seen that crick, all full a brush. Well, I could hide in that brush an’ keep outa sight. An’ at night you could bring me out somepin to eat. I seen a culvert, little ways back. I could maybe sleep in there.”

Pa said, “By God, I’d like to get my hands on some cotton! There’s work I un’erstan’.”

“Them cars might be a purty place to stay,” said Ma. “Nice an’ dry. You think they’s enough brush to hide in, Tom?”

“Sure. I been watchin’. I could fix up a little place, hide away. Soon’s my face gets well, I’d come out.”

“You gonna scar purty bad,” said Ma.

“Hell! Ever’body’s got scars.”

“I picked four hunderd poun’s oncet,” Pa said. “’Course it was a good heavy crop. If we all pick, we could get some money.”

“Could get some meat,” said Al. “What’ll we do right now?”

“Go back there, an’ sleep in the truck till mornin’,” Pa said. “Git work in the mornin’. I can see them bolls even in the dark.”

“How ’bout Tom?” Ma asked.

“Now you jus’ forget me, Ma. I’ll take me a blanket. You look out on the way back. They’s a nice culvert. You can bring me some bread or potatoes, or mush, an’ just leave it there. I’ll come get it.”

“Well!”

“Seems like good sense to me,” said Pa.

“It is good sense,” Tom insisted. “Soon’s my face gets a little better, why I’ll come out an’ go to pickin’.”

“Well, awright,” Ma agreed. “But don’ you take no chancet. Don’ let nobody see you for a while.”

Tom crawled to the back of the truck. “I’ll jus’ take this here blanket. You look for that culvert on the way back, Ma.”

“Take care,” she begged. “You take care.”

“Sure,” said Tom. “Sure I will.” He climbed the tail board, stepped down the bank. “Good night,” he said.