The Grapes of Wrath

Ma looked at him strangely. Her white lips smiled in a dreaming compassion. “Don’t take no blame. Hush! It’ll be awright. They’s changes— all over.”

“Maybe the water— maybe we’ll have to go.”

“When it’s time to go— we’ll go. We’ll do what we got to do. Now hush. You might wake her.”

Mrs. Wainwright broke twigs and poked them in the sodden, smoking fire.

From outside came the sound of an angry voice. “I’m goin’ in an’ see the son-of-a-bitch myself.”

And then, just outside the door, Al’s voice, “Where you think you’re goin’?”

“Goin’ in to see that bastard Joad.”

“No, you ain’t. What’s the matter’th you?”

“If he didn’t have that fool idear about the bank, we’d a got out. Now our car is dead.”

“You think ours is burnin’ up the road?”

“I’m a-goin’ in.”

Al’s voice was cold. “You’re gonna fight your way in.”

Pa got slowly to his feet and went to the door. “Awright, Al, I’m comin’ out. It’s awright, Al.” Pa slid down the cat-walk. Ma heard him say, “We got sickness. Come on down here.”

The rain scattered lightly on the roof now, and a new-risen breeze blew it along in sweeps. Mrs. Wainwright came from the stove and looked down at Rose of Sharon. “Dawn’s a-comin’ soon, ma’am. Whyn’t you git some sleep? I’ll set with her.”

“No,” Ma said. “I ain’t tar’d.”

“In a pig’s eye,” said Mrs. Wainwright. “Come on, you lay down awhile.”

Ma fanned the air slowly with her cardboard. “You been frien’ly,” she said. “We thank you.”

The stout woman smiled. “No need to thank. Ever’body’s in the same wagon. S’pose we was down. You’d a give us a han’.”

“Yes,” Ma said, “we would.”

“Or anybody.”

“Or anybody. Use’ ta be the fambly was fust. It ain’t so now. It’s anybody. Worse off we get, the more we got to do.”

“We couldn’ a saved it.”

“I know,” said Ma.

Ruthie sighed deeply and took her arm from over her eyes. She looked blindly at the lamp for a moment, and then turned her head and looked at Ma. “Is it bore?” she demanded. “Is the baby out?”

Mrs. Wainwright picked up a sack and spread it over the apple box in the corner.

“Where’s the baby?” Ruthie demanded.

Ma wet her lips. “There ain’t no baby. They never was no baby. We was wrong.”

“Shucks!” Ruthie yawned. “I wisht it had a been a baby.”

Mrs. Wainwright sat down beside Ma and took the cardboard from her and fanned the air. Ma folded her hands in her lap, and her tired eyes never left the face of Rose of Sharon, sleeping in exhaustion. “Come on,” Mrs. Wainwright said. “Jus’ lay down. You’ll be right beside her. Why, you’d wake up if she took a deep breath, even.”

“Awright, I will.” Ma stretched out on the mattress beside the sleeping girl. And Mrs. Wainwright sat on the floor and kept watch.

Pa and Al and Uncle John sat in the car doorway and watched the steely dawn come. The rain had stopped, but the sky was deep and solid with cloud. As the light came, it was reflected on the water. The men could see the current of the stream, slipping swiftly down, bearing black branches of trees, boxes, boards. The water swirled into the flat where the boxcars stood. There was no sign of the embankment left. On the flat the current stopped. The edges of the flood were lined with yellow foam. Pa leaned out the door and placed a twig on the cat-walk, just above the water line. The men watched the water slowly climb to it, lift it gently and float it away. Pa placed another twig an inch above the water and settled back to watch.

“Think it’ll come inside the car?” Al asked.

“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 and sorra. Couldn’ you fellas kinda— take it out an’ bury it?”