The Grapes of Wrath

Al peered into the dusk. The lights made no impression on the gloom; but ahead, the eyes of a hunting cat flashed green in reflection of the lights. “You sure give that fella hell,” Al said. “Sure did tell him where to lay down his dogs.”

“Well, goddamn it, he was askin’ for it! Jus’ a pattin’ hisself ’cause he got one eye, puttin’ all the blame on his eye. He’s a lazy, dirty son-of-a-bitch. Maybe he can snap out of it if he knowed people was wise to him.”

Al said, “Tom, it wasn’t nothin’ I done burned out that bearin’.”

Tom was silent for a moment, then, “I’m gonna take a fall outa you, Al. You jus’ scrabblin’ ass over tit, fear somebody gonna pin some blame on you. I know what’s a matter. Young fella, all full a piss an’ vinegar. Wanta be a hell of a guy all the time. But, goddamn it, Al, don’ keep ya guard up when nobody ain’t sparrin’ with ya. You gonna be all right.”

Al did not answer him. He looked straight ahead. The truck rattled and banged over the road. A cat whipped out from the side of the road and Al swerved to hit it, but the wheels missed and the cat leaped into the grass.

“Nearly got him,” said Al. “Say, Tom. You heard Connie talkin’ how he’s gonna study nights? I been thinkin’ maybe I’d study nights too. You know, radio or television or Diesel engines. Fella might get started that-a-way.”

“Might,” said Tom. “Find out how much they gonna sock ya for the lessons, first. An’ figger out if you’re gonna study ’em. There was fellas takin’ them mail lessons in McAlester. I never knowed one of ’em that finished up. Got sick of it an’ left ’em slide.”

“God Awmighty, we forgot to get somepin to eat.”

“Well, Ma sent down plenty; preacher couldn’ eat it all. Be some lef’. I wonder how long it’ll take us to get to California.”

“Christ, I don’ know. Jus’ plug away at her.”

They fell into silence, and the dark came and the stars were sharp and white.

CASY GOT OUT of the back seat of the Dodge and strolled to the side of the road when the truck pulled up. “I never expected you so soon,” he said.

Tom gathered the parts in the piece of sacking on the floor. “We was lucky,” he said. “Got a flashlight, too. Gonna fix her right up.”

“You forgot to take your dinner,” said Casy.

“I’ll get it when I finish. Here, Al, pull off the road a little more an’ come hol’ the light for me.” He went directly to the Dodge and crawled under on his back. Al crawled under on his belly and directed the beam of the flashlight. “Not in my eyes. There, put her up.” Tom worked the piston up into the cylinder, twisting and turning. The brass wire caught a little on the cylinder wall. With a quick push he forced it past the rings. “Lucky she’s loose or the compression’d stop her. I think she’s gonna work all right.”

“Hope that wire don’t clog the rings,” said Al.

“Well, that’s why I hammered her flat. She won’t roll off. I think she’ll jus’ melt out an’ maybe give the walls a brass plate.”

“Think she might score the walls?”

Tom laughed. “Jesus Christ, them walls can take it. She’s drinkin’ oil like a gopher hole awready. Little more ain’t gonna hurt none.” He worked the rod down over the shaft and tested the lower half. “She’ll take some shim.” He said, “Casy!”

“Yeah.”

“I’m takin’ up this here bearing now. Get out to that crank an’ turn her over slow when I tell ya.” He tightened the bolts. “Now. Over slow!” And as the angular shaft turned, he worked the bearing against it. “Too much shim,” Tom said. “Hold it, Casy.” He took out the bolts and removed thin shims from each side and put the bolts back. “Try her again, Casy!” And he worked the rod again. “She’s a lit-tle bit loose yet. Wonder if she’d be too tight if I took out more shim. I’ll try her.” Again he removed the bolts and took out another pair of the thin strips. “Now try her, Casy.”

“That looks good,” said Al.

Tom called, “She any harder to turn, Casy?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“Well, I think she’s snug here. I hope to God she is. Can’t hone no babbitt without tools. This here socket wrench makes her a hell of a lot easier.”

Al said, “Boss a that yard gonna be purty mad when he looks for that size socket an’ she ain’t there.”

“That’s his screwin’,” said Tom. “We didn’ steal her.” He tapped the cotter-pins in and bent the ends out. “I think that’s good. Look, Casy, you hold the light while me an’ Al get this here pan up.”

Casy knelt down and took the flashlight. He kept the beam on the working hands as they patted the gasket gently in place and lined the holes with the pan bolts. The two men strained at the weight of the pan, caught the end bolts, and then set in the others; and when they were all engaged, Tom took them up little by little until the pan settled evenly in against the gasket, and he tightened hard against the nuts.

“I guess that’s her,” Tom said. He tightened the oil tap, looked carefully up at the pan, and took the light and searched the ground. “There she is. Le’s get the oil back in her.”