The Grapes of Wrath

They crawled out and poured the bucket of oil back in the crank case. Tom inspected the gasket for leaks.

“O.K., Al. Turn her over,” he said. Al got into the car and stepped on the starter. The motor caught with a roar. Blue smoke poured from the exhaust pipe. “Throttle down!” Tom shouted. “She’ll burn oil till that wire goes. Gettin’ thinner now.” And as the motor turned over, he listened carefully. “Put up the spark an’ let her idle.” He listened again. “O.K., Al. Turn her off. I think we done her. Where’s that meat now?”

“You make a darn good mechanic,” Al said.

“Why not? I worked in the shop a year. We’ll take her good an’ slow for a couple hunderd miles. Give her a chance to work in.”

They wiped their grease-covered hands on bunches of weeds and finally rubbed them on their trousers. They fell hungrily on the boiled pork and swigged the water from the bottle.

“I liked to starved,” said Al. “What we gonna do now, go on to the camp?”

“I dunno,” said Tom. “Maybe they’d charge us a extry half-buck. Le’s go on an’ talk to the folks— tell ’em we’re fixed. Then if they wanta sock us extry— we’ll move on. The folks’ll wanta know. Jesus, I’m glad Ma stopped us this afternoon. Look around with the light, Al. See we don’t leave nothin’. Get that socket wrench in. We may need her again.”

Al searched the ground with the flashlight. “Don’t see nothin’.”

“All right. I’ll drive her. You bring the truck, Al.” Tom started the engine. The preacher got in the car. Tom moved slowly, keeping the engine at a low speed, and Al followed in the truck. He crossed the shallow ditch, crawling in low gear. Tom said, “These here Dodges can pull a house in low gear. She’s sure ratio’d down. Good thing for us— I wanta break that bearin’ in easy.”

On the highway the Dodge moved along slowly. The 12-volt headlights threw a short blob of yellowish light on the pavement. Casy turned to Tom. “Funny how you fellas can fix a car. Jus’ light right in an’ fix her. I couldn’t fix no car, not even now when I seen you do it.”

“Got to grow into her when you’re a little kid,” Tom said. “It ain’t jus’ knowin’. It’s more’n that. Kids now can tear down a car ’thout even thinkin’ about it.”

A jackrabbit got caught in the lights and he bounced along ahead, cruising easily, his great ears flopping with every jump. Now and then he tried to break off the road, but the wall of darkness thrust him back. Far ahead bright headlights appeared and bore down on them. The rabbit hesitated, faltered, then turned and bolted toward the lesser lights of the Dodge. There was a small soft jolt as he went under the wheels. The oncoming car swished by.

“We sure squashed him,” said Casy.

Tom said, “Some fellas like to hit ’em. Gives me a little shakes ever’ time. Car sounds O.K. Them rings must a broke loose by now. She ain’t smokin’ so bad.”

“You done a nice job,” said Casy.

A small wooden house dominated the camp ground, and on the porch of the house a gasoline lantern hissed and threw its white glare in a great circle. Half a dozen tents were pitched near the house, and cars stood beside the tents. Cooking for the night was over, but the coals of the campfires still glowed on the ground by the camping places. A group of men had gathered to the porch where the lantern burned, and their faces were strong and muscled under the harsh white light, light that threw black shadows of their hats over their foreheads and eyes and made their chins seem to jut out. They sat on the steps, and some stood on the ground, resting their elbows on the porch floor. The proprietor, a sullen lanky man, sat in a chair on the porch. He leaned back against the wall, and he drummed his fingers on his knee. Inside the house a kerosene lamp burned, but its thin light was blasted by the hissing glare of the gasoline lantern. The gathering of men surrounded the proprietor.

Tom drove the Dodge to the side of the road and parked. Al drove through the gate in the truck. “No need to take her in,” Tom said. He got out and walked through the gate to the white glare of the lantern.

The proprietor dropped his front chair legs to the floor and leaned forward. “You men wanta camp here?”

“No,” said Tom. “We got folks here. Hi, Pa.”

Pa, seated on the bottom step, said, “Thought you was gonna be all week. Get her fixed?”

“We was pig lucky,” said Tom. “Got a part ’fore dark. We can get goin’ fust thing in the mornin’.”

“That’s a pretty nice thing,” said Pa. “Ma’s worried. Ya Granma’s off her chump.”

“Yeah, Al tol’ me. She any better now?”

“Well, anyways she’s a-sleepin’.”

The proprietor said, “If you wanta pull in here an’ camp it’ll cost you four bits. Get a place to camp an’ water an’ wood. An’ nobody won’t bother you.”

“What the hell,” said Tom. “We can sleep in the ditch right beside the road, an’ it won’t cost nothin’.”

The owner drummed his knee with his fingers. “Deputy sheriff comes on by in the night. Might make it tough for ya. Got a law against sleepin’ out in this State. Got a law about vagrants.”