Grapes of Wrath, The - John Steinbeck [116]
"Got enough to get there," said Pa. "We ain't left it all. We'll have work right off."
"I ain't a-gonna do it," Wilson said. "I'll git mean if you try."
Ma took the two bills from Pa's hand. She folded them neatly and put them on the ground and placed the pork pan over them. "That's where they'll be," she said. "If you don' get 'em, somebody else will." Wilson, his head still down, turned and went to his tent; he stepped inside and the flaps fell behind him.
For a few moments the family waited, and then, "We got to go," said Tom. "It's near four, I bet."
The family climbed on the truck, Ma on top, beside Granma. Tom and Al and Pa in the seat, and Winfield on Pa's lap. Connie and Rose of Sharon made a nest against the cab. The preacher and Uncle John and Ruthie were in a tangle on the load.
Pa called, "Good-by, Mister and Mis' Wilson." There was no answer from the tent. Tom started the engine and the truck lumbered away. And as they crawled up the rough road toward Needles and the highway, Ma looked back. Wilson stood in front of his tent, staring after them, and his hat was in his hand. The sun fell full on his face. Ma waved her hand at him, but he did not respond.
Tom kept the truck in second gear over the rough road, to protect the springs. At Needles he drove into a service station, checked the worn tires for air, checked the spares tied to the back. He had the gas tank filled, and he bought two five-gallon cans of gasoline and a two-gallon can of oil. He filled the radiator, begged a map, and studied it.
The service-station boy, in his white uniform, seemed uneasy until the bill was paid. He said, "You people sure have got nerve."
Tom looked up from the map. "What you mean?"
"Well, crossin' in a jalopy like this."
"You been acrost?"
"Sure, plenty, but not in no wreck like this."
Tom said, "If we broke down maybe somebody'd give us a han'."
"Well, maybe. But folks are kind of scared to stop at night. I'd hate to be doing it. Takes more nerve than I've got."
Tom grinned. "It don't take no nerve to do somepin when there ain't nothin' else you can do. Well, thanks. We'll drag on." And he got in the truck and moved away.
The boy in white went into the iron building where his helper labored over a book of bills. "Jesus, what a hard-looking outfit!"
"Them Okies? They're all hard-lookin'."
"Jesus, I'd hate to start out in a jalopy like that."
"Well, you and me got sense. Them goddamn Okies got no sense and no feeling. They ain't human. A human being wouldn't live like they do. A human being couldn't stand it to be so dirty and miserable. They ain't a hell of a lot better than gorillas."
"Just the same I'm glad I ain't crossing the desert in no Hudson Super-Six. She sounds like a threshing machine."
The other boy looked down at his book of bills. And a big drop of sweat rolled down his finger and fell on the pink bills. "You know, they don't have much trouble. They're so goddamn dumb they don't know it's dangerous. And, Christ Almighty, they don't know any better than what they got. Why worry?"
"I'm not worrying. Just thought if it was me, I wouldn't like it."
"That's 'cause you know better. They don't know any better." And he wiped the sweat from the pink bill with his sleeve.
THE TRUCK took the road and moved up the long hill, through the broken, rotten rock. The engine boiled very soon and Tom slowed down and took it easy. Up the long slope, winding and twisting through dead country, burned white and gray, and no hint of life in it. Once Tom stopped for a few moments to let the engine cool, and then he traveled on. They topped the pass while the sun was still up, and looked down on the desert—black cinder mountains in the distance, and the yellow sun reflected on the gray desert. The little starved bushes, sage and greasewood, threw bold shadows on the sand and bits of rock. The glaring sun was straight ahead. Tom held his hand before his eyes to see at all. They passed the crest and coasted down to cool the engine. They coasted down the long