The suspicion was going out of Ma’s face. “Must a been nice. You’re the boss?”
“No.” he said. “The people here worked me out of a job. They keep the camp clean, they keep order, they do everything. I never saw such people. They’re making clothes in the meeting hall. And they’re making toys. Never saw such people.”
Ma looked down at her dirty dress. “We ain’t clean yet,” she said. “You jus’ can’t keep clean a-travelin’.”
“Don’t I know it,” he said. He sniffed the air. “Say- is that your coffee smells so good?”
Ma smiled. “Does smell nice, don’t it? Outside it always smells nice.” And she said proudly, “We’d take it in honor ‘f you’d have some breakfus’ with us.”
He came to the fire and squatted on his hams, and the last of Ma’s resistance went down. “We’d be proud to have ya,” she said. “We ain’t got much that’s nice, but you’re welcome.”
The little man grinned at her. “I had my breakfast. But I’d sure like a cup of that coffee. Smells so good.”
“Why- why, sure.”
“Don’t hurry yourself.”
Ma poured a tin cup of coffee from the gallon can. She said, “We ain’t got sugar yet. Maybe we’ll get some today. If you need sugar, it won’t taste good.”
“Never use sugar,” he said. “Spoils the taste of good coffee.”
“Well, I like a little sugar,” said Ma. She looked at him suddenly and closely, to see how he had come so close so quickly. She looked for motive on his face, and found nothing but friendliness. Then she looked at the frayed seams on his white coat, and she was reassured.
He sipped the coffee. “I guess the ladies’ll be here to see you this morning.”
“We ain’t clean,” Ma said. “They shouldn’t be comin’ till we get cleaned up a little.”
“But they know how it is,” the manager said. “They came in the same way. No, sir. The committees are good in this camp because they do know.” He finished his coffee and stood up. “Well, I got to go on. Anything you want, why, come over to the office. I’m there all the time. Grand coffee. Thank you.” He put the cup on the box with the others, waved his hand, and walked down the line of tents. And Ma heard him speaking to the people as he went.
Ma put down her head and she fought with a desire to cry.
Pa came back leading the children, their eyes still wet with pain at the ear-scrounging. They were subdued and shining. The sunburned skin on Winfield’s nose was scrubbed off. “There,” Pa said. “Got dirt an’ two layers a skin. Had to almost lick ’em to make ’em stan’ still.”
Ma praised them. “They look nice,” she said. “He’p yaself to pone an’ gravy. We got to get stuff outa the way an’ the tent in order.”
Pa served plates for the children and for himself. “Wonder where Tom got work?”
“I dunno.”
“Well, if he can, we can.”
Al came excitedly to the tent. “What a place!” he said. He helped himself and poured coffee. “Know what a fella’s doin’? He’s buildin’ a house trailer. Right over there, back a them tents. Got beds an’ a stove- ever’thing. Jus’ live in her. By God, that’s the way to live! Right where you stop- tha’s where you live.”
Ma said, “I ruther have a little house. Soon’s we can, I want a little house.”
Pa said, “Al- after we’ve et, you an’ me an’ Uncle John’ll take the truck an’ go out lookin’ for work.”
“Sure,” said Al. “I like to get a job in a garage if they’s any jobs. Tha’s what I really like. An’ get me a little ol’ cut-down Ford. Paint her yella an’ go a-kyoodlin’ aroun’. Seen a purty girl down the road. Give her a big wink, too. Purty as hell, too.”
Pa said sternly, “You better get you some work ‘fore you go a-tom-cattin’.”
Uncle John came out of the toilet and moved slowly near. Ma frowned at him.
“You ain’t washed-” she began, and then she saw how sick and weak and sad he looked. “You go on in the tent an’ lay down,” she said. “You ain’t well.”
He shook his head. “No.” he said. “I sinned, an’ I got to take my punishment.” He squatted down disconsolately and poured himself a cup of coffee.
Ma took the last pones from the pan. She said casually, “The manager of the camp come an’ set an’ had a cup of coffee.”
Pa looked over slowly. “Yeah? What’s he want awready?”
“Jus’ come to pass the time,” Ma said daintily. “Jus’ set down an’ had coffee. Said he didn’ get good coffee so often, an’ smelt our’n.”
“What’d he want?” Pa demanded again.
“Didn’ want nothin’. Come to see how we was gettin’ on.”
“I don’ believe it,” Pa said. “He’s probably a-snootin’ an’ a-smellin’ aroun’.”
“He was not!” Ma cried angrily. “I can tell a fella that’s snootin’ aroun’ quick as the nex’ person.”
Pa tossed his coffee grounds out of his cup.
“You got to quit that,” Ma said. “This here’s a clean place.”
“You see she don’t get so goddamn clean a fella can’t live in her,” Pa said jealously. “Hurry up, Al. We’re goin’ out lookin’ for a job.”
Al wiped his mouth with his hand. “I’m ready,” he said.
Pa turned to Uncle John. “You a-comin’?”
“Yes, I’m a-comin’.”
“You don’t look so good.”
“I ain’t so good, but I’m comin’.”
Al got in the truck. “Have to get gas,” he said. He started the engine. Pa and Uncle John climbed in beside him and the truck moved away down the street.
Ma watched them go. And then she took a bucket and went to the wash trays under the open part of the sanitary unit. She filled her bucket with hot water and carried it back to her camp. And she was washing the dishes in the bucket when Rose of Sharon came back.
“I put your stuff on a plate,” Ma said. And then she looked closely at the girl. Her hair was dripping and combed, and her skin was bright and pink. She had put on the blue dress printed with little white flowers. On her feet she wore the heeled slippers of her wedding. She blushed under Ma’s gaze. “You had a bath,” Ma said.
Rose of Sharon spoke huskily. “I was in there when a lady come in an’ done it. Know what you do? You get in a little stall-like, an’ you turn handles, an’ water comes a-floodin’ down on you- hot water or col’ water, jus’ like you want it- an’ I done it!”
“I’m a-goin’ to myself,” Ma cried. “Jus’ soon as I get finish’ here. You show me how.”
“I’m a-gonna do it ever’ day,” the girl said. “An’ that lady- she seen me, an’ she seen about the baby, an’- know what she said? Said they’s a nurse comes ever’ week. An’ I’m to go see that nurse an’ she’ll tell me jus’ what to do so’s the baby’ll be strong. Says all the ladies here do that. An’ I’m a-gonna do it.” The words bubbled out. “An’- know what-? Las’ week they was a baby borned an’ the whole camp give a party, an’ they give clothes, an’ they give stuff for the baby- even give a baby buggy- wicker one. Wasn’t new, but they give it a coat a pink paint, an’ it was jus’ like new. An’ they give the baby a name, an’ had a cake. Oh, Lord!” She subsided, breathing heavily.
Ma said, “Praise God, we come home to our own people. I’m a-gonna have a bath.”
“Oh, it’s nice,” the girl said.
Ma wiped the tin dishes and stacked them. She said, “We’re Joads. We don’t look up to nobody. Grampa’s grampa, he fit in the Revolution. We was farm people till the debt. And then- them people. They done somepin to us. Ever’ time they come seemed like they was a-whippin’ me- all of us. An’ in Needles, that police. He done somepin to me, made me feel mean. Made me feel ashamed. An’ now I ain’t ashamed. These folks is our folks- is our folks. An’ that manager, he come an’ set an’ drank coffee, an’ he says, ‘Mrs. Joad’ this, an’ ‘Mrs. Joad’ that- an’ ‘How you gettin’ on, Mrs. Joad?'” She stopped and sighed, “Why, I feel like people again.” She stacked the last dish. She went into the tent and dug through the clothes box for her shoes and a clean dress. And she found a little paper package with her earrings in it. As she went past Rose of Sharon, she said, “If them ladies comes, you tell ’em I’ll be right back.” She disappeared around the side of the sanitary unit.
Rose of Sharon sat down heavily on a box and regarded her wedding shoes, black patent leather and tailored black bows. She wiped the toes with her finger and wiped her finger on the inside of her skirt. Leaning down put a pressure on her growing abdomen. She sat up straight and touched herself with exploring fingers, and she smiled a little as she did it.