Ma put the clean dripping tin dish out on a box. She smiled down at her work. “You get your stick, Pa,” she said. “Times when they’s food an’ a place to set, then maybe you can use your stick an’ keep your skin whole. But you ain’t a-doin’ your job, either a-thinkin’ or a-workin’. If you was, why, you could use your stick, an’ women folks’d sniffle their nose an’ creep-mouse aroun’. But you jus’ get you a stick now an’ you ain’t lickin’ no woman; you’re a-fightin’, ’cause I got a stick all laid out too.”
Pa grinned with embarrassment. “Now it ain’t good to have the little fellas hear you talkin’ like that,” he said.
“You get some bacon inside the little fellas ‘fore you come tellin’ what else is good for ’em,” said Ma.
Pa got up in disgust and moved away, and Uncle John followed him.
Ma’s hands were busy in the water, but she watched them go, and she said proudly to Tom, “He’s all right. He ain’t beat. He’s like as not to take a smack at me.”
Tom laughed. “You jus’ a-treadin’ him on?”
“Sure,” said Ma. “Take a man, he can get worried an’ worried, an’ it eats out his liver, an’ purty soon he’ll jus’ lay down and die with his heart et out. But if you can take an’ make ‘im mad, why, he’ll be awright. Pa, he didn’ say nothin’, but he’s mad now. He’ll show me now. He’s awright.”
Al got up. “I’m gonna walk down the row,” he said.
“Better see the truck’s ready to go,” Tom warned him.
“She’s ready.”
“If she ain’t, I’ll turn Ma on ya.”
“She’s ready.” Al strolled jauntily along the row of tents.
Tom sighed. “I’m a-gettin’ tired, Ma. How ’bout makin’ me mad?”
“You got more sense, Tom. I don’ need to make you mad. I got to lean on you. Them others- they’re kinda strangers, all but you. You won’t give up, Tom.”
The job fell on him. “I don’ like it,” he said. “I wanta go out like Al. An’ I wanta get mad like Pa, an’ I wanta get drunk like Uncle John.”
Ma shook her head. “You can’t, Tom. I know. I knowed from the time you was a little fella. You can’t. They’s some folks that’s just theirself an’ nothin’ more. There’s Al- he’s jus’ a young fella after a girl. You wasn’t never like that, Tom.”
“Sure I was,” said Tom. “Still am.”
“No you ain’t. Ever’thing you do is more’n you. When they sent you up to prison I knowed it. You’re spoke for.”
“Now, Ma- cut it out. It ain’t true. It’s all in your head.”
She stacked the knives and forks on top of the plates. “Maybe. Maybe it’s in my head. Rosasharn, you wipe up these here an’ put ’em away.”
The girl got breathlessly to her feet and her swollen middle hung out in front of her. She moved sluggishly to the box and picked up a washed dish.
Tom said, “Gettin’ so tightful it’s a-pullin’ her eyes wide.”
“Don’t you go a-jollyin’,” said Ma. “She’s doin’ good. You go ‘long an’ say goo’-by to anybody you wan’.”
“O.K.,” he said. “I’m gonna see how far it is up there.”
Ma said to the girl, “He ain’t sayin’ stuff like that to make you feel bad. Where’s Ruthie an’ Winfiel’?”
“They snuck off after Pa. I seen ’em.”
“Well, leave ’em go.”
Rose of Sharon moved sluggishly about her work. Ma inspected her cautiously. “You feelin’ pretty good? Your cheeks is kinda saggy.”
“I ain’t had milk like they said I ought.”
“I know. We jus’ didn’ have no milk.”
Rose of Sharon said dully, “Ef Connie hadn’ went away, we’d a had a little house by now, with him studyin’ an’ all. Would a got milk like I need. Would a had a nice baby. This here baby ain’t gonna be no good. I ought a had milk.” She reached in her apron pocket and put something into her mouth.
Ma said, “I seen you nibblin’ on somepin. What you eatin’?”
“Nothin’.”
“Come on, what you nibblin’ on?”
“Jus’ a piece of slack lime. Foun’ a big hunk.”
“Why, that’s jus’ like eatin’ dirt.”
“I kinda feel like I wan’ it.”
Ma was silent. She spread her knees and tightened her skirt. “I know,” she said at last. “I et coal oncet when I was in a fambly way. Et a big piece a coal. Granma says I shouldn’. Don’ you say that about the baby. You got no right even to think it.”
“Got no husban’! Got no milk!”
Ma said, “If you was a well girl, I’d take a whang at you. Right in the face.” She got up and went inside the tent. She came out and stood in front of Rose of Sharon, and she held out her hand. “Look!” The small gold earrings were in her hand. “These is for you.”
The girl’s eyes brightened for a moment, and then she looked aside. “I ain’t pierced.”
“Well, I’m a-gonna pierce ya.” Ma hurried back into the tent. She came back with a cardboard box. Hurriedly she threaded a needle, doubled the thread and tied a series of knots in it. She threaded a second needle and knotted the thread. In the box she found a piece of cork.
“It’ll hurt. It’ll hurt.”
Ma stepped to her, put the cork in back of the ear lobe and pushed the needle through the ear, into the cork.
The girl twitched. “It sticks. It’ll hurt.”
“No more’n that.”
“Yes, it will.”
“Well, then. Le’s see the other ear first.” She placed the cork and pierced the other ear.
“It’ll hurt.”
“Hush!” said Ma. “It’s all done.”
Rose of Sharon looked at her in wonder. Ma clipped the needles off and pulled one knot of each thread through the lobes.
“Now,” she said. “Ever’ day we’ll pull one knot, and in a couple weeks it’ll be all well an’ you can wear ’em. Here- they’re your’n now. You can keep ’em.”
Rose of Sharon touched her ears tenderly and looked at the tiny spots of blood on her fingers. “It didn’ hurt. Jus’ stuck a little.”
“You oughta been pierced long ago,” said Ma. She looked at the girl’s face, and she smiled in triumph. “Now get them dishes all done up. Your baby gonna be a good baby. Very near let you have a baby without your ears was pierced. But you’re safe now.”
“Does it mean somepin?”
“Why, ‘course it does,” said Ma. “‘Course it does.”
AL STROLLED down the street toward the dancing platform. Outside a neat little tent he whistled softly, and then moved along the street. He walked to the edge of the grounds and sat down in the grass.
The clouds over the west had lost the red edging now, and the cores were black. Al scratched his legs and looked toward the evening sky.
In a few moments a blond girl walked near; she was pretty and sharp-featured. She sat down in the grass beside him and did not speak. Al put his hand on her waist and walked his fingers around.
“Don’t,” she said. “You tickle.”
“We’re goin’ away tomorra,” said Al.
She looked at him, startled. “Tomorra? Where?”
“Up north,” he said lightly.
“Well, we’re gonna git married, ain’t we?”
“Sure, sometime.”
“You said purty soon!” she cried angrily.
“Well, soon is when soon comes.”
“You promised.” He walked his fingers around farther. “Git away,” she cried. “You said we was.”
“Well, sure we are.”
“An’ now you’re goin’ away.”
Al demanded, “What’s the matter with you? You in a fambly way?”
“No, I ain’t.”
Al laughed. “I jus’ been wastin’ my time, huh?”
Her chin shot out. She jumped to her feet. “You git away from me, Al Joad. I don’ wanta see you no more.”
“Aw, come on. What’s the matter?”
“You think you’re jus’- hell on wheels.”
“Now wait a minute.”
“You think I got to go out with you. Well, I don’t! I got lots of chances.”
“Now wait a minute.”
“No, sir- you git away.”
Al lunged suddenly, caught her by the ankle, and tripped her. He grabbed her when she fell and held her and put his hand over her angry mouth. She tried to bite his palm, but he cupped it out over her mouth, and he held her down with his other arm. And in a moment she lay still, and in another moment they were giggling together in the dry grass.
“Why, we’ll be a-comin’ back purty soon,” said Al. “An’ I’ll have a pocketful a jack. We’ll go down to Hollywood an’ see the pitchers.”
She was lying on her back. Al bent over her. And he saw the bright evening star reflected in her eyes, and he saw the black cloud reflected in her eyes. “We’ll go on the train,” he said.