“How long ya think it’ll be?” she asked.
“Oh, maybe a month,” he said.
THE EVENING DARK came down and Pa and Uncle John squatted with the heads of families out by the office. They studied the night and the future. The little manager, in his white clothes, frayed and clean, rested his elbows on the porch rail. His face was drawn and tired.
Huston looked up at him. “You better get some sleep, mister.”
“I guess I ought. Baby born last night in Unit Three. I’m getting to be a good midwife.”
“Fella oughta know,” said Huston. “Married fella got to know.”
Pa said, “We’re a-gittin’ out in the mornin’.”
“Yeah? Which way you goin’?”
“Thought we’d go up north a while. Try to get in the first cotton. We ain’t had work. We’re outa food.”
“Know if they’s any work?” Huston asked.
“No, but we’re sure they ain’t none here.”
“They will be, a little later,” Huston said. “We’ll hold on.”
“We have to go,” said Pa. “Folks been so nice here- an’ the toilets an’ all. But we got to eat. Got a tank of gas. That’ll get us a little piece up the road. We had a bath ever’ day here. Never was so clean in my life. Funny thing- use ta be I on’y got a bath ever’ week an’ I never seemed to stink. But now if I don’ get one ever’ day I stink. Wonder if takin’ a bath so often makes that?”
“Maybe you couldn’t smell yourself before,” the manager said.
“Maybe. I wisht we could stay.”
The little manager held his temples between his palms. “I think there’s going to be another baby tonight,” he said.
“We gonna have one in our fambly ‘fore long,” said Pa. “I wisht we could have it here. I sure wisht we could.”
TOM AND WILLIE AND JULE the half-breed sat on the edge of the dance floor and swung their feet.
“I got a sack of Durham,” Jule said. “Like a smoke?”
“I sure would,” said Tom. “Ain’t had a smoke for a hell of a time.” He rolled the brown cigarette carefully, to keep down the loss of tobacco.
“Well, sir, we’ll be sorry to see you go,” said Willie. “You folks is good folks.”
Tom lighted his cigarette. “I been thinkin’ about it a lot. Jesus Christ, I wisht we could settle down.”
Jule took back his Durham. “It ain’t nice,” he said. “I got a little girl. Thought when I come out here she’d get some schoolin’. But hell, we ain’t in one place hardly long enough. Jes’ gits goin’ an’ we got to drag on.”
“I hope we don’t get in no more Hoovervilles,” said Tom. “I was really scairt, there.”
“Deputies push you aroun’?”
“I was scairt I’d kill somebody,” said Tom. “Was on’y there a little while, but I was a-stewin’ aroun’ the whole time. Depity come in an’ picked up a frien’, jus’ because he talked outa turn. I was jus’ stewin’ all the time.”
“Ever been in a strike?” Willie asked.
“No.”
“Well, I been a-thinkin’ a lot. Why don’ them depities get in here an’ raise hell like ever’ place else? Think that little guy in the office is a-stoppin’ ’em? No, sir.”
“Well, what is?” Jule asked.
“I’ll tell ya. It’s ’cause we’re a-workin’ together. Depity can’t pick on one fella in this camp. He’s pickin’ on the whole darn camp. An’ he don’t dare. All we got to do is give a yell an’ they’s two hunderd men out. Fella organizin’ for the union was a-talkin’ out on the road. He says we could do that any place. Jus’ stick together. They ain’t raisin’ hell with no two hunderd men. They’re pickin’ on one man.”
“Yeah,” said Jule, “an’ suppose you got a union? You got to have leaders. They’ll jus’ pick up your leaders, an’ where’s your union?”
“Well,” said Willie, “we got to figure her out some time. I been out here a year, an’ wages is goin’ right on down. Fella can’t feed his fam’ly on his work now, an’ it’s gettin’ worse all the time. It ain’t gonna do no good to set aroun’ an’ starve. I don’ know what to do. If a fella owns a team a horses, he don’t raise no hell if he got to feed ’em when they ain’t workin’. But if a fella got men workin’ for him, he jus’ don’t give a damn. Horses is a hell of a lot more worth than men. I don’ understan’ it.”
“Gets so I don’ wanta think about it,” said Jule. “An’ I got to think about it. I got this here little girl. You know how purty she is. One week they give her a prize in this camp ’cause she’s so purty. Well, what’s gonna happen to her? She’s gettin’ spindly. I ain’t gonna stan’ it. She’s so purty. I’m gonna bust out.”
“How?” Willie asked. “What you gonna do- steal some stuff an’ git in jail? Kill somebody an’ git hung?”
“I don’ know,” said Jule. “Gits me nuts thinkin’ about it. Gits me clear nuts.”
“I’m a-gonna miss them dances,” Tom said. “Them was some of the nicest dances I ever seen. Well, I’m gonna turn in. So long. I’ll be seein’ you someplace.” He shook hands.
“Sure will,” said Jule.
“Well, so long.” Tom moved away into the darkness.
IN THE DARKNESS of the Joad tent Ruthie and Winfield lay on their mattress, and Ma lay beside them. Ruthie whispered, “Ma!”
“Yeah? Ain’t you asleep yet?”
“Ma- they gonna have croquet where we’re goin’?”
“I don’ know. Get some sleep. We want to get an early start.”
“Well, I wisht we’d stay here where we’re sure we got croquet.”
“Sh!” said Ma.
“Ma, Winfiel’ hit a kid tonight.”
“He shouldn’ of.”
“I know. I tol’ ‘im, but he hit the kid right in the nose an’ Jesus, how the blood run down!”
“Don’ talk like that. It ain’t a nice way to talk.”
Winfield turned over. “That kid says we was Okies,” he said in an outraged voice. “He says he wasn’t no Okie ’cause he come from Oregon. Says we was goddamn Okies. I socked him.”
“Sh! You shouldn’. He can’t hurt you callin’ names.”
“Well, I won’t let ‘im,” Winfield said fiercely.
“Sh! Get some sleep.”
Ruthie said, “You oughta seen the blood run down- all over his clothes.”
Ma reached a hand from under the blanket and snapped Ruthie on the cheek with her finger. The little girl went rigid for a moment, and then dissolved into sniffling, quiet crying.
IN THE SANITARY UNIT Pa and Uncle John sat in adjoining compartments. “Might’s well get in a good las’ one,” said Pa. “It’s sure nice. ‘Member how the little fellas was so scairt when they flushed ’em the first time?”
“I wasn’t so easy myself,” said Uncle John. He pulled his overalls neatly up around his knees. “I’m gettin’ bad,” he said. “I feel sin.”
“You can’t sin none,” said Pa. “You ain’t got no money. Jus’ sit tight. Cos’ you at leas’ two bucks to sin, an’ we ain’t got two bucks amongst us.”
“Yeah! But I’m a-thinkin’ sin.”
“Awright. You can think sin for nothin’.”
“It’s jus’ as bad,” said Uncle John.
“It’s a whole hell of a lot cheaper,” said Pa.
“Don’t you go makin’ light of sin.”
“I ain’t. You jus’ go ahead. You always gets sinful jus’ when hell’s a-poppin’.”
“I know it,” said Uncle John. “Always was that way. I never tol’ half the stuff I done.”
“Well, keep it to yaself.”
“These here nice toilets gets me sinful.”
“Go out in the bushes then. Come on, pull up ya pants an’ le’s get some sleep.” Pa pulled his overall straps in place and snapped the buckle. He flushed the toilet and watched thoughtfully while the water whirled in the bowl.
IT WAS STILL DARK when Ma roused her camp. The low night lights shone through the open doors of the sanitary units. From the tents along the road came the assorted snores of the campers.
Ma said, “Come on, roll out. We got to be on our way. Day’s not far off.” She raised the screechy shade of the lantern and lighted the wick. “Come on, all of you.”
The floor of the tent squirmed into slow action. Blankets and comforts were thrown back and sleepy eyes squinted blindly at the light. Ma slipped on her dress over the underclothes she wore to bed. “We got no coffee,” she said. “I got a few biscuits. We can eat ’em on the road. Jus’ get up now, an’ we’ll load the truck. Come on now. Don’t make no noise. Don’ wanta wake the neighbors.”
It was a few moments before they were fully aroused. “Now don’ you get away,” Ma warned the children. The family dressed. The men pulled down the tarpaulin and loaded up the truck. “Make it nice an’ flat,” Ma warned them. They piled the mattress on top of the load and bound the tarpaulin in place over its ridge pole.