The Grapes of Wrath - John Steinbeck [125]
“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 camp-fires 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.’’
“If I pay you a half a dollar I ain’t a vagrant, huh?’’
“That’s right.’’
Tom’s eyes glowed angrily. “Deputy sheriff ain’t your brother-’n-law by any chance?’’
The owner leaned forward. “No, he ain’t. An’ the time ain’t come yet when us local folks got to take no talk from you goddamn bums, neither.’’
“It don’t trouble you none to take our four bits. An’ when’d we get to be bums? We ain’t asked ya for nothin’. All of us bums, huh? Well, we ain’t askin’ no nickels from you for the chance to lay down an’ rest.’’
The men on the porch were rigid, motionless, quiet. Expression was gone from their faces; and their eyes, in the shadows under their hats, moved secretly up to the face of the proprietor.
Pa growled, “Come off it, Tom.’’
“Sure, I’ll come off it.’’
The circle of men were quiet, sitting on the steps, leaning on the high porch. Their eyes glittered under the harsh light of the gas lantern.
Their faces were hard in the hard light, and they were very still. Only their eyes moved from speaker to speaker, and their faces were expressionless and quiet. A lamp bug slammed into the lantern and broke itself, and fell into the darkness.
In one of the tents a child wailed in complaint, and a woman’s soft voice soothed it and then broke into a low song, “Jesus loves you in the night. Sleep good, sleep good. Jesus watches in the night. Sleep, oh, sleep, oh.’’
The lantern hissed on the porch. The owner scratched in the V of his open shirt, where a tangle of white chest hair showed. He was watchful and ringed with trouble. He watched the men in the circle, watched for some expression. And they made no move.
Tom was silent for a long time. His dark eyes looked slowly up at the proprietor.