The Grapes of Wrath - John Steinbeck [127]
“No,’’ said Pa. “We’re out. They put a tractor past the house.’’
“You wouldn’ go back then?’’
“ ’Course not.’’
“Then I ain’t gonna fret you,’’ said the ragged man.
“ ’Course you ain’t gonna fret me. I got a han’bill says they need men. Don’t make no sense if they don’t need men. Costs money for them bills. They wouldn’ put ’em out if they didn’ need men.’’
“I don’ wanna fret you.’’
Pa said angrily, “You done some jackassin’. You ain’t gonna shut up now. My han’bill says they need men. You laugh an’ say they don’t. Now, which one’s a liar?’’
The ragged man looked down into Pa’s angry eyes. He looked sorry. “Han’bill’s right,’’ he said. “They need men.’’
“Then why the hell you stirrin’ us up laughin’?’’
“ ’Cause you don’t know what kind a men they need.’’
“What you talkin’ about?’’
The ragged man reached a decision. “Look,’’ he said. “How many men they say they want on your han’bill?’’
“Eight hunderd, an’ that’s in one little place.’’
“Orange color han’bill?’’
“Why—yes.’’
“Give the name a the fella—says so and so, labor contractor?’’
Pa reached in his pocket and brought out the folded handbill. “That’s right. How’d you know?’’
“Look,’’ said the man. “It don’t make no sense. This fella wants eight hundred men. So he prints up five thousand of them things an’ maybe twenty thousan’ people sees ’em. An’ maybe two-three thousan’ folks gets movin’ account a this here han’bill. Folks that’s crazy with worry.’’
“But it don’t make no sense!’’ Pa cried.
“Not till you see the fella that put out this here bill. You’ll see him, or somebody that’s workin’ for him. You’ll be a-campin’ by a ditch, you an’ fifty other famblies. An’ he’ll come in. He’ll look in your tent an’ see if you got anything lef’ to eat. An’ if you got nothin’, he says, ‘Wanna job?’ An’ you’ll say, ‘I sure do, mister. I’ll sure thank you for a chance to do some work.’ An’ he’ll say, ‘I can use you.’ An’ you’ll say, ‘When do I start?’ An’ he’ll tell you where to go, an’ what time, an’ then he’ll go on. Maybe he needs two hunderd men, so he talks to five hunderd, an’ they tell other folks, an’ when you get to the place, they’s a thousan’ men. This here fella says, ‘I’m payin’ twenty cents an hour.’ An’ maybe half a the men walk off. But they’s still five hunderd that’s so goddamn hungry they’ll work for nothin’ but biscuits. Well, this here fella’s got a contract to pick them peaches or—chop that cotton. You see now? The more fellas he can get, an’ the hungrier, less he’s gonna pay. An’ he’ll get a fella with kids if he can, ’cause—hell, I says I wasn’t gonna fret ya.’’ The circle of faces looked coldly at him. The eyes tested his words. The ragged man grew self-conscious. “I says I wasn’t gonna fret ya, an’ here I’m a-doin’ it. You gonna go on. You ain’t goin’ back.’’ The silence hung on the porch. And the light hissed, and a halo of moths swung around and around the lantern. The ragged man went on nervously, “Lemme tell ya what to do when ya meet that fella says he got work. Lemme tell ya. Ast him what he’s gonna pay. Ast him to write down what he’s gonna pay. Ast him that. I tell you men you’re gonna get fooled if you don’t.’’
The proprietor leaned forward in his chair, the better to see the ragged dirty man. He scratched among the gray hairs on his chest. He said coldly, “You sure you ain’t one of these here troublemakers? You sure you ain’t a labor faker?’’
And the ragged man cried, “I swear to God I ain’t!’’
“They’s plenty of ’em,’’ the proprietor said. “Goin’ aroun’ stirrin’ up trouble. Gettin’ folks mad. Chiselin’ in. They’s plenty of ’em. Time’s gonna come when we string ’em all up, all them troublemakers. We gonna run ’em outa the country. Man wants to work, O.K. If he don’t— the hell with him. We ain’t gonna let him stir up trouble.’’
The ragged man drew himself up. “I tried to tell you fellas,’’ he said. “Somepin it took me a year to find out. Took two kids dead, took my wife dead to show me. But I can’t tell you. I should of knew that. Nobody couldn’t tell me, neither. I can’t tell ya about them little fellas layin