The Grapes of Wrath - John Steinbeck [137]
“Take an’ fan Granma,’’ Ma said, and she handed the cardboard to her daughter. “That’s a good thing to do. I wisht I could tell you so you’d know.’’
Granma, scowling her brows down over her closed eyes, bleated, “Will! You’re dirty! You ain’t never gonna get clean.’’ Her little wrinkled claws moved up and scratched her cheek. A red ant ran up the curtain cloth and scrambled over the folds of loose skin on the old lady’s neck. Ma reached quickly and picked it off, crushed it between thumb and forefinger, and brushed her fingers on her dress.
Rose of Sharon waved the cardboard fan. She looked up at Ma. “She—?’’ And the words parched in her throat.
“Wipe your feet, Will—you dirty pig!’’ Granma cried.
Ma said, “I dunno. Maybe if we can get her where it ain’t so hot, but I dunno. Don’t worry yourself, Rosasharn. Take your breath in when you need it, an’ let it go when you need to.’’
A large woman in a torn black dress looked into the tent. Her eyes were bleared and indefinite, and the skin sagged to her jowls and hung down in little flaps. Her lips were loose, so that the upper lip hung like a curtain over her teeth, and her lower lip, by its weight, folded outward, showing her lower gums. “Mornin’, ma’am,’’ she said. “Mornin’, an’ praise God for victory.’’
Ma looked around. “Mornin’,’’ she said.
The woman stooped into the tent and bent her head over Granma. “We heerd you got a soul here ready to join her Jesus. Praise God!’’
Ma’s face tightened and her eyes grew sharp. “She’s tar’d, tha’s all,’’ Ma said. “She’s wore out with the road an’ the heat. She’s jus’ wore out. Get a little res’, an’ she’ll be well.’’
The woman leaned down over Granma’s face, and she seemed almost to sniff. Then she turned to Ma and nodded quickly, and her lips jiggled and her jowls quivered. “A dear soul gonna join her Jesus,’’ she said.
Ma cried, “That ain’t so!’’
The woman nodded, slowly, this time, and put a puffy hand on Granma’s forehead. Ma reached to snatch the hand away, and quickly restrained herself. “Yes, it’s so, sister,’’ the woman said. “We got six in Holiness in our tent. I’ll go git ’em, an’ we’ll hol’ a meetin’—a prayer an’ grace. Jehovites, all. Six, countin’ me. I’ll go git ’em out.’’
Ma stiffened. “No—no,’’ she said. “No, Granma’s tar’d. She couldn’t stan’ a meetin’.’’
The woman said, “Couldn’t stan’ grace? Couldn’ stan’ the sweet breath of Jesus? What you talkin’ about, sister?’’
Ma said, “No, not here. She’s too tar’d.’’
The woman looked reproachfully at Ma. “Ain’t you believers, ma’am?’’
“We always been Holiness,’’ Ma said, “but Granma’s tar’d, an’ we been a-goin’ all night. We won’t trouble you.’’
“It ain’t no trouble, an’ if it was, we’d want ta do it for a soul a-soarin’ to the Lamb.’’
Ma arose to her knees. “We thank ya,’’ she said coldly. “We ain’t gonna have no meetin’ in this here tent.’’
The woman looked at her for a long time. “Well, we ain’t a-gonna let a sister go away ’thout a little praisin’. We’ll git the meetin’ goin’ in our own tent, ma’am. An’ we’ll forgive ya for your hard heart.’’
Ma settled back again and turned her face to Granma, and her face was still set and hard. “She’s tar’d,’’ Ma said. “She’s on’y tar’d.’’ Granma swung her head back and forth and muttered under her breath.