The Grapes of Wrath - John Steinbeck [161]
Al said, “You don’t like nothin’ much.’’
Floyd scraped harder with the chisel. “I been here six months,’’ he said. “I been scrabblin’ over this here State tryin’ to work hard enough and move fast enough to get meat an’ potatoes for me an’ my wife an’ my kids. I’ve run myself like a jackrabbit an’—I can’t quite make her. There just ain’t quite enough to eat no matter what I do. I’m gettin’ tired, that’s all. I’m gettin’ tired way past where sleep rests me. An’ I jus’ don’ know what to do.’’
“Ain’t there no steady work for a fella?’’ Al asked.
“No, they ain’t no steady work.’’ With his chisel he pushed the crust off the block, and he wiped the dull metal with a greasy rag.
A rusty touring car drove down into the camp and there were four men in it, men with brown hard faces. The car drove slowly through the camp. Floyd called to them, “Any luck?’’
The car stopped. The driver said, “We covered a hell of a lot a ground. They ain’t a hand’s work in this here county. We gotta move.’’
“Where to?’’ Al called.
“God knows. We worked this here place over.’’ He let in his clutch and moved slowly down the camp.
Al looked after them. “Wouldn’ it be better if one fella went alone? Then if they was one piece a work, a fella’d get it.’’
Floyd put down the chisel and smiled sourly. “You ain’t learned,’’ he said. “Takes gas to get roun’ the country. Gas costs fifteen cents a gallon.
Them four fellas can’t take four cars. So each of ’em puts in a dime an’ they get gas. You got to learn.’’
“Al!’’
Al looked down at Winfield standing importantly beside him. “Al, Ma’s dishin’ up stew. She says come git it.’’
Al wiped his hands on his trousers. “We ain’t et today,’’ he said to Floyd. “I’ll come give you a han’ when I eat.’’
“No need ’less you want ta.’’
“Sure, I’ll do it.’’ He followed Winfield toward the Joad camp.
It was crowded now. The strange children stood close to the stew pot, so close that Ma brushed them with her elbows as she worked. Tom and Uncle John stood beside her.
Ma said helplessly, “I dunno what to do. I got to feed the fambly. What’m I gonna do with these here?’’ The children stood stiffly and looked at her. Their faces were blank, rigid, and their eyes went mechanically from the pot to the tin plate she held. Their eyes followed the spoon from pot to plate, and when she passed the steaming plate up to Uncle John, their eyes followed it up. Uncle John dug his spoon into the stew, and the banked eyes rose up with the spoon. A piece of potato went into John’s mouth and the banked eyes were on his face, watching to see how he would react. Would it be good? Would he like it?
And then Uncle John seemed to see them for the first time. He chewed slowly. “You take this here,’’ he said to Tom. “I ain’t hungry.’’
“You ain’t et today,’’ Tom said.
“I know, but I got a stomickache. I ain’t hungry.’’
Tom said quietly, “You take that plate inside the tent an’ you eat it.’’
“I ain’t hungry,’’ John insisted. “I’d still see ’em inside the tent.’’
Tom turned on the children. “You git,’’ he said. “Go on now, git.’’ The bank of eyes left the stew and rested wondering on his face. “Go on now, git. You ain’t doin’ no good. There ain’t enough for you.’’
Ma ladled stew into the tin plates, very little stew, and she laid the plates on the ground. “I can’t send ’em away,’’ she said. “I don’ know what to do. Take your plates an’ go inside. I’ll let ’em have what’s lef’. Here, take a plate in to Rosasharn.’’ She smiled up at the children. “Look,’’ she said, “you little fellas go an’ get you each a flat stick an’ I’ll put what’s lef’ for you. But they ain’t to be no fightin’.” The group broke up with a deadly, silent swiftness. Children ran to find sticks, they ran to their own tents and brought spoons. Before Ma had finished with the plates they were back, silent and wolfish. Ma shook her head. “I dunno what to do. I can’t rob the fambly. I got to feed the fambly. Ruthie, Winfiel’, Al,’’ she cried fiercely. “Take your plates. Hurry up. Git in the tent quick.’’ She looked apologetically at the waiting children. “There ain’t enough,