• Choose a category
• All
• Classic-Fiction
• Famous-Fiction
• Historical-Fiction

By Root 17047 0

’’ she said humbly. “I’m a-gonna set this here kettle out, an’ you’ll all get a little tas’, but it ain’t gonna do you no good.’’ She faltered, “I can’t he’p it. Can’t keep it from you.’’ She lifted the pot and set it down on the ground. “Now wait. It’s too hot,’’ she said, and she went into the tent quickly so she would not see. Her family sat on the ground, each with his plate; and outside they could hear the children digging into the pot with their sticks and their spoons and their pieces of rusty tin. A mound of children smothered the pot from sight. They did not talk, did not fight or argue; but there was a quiet intentness in all of them, a wooden fierceness. Ma turned her back so she couldn’t see. “We can’t do that no more,’’ she said. “We got to eat alone.’’ There was the sound of scraping at the kettle, and then the mound of children broke and the children walked away and left the scraped kettle on the ground. Ma looked at the empty plates. “Didn’ none of you get nowhere near enough.’’

Pa got up and left the tent without answering. The preacher smiled to himself and lay back on the ground, hands clasped behind his head. Al got to his feet. “Got to help a fella with a car.’’

Ma gathered the plates and took them outside to wash. “Ruthie,’’ she called, “Winfiel’. Go get me a bucket a water right off.’’ She handed them the bucket and they trudged off toward the river.

A strong broad woman walked near. Her dress was streaked with dust and splotched with car oil. Her chin was held high with pride. She stood a short distance away and regarded Ma belligerently. At last she approached. “Afternoon,’’ she said coldly.

“Afternoon,’’ said Ma, and she got up from her knees and pushed a box forward. “Won’t you set down?’’

The woman walked near. “No, I won’t set down.’’

Ma looked questioningly at her. “Can I he’p you in any way?’’

The woman set her hands on her hips. “You kin he’p me by mindin’ your own children an’ lettin’ mine alone.’’

Ma’s eyes opened wide. “I ain’t done nothin’—’’ she began.

The woman scowled at her. “My little fella come back smellin’ of stew. You give it to ’im. He tol’ me. Don’ you go a-boastin’ an’ a-braggin’

’bout havin’ stew. Don’ you do it. I got ’nuf troubles ’thout that. Come in ta me, he did, an’ says, ‘Whyn’t we have stew?’ ’’ Her voice shook with fury.

Ma moved close. “Set down,’’ she said. “Set down an’ talk a piece.’’

“No, I ain’t gonna set down. I’m tryin’ to feed my folks, an’ you come along with your stew.’’

“Set down,’’ Ma said. “That was ’bout the las’ stew we’re gonna have till we get work. S’pose you was cookin’ a stew an’ a bunch a little fellas stood aroun’ moonin’, what’d you do? We didn’t have enough, but you can’t keep it when they look at ya like that.’’

The woman’s hands dropped from her hips. For a moment her eyes questioned Ma, and then she turned and walked quickly away, and she went into a tent and pulled the flaps down behind her. Ma stared after her, and then she dropped to her knees again beside the stack of tin dishes.

Al hurried near. “Tom,’’ he called. “Ma, is Tom inside?’’

Tom stuck his head out. “What you want?’’

“Come on with me,’’ Al said excitedly.

They walked away together. “What’s a matter with you?’’ Tom asked.

“You’ll find out. Jus’ wait.’’ He led Tom to the torn-down car. “This here’s Floyd Knowles,’’ he said.

“Yeah, I talked to him. How ya?’’

“Jus’ gettin’ her in shape,’’ Floyd said.

Tom ran his finger over the top of the block. “What kinda bugs is crawlin’ on you, Al?’’

“Floyd jus’ tol’ me. Tell ’im, Floyd.’’

Floyd said, “Maybe I shouldn’, but—yeah, I’ll tell ya. Fella come through an’ he says they’s gonna be work up north.’’

“Up north?’’

“Yeah—place called Santa Clara Valley, way to hell an’ gone up north.’’

“Yeah? Kinda work?’’

“Prune pickin’, an’ pears an’ cannery work. Says it’s purty near ready.’’

“How far?’’ Tom demanded.

“Oh, Christ knows. Maybe two hundred miles.’’

“That’s a hell of a long ways,’’ said Tom. “How we know they’s gonna be work when we get there?’’

“Well, we don’ know,’’ said Floyd. “But they ain’t nothin’