The Grapes of Wrath - John Steinbeck [175]
And the companies, the banks worked at their own doom and they did not know it. The fields were fruitful, and starving men moved on the roads. The granaries were full and the children of the poor grew up rachitic, and the pustules of pellagra2 swelled on their sides. The great companies did not know that the line between hunger and anger is a thin line. And money that might have gone to wages went for gas, for guns, for agents and spies, for blacklists, for drilling. On the highways the people moved like ants and searched for work, for food. And the anger began to ferment.
Chapter 22
IT WAS LATE when Tom Joad drove along a country road looking for the Weedpatch camp. There were few lights in the countryside. Only a sky glare behind showed the direction of Bakersfield. The truck jiggled slowly along and hunting cats left the road ahead of it. At a crossroad there was a little cluster of white wooden buildings.
Ma was sleeping in the seat and Pa had been silent and withdrawn for a long time.
Tom said, “I don’ know where she is. Maybe we’ll wait till daylight an’ ast somebody.’’ He stopped at a boulevard signal and another car stopped at the crossing. Tom leaned out. “Hey, mister. Know where the big camp is at?’’
“Straight ahead.’’
Tom pulled across into the opposite road. A few hundred yards, and then he stopped. A high wire fence faced the road, and a wide-gated driveway turned in. A little way inside the gate there was a small house with a light in the window. Tom turned in. The whole truck leaped into the air and crashed down again.
“Jesus!’’ Tom said. “I didn’ even see that hump.’’
A watchman stood up from the porch and walked to the car. He leaned on the side. “You hit her too fast,’’ he said. “Next time you’ll take it easy.’’
“What is it, for God’s sake?’’
The watchman laughed. “Well, a lot of kids play in here. You tell folks to go slow and they’re liable to forget. But let ’em hit that hump once and they don’t forget.’’
“Oh! Yeah. Hope I didn’ break nothin’. Say—you got any room here for us?’’
“Got one camp. How many of you?’’
Tom counted on his fingers. “Me an’ Pa an’ Ma, Al an’ Rosasharn an’ Uncle John an’ Ruthie an’ Winfiel’. Them last is kids.’’
“Well, I guess we can fix you. Got any camping stuff ?”
“Got a big tarp an’ beds.’’
The watchman stepped up on the running board. “Drive down the end of that line an’ turn right. You’ll be in Number Four Sanitary Unit.’’
“What’s that?’’
“Toilets and showers and wash tubs.’’
Ma demanded, “You got wash tubs—running water?’’
“Sure.’’
“Oh! Praise God,’’ said Ma.
Tom drove down the long dark row of tents. In the sanitary building a low light burned. “Pull in here,’’ the watchman said. “It’s a nice place. Folks that had it just moved out.’’
Tom stopped the car. “Right there?’’
“Yeah. Now you let the others unload while I sign you up. Get to sleep. The camp committee’ll call on you in the morning and get you fixed up.’’
Tom’s eyes drew down. “Cops?’’ he asked.
The watchman laughed. “No cops. We got our own cops. Folks here elect their own cops. Come along.’’
Al dropped off the truck and walked around. “Gonna stay here?’’
“Yeah,’’ said Tom. “You an’ Pa unload while I go to the office.’’
“Be kinda quiet,’’ the watchman said. “They’s a lot of folks sleeping.’’
Tom followed through the dark and climbed the office steps and entered a tiny room containing an old desk and a chair. The guard sat down at the desk and took out a form.
“Name?’’
“Tom Joad.’’
“That your father?’’
“Yeah.’’
“His name?’’
“Tom Joad, too.’’
The questions went on. Where from, how long in the State, what work done. The watchman looked up. “I’m not nosy. We got to have this stuff.’’
“Sure,’’ said Tom.
“Now—got any money?’’
“Little bit.’’
“You ain’t destitute?’’
“Got a little. Why?’’
“Well, the camp site costs a dollar a week, but you can work it out, carrying garbage, keeping the camp clean—stuff like that.’’
“We’ll work it out,’’ said Tom.
“You’ll see the committee tomorrow. They’ll show you how to use the camp and tell you the rules.’’
Tom said, “Say—what is this? What committee is this, anyways?