The Grapes of Wrath - John Steinbeck [179]
“Goin’ out for the Gas Company,’’ Timothy said. “They got a nice job of it.’’
“I could of took our truck,’’ Tom suggested.
“No.’’ Timothy leaned down and picked up a green walnut. He tested it with his thumb and then shied it at a blackbird sitting on a fence wire. The bird flew up, let the nut sail under it, and then settled back on the wire and smoothed its shining black feathers with its beak.
Tom asked, “Ain’t you got no car?’’
Both Wallaces were silent, and Tom, looking at their faces, saw that they were ashamed.
Wilkie said, “Place we work at is on’y a mile up the road.’’
Timothy said angrily, “No, we ain’t got no car. We sol’ our car. Had to. Run outa food, run outa ever’thing. Couldn’ git no job. Fellas come aroun’ ever’ week, buyin’ cars. Come aroun’, an’ if you’re hungry, why, they’ll buy your car. An’ if you’re hungry enough, they don’t hafta pay nothin’ for it. An’—we was hungry enough. Give us ten dollars for her.’’ He spat into the road.
Wilkie said quietly, “I was in Bakersfiel’ las’ week. I seen her— a settin’ in a use’-car lot—settin’ right there, an’ seventy-five dollars was the sign on her.’’
“We had to,’’ Timothy said. “It was either us let ’em steal our car or us steal somepin from them. We ain’t had to steal yet, but, goddamn it, we been close!’’
Tom said, “You know, ’fore we lef’ home, we heard they was plenty work out here. Seen han’bills askin’ folks to come out.’’
“Yeah,’’ Timothy said. “We seen ’em too. An’ they ain’t much work. An’ wages is comin’ down all a time. I git so goddamn tired jus’ figgerin’ how to eat.’’
“You got work now,’’ Tom suggested.
“Yeah, but it ain’t gonna las’ long. Workin’ for a nice fella. Got a little place. Works ’longside of us. But, hell—it ain’t gonna las’ no time.’’
Tom said, “Why in hell you gonna git me on? I’ll make it shorter. What you cuttin’ your own throat for?’’
Timothy shook his head slowly. “I dunno. Got no sense, I guess. We figgered to get us each a hat. Can’t do it, I guess. There’s the place, off to the right there. Nice job, too. Gettin’ thirty cents an hour. Nice frien’ly fella to work for.’’
They turned off the highway and walked down a graveled road, through a small kitchen orchard; and behind the trees they came to a small white farm house, a few shade trees, and a barn; behind the barn a vineyard and a field of cotton. As the three men walked past the house a screen door banged, and a stocky sunburned man came down the back steps. He wore a paper sun helmet, and he rolled up his sleeves as he came across the yard. His heavy sunburned eyebrows were drawn down in a scowl. His cheeks were sunburned a beef red.
“Mornin’, Mr. Thomas,’’ Timothy said.
“Morning.’’ The man spoke irritably.
Timothy said, “This here’s Tom Joad. We wondered if you could see your way to put him on?’’
Thomas scowled at Tom. And then he laughed shortly, and his brows still scowled. “Oh, sure! I’ll put him on. I’ll put everybody on. Maybe I’ll get a hundred men on.’’
“We jus’ thought—’’ Timothy began apologetically.
Thomas interrupted him. “Yes, I been thinkin’ too.’’ He swung around and faced them. “I’ve got some things to tell you. I been paying you thirty cents an hour—that right?’’
“Why, sure, Mr. Thomas—but——’’
“And I been getting thirty cents’ worth of work.’’ His heavy hard hands clasped each other.
“We try to give a good day of work.’’
“Well, goddamn it, this morning you’re getting twenty-five cents an hour, and you take it or leave it.’’ The redness of his face deepened with anger.
Timothy said, “We’ve give you good work. You said so yourself.’’
“I know it. But it seems like I ain’t hiring my own men any more.’’ He swallowed. “Look,’’ he said. “I got sixty-five acres here. Did you ever hear of the Farmers’ Association?’’
“Why, sure.’’
“Well, I belong to it. We had a meeting last night. Now, do you know who runs the Farmers’ Association? I’ll tell you. The Bank of the West.2 That bank owns most of this valley, and it’s got paper on everything it don’t own. So last night the member from the bank told me, he said, ‘You’re paying thirty cents an hour. You