The Grapes of Wrath - John Steinbeck [218]
“I want to get you checked down,’’ he said. “How many of you going to work?’’
Tom said, “They’s four men. Is this here hard work?’’
“Picking peaches,’’ the clerk said. “Piece work. Give five cents a box.’’
“Ain’t no reason why the little fellas can’t help?’’
“Sure not, if they’re careful.’’
Ma stood in the doorway. “Soon’s I get settled down I’ll come out an’ help. We got nothin’ to eat, mister. Do we get paid right off?”
“Well, no, not money right off. But you can get credit at the store for what you got coming.’’
“Come on, let’s hurry,’’ Tom said. “I wanta get some meat an’ bread in me tonight. Where do we go, mister?’’
“I’m going out there now. Come with me.’’
Tom and Pa and Al and Uncle John walked with him down the dusty street and into the orchard, in among the peach trees. The narrow leaves were beginning to turn a pale yellow. The peaches were little globes of gold and red on the branches. Among the trees were piles of empty boxes. The pickers scurried about, filling their buckets from the branches, putting the peaches in the boxes, carrying the boxes to the checking station; and at the stations, where the piles of filled boxes waited for the trucks, clerks waited to check against the names of the pickers.
“Here’s four more,’’ the guide said to a clerk.
“O.K. Ever picked before?’’
“Never did,’’ said Tom.
“Well, pick careful. No bruised fruit, no windfalls. Bruise your fruit an’ we won’t check ’em. There’s some buckets.’’
Tom picked up a three-gallon bucket and looked at it. “Full a holes on the bottom.’’
“Sure,’’ said the near-sighted clerk. “That keeps people from stealing them. All right—down in that section. Get going.’’
The four Joads took their buckets and went into the orchard. “They don’t waste no time,’’ Tom said.
“Christ Awmighty,’’ Al said. “I ruther work in a garage.’’
Pa had followed docilely into the field. He turned suddenly on Al. “Now you jus’ quit it,’’ he said. “You been a-hankerin’ an’ a-complainin’ an’ a-bullblowin’. You get to work. You ain’t so big I can’t lick you yet.’’
Al’s face turned red with anger. He started to bluster.
Tom moved near to him. “Come on, Al,’’ he said quietly. “Bread an’ meat. We got to get ’em.’’
They reached for the fruit and dropped them in the buckets. Tom ran at his work. One bucket full, two buckets. He dumped them in a box. Three buckets. The box was full. “I jus’ made a nickel,’’ he called. He picked up the box and walked hurriedly to the station. “Here’s a nickel’s worth,’’ he said to the checker.
The man looked into the box, turned over a peach or two. “Put it over there. That’s out,’’ he said. “I told you not to bruise them. Dumped ’em outa the bucket, didn’t you? Well, every damn peach is bruised. Can’t check that one. Put ’em in easy or you’re working for nothing.’’
“Why—goddamn it——’’
“Now go easy. I warned you before you started.’’
Tom’s eyes drooped sullenly. “O.K.,” he said. “O.K.” He went quickly back to the others. “Might’s well dump what you got,’’ he said. “Yours is the same as mine. Won’t take ’em.’’
“Now, what the hell!’’ Al began.
“Got to pick easier. Can’t drop ’em in the bucket. Got to lay ’em in.’’
They started again, and this time they handled the fruit gently. The boxes filled more slowly. “We could figger somepin out, I bet,’’ Tom said. “If Ruthie an’ Winfiel’ or Rosasharn jus’ put ’em in the boxes, we could work out a system.’’ He carried his newest box to the station. “Is this here worth a nickel?’’
The checker looked them over, dug down several layers. “That’s better, ’’ he said. He checked the box in. “Just take it easy.’’
Tom hurried back. “I got a nickel,’’ he called. “I got a nickel. On’y got to do that there twenty times for a dollar.’’
They worked on steadily through the afternoon. Ruthie and Winfield found them after a while. “You got to work,’’ Pa told them. “You got to put the peaches careful in the box. Here, now, one at a time.’’
The children squatted down and picked the peaches out of the extra bucket, and a line of buckets stood ready for them. Tom carried the full boxes to the station.