The Grapes of Wrath - John Steinbeck [225]
“But jus’ the minute they ain’t strikebreakin’ they won’t get no five.’’
“I don’ think they’ll swalla that. Five they’re a-gettin’. Tha’s all they care about.’’
“Well, tell ’em anyways.’’
“Pa wouldn’ do it,’’ Tom said. “I know ’im. He’d say it wasn’t none of his business.’’
“Yes,’’ Casy said disconsolately. “I guess that’s right. Have to take a beatin’ ’fore he’ll know.’’
“We was outa food,’’ Tom said. “Tonight we had meat. Not much, but we had it. Think Pa’s gonna give up his meat on account a other fellas? An’ Rosasharn oughta get milk. Think Ma’s gonna wanta starve that baby jus’ ’cause a bunch a fellas is yellin’ outside a gate?’’
Casy said sadly, “I wisht they could see it. I wisht they could see the on’y way they can depen’ on their meat— Oh, the hell! Get tar’d sometimes. God-awful tar’d. I knowed a fella. Brang ’im in while I was in the jail house. Been tryin’ to start a union. Got one started. An’ then them vigilantes bust it up. An’ know what? Them very folks he been tryin’ to help tossed him out. Wouldn’ have nothin’ to do with ’im. Scared they’d get saw in his comp’ny. Says, ‘Git out. You’re a danger on us.’ Well, sir, it hurt his feelin’s purty bad. But then he says, ‘It ain’t so bad if you know.’ He says, ‘French Revolution—all them fellas that figgered her out got their heads chopped off. Always that way,’ he says. ‘Jus’ as natural as rain. You didn’t do it for fun no way. Doin’ it ’cause you have to. ’Cause it’s you. Look a Washington,’ he says. ‘Fit the Revolution, an’ after, them sons-a-bitches turned on him. An’ Lincoln the same. Same folks yellin’ to kill ’em. Natural as rain.’ ’’
“Don’t soun’ like no fun,’’ said Tom.
“No, it don’t. This fella in jail, he says, ‘Anyways, you do what you can. An’,’ he says, ‘the on’y thing you got to look at is that ever’ time they’s a little step fo’ward, she may slip back a little, but she never slips clear back. You can prove that,’ he says, ‘an’ that makes the whole thing right. An’ that means they wasn’t no waste even if it seemed like they was.’ ’’
“Talkin’,’’ said Tom. “Always talkin’. Take my brother Al. He’s out lookin’ for a girl. He don’t care ’bout nothin’ else. Couple days he’ll get him a girl. Think about it all day an’ do it all night. He don’t give a damn ’bout steps up or down or sideways.’’
“Sure,’’ said Casy. “Sure. He’s jus’ doin’ what he’s got to do. All of us like that.’’
The man seated outside pulled the tent flap wide. “Goddamn it, I don’ like it,’’ he said.
Casy looked out at him. “What’s the matter?’’
“I don’ know. I jus’ itch all over. Nervous as a cat.’’
“Well, what’s the matter?’’
“I don’ know. Seems like I hear somepin, an’ then I listen an’ they ain’t nothin’ to hear.’’
“You’re jus’ jumpy,’’ the wizened man said. He got up and went outside. And in a second he looked into the tent. “They’s a great big ol’ black cloud a-sailin’ over. Bet she’s got thunder. That’s what’s itchin’ him—’lectricity. ’’ He ducked out again. The other two men stood up from the ground and went outside.
Casy said softly, “All of ’em’s itchy. Them cops been sayin’ how they’re gonna beat the hell outa us an’ run us outa the county. They figger I’m a leader ’cause I talk so much.’’
The wizened face looked in again. “Casy, turn out that lantern an’ come outside. They’s somepin.’’
Casy turned the screw. The flame drew down into the slots and popped and went out. Casy groped outside and Tom followed him. “What is it?’’ Casy asked softly.
“I dunno. Listen!’’
There was a wall of frog sounds that merged with silence. A high, shrill whistle of crickets. But through this background came other sounds—faint footsteps from the road, a crunch of clods up on the bank, a little swish of brush down the stream.
“Can’t really tell if you hear it. Fools you. Get nervous,’’ Casy reassured them. “We’re all nervous. Can’t really tell. You hear it, Tom?’’
“I hear it,’’ said Tom. “Yeah, I hear it. I think they’s guys comin’ from ever’ which way. We better get outa here.’’
The wizened man whispered, “Under the bridge span