The Grapes of Wrath - John Steinbeck [241]
“Here. Right here. Talk soft, Tom.’’
“Don’t worry. I been livin’ like a rabbit some time.’’
She heard him unwrap his tin plate.
“Pork chops,’’ she said. “And fry potatoes.’’
“God Awmighty, an’ still warm.’’
Ma could not see him at all in the blackness, but she could hear him chewing, tearing at the meat and swallowing.
“It’s a pretty good hide-out,’’ he said.
Ma said uneasily, “Tom—Ruthie tol’ about you.’’ She heard him gulp.
“Ruthie? What for?’’
“Well, it wasn’ her fault. Got in a fight, an’ says her brother’ll lick that other girl’s brother. You know how they do. An’ she tol’ that her brother killed a man an’ was hidin’.’’
Tom was chuckling. “With me I was always gonna get Uncle John after ’em, but he never would do it. That’s jus’ kid talk, Ma. That’s awright.’’
“No, it ain’t,’’ Ma said. “Them kids’ll tell it aroun’ an’ then the folks’ll hear, an’ they’ll tell aroun’, an’ pretty soon, well, they liable to get men out to look, jus’ in case. Tom, you got to go away.’’
“That’s what I said right along. I was always scared somebody’d see you put stuff in that culvert, an’ then they’d watch.’’
“I know. But I wanted you near. I was scared for you. I ain’t seen you. Can’t see you now. How’s your face?’’
“Gettin’ well quick.’’
“Come clost, Tom. Let me feel it. Come clost.’’ He crawled near. Her reaching hand found his head in the blackness and her fingers moved down to his nose, and then over his left cheek. “You got a bad scar, Tom. An’ your nose is all crooked.’’
“Maybe tha’s a good thing. Nobody wouldn’t know me, maybe. If my prints wasn’t on record, I’d be glad.’’ He went back to his eating.
“Hush,’’ she said. “Listen!’’
“It’s the wind, Ma. Jus’ the wind.’’ The gust poured down the stream, and the trees rustled under its passing.
She crawled close to his voice. “I wanta touch ya again, Tom. It’s like I’m blin’, it’s so dark. I wanta remember, even if it’s on’y my fingers that remember. You got to go away, Tom.’’
“Yeah! I knowed it from the start.’’
“We made purty good,’’ she said. “I been squirrelin’ money away. Hol’ out your han’, Tom. I got seven dollars here.’’
“I ain’t gonna take ya money,’’ he said. “I’ll get ’long all right.’’
“Hol’ out ya han’, Tom. I ain’t gonna sleep none if you got no money.
Maybe you got to take a bus, or somepin. I want you should go a long ways off, three-four hunderd miles.’’
“I ain’t gonna take it.’’
“Tom,’’ she said sternly. “You take this money. You hear me? You got no right to cause me pain.’’
“You ain’t playin’ fair,’’ he said.
“I thought maybe you could go to a big city. Los Angeles, maybe. They wouldn’ never look for you there.’’
“Hm-m,’’ he said. “Lookie, Ma. I been all day an’ all night hidin’ alone. Guess who I been thinkin’ about? Casy! He talked a lot. Used ta bother me. But now I been thinkin’ what he said, an’ I can remember— all of it. Says one time he went out in the wilderness to find his own soul, an’ he foun’ he didn’ have no soul that was his’n. Says he foun’ he jus’ got a little piece of a great big soul. Says a wilderness ain’t no good, ’cause his little piece of a soul wasn’t no good ’less it was with the rest, an’ was whole. Funny how I remember. Didn’ think I was even listenin’. But I know now a fella ain’t no good alone.’’
“He was a good man,’’ Ma said.
Tom went on, “He spouted out some Scripture once, an’ it didn’ soun’ like no hell-fire Scripture. He tol’ it twicet, an’ I remember it. Says it’s from the Preacher.’’
“How’s it go, Tom?’’
“Goes, ‘Two are better than one, because they have a good reward for their labor. For if they fall, the one will lif’ up his fellow, but woe to him that is alone when he falleth, for he hath not another to help him up.’1 That’s part of her.’’
“Go on,’’ Ma said. “Go on, Tom.’’
“Jus’ a little bit more. ‘Again, if two lie together, then they have heat: but how can one be warm alone? And if one prevail against him, two shall withstand him, and a three-fold cord is not quickly broken.’ ”2
“An’ that’s Scripture?’’
“Casy said it was. Called it the Preacher.’’
“Hush—listen.’’
“On’y the wind, Ma. I know the wind. An