The Grapes of Wrath - John Steinbeck [92]
Al, at the wheel, his face purposeful, his whole body listening to the car, his restless eye jumping from the road to the instrument panel. Al was one with his engine, every nerve listening for weaknesses, for the thumps or squeals, hums and chattering that indicate a change that may cause a breakdown. He had become the soul of the car.
Granma, beside him on the seat, half slept, and whimpered in her sleep, opened her eyes to peer ahead, and then dozed again. And Ma sat beside Granma, one elbow out the window, and the skin reddening under the fierce sun. Ma looked ahead too, but her eyes were flat and did not see the road or the fields, the gas stations, the little eating sheds. She did not glance at them as the Hudson went by.
Al shifted himself on the broken seat and changed his grip on the steering wheel. And he sighed, “Makes a racket, but I think she’s awright. God knows what she’ll do if we got to climb a hill with the load we got. Got any hills ’tween here an’ California, Ma?’’
Ma turned her head slowly and her eyes came to life. “Seems to me they’s hills,’’ she said. “ ’Course I dunno. But seems to me I heard they’s hills an’ even mountains. Big ones.’’
Granma drew a long whining sigh in her sleep.
Al said, “We’ll burn right up if we got climbin’ to do. Have to throw out some a’ this stuff. Maybe we shouldn’ a brang that preacher.’’
“You’ll be glad a that preacher ’fore we’re through,’’ said Ma. “That preacher’ll help us.’’ She looked ahead at the gleaming road again.
Al steered with one hand and put the other on the vibrating gear-shift lever. He had difficulty in speaking. His mouth formed the words silently before he said them aloud. “Ma—’’ She looked slowly around at him, her head swaying a little with the car’s motion. “Ma, you scared a goin’? You scared a goin’ to a new place?’’
Her eyes grew thoughtful and soft. “A little,’’ she said. “Only it ain’t like scared so much. I’m jus’ a settin’ here waitin’. When somepin happens that I got to do somepin—I’ll do it.’’
“Ain’t you thinkin’ what’s it gonna be like when we get there? Ain’t you scared it won’t be nice like we thought?’’
“No,’’ she said quickly. “No, I ain’t. You can’t do that. I can’t do that. It’s too much—livin’ too many lives. Up ahead they’s a thousan’ lives we might live, but when it comes, it’ll on’y be one. If I go ahead on all of ’em, it’s too much. You got to live ahead ’cause you’re so young, but—it’s jus’ the road goin’ by for me. An’ it’s jus’ how soon they gonna wanta eat some more pork bones.’’ Her face tightened. “That’s all I can do. I can’t do no more. All the rest’d get upset if I done any more’n that. They all depen’ on me jus’ thinkin’ about that.’’
Granma yawned shrilly and opened her eyes. She looked wildly about. “I got to git out, praise Gawd,’’ she said.
“First clump a brush,’’ said Al. “They’s one up ahead.’’
“Brush or no brush, I got to git out, I tell ya.’’ And she began to whine, “I got to git out. I got to git out.’’
Al speeded up, and when he came to the low brush he pulled up short. Ma threw the door open and half pulled the struggling old lady out beside the road and into the bushes. And Ma held her so Granma would not fall when she squatted.
On top of the truck the others stirred to life. Their faces were shining with sunburn they could not escape. Tom and Casy and Noah and Uncle John let themselves wearily down. Ruthie and Winfield swarmed down the side-boards and went off into the bushes. Connie helped Rose of Sharon gently down. Under the canvas, Grampa was awake, his head sticking out, but his eyes were drugged and watery and still senseless. He watched the others, but there was little recognition in his watching.
Tom called to him, “Want to come down, Grampa?’’
The old eyes turned listlessly to him. “No,’’ said Grampa. For a moment the fierceness came into his eyes. “I ain’t a-goin’, I tell you. Gonna stay like Muley.’’ And then he lost interest again. Ma came back, helping Granma up the bank to the highway.