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CHAPTER 16
JOADS AND WILSONS crawled westward as a unit: El Reno and
Bridgeport, Clinton, Elk City, Sayre, and Texola. There's the
border, and Oklahoma was behind. And this day the cars crawled on
and on, through the Panhandle of Texas. Shamrock and Alanreed, Groom
and Yarnell. They went through Amarillo in the evening, drove too
long, and camped when it was dusk. They were tired and dusty and
hot. Granma had convulsions from the heat, and she was weak when
they stopped.
That night Al stole a fence rail and made a ridge pole on the truck,
braced at both ends. That night they ate nothing but pan biscuits,
cold and hard, held over from breakfast. They flopped down on the
mattresses and slept in their clothes. The Wilsons didn't even put
up their tent.
Joads and Wilsons were in flight across the Panhandle, the rolling
gray country, lined and cut with old flood scars. They were in
flight out of Oklahoma and across Texas. The land turtles crawled
through the dust and the sun whipped the earth, and in the evening the
heat went out of the sky and the earth sent up a wave of heat from
itself.
Two days the families were in flight, but on the third the land
was too huge for them and they settled into a new technique of living;
the highway became their home and movement their medium of expression.
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Little by little they settled into the new life. Ruthie and Winfield
first, then Al, then Connie and Rose of Sharon, and, last, the older
ones. The land rolled like great stationary ground swells. Wildorado
and Vega and Boise and Glenrio. That's the end of Texas. New Mexico
and the mountains. In the far distance, waved up against the sky,
the mountains stood. And the wheels of the cars creaked around, and
the engines were hot, and the steam spurted around the radiator
caps. They crawled to the Pecos river, and crossed at Santa Rosa.
And they went on for twenty miles.
AL JOAD drove the touring car, and his mother sat beside him, and
Rose of Sharon beside her. Ahead the truck crawled. The hot air folded
in waves over the land, and the mountains shivered in the heat. Al
drove listlessly, hunched back in the seat, his hand hooked easily
over the cross-bar of the steering wheel; his gray hat, peaked and
pulled to an incredibly cocky shape, was low over one eye; and as he
drove, he turned and spat out the side now and then.
Ma, beside him, had folded her hands in her lap, had retired into
a resistance against weariness. She sat loosely, letting the
movement of the car sway her body and her head. She squinted her
eyes ahead at the mountains. Rose of Sharon was braced against the
movement of the car, her feet pushed tight against the floor, and
her right elbow hooked over the door. And her plump face was tight
against the movement, and her head jiggled sharply because her neck
muscles were tight. She tried to arch her whole body as a rigid
container to preserve her fetus from shock. She turned her head toward
her mother.
"Ma," she said. Ma's eyes lighted up and she drew her attention
toward Rose of Sharon. Her eyes went over the tight, tired, plump
face, and she smiled. "Ma," the girl said, "when we get there, all you
gonna pick fruit an' kinda live in the country, ain't you?"
Ma smiled a little satirically. "We ain't there yet," she said.
"We don't know what it's like. We got to see."
"Me an' Connie don't want to live in the country no more," the
girl said. "We got it all planned up what we gonna do."
For a moment a little worry came on Ma's face. "Ain't you gonna stay
with us- with the family?" she asked.
"Well, we talked all about it, me an' Connie. Ma, we wanna live in a
town." She went on excitedly. "Connie gonna get a job in a store or
maybe a fact'ry. An' he's gonna study at home, maybe radio, so he
can git to be a expert an' maybe later have his own store. An' we'll
go to pitchers whenever. An' Connie says I'm gonna have a doctor
when the baby's born; an' he says we'll see how times is, an' maybe
I'll go to a hospiddle. An' we'll have a car, little car. An' after he
studies at night, why- it'll be nice, an' he tore a page outa Western
Love Stories, an' he's gonna send off for a course, 'cause it don't
cost nothin' to send off. Says right on that clipping. I seen it.
An' why- they even get you a job when you take that course- radios, it
is- nice clean work, and a future. An' we'll live in town an' go to
Page 123 , Grapes of Wrath, The - John Steinbeck
pitchers whenever an'- well, I'm gonna have a 'lectric iron, an' the
baby'll have all new stuff. Connie says all new stuff- white an'-
Well, you seen in the catalogue all the stuff they got for a baby.
Maybe right at first while Connie's studyin' at home it won't be easy,
but- well, when the baby comes, maybe he'll be all done studyin' an'
we'll have a place, little bit of a place. We don't want nothin'
fancy, but we want it nice for the baby-" Her face glowed with
excitement. "An' I thought- well, I thought maybe we could all go in
town, an' when Connie gets his store- maybe Al could work for him."
Ma's eyes had never left the flushing face. Ma watched the structure
grow and followed it. "We don' want you to go 'way from us," she said.
"It ain't good for folks to break up."
Al snorted, "Me work for Connie? How about Connie comes a-workin'
for me? He thinks he's the on'y son-of-a-bitch can study at night?"
Ma suddenly seemed to know it was all a dream. She turned her head
forward again and her body relaxed, but the little smile stayed around
her eyes. "I wonder how Granma feels today," she said.
Al grew tense over the wheel. A little rattle had developed in the
engine. He speeded up and the rattle increased. He retarded his
spark and listened, and then he speeded up for a moment and
listened. The rattle increased to a metallic pounding. Al blew his
horn and pulled the car to the side of the road. Ahead the truck
pulled up and then backed slowly. Three cars raced by, westward, and
each one blew its horn and the last driver leaned out and yelled,
"Where the hell ya think you're stoppin'?"
Tom backed the truck close, and then he got out and walked to the
touring car. From the back of the loaded truck heads looked down. Al
retarded his spark and listened to his idling motor. Tom asked,
"What's a matter, Al?"
Al speeded the motor. "Listen to her." The rattling pound was louder
now.
Tom listened. "Put up your spark an' idle," he said. He opened the
hood and put his head inside. "Now speed her." He listened for a
moment and then closed the hood. "Well, I guess you're right, Al,"
he said.
"Con-rod bearing, ain't it?"
"Sounds like it," said Tom.
"I kep' plenty oil in," Al complained.
"Well, it jus' didn' get to her. Drier'n a bitch monkey now. Well,
there ain't nothin' to do but tear her out. Look, I'll pull ahead
an' find a flat place to stop. You come ahead slow. Don't knock the
pan out of her."
Wilson asked, "Is it bad?"
"Purty bad," said Tom, and walked back to the truck and moved slowly
ahead.
Al explained, "I don't know what made her go out. I give her
plenty of oil." Al knew the blame was on him. He felt his failure.
Ma said, "It ain't your fault. You done ever'thing right." And
then she asked a little timidly, "Is it terrible bad?"
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"Well, it's hard to get at, an' we got to get a new con-rod or
else some babbitt in this one." He sighed deeply. "I sure am glad
Tom's here. I never fitted no bearing. Hope to Jesus Tom did."
A huge red billboard stood beside the road ahead, and it threw a
great oblong shadow. Tom edged the truck off the road and across the
shallow roadside ditch, and he pulled up in the shadow. He got out and
waited until Al came up.
"Now go easy," he called. "Take her slow or you'll break a spring
too."
Al's face went red with anger. He throttled down his motor. "Goddamn
it," he yelled, "I didn't burn that bearin' out! What d'ya mean,
I'll bust a spring too?"
Tom grinned. "Keep all four feet on the groun'," he said. "I didn'
mean nothin'. Just take her easy over this ditch."
Al grumbled as he inched the touring car down, and up the other
side. "Don't you go givin' nobody no idear I burned out that bearin'."
The engine clattered loudly now. Al pulled into the shade and shut
down the motor.
Tom lifted the hood and braced it. "Can't even start on her before
she cools off," he said. The family piled down from the cars and
clustered about the touring car.
Pa asked, "How bad?" And he squatted on his hams.
Tom turned to Al. "Ever fitted one?"
"No," said Al, "I never. 'Course I had pans off."
Tom said, "Well, we got to tear the pan off an' get the rod out, an'
we got to get a new part an' hone her an' shim her an' fit her. Good
day's job. Got to go back to that las' place for a part, Santa Rosa.
Albuquerque's about seventy-five miles on- Oh, Jesus, tomorra's
Sunday! We can't get nothin' tomorra." The family stood silently.
Ruthie crept close and peered into the open hood, hoping to see the
broken part. Tom went on softly, "Tomorra's Sunday. Monday we'll get
the thing an' prob'ly won't get her fitted 'fore Tuesday. We ain't got
the tools to make it easy. Gonna be a job." The shadow of a buzzard
slid across the earth, and the family all looked up at the sailing
black bird.
Pa said, "What I'm scairt of is we'll run outa money so we can't git
there 't all. Here's all us eatin', an' got to buy gas an' oil. 'F
we run outa money, I don' know what we gonna do."
Wilson said, "Seems like it's my fault. This here goddamn wreck's
give me trouble right along. You folks been nice to us. Now you jus'
pack up an' get along. Me an' Sairy'll stay, an' we'll figger some
way. We don't aim to put you folks out none."
Pa said slowly. "We ain't a-gonna do it. We got almost a kin bond.
Grampa, he died in your tent."
Sairy said tiredly, "We been nothin' but trouble, nothin' but
trouble."
Tom slowly made a cigarette, and inspected it and lighted it. He
took off his ruined cap and wiped his forehead. "I got an idear," he
said. "Maybe nobody gonna like it, but here she is: The nearer to
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California our folks get, the quicker they's gonna be money rollin'
in. Now this here car'll go twicet as fast as that truck. Now here's
my idea. You take out some a that stuff in the truck, an' then all you
folks but me an' the preacher get in an' move on. Me an' Casy'll
stop here an' fix this here car an' then we drive on, day an' night,
an' we'll catch up, or if we don't meet on the road, you'll be
a-workin' anyways. An' if you break down, why, jus' camp 'longside the
road till we come. You can't be no worse off, an' if you get
through, why, you'll be a-workin', an' stuff'll be easy. Casy can give
me a lif' with this here car, an' we'll come a-sailin'."
The gathered family considered it. Uncle John dropped to his hams
beside Pa.
Al said, "Won't ya need me to give ya a han' with that con-rod?"
"You said your own se'f you never fixed one."
"That's right," Al agreed. "All ya got to have is a strong back.
Maybe the preacher don' wanta stay."
"Well- whoever- I don' care," said Tom.
Pa scratched the dry earth with his forefinger. "I kind a got a
notion Tom's right," he said. "It ain't goin' ta do no good all of
us stayin' here. We can get fifty, a hunderd miles on 'fore dark."
Ma said worriedly, "How you gonna find us?"
"We'll be on the same road," said Tom. "Sixty-six right on
through. Come to a place name' Bakersfiel'. Seen it on the map I
got. You go straight on there."
"Yeah, but when we get to California an' spread out sideways off
this road-?"
"Don't you worry," Tom reassured her. "We're gonna find ya.
California ain't the whole world."
"Looks like an awful big place on the map," said Ma.
Pa appealed for advice. "John, you see any reason why not?"
"No," said John.
"Mr. Wilson, it's your car. You got any objections if my boy fixes
her an' brings her on?"
"I don't see none," said Wilson. "Seems like you folks done
ever'thing for us awready. Don' see why I cain't give your boy a
han'."
"You can be workin', layin' in a little money, if we don' ketch up
with ya," said Tom. "An' suppose we all jus' lay aroun' here. There
ain't no water here, an' we can't move this here car. But s'pose you
all git out there an' git to work. Why, you'd have money, an' maybe
a house to live in. How about it, Casy? Wanna stay with me an' gimme a
lif'?"
"I wanna do what's bes' for you folks," said Casy. "You took me
in, carried me along. I'll do whatever."
"Well, you'll lay on your back an' get grease in your face if you
stay here," Tom said.
"Suits me awright."
Pa said, "Well, if that's the way she's gonna go, we better get
a-shovin'. We can maybe squeeze in a hunderd miles 'fore we stop."