1It was late when Tom Joad drove along a country road looking for the Weedpatch camp. There were few lights in the countryside. Only a sky glare behind showed the direction of Bakersfield. The truck jiggled slowly along and hunting cats left the road ahead of it. At a crossroad there was a little cluster of white wooden buildings.

2Ma was sleeping in the seat and Pa had been silent and withdrawn for a long time.

3Tom said, “I don’ know where she is. Maybe we’ll wait till daylight an’ ast somebody.” He stopped at a boulevard signal and another car stopped at the crossing. Tom leaned out. “Hey, mister. Know where the big camp is at?”

4“Straight ahead.”

5Tom pulled across into the opposite road. A few hundred yards, and then he stopped. A high wire fence faced the road, and a wide-gated driveway turned in. A little way inside the gate there was a small house with a light in the window. Tom turned in. The whole truck leaped into the air and crashed down again.

6“Jesus!” Tom said. “I didn’ even see that hump.”

7A watchman stood up from the porch and walked to the car. He leaned on the side. “You hit her too fast,” he said. “Next time you’ll take it easy.”

8“What is it, for God’s sake?”

9The watchman laughed. “Well, a lot of kids play in here. You tell folks to go slow and they’re liable to forget. But let ’em hit that hump once and they don’t forget.”

10“Oh! Yeah. Hope I didn’ break nothin’. Say—you got any room here for us?”

11“Got one camp. How many of you?”

12Tom counted on his fingers. “Me an’ Pa an’ Ma, Al an’ Rosasharn an’ Uncle John an’ Ruthie an’ Winfiel’. Them last is kids.”

13“Well, I guess we can fix you. Got any camping stuff?”

14“Got a big tarp an’ beds.”

15The watchman stepped up on the running board. “Drive down the end of that line an’ turn right. You’ll be in Number Four Sanitary Unit.”

16“What’s that?”

17“Toilets and showers and wash tubs.”

18Ma demanded, “You got wash tubs—running water?”

19“Sure.”

20“Oh! Praise God,” said Ma.

21Tom drove down the long dark row of tents. In the sanitary building a low light burned. “Pull in here,” the watchman said. “It’s a nice place. Folks that had it just moved out.”

22Tom stopped the car. “Right there?”

23“Yeah. Now you let the others unload while I sign you up. Get to sleep. The camp committee’ll call on you in the morning and get you fixed up.”

24Tom’s eyes drew down. “Cops?” he asked.

25The watchman laughed. “No cops. We got our own cops. Folks here elect their own cops. Come along.”

26Al dropped off the truck and walked around. “Gonna stay here?”

27“Yeah,” said Tom. “You an’ Pa unload while I go to the office.”

28“Be kinda quiet,” the watchman said. “They’s a lot of folks sleeping.”

29Tom followed through the dark and climbed the office steps and entered a tiny room containing an old desk and a chair. The guard sat down at the desk and took out a form.

30“Name?”

31“Tom Joad.”

32“That your father?”

33“Yeah.”

34“His name?”

35“Tom Joad, too.”

36The questions went on. Where from, how long in the State, what work done. The watchman looked up. “I’m not nosy. We got to have this stuff.”

37“Sure,” said Tom.

38“Now—got any money?”

39“Little bit.”

40“You ain’t destitute?”

41“Got a little. Why?”

42“Well, the camp site costs a dollar a week, but you can work it out, carrying garbage, keeping the camp clean—stuff like that.”

43“We’ll work it out,” said Tom.

44“You’ll see the committee tomorrow. They’ll show you how to use the camp and tell you the rules.”

45Tom said, “Say—what is this? What committee is this, anyways?”

46The watchman settled himself back. “Works pretty nice. There’s five sanitary units. Each one elects a Central Committee man. Now that committee makes the laws. What they say goes.”

47“S’pose they get tough,” Tom said.

48“Well, you can vote ’em out jus’ as quick as you vote ’em in. They’ve done a fine job. Tell you what they did—you know the Holy Roller preachers all the time follow the people around, preachin’ an’ takin’ up collections? Well, they wanted to preach in this camp. And a lot of the older folks wanted them. So it was up to the Central Committee. They went into meeting and here’s how they fixed it. They say, ‘Any preacher can preach in this camp. Nobody can take up a collection in this camp.’ And it was kinda sad for the old folks, ’cause there hasn’t been a preacher in since.”

49Tom laughed and then he asked, “You mean to say the fellas that runs the camp is jus’ fellas—campin’ here?”

50“Sure. And it works.”

51“You said about cops——”

52“Central Committee keeps order an’ makes rules. Then there’s the ladies. They’ll call on your ma. They keep care of kids an’ look after the sanitary units. If your ma isn’t working, she’ll look after kids for the ones that is working, an’ when she gets a job—why, there’ll be others. They sew, and a nurse comes out an’ teaches ’em. All kinds of things like that.”

53“You mean to say they ain’t no cops?”

54“No, sir. No cop can come in here without a warrant.”

55“Well, s’pose a fella is jus’ mean, or drunk an’ quarrelsome. What then?”

56The watchman stabbed the blotter with a pencil. “Well, the first time the Central Committee warns him. And the second time they really warn him. The third time they kick him out of the camp.”

57“God Almighty, I can’t hardly believe it! Tonight the deputies an’ them fellas with the little caps, they burned the camp out by the river.”

58“They don’t get in here,” the watchman said. “Some nights the boys patrol the fences, ’specially dance nights.”

59“Dance nights? Jesus Christ!”

60“We got the best dances in the county every Saturday night.”

61“Well, for Christ’s sake! Why ain’t they more places like this?”

62The watchman looked sullen. “You’ll have to find that out yourself. Go get some sleep.”

63“Good night,” said Tom. “Ma’s gonna like this place. She ain’t been treated decent for a long time.”

64“Good night,” the watchman said. “Get some sleep. This camp wakes up early.”

65Tom walked down the street between the rows of tents. His eyes grew used to the starlight. He saw that the rows were straight and that there was no litter about the tents. The ground of the street had been swept and sprinkled. From the tents came the snores of sleeping people. The whole camp buzzed and snorted. Tom walked slowly. He neared Number Four Sanitary Unit and he looked at it curiously, an unpainted building, low and rough. Under a roof, but open at the sides, the rows of wash trays. He saw the Joad truck standing near by, and went quietly toward it. The tarpaulin was pitched and the camp was quiet. As he drew near a figure moved from the shadow of the truck and came toward him.

66Ma said softly, “That you, Tom?”

67“Yeah.”

68“Sh!” she said. “They’re all asleep. They was tar’d out.”

69“You ought to be asleep too,” Tom said.

70“Well, I wanted to see ya. Is it awright?”

71“It’s nice,” Tom said. “I ain’t gonna tell ya. They’ll tell ya in the mornin’. Ya gonna like it.”

72She whispered, “I heard they got hot water.”

73“Yeah. Now you get to sleep. I don’ know when you slep’ las’.”

74She begged, “What ain’t you a-gonna tell me?”

75“I ain’t. You get to sleep.”

76Suddenly she seemed girlish. “How can I sleep if I got to think about what you ain’t gonna tell me?”

77“No, you don’t,” Tom said. “First thing in the mornin’ you get on your other dress an’ then—you’ll find out.”

78“I can’t sleep with nothin’ like that hangin’ over me.”

79“You got to,” Tom chuckled happily. “You jus’ got to.”

80“Good night,” she said softly; and she bent down and slipped under the dark tarpaulin.

81Tom climbed up over the tail-board of the truck. He lay down on his back on the wooden floor and he pillowed his head on his crossed hands, and his forearms pressed against his ears. The night grew cooler. Tom buttoned his coat over his chest and settled back again. The stars were clear and sharp over his head.

82It was still dark when he awakened. A small clashing noise brought him up from sleep. Tom listened and heard again the squeak of iron on iron. He moved stiffly and shivered in the morning air. The camp still slept. Tom stood up and looked over the side of the truck. The eastern mountains were blue-black, and as he watched, the light stood up faintly behind them, colored at the mountain rims with a washed red, then growing colder, grayer, darker, as it went up overhead, until at a place near the western horizon it merged with pure night. Down in the valley the earth was the lavender-gray of dawn.

83The clash of iron sounded again. Tom looked down the line of tents, only a little lighter gray than the ground. Beside a tent he saw a flash of orange fire seeping from the cracks in an old iron stove. Gray smoke spurted up from a stubby smoke-pipe.

84Tom climbed over the truck side and dropped to the ground. He moved slowly toward the stove. He saw a girl working about the stove, saw that she carried a baby on her crooked arm, and that the baby was nursing, its head up under the girl’s shirtwaist. And the girl moved about, poking the fire, shifting the rusty stove lids to make a better draft, opening the oven door; and all the time the baby sucked, and the mother shifted it deftly from arm to arm. The baby didn’t interfere with her work or with the quick gracefulness of her movements. And the orange fire licked out of the stove cracks and threw flickering reflections on the tent.

85Tom moved closer. He smelled frying bacon and baking bread. From the east the light grew swiftly. Tom came near to the stove and stretched out his hands to it. The girl looked at him and nodded, so that her two braids jerked.

86“Good mornin’,” she said, and she turned the bacon in the pan.

87The tent flap jerked up and a young man came out and an older man followed him. They were dressed in new blue dungarees and in dungaree coats, stiff with filler, the brass buttons shining. They were sharp-faced men, and they looked much alike. The younger man had a dark stubble beard and the older man a white stubble beard. Their heads and faces were wet, their hair dripped, water stood in drops on their stiff beards. Their cheeks shone with dampness. Together they stood looking quietly into the lightening east. They yawned together and watched the light on the hill rims. And then they turned and saw Tom.

88“Mornin’,” the older man said, and his face was neither friendly nor unfriendly.

89“Mornin’,” said Tom.

90And, “Mornin’,” said the younger man.

91The water slowly dried on their faces. They came to the stove and warmed their hands at it.

92The girl kept to her work. Once she set the baby down and tied her braids together in back with a string, and the two braids jerked and swung as she worked. She set tin cups on a big packing box, set tin plates and knives and forks out. Then she scooped bacon from the deep grease and laid it on a tin platter, and the bacon cricked and rustled as it grew crisp. She opened the rusty oven door and took out a square pan full of big high biscuits.

93When the smell of the biscuits struck the air both of the men inhaled deeply. The younger said, “Kee-rist!” softly.

94Now the older man said to Tom, “Had your breakfast?”

95“Well, no, I ain’t. But my folks is over there. They ain’t up. Need the sleep.”

96“Well, set down with us, then. We got plenty—thank God!”

97“Why, thank ya,” Tom said. “Smells so dam good I couldn’ say no.”

98“Don’t she?” the younger man asked. “Ever smell anything so good in ya life?” They marched to the packing box and squatted around it.

99“Workin’ around here?” the young man asked.

100“Aim to,” said Tom. “We jus’ got in las’ night. Ain’t had no chance to look aroun’.”

101“We had twelve days’ work,” the young man said.

102The girl, working by the stove, said, “They even got new clothes.” Both men looked down at their stiff blue clothes, and they smiled a little shyly. The girl set out the platter of bacon and the brown, high biscuits and a bowl of bacon gravy and a pot of coffee, and then she squatted down by the box too. The baby still nursed, its head up under the girl’s shirtwaist.

103They filled their plates, poured bacon gravy over the biscuits, and sugared their coffee.

104The older man filled his mouth full, and he chewed and chewed and gulped and swallowed. “God Almighty, it’s good!” he said, and he filled his mouth again.

105The younger man said, “We been eatin’ good for twelve days now. Never missed a meal in twelve days—none of us. Workin’ an’ gettin’ our pay an’ eatin’.” He fell to again, almost frantically, and refilled his plate. They drank the scalding coffee and threw the grounds to the earth and filled their cups again.

106There was color in the light now, a reddish gleam. The father and son stopped eating. They were facing to the east and their faces were lighted by the dawn. The image of the mountain and the light coming over it were reflected in their eyes. And then they threw the grounds from their cups to the earth, and they stood up together.

107“Got to git goin’,” the older man said.

108The younger turned to Tom. “Lookie,” he said. “We’re layin’ some pipe. ’F you want to walk over with us, maybe we could get you on.”

109Tom said, “Well, that’s mighty nice of you. An’ I sure thank ya for the breakfast.”

110“Glad to have you,” the older man said. “We’ll try to git you workin’ if you want.”

111“Ya goddamn right I want,” Tom said. “Jus’ wait a minute. I’ll tell my folks.” He hurried to the Joad tent and bent over and looked inside. In the gloom under the tarpaulin he saw the lumps of sleeping figures. But a little movement started among the bedclothes. Ruthie came wriggling out like a snake, her hair down over her eyes and her dress wrinkled and twisted. She crawled carefully out and stood up. Her gray eyes were clear and calm from sleep, and mischief was not in them. Tom moved off from the tent and beckoned her to follow, and when he turned, she looked up at him.

112“Lord God, you’re growin’ up,” he said.

113She looked away in sudden embarrassment. “Listen here,” Tom said. “Don’t you wake nobody up, but when they get up, you tell ’em I got a chancet at a job, an’ I’m a-goin’ for it. Tell Ma I et breakfas’ with some neighbors. You hear that?”

114Ruthie nodded and turned her head away, and her eyes were little girl’s eyes. “Don’t you wake ’em up,” Tom cautioned. He hurried back to his new friends. And Ruthie cautiously approached the sanitary unit and peeked in the open doorway.

115The two men were waiting when Tom came back. The young woman had dragged a mattress out and put the baby on it while she cleaned up the dishes.

116Tom said, “I wanted to tell my folks where-at I was. They wasn’t awake.” The three walked down the street between the tents.

117The camp had begun to come to life. At the new fires the women worked, slicing meat, kneading the dough for the morning’s bread. And the men were stirring about the tents and about the automobiles. The sky was rosy now. In front of the office a lean old man raked the ground carefully. He so dragged his rake that the tine marks were straight and deep.

118“You’re out early, Pa,” the young man said as they went by.

119“Yep, yep. Got to make up my rent.”

120“Rent, hell!” the young man said. “He was drunk last Sat’dy night. Sung in his tent all night. Committee give him work for it.” They walked along the edge of the oiled road; a row of walnut trees grew beside the way. The sun shoved its edge over the mountains.

121Tom said, “Seems funny. I’ve et your food, an’ I ain’t tol’ you my name—nor you ain’t mentioned yours. I’m Tom Joad.”

122The older man looked at him, and then he smiled a little. “You ain’t been out here long?”

123“Hell, no! Jus’ a couple days.”

124“I knowed it. Funny, you git outa the habit a mentionin’ your name. They’s so goddamn many. Jist fellas. Well, sir—I’m Timothy Wallace, an’ this here’s my boy Wilkie.”

125“Proud to know ya,” Tom said. “You been out here long?”

126“Ten months,” Wilkie said. “Got here right on the tail a the floods las’ year. Jesus! We had a time, a time! Goddamn near starve’ to death.” Their feet rattled on the oiled road. A truckload of men went by, and each man was sunk into himself. Each man braced himself in the truck bed and scowled down.

127“Goin’ out for the Gas Company,” Timothy said. “They got a nice job of it.”

128“I could of took our truck,” Tom suggested.

129“No.” Timothy leaned down and picked up a green walnut. He tested it with his thumb and then shied it at a blackbird sitting on a fence wire. The bird flew up, let the nut sail under it, and then settled back on the wire and smoothed its shining black feathers with its beak.

130Tom asked, “Ain’t you got no car?”

131Both Wallaces were silent, and Tom, looking at their faces, saw that they were ashamed.

132Wilkie said, “Place we work at is on’y a mile up the road.”

133Timothy said angrily, “No, we ain’t got no car. We sol’ our car. Had to. Run outa food, run outa ever’thing. Couldn’ git no job. Fellas come aroun’ ever’ week, buyin’ cars. Come aroun’, an’ if you’re hungry, why, they’ll buy your car. An’ if you’re hungry enough, they don’t hafta pay nothin’ for it. An’—we was hungry enough. Give us ten dollars for her.” He spat into the road.

134Wilkie said quietly, “I was in Bakersfiel’ las’ week. I seen her—a-settin’ in a use’-car lot—settin’ right there, an’ seventy-five dollars was the sign on her.”

135“We had to,” Timothy said. “It was either us let ’em steal our car or us steal somepin from them. We ain’t had to steal yet, but, goddamn it, we been close!”

136Tom said, “You know, ’fore we lef’ home, we heard they was plenty work out here. Seen han’bills askin’ folks to come out.”

137“Yeah,” Timothy said. “We seen ’em too. An’ they ain’t much work. An’ wages is comin’ down all a time. I git so goddamn tired jus’ figgerin’ how to eat.”

138“You got work now,” Tom suggested.

139“Yeah, but it ain’t gonna las’ long. Workin’ for a nice fella. Got a little place. Works ’longside of us. But, hell—it ain’t gonna las’ no time.”

140Tom said, “Why in hell you gonna git me on? I’ll make it shorter. What you cuttin’ your own throat for?”

141Timothy shook his head slowly. “I dunno. Got no sense, I guess. We figgered to get us each a hat. Can’t do it, I guess. There’s the place, off to the right there. Nice job, too. Gettin’ thirty cents an hour. Nice frien’ly fella to work for.”

142They turned off the highway and walked down a graveled road, through a small kitchen orchard; and behind the trees they came to a small white farm house, a few shade trees, and a barn; behind the barn a vineyard and a field of cotton. As the three men walked past the house a screen door banged, and a stocky sunburned man came down the back steps. He wore a paper sun helmet, and he rolled up his sleeves as he came across the yard. His heavy sunburned eyebrows were drawn down in a scowl. His cheeks were sunburned a beef red.

143“Mornin’, Mr. Thomas,” Timothy said.

144“Morning.” The man spoke irritably.

145Timothy said, “This here’s Tom Joad. We wondered if you could see your way to put him on?”

146Thomas scowled at Tom. And then he laughed shortly, and his brows still scowled. “Oh, sure! I’ll put him on. I’ll put everybody on. Maybe I’ll get a hundred men on.”

147“We jus’ thought—” Timothy began apologetically.

148Thomas interrupted him. “Yes, I been thinkin’ too.” He swung around and faced them. “I’ve got some things to tell you. I been paying you thirty cents an hour—that right?”

149“Why, sure, Mr. Thomas—but——”

150“And I been getting thirty cents’ worth of work.” His heavy hard hands clasped each other.

151“We try to give a good day of work.”

152“Well, goddamn it, this morning you’re getting twenty-five cents an hour, and you take it or leave it.” The redness of his face deepened with anger.

153Timothy said, “We’ve give you good work. You said so yourself.”

154“I know it. But it seems like I ain’t hiring my own men any more.” He swallowed. “Look,” he said. “I got sixty-five acres here. Did you ever hear of the Farmers’ Association?”

155“Why, sure.”

156“Well, I belong to it. We had a meeting last night. Now, do you know who runs the Farmers’ Association? I’ll tell you. The Bank of the West. That bank owns most of this valley, and it’s got paper on everything it don’t own. So last night the member from the bank told me, he said, ‘You’re paying thirty cents an hour. You’d better cut it down to twenty-five.’ I said, ‘I’ve got good men. They’re worth thirty.’ And he says, ‘It isn’t that,’ he says. ‘The wage is twenty-five now. If you pay thirty, it’ll only cause unrest. And by the way,’ he says, ‘you going to need the usual amount for a crop loan next year?’ ” Thomas stopped. His breath was panting through his lips. “You see? The rate is twenty-five cents—and like it.”

157“We done good work,” Timothy said helplessly.

158“Ain’t you got it yet? Mr. Bank hires two thousand men an’ I hire three. I’ve got paper to meet. Now if you can figure some way out, by Christ, I’ll take it! They got me.”

159Timothy shook his head. “I don’ know what to say.”

160“You wait here.” Thomas walked quickly to the house. The door slammed after him. In a moment he was back, and he carried a newspaper in his hand. “Did you see this? Here, I’ll read it: ‘Citizens, angered at red agitators, burn squatters’ camp. Last night a band of citizens, infuriated at the agitation going on in a local squatters’ camp, burned the tents to the ground and warned agitators to get out of the county.’ ”

161Tom began, “Why, I—” and then he closed his mouth and was silent.

162Thomas folded the paper carefully and put it in his pocket. He had himself in control again. He said quietly, “Those men were sent out by the Association. Now I’m giving ’em away. And if they ever find out I told, I won’t have a farm next year.”

163“I jus’ don’t know what to say,” Timothy said. “If they was agitators, I can see why they was mad.”

164Thomas said, “I watched it a long time. There’s always red agitators just before a pay cut. Always. Goddamn it, they got me trapped. Now, what are you going to do? Twenty-five cents?”

165Timothy looked at the ground. “I’ll work,” he said.

166“Me too,” said Wilkie.

167Tom said, “Seems like I walked into somepin. Sure, I’ll work. I got to work.”

168Thomas pulled a bandanna out of his hip pocket and wiped his mouth and chin. “I don’t know how long it can go on. I don’t know how you men can feed a family on what you get now.”

169“We can while we work,” Wilkie said. “It’s when we don’t git work.”

170Thomas looked at his watch. “Well, let’s go out and dig some ditch. By God,” he said, “I’m a-gonna tell you. You fellas live in that government camp, don’t you?”

171Timothy stiffened. “Yes, sir.”

172“And you have dances every Saturday night?”

173Wilkie smiled. “We sure do.”

174“Well, look out next Saturday night.”

175Suddenly Timothy straightened. He stepped close. “What you mean? I belong to the Central Committee. I got to know.”

176Thomas looked apprehensive. “Don’t you ever tell I told.”

177“What is it?” Timothy demanded.

178“Well, the Association don’t like the government camps. Can’t get a deputy in there. The people make their own laws, I hear, and you can’t arrest a man without a warrant. Now if there was a big fight and maybe shooting—a bunch of deputies could go in and clean out the camp.”

179Timothy had changed. His shoulders were straight and his eyes cold. “What you mean?”

180“Don’t you ever tell where you heard,” Thomas said uneasily. “There’s going to be a fight in the camp Saturday night. And there’s going to be deputies ready to go in.”

181Tom demanded, “Why, for God’s sake? Those folks ain’t bothering nobody.”

182“I’ll tell you why,” Thomas said. “Those folks in the camp are getting used to being treated like humans. When they go back to the squatters’ camps they’ll be hard to handle.” He wiped his face again. “Go on out to work now. Jesus, I hope I haven’t talked myself out of my farm. But I like you people.”

183Timothy stepped in front of him and put out a hard lean hand, and Thomas took it. “Nobody won’t know who tol’. We thank you. They won’t be no fight.”

184“Go on to work,” Thomas said. “And it’s twenty-five cents an hour.”

185“We’ll take it,” Wilkie said, “from you.”

186Thomas walked away toward the house. “I’ll be out in a piece,” he said. “You men get to work.” The screen door slammed behind him.

187The three men walked out past the little white-washed barn, and along a field edge. They came to a long narrow ditch with sections of concrete pipe lying beside it.

188“Here’s where we’re a-workin’,” Wilkie said.

189His father opened the barn and passed out two picks and three shovels. And he said to Tom, “Here’s your beauty.”

190Tom hefted the pick. “Jumping Jesus! If she don’t feel good!”

191“Wait’ll about ’leven o’clock,” Wilkie suggested. “See how good she feels then.”

192They walked to the end of the ditch. Tom took off his coat and dropped it on the dirt pile. He pushed up his cap and stepped into the ditch. Then he spat on his hands. The pick arose into the air and flashed down. Tom grunted softly. The pick rose and fell, and the grunt came at the moment it sank into the ground and loosened the soil.

193Wilkie said, “Yes, sir, Pa, we got here a first-grade muck-stick man. This here boy been married to that there little digger.”

194Tom said, “I put in time (umph). Yes, sir, I sure did (umph). Put in my years (umph!). Kinda like the feel (umph!).” The soil loosened ahead of him. The sun cleared the fruit trees now and the grape leaves were golden green on the vines. Six feet along and Tom stepped aside and wiped his forehead. Wilkie came behind him. The shovel rose and fell and the dirt flew out to the pile beside the lengthening ditch.

195“I heard about this here Central Committee,” said Tom. “So you’re one of ’em.”

196“Yes, sir,” Timothy replied. “And it’s a responsibility. All them people. We’re doin’ our best. An’ the people in the camp a-doin’ their best. I wisht them big farmers wouldn’ plague us so. I wisht they wouldn’.”

197Tom climbed back into the ditch and Wilkie stood aside. Tom said, “How ’bout this fight (umph!) at the dance, he tol’ about (umph)? What they wanta do that for?”

198Timothy followed behind Wilkie, and Timothy’s shovel beveled the bottom of the ditch and smoothed it ready for the pipe. “Seems like they got to drive us,” Timothy said. “They’re scairt we’ll organize, I guess. An’ maybe they’re right. This here camp is a organization. People there look out for theirselves. Got the nicest strang band in these parts. Got a little charge account in the store for folks that’s hungry. Fi’ dollars—you can git that much food an’ the camp’ll stan’ good. We ain’t never had no trouble with the law. I guess the big farmers is scairt of that. Can’t throw us in jail—why, it scares ’em. Figger maybe if we can gove’n ourselves, maybe we’ll do other things.”

199Tom stepped clear of the ditch and wiped the sweat out of his eyes. “You hear what that paper said ’bout agitators up north a Bakersfiel’?”

200“Sure,” said Wilkie. “They do that all a time.”

201“Well, I was there. They wasn’t no agitators. What they call reds. What the hell is these reds anyways?”

202Timothy scraped a little hill level in the bottom of the ditch. The sun made his white bristle beard shine. “They’s a lot a fellas wanta know what reds is.” He laughed. “One of our boys foun’ out.” He patted the piled earth gently with his shovel. “Fella named Hines—got ’bout thirty thousan’ acres, peaches and grapes—got a cannery an’ a winery. Well, he’s all a time talkin’ about ‘them goddamn reds.’ ‘Goddamn reds is drivin’ the country to ruin,’ he says, an’ ‘We got to drive these here red bastards out.’ Well, they were a young fella jus’ come out west here, an’ he’s listenin’ one day. He kinda scratched his head an’ he says, ‘Mr. Hines, I ain’t been here long. What is these goddamn reds?’ Well, sir, Hines says, ‘A red is any son-of-a-bitch that wants thirty cents an hour when we’re payin’ twenty-five!’ Well, this young fella he thinks about her, an’ he scratches his head, an’ he says, ‘Well, Jesus, Mr. Hines. I ain’t a son-of-a-bitch, but if that’s what a red is—why, I want thirty cents an hour. Ever’body does. Hell, Mr. Hines, we’re all reds.’ ” Timothy drove his shovel along the ditch bottom, and the solid earth shone where the shovel cut it.

203Tom laughed. “Me too, I guess.” His pick arced up and drove down, and the earth cracked under it. The sweat rolled down his forehead and down the sides of his nose, and it glistened on his neck. “Damn it,” he said, “a pick is a nice tool (umph), if you don’ fight it (umph). You an’ the pick (umph) workin’ together (umph).”

204In line, the three men worked, and the ditch inched along, and the sun shone hotly down on them in the growing morning.

205When Tom left her, Ruthie gazed in at the door of the sanitary unit for a while. Her courage was not strong without Winfield to boast for. She put a bare foot in on the concrete floor, and then withdrew it. Down the line a woman came out of a tent and started a fire in a tin camp stove. Ruthie took a few steps in that direction, but she could not leave. She crept to the entrance of the Joad tent and looked in. On one side, lying on the ground, lay Uncle John, his mouth open and his snores bubbling spittily in his throat. Ma and Pa were covered with a comfort, their heads in, away from the light. Al was on the far side from Uncle John, and his arm was flung over his eyes. Near the front of the tent Rose of Sharon and Winfield lay, and there was the space where Ruthie had been, beside Winfield. She squatted down and peered in. Her eyes remained on Winfield’s tow head; and as she looked, the little boy opened his eyes and stared out at her, and his eyes were solemn. Ruthie put her finger to her lips and beckoned with her other hand. Winfield rolled his eyes over to Rose of Sharon. Her pink flushed face was near to him, and her mouth was open a little. Winfield carefully loosened the blanket and slipped out. He crept out of the tent cautiously and joined Ruthie. “How long you been up?” he whispered.

206She led him away with elaborate caution, and when they were safe, she said, “I never been to bed. I was up all night.”

207“You was not,” Winfield said. “You’re a dirty liar.”

208“Awright,” she said. “If I’m a liar I ain’t gonna tell you nothin’ that happened. I ain’t gonna tell how the fella got killed with a stab knife an’ how they was a bear come in an’ took off a little chile.”

209“They wasn’t no bear,” Winfield said uneasily. He brushed up his hair with his fingers and he pulled down his overalls at the crotch.

210“All right—they wasn’t no bear,” she said sarcastically. “An’ they ain’t no white things made outa dish-stuff, like in the catalogues.”

211Winfield regarded her gravely. He pointed to the sanitary unit. “In there?” he asked.

212“I’m a dirty liar,” Ruthie said. “It ain’t gonna do me no good to tell stuff to you.”

213“Le’s go look,” Winfield said.

214“I already been,” Ruthie said. “I already set on ’em. I even pee’d in one.”

215“You never neither,” said Winfield.

216They went to the unit building, and that time Ruthie was not afraid. Boldly she led the way into the building. The toilets lined one side of the large room, and each toilet had its compartment with a door in front of it. The porcelain was gleaming white. Hand basins lined another wall, while on the third wall were four shower compartments.

217“There,” said Ruthie. “Them’s the toilets. I seen ’em in the catalogue.” The children drew near to one of the toilets. Ruthie, in a burst of bravado, boosted her skirt and sat down. “I tol’ you I been here,” she said. And to prove it, there was a tinkle of water in the bowl.

218Winfield was embarrassed. His hand twisted the flushing lever. There was a roar of water. Ruthie leaped into the air and jumped away. She and Winfield stood in the middle of the room and looked at the toilet. The hiss of water continued in it.

219“You done it,” Ruthie said. “You went an’ broke it. I seen you.”

220“I never. Honest I never.”

221“I seen you,” Ruthie said. “You jus’ ain’t to be trusted with no nice stuff.”

222Winfield sunk his chin. He looked up at Ruthie and his eyes filled with tears. His chin quivered. And Ruthie was instantly contrite.

223“Never you mind,” she said. “I won’t tell on you. We’ll pretend like she was already broke. We’ll pretend we ain’t even been in here.” She led him out of the building.

224The sun lipped over the mountain by now, shone on the corrugated-iron roofs of the five sanitary units, shone on the gray tents and on the swept ground of the streets between the tents. And the camp was waking up. The fires were burning in camp stoves, in the stoves made of kerosene cans and of sheets of metal. The smell of smoke was in the air. Tent flaps were thrown back and people moved about in the streets. In front of the Joad tent Ma stood looking up and down the street. She saw the children and came over to them.

225“I was worryin’,” Ma said. “I didn’ know where you was.”

226“We was jus’ lookin’,” Ruthie said.

227“Well, where’s Tom? You seen him?”

228Ruthie became important. “Yes, ma’am. Tom, he got me up an’ he tol’ me what to tell you.” She paused to let her importance be apparent.

229“Well—what?” Ma demanded.

230“He said tell you—” She paused again and looked to see that Winfield appreciated her position.

231Ma raised her hand, the back of it toward Ruthie. “What?”

232“He got work,” said Ruthie quickly. “Went out to work.” She looked apprehensively at Ma’s raised hand. The hand sank down again, and then it reached out for Ruthie. Ma embraced Ruthie’s shoulders in a quick convulsive hug, and then released her.

233Ruthie stared at the ground in embarrassment, and changed the subject. “They got toilets over there,” she said. “White ones.”

234“You been in there?” Ma demanded.

235“Me an’ Winfiel’,” she said; and then, treacherously, “Winfiel’, he bust a toilet.”

236Winfield turned red. He glared at Ruthie. “She pee’d in one,” he said viciously.

237Ma was apprehensive. “Now what did you do? You show me.” She forced them to the door and inside. “Now what’d you do?”

238Ruthie pointed. “It was a-hissin’ and a-swishin’. Stopped now.”

239“Show me what you done,” Ma demanded.

240Winfield went reluctantly to the toilet. “I didn’ push it hard,” he said. “I jus’ had aholt of this here, an’—” The swish of water came again. He leaped away.

241Ma threw back her head and laughed, while Ruthie and Winfield regarded her resentfully. “Tha’s the way she works,” Ma said. “I seen them before. When you finish, you push that.”

242The shame of their ignorance was too great for the children. They went out the door, and they walked down the street to stare at a large family eating breakfast.

243Ma watched them out of the door. And then she looked about the room. She went to the shower closets and looked in. She walked to the wash basins and ran her finger over the white porcelain. She turned the water on a little and held her finger in the stream, and jerked her hand away when the water came hot. For a moment she regarded the basin, and then, setting the plug, she filled the bowl a little from the hot faucet, a little from the cold. And then she washed her hands in the warm water, and she washed her face. She was brushing water through her hair with her fingers when a step sounded on the concrete floor behind her. Ma swung around. An elderly man stood looking at her with an expression of righteous shock.

244He said harshly, “How you come in here?”

245Ma gulped, and she felt the water dripping from her chin and soaking through her dress. “I didn’ know,” she said apologetically. “I thought this here was for folks to use.”

246The elderly man frowned on her. “For men folks,” he said sternly. He walked to the door and pointed to a sign on it: MEN. “There,” he said. “That proves it. Didn’ you see that?”

247“No,” Ma said in shame, “I never seen it. Ain’t they a place where I can go?”

248The man’s anger departed. “You jus’ come?” he asked more kindly.

249“Middle of the night,” said Ma.

250“Then you ain’t talked to the Committee?”

251“What committee?”

252“Why, the Ladies’ Committee.”

253“No, I ain’t.”

254He said proudly, “The Committee’ll call on you purty soon an’ fix you up. We take care of folks that jus’ come in. Now, if you want a ladies’ toilet, you jus’ go on the other side of the building. That side’s yourn.”