1The Joad family moved slowly westward, up into the mountains of New Mexico, past the pinnacles and pyramids of the upland. They climbed into the high country of Arizona, and through a gap they looked down on the Painted Desert. A border guard stopped them.

2“Where you going?”

3“To California,” said Tom.

4“How long you plan to be in Arizona?”

5“No longer’n we can get acrost her.”

6“Got any plants?”

7“No plants.”

8“I ought to look your stuff over.”

9“I tell you we ain’t got no plants.”

10The guard put a little sticker on the windshield.

11“O.K. Go ahead, but you better keep movin’.”

12“Sure. We aim to.”

13They crawled up the slopes, and the low twisted trees covered the slopes. Holbrook, Joseph City, Winslow. And then the tall trees began, and the cars spouted steam and labored up the slopes. And there was Flagstaff, and that was the top of it all. Down from Flagstaff over the great plateaus, and the road disappeared in the distance ahead. The water grew scarce, water was to be bought, five cents, ten cents, fifteen cents a gallon. The sun drained the dry rocky country, and ahead were jagged broken peaks, the western wall of Arizona. And now they were in flight from the sun and the drought. They drove all night, and came to the mountains in the night. And they crawled the jagged ramparts in the night, and their dim lights flickered on the pale stone walls of the road. They passed the summit in the dark and came slowly down in the late night, through the shattered stone debris of Oatman; and when the daylight came they saw the Colorado river below them. They drove to Topock, pulled up at the bridge while a guard washed off the windshield sticker. Then across the bridge and into the broken rock wilderness. And although they were dead weary and the morning heat was growing, they stopped.

14Pa called, “We’re there—we’re in California!” They looked dully at the broken rock glaring under the sun, and across the river the terrible ramparts of Arizona.

15“We got the desert,” said Tom. “We got to get to the water and rest.”

16The road runs parallel to the river, and it was well into the morning when the burning motors came to Needles, where the river runs swiftly among the reeds.

17The Joads and Wilsons drove to the river, and they sat in the cars looking at the lovely water flowing by, and the green reeds jerking slowly in the current. There was a little encampment by the river, eleven tents near the water, and the swamp grass on the ground. And Tom leaned out of the truck window. “Mind if we stop here a piece?”

18A stout woman, scrubbing clothes in a bucket, looked up. “We don’t own it, mister. Stop if you want. They’ll be a cop down to look you over.” And she went back to her scrubbing in the sun.

19The two cars pulled to a clear place on the swamp grass. The tents were passed down, the Wilson tent set up, the Joad tarpaulin stretched over its rope.

20Winfield and Ruthie walked slowly down through the willows to the reedy place. Ruthie said, with soft vehemence, “California. This here’s California an’ we’re right in it!”

21Winfield broke a tule and twisted it free, and he put the white pulp in his mouth and chewed it. They walked into the water and stood quietly, the water about the calves of their legs.

22“We got the desert yet,” Ruthie said.

23“What’s the desert like?”

24“I don’t know. I seen pitchers once says a desert. They was bones ever’place.”

25“Man bones?”

26“Some, I guess, but mos’ly cow bones.”

27“We gonna get to see them bones?”

28“Maybe. I don’ know. Gonna go ’crost her at night. That’s what Tom said. Tom says we get the livin’ Jesus burned outa us if we go in daylight.”

29“Feels nicet an’ cool,” said Winfield, and he squidged his toes in the sand of the bottom.

30They heard Ma calling, “Ruthie! Winfiel’! You come back.” They turned and walked slowly back through the reeds and the willows.

31The other tents were quiet. For a moment, when the cars came up, a few heads had stuck out between the flaps, and then were withdrawn. Now the family tents were up and the men gathered together.

32Tom said, “I’m gonna go down an’ take a bath. That’s what I’m gonna do—before I sleep. How’s Granma sence we got her in the tent?”

33“Don’ know,” said Pa. “Couldn’ seem to wake her up.” He cocked his head toward the tent. A whining, babbling voice came from under the canvas. Ma went quickly inside.

34“She woke up, awright,” said Noah. “Seems like all night she was a-croakin’ up on the truck. She’s all outa sense.”

35Tom said, “Hell! She’s wore out. If she don’t get some res’ pretty soon, she ain’ gonna las’. She’s jes’ wore out. Anybody comin’ with me? I’m gonna wash, an’ I’m gonna sleep in the shade—all day long.” He moved away, and the other men followed him. They took off their clothes in the willows and then they walked into the water and sat down. For a long time they sat, holding themselves with heels dug into the sand, and only their heads stuck out of the water.

36“Jesus, I needed this,” Al said. He took a handful of sand from the bottom and scrubbed himself with it. They lay in the water and looked across at the sharp peaks called Needles, and at the white rock mountains of Arizona.

37“We come through them,” Pa said in wonder.

38Uncle John ducked his head under the water. “Well, we’re here. This here’s California, an’ she don’t look so prosperous.”

39“Got the desert yet,” said Tom. “An’ I hear she’s a son-of-a-bitch.”

40Noah asked, “Gonna try her tonight?”

41“What ya think, Pa?” Tom asked.

42“Well, I don’ know. Do us good to get a little res’, specially Granma. But other ways, I’d kinda like to get acrost her an’ get settled into a job. On’y got ’bout forty dollars left. I’ll feel better when we’re all workin’, an’ a little money comin’ in.”

43Each man sat in the water and felt the tug of the current. The preacher let his arms and hands float on the surface. The bodies were white to the neck and wrists, and burned dark brown on hands and faces, with V’s of brown at the collar bones. They scratched themselves with sand.

44And Noah said lazily, “Like to jus’ stay here. Like to lay here forever. Never get hungry an’ never get sad. Lay in the water all life long, lazy as a brood sow in the mud.”

45And Tom, looking at the ragged peaks across the river and the Needles downstream: “Never seen such tough mountains. This here’s a murder country. This here’s the bones of a country. Wonder if we’ll ever get in a place where folks can live ’thout fightin’ hard scrabble an’ rocks. I seen pitchers of a country flat an’ green, an’ with little houses like Ma says, white. Ma got her heart set on a white house. Get to thinkin’ they ain’t no such country. I seen pitchers like that.”

46Pa said, “Wait till we get to California. You’ll see nice country then.”

47“Jesus Christ, Pa! This here is California.”

48Two men dressed in jeans and sweaty blue shirts came through the willows and looked toward the naked men. They called, “How’s the swimmin’?”

49“Dunno,” said Tom. “We ain’t tried none. Sure feels good to set here, though.”

50“Mind if we come in an’ set?”

51“She ain’t our river. We’ll len’ you a little piece of her.”

52The men shucked off their pants, peeled their shirts, and waded out. The dust coated their legs to the knee; their feet were pale and soft with sweat. They settled lazily into the water and washed listlessly at their flanks. Sun-bitten, they were, a father and a boy. They grunted and groaned with the water.

53Pa asked politely, “Goin’ west?”

54“Nope. We come from there. Goin’ back home. We can’t make no livin’ out there.”

55“Where’s home?” Tom asked.

56“Panhandle, come from near Pampa.”

57Pa asked, “Can you make a livin’ there?”

58“Nope. But at leas’ we can starve to death with folks we know. Won’t have a bunch a fellas that hates us to starve with.”

59Pa said, “Ya know, you’re the second fella talked like that. What makes ’em hate you?”

60“Dunno,” said the man. He cupped his hands full of water and rubbed his face, snorting and bubbling. Dusty water ran out of his hair and streaked his neck.

61“I like to hear some more ’bout this,” said Pa.

62“Me too,” Tom added. “Why these folks out west hate ya?”

63The man looked sharply at Tom. “You jus’ goin’ wes’?”

64“Jus’ on our way.”

65“You ain’t never been in California?”

66“No, we ain’t.”

67“Well, don’ take my word. Go see for yourself.”

68“Yeah,” Tom said, “but a fella kind a likes to know what he’s gettin’ into.”

69“Well, if you truly wanta know, I’m a fella that’s asked questions an’ give her some thought. She’s a nice country. But she was stole a long time ago. You git acrost the desert an’ come into the country aroun’ Bakersfield. An’ you never seen such purty country—all orchards an’ grapes, purtiest country you ever seen. An’ you’ll pass lan’ flat an’ fine with water thirty feet down, and that lan’s layin’ fallow. But you can’t have none of that lan’. That’s a Lan’ and Cattle Company. An’ if they don’t want ta work her, she ain’t gonna git worked. You go in there an’ plant you a little corn, an’ you’ll go to jail!”

70“Good lan’, you say? An’ they ain’t workin’ her?”

71“Yes, sir. Good lan’ an’ they ain’t! Well, sir, that’ll get you a little mad, but you ain’t seen nothin’. People gonna have a look in their eye. They gonna look at you an’ their face says, ‘I don’t like you, you son-of-a-bitch.’ Gonna be deputy sheriffs, an’ they’ll push you aroun’. You camp on the roadside, an’ they’ll move you on. You gonna see in people’s face how they hate you. An’—I’ll tell you somepin. They hate you ’cause they’re scairt. They know a hungry fella gonna get food even if he got to take it. They know that fallow lan’s a sin an’ somebody’ gonna take it. What the hell! You never been called ‘Okie’ yet.”

72Tom said, “Okie? What’s that?”

73“Well, Okie use’ ta mean you was from Oklahoma. Now it means you’re a dirty son-of-a-bitch. Okie means you’re scum. Don’t mean nothing itself, it’s the way they say it. But I can’t tell you nothin’. You got to go there. I hear there’s three hunderd thousan’ of our people there—an’ livin’ like hogs, ’cause ever’thing in California is owned. They ain’t nothin’ left. An’ them people that owns it is gonna hang on to it if they got ta kill ever’body in the worl’ to do it. An’ they’re scairt, an’ that makes ’em mad. You got to see it. You got to hear it. Purtiest goddamn country you ever seen, but they ain’t nice to you, them folks. They’re so scairt an’ worried they ain’t even nice to each other.”

74Tom looked down into the water, and he dug his heels into the sand. “S’pose a fella got work an’ saved, couldn’ he get a little lan’?”

75The older man laughed and he looked at his boy, and his silent boy grinned almost in triumph. And the man said, “You ain’t gonna get no steady work. Gonna scrabble for your dinner ever’ day. An’ you gonna do her with people lookin’ mean at you. Pick cotton, an’ you gonna be sure the scales ain’t honest. Some of ’em is, an’ some of ’em ain’t. But you gonna think all the scales is crooked, an’ you don’ know which ones. Ain’t nothin’ you can do about her anyways.”

76Pa asked slowly, “Ain’t—ain’t it nice out there at all?”

77“Sure, nice to look at, but you can’t have none of it. They’s a grove of yella oranges—an’ a guy with a gun that got the right to kill you if you touch one. They’s a fella, newspaper fella near the coast, got a million acres——”

78Casy looked up quickly, “Million acres? What in the worl’ can he do with a million acres?”

79“I dunno. He jus’ got it. Runs a few cattle. Got guards ever’place to keep folks out. Rides aroun’ in a bullet-proof car. I seen pitchers of him. Fat, sof’ fella with little mean eyes an’ a mouth like a ass-hole. Scairt he’s gonna die. Got a million acres an’ scairt of dyin’.”

80Casy demanded, “What in hell can he do with a million acres? What’s he want a million acres for?”

81The man took his whitening, puckering hands out of the water and spread them, and he tightened his lower lip and bent his head down to one shoulder. “I dunno,” he said. “Guess he’s crazy. Mus’ be crazy. Seen a pitcher of him. He looks crazy. Crazy an’ mean.”

82“Say he’s scairt to die?” Casy asked.

83“That’s what I heard.”

84“Scairt God’ll get him?”

85“I dunno. Jus’ scairt.”

86“What’s he care?” Pa said. “Don’t seem like he’s havin’ no fun.”

87“Grampa wasn’t scairt,” Tom said. “When Grampa was havin’ the most fun, he come clostest to gettin’ kil’t. Time Grampa an’ another fella whanged into a bunch a Navajo in the night. They was havin’ the time a their life, an’ same time you wouldn’ give a gopher for their chance.”

88Casy said, “Seems like that’s the way. Fella havin’ fun, he don’t give a damn; but a fella mean an’ lonely an’ old an’ disappointed—he’s scared of dyin’!”

89Pa asked, “What’s he disappointed about if he got a million acres?”

90The preacher smiled, and he looked puzzled. He splashed a floating water bug away with his hand. “If he needs a million acres to make him feel rich, seems to me he needs it ’cause he feels awful poor inside hisself, and if he’s poor in hisself, there ain’t no million acres gonna make him feel rich, an’ maybe he’s disappointed that nothin’ he can do’ll make him feel rich—not rich like Mis’ Wilson was when she give her tent when Grampa died. I ain’t tryin’ to preach no sermon, but I never seen nobody that’s busy as a prairie dog collectin’ stuff that wasn’t disappointed.” He grinned. “Does kinda soun’ like a sermon, don’t it?”

91The sun was flaming fiercely now. Pa said, “Better scrunch down under water. She’ll burn the living Jesus outa you.” And he reclined and let the gently moving water flow around his neck. “If a fella’s willin’ to work hard, can’t he cut her?” Pa asked.

92The man sat up and faced him. “Look, mister. I don’ know ever’thing. You might go out there an’ fall into a steady job, an’ I’d be a liar. An’ then, you might never get no work, an’ I didn’ warn ya. I can tell ya mos’ of the folks is purty mis’able.” He lay back in the water. “A fella don’ know ever’thing,” he said.

93Pa turned his head and looked at Uncle John. “You never was a fella to say much,” Pa said. “But I’ll be goddamned if you opened your mouth twicet sence we lef’ home. What you think ’bout this here?”

94Uncle John scowled. “I don’t think nothin’ about it. We’re a-goin’ there, ain’t we? None of this here talk gonna keep us from goin’ there. When we get there, we’ll get there. When we get a job we’ll work, an’ when we don’t get a job we’ll set on our tail. This here talk ain’t gonna do no good no way.”

95Tom lay back and filled his mouth with water, and he spurted it into the air and he laughed. “Uncle John don’t talk much, but he talks sense. Yes, by God! He talks sense. We goin’ on tonight, Pa?”

96“Might’s well. Might’s well get her over.”

97“Well, I’m goin’ up in the brush an’ get some sleep then.” Tom stood up and waded to the sandy shore. He slipped his clothes on his wet body and winced under the heat of the cloth. The others followed him.

98In the water, the man and his boy watched the Joads disappear. And the boy said, “Like to see ’em in six months. Jesus!”

99The man wiped his eye corners with his forefinger. “I shouldn’ of did that,” he said. “Fella always wants to be a wise guy, wants to tell folks stuff.”

100“Well, Jesus, Pa! They asked for it.”

101“Yeah, I know. But like that fella says, they’re a-goin’ anyways. Nothin’ won’t be changed from what I tol’ ’em, ’cept they’ll be mis’able ’fore they hafta.”

102Tom walked in among the willows, and he crawled into a cave of shade to lie down. And Noah followed him.

103“Gonna sleep here,” Tom said.

104“Tom!”

105“Yeah?”

106“Tom, I ain’t a-goin’ on.”

107Tom sat up. “What you mean?”

108“Tom, I ain’t a-gonna leave this here water. I’m a-gonna walk on down this here river.”

109“You’re crazy,” Tom said.

110“Get myself a piece a line. I’ll catch fish. Fella can’t starve beside a nice river.”

111Tom said, “How ’bout the fam’ly? How ’bout Ma?”

112“I can’t he’p it. I can’t leave this here water.” Noah’s wide-set eyes were half closed. “You know how it is, Tom. You know how the folks are nice to me. But they don’t really care for me.”

113“You’re crazy.”

114“No, I ain’t. I know how I am. I know they’re sorry. But— Well, I ain’t a-goin’. You tell Ma—Tom.”

115“Now you look-a-here,” Tom began.

116“No. It ain’t no use. I was in that there water. An’ I ain’t a-gonna leave her. I’m a-gonna go now, Tom—down the river. I’ll catch fish an’ stuff, but I can’t leave her. I can’t.” He crawled back out of the willow cave. “You tell Ma, Tom.” He walked away.

117Tom followed him to the river bank. “Listen, you goddamn fool——”

118“It ain’t no use,” Noah said. “I’m sad, but I can’t he’p it. I got to go.” He turned abruptly and walked downstream along the shore. Tom started to follow, and then he stopped. He saw Noah disappear into the brush, and then appear again, following the edge of the river. And he watched Noah growing smaller on the edge of the river, until he disappeared into the willows at last. And Tom took off his cap and scratched his head. He went back to his willow cave and lay down to sleep.

119Under the spread tarpaulin Granma lay on a mattress, and Ma sat beside her. The air was stiflingly hot, and the flies buzzed in the shade of the canvas. Granma was naked under a long piece of pink curtain. She turned her old head restlessly from side to side, and she muttered and choked. Ma sat on the ground beside her, and with a piece of cardboard drove the flies away and fanned a stream of moving hot air over the tight old face. Rose of Sharon sat on the other side and watched her mother.

120Granma called imperiously, “Will! Will! You come here, Will.” And her eyes opened and she looked fiercely about. “Tol’ him to come right here,” she said. “I’ll catch him. I’ll take the hair off’n him.” She closed her eyes and rolled her head back and forth and muttered thickly. Ma fanned with the cardboard.

121Rose of Sharon looked helplessly at the old woman. She said softly, “She’s awful sick.”

122Ma raised her eyes to the girl’s face. Ma’s eyes were patient, but the lines of strain were on her forehead. Ma fanned and fanned the air, and her piece of cardboard warned off the flies. “When you’re young, Rosasharn, ever’thing that happens is a thing all by itself. It’s a lonely thing. I know, I ’member, Rosasharn.” Her mouth loved the name of her daughter. “You’re gonna have a baby, Rosasharn, and that’s somepin to you lonely and away. That’s gonna hurt you, an’ the hurt’ll be lonely hurt, an’ this here tent is alone in the worl’, Rosasharn.” She whipped the air for a moment to drive a buzzing blow fly on, and the big shining fly circled the tent twice and zoomed out into the blinding sunlight. And Ma went on, “They’s a time of change, an’ when that comes, dyin’ is a piece of all dyin’, and bearin’ is a piece of all bearin’, an’ bearin’ an’ dyin’ is two pieces of the same thing. An’ then things ain’t lonely any more. An’ then a hurt don’t hurt so bad, ’cause it ain’t a lonely hurt no more, Rosasharn. I wisht I could tell you so you’d know, but I can’t.” And her voice was so soft, so full of love, that tears crowded into Rose of Sharon’s eyes, and flowed over her eyes and blinded her.

123“Take an’ fan Granma,” Ma said, and she handed the cardboard to her daughter. “That’s a good thing to do. I wisht I could tell you so you’d know.”

124Granma, scowling her brows down over her closed eyes, bleated, “Will! You’re dirty! You ain’t never gonna get clean.” Her little wrinkled claws moved up and scratched her cheek. A red ant ran up the curtain cloth and scrambled over the folds of loose skin on the old lady’s neck. Ma reached quickly and picked it off, crushed it between thumb and forefinger, and brushed her fingers on her dress.

125Rose of Sharon waved the cardboard fan. She looked up at Ma. “She—?” And the words parched in her throat.

126“Wipe your feet, Will—you dirty pig!” Granma cried.

127Ma said, “I dunno. Maybe if we can get her where it ain’t so hot, but I dunno. Don’t worry yourself, Rosasharn. Take your breath in when you need it, an’ let it go when you need to.”

128A large woman in a torn black dress looked into the tent. Her eyes were bleared and indefinite, and the skin sagged to her jowls and hung down in little flaps. Her lips were loose, so that the upper lip hung like a curtain over her teeth, and her lower lip, by its weight, folded outward, showing her lower gums. “Mornin’, ma’am,” she said. “Mornin’, an’ praise God for victory.”

129Ma looked around. “Mornin’,” she said.

130The woman stooped into the tent and bent her head over Granma. “We heerd you got a soul here ready to join her Jesus. Praise God!”

131Ma’s face tightened and her eyes grew sharp. “She’s tar’d, tha’s all,” Ma said. “She’s wore out with the road an’ the heat. She’s jus’ wore out. Get a little res’, an’ she’ll be well.”

132The woman leaned down over Granma’s face, and she seemed almost to sniff. Then she turned to Ma and nodded quickly, and her lips jiggled and her jowls quivered. “A dear soul gonna join her Jesus,” she said.

133Ma cried, “That ain’t so!”

134The woman nodded, slowly, this time, and put a puffy hand on Granma’s forehead. Ma reached to snatch the hand away, and quickly restrained herself. “Yes, it’s so, sister,” the woman said. “We got six in Holiness in our tent. I’ll go git ’em, an’ we’ll hol’ a meetin’—a prayer an’ grace. Jehovites, all. Six, countin’ me. I’ll go git ’em out.”

135Ma stiffened. “No—no,” she said. “No, Granma’s tar’d. She couldn’t stan’ a meetin’.”

136The woman said, “Couldn’t stan’ grace? Couldn’ stan’ the sweet breath of Jesus? What you talkin’ about, sister?”

137Ma said, “No, not here. She’s too tar’d.”

138The woman looked reproachfully at Ma. “Ain’t you believers, ma’am?”

139“We always been Holiness,” Ma said, “but Granma’s tar’d, an’ we been a-goin’ all night. We won’t trouble you.”

140“It ain’t no trouble, an’ if it was, we’d want ta do it for a soul a-soarin’ to the Lamb.”

141Ma arose to her knees. “We thank ya,” she said coldly. “We ain’t gonna have no meetin’ in this here tent.”

142The woman looked at her for a long time. “Well, we ain’t a-gonna let a sister go away ’thout a little praisin’. We’ll git the meetin’ goin’ in our own tent, ma’am. An’ we’ll forgive ya for your hard heart.”

143Ma settled back again and turned her face to Granma, and her face was still set and hard. “She’s tar’d,” Ma said. “She’s on’y tar’d.” Granma swung her head back and forth and muttered under her breath.

144The woman walked stiffly out of the tent. Ma continued to look down at the old face.

145Rose of Sharon fanned her cardboard and moved the hot air in a stream. She said, “Ma!”

146“Yeah?”

147“Whyn’t ya let ’em hol’ a meetin’?”

148“I dunno,” said Ma. “Jehovites is good people. They’re howlers an’ jumpers. I dunno. Somepin jus’ come over me. I didn’ think I could stan’ it. I’d jus’ fly all apart.”

149From some little distance there came the sound of the beginning meeting, a sing-song chant of exhortation. The words were not clear, only the tone. The voice rose and fell, and went higher at each rise. Now a response filled in the pause, and the exhortation went up with a tone of triumph, and a growl of power came into the voice. It swelled and paused, and a growl came into the response. And now gradually the sentences of exhortation shortened, grew sharper, like commands; and into the responses came a complaining note. The rhythm quickened. Male and female voices had been one tone, but now in the middle of a response one woman’s voice went up and up in a wailing cry, wild and fierce, like the cry of a beast; and a deeper woman’s voice rose up beside it, a baying voice, and a man’s voice traveled up the scale in the howl of a wolf. The exhortation stopped, and only the feral howling came from the tent, and with it a thudding sound on the earth. Ma shivered. Rose of Sharon’s breath was panting and short, and the chorus of howls went on so long it seemed that lungs must burst.

150Ma said, “Makes me nervous. Somepin happened to me.”

151Now the high voice broke into hysteria, the gabbling screams of a hyena, the thudding became louder. Voices cracked and broke, and then the whole chorus fell to a sobbing, grunting undertone, and the slap of flesh and the thuddings on the earth; and the sobbing changed to a little whining, like that of a litter of puppies at a food dish.

152Rose of Sharon cried softly with nervousness. Granma kicked the curtain off her legs, which lay like gray, knotted sticks. And Granma whined with the whining in the distance. Ma pulled the curtain back in place. And then Granma sighed deeply and her breathing grew steady and easy, and her closed eyelids ceased their flicking. She slept deeply, and snored through her half-open mouth. The whining from the distance was softer and softer until it could not be heard at all any more.

153Rose of Sharon looked at Ma, and her eyes were blank with tears. “It done good,” said Rose of Sharon. “It done Granma good. She’s a-sleepin’.”

154Ma’s head was down, and she was ashamed. “Maybe I done them good people wrong. Granma is asleep.”

155“Whyn’t you ast our preacher if you done a sin?” the girl asked.

156“I will—but he’s a queer man. Maybe it’s him made me tell them people they couldn’ come here. That preacher, he’s gettin’ roun’ to thinkin’ that what people does is right to do.” Ma looked at her hands, and then she said, “Rosasharn, we got to sleep. ’F we’re gonna go tonight, we got to sleep.” She stretched out on the ground beside the mattress.

157Rose of Sharon asked, “How about fannin’ Granma?”

158“She’s asleep now. You lay down an’ rest.”

159“I wonder where at Connie is?” the girl complained. “I ain’t seen him around for a long time.”

160Ma said, “Sh! Get some rest.”

161“Ma, Connie gonna study nights an’ get to be somepin.”

162“Yeah. You tol’ me about that. Get some rest.”

163The girl lay down on the edge of Granma’s mattress. “Connie’s got a new plan. He’s thinkin’ all a time. When he gets all up on ’lectricity he gonna have his own store, an’ then guess what we gonna have?”

164“What?”

165“Ice—all the ice you want. Gonna have a ice box. Keep it full. Stuff don’t spoil if you got ice.”

166“Connie’s thinkin’ all a time,” Ma chuckled. “Better get some rest now.”

167Rose of Sharon closed her eyes. Ma turned over on her back and crossed her hands under her head. She listened to Granma’s breathing and to the girl’s breathing. She moved a hand to start a fly from her forehead. The camp was quiet in the blinding heat, but the noises of hot grass—of crickets, the hum of flies—were a tone that was close to silence. Ma sighed deeply and then yawned and closed her eyes. In her half-sleep she heard footsteps approaching, but it was a man’s voice that started her awake.

168“Who’s in here?”

169Ma sat up quickly. A brown-faced man bent over and looked in. He wore boots and khaki pants and a khaki shirt with epaulets. On a Sam Browne belt a pistol holster hung, and a big silver star was pinned to his shirt at the left breast. A loose-crowned military cap was on the back of his head. He beat on the tarpaulin with his hand, and the tight canvas vibrated like a drum.

170“Who’s in here?” he demanded again.

171Ma asked, “What is it you want, mister?”

172“What you think I want? I want to know who’s in here.”

173“Why, they’s jus’ us three in here. Me an’ Granma an’ my girl.”

174“Where’s your men?”

175“Why, they went down to clean up. We was drivin’ all night.”

176“Where’d you come from?”

177“Right near Sallisaw, Oklahoma.”

178“Well, you can’t stay here.”

179“We aim to get out tonight an’ cross the desert, mister.”

180“Well, you better. If you’re here tomorra this time I’ll run you in. We don’t want none of you settlin’ down here.”

181Ma’s face blackened with anger. She got slowly to her feet. She stooped to the utensil box and picked out the iron skillet. “Mister,” she said, “you got a tin button an’ a gun. Where I come from, you keep your voice down.” She advanced on him with the skillet. He loosened the gun in the holster. “Go ahead,” said Ma. “Scarin’ women. I’m thankful the men folks ain’t here. They’d tear ya to pieces. In my country you watch your tongue.”

182The man took two steps backward. “Well, you ain’t in your country now. You’re in California, an’ we don’t want you goddamn Okies settlin’ down.”

183Ma’s advance stopped. She looked puzzled. “Okies?” she said softly. “Okies.”

184“Yeah, Okies! An’ if you’re here when I come tomorra, I’ll run ya in.” He turned and walked to the next tent and banged on the canvas with his hand. “Who’s in here?” he said.

185Ma went slowly back under the tarpaulin. She put the skillet in the utensil box. She sat down slowly. Rose of Sharon watched her secretly. And when she saw Ma fighting with her face, Rose of Sharon closed her eyes and pretended to be asleep.

186The sun sank low in the afternoon, but the heat did not seem to decrease. Tom awakened under his willow, and his mouth was parched and his body was wet with sweat, and his head was dissatisfied with his rest. He staggered to his feet and walked toward the water. He peeled off his clothes and waded into the stream. And the moment the water was about him, his thirst was gone. He lay back in the shallows and his body floated. He held himself in place with his elbows in the sand, and looked at his toes, which bobbed above the surface.

187A pale skinny little boy crept like an animal through the reeds and slipped off his clothes. And he squirmed into the water like a muskrat, and pulled himself along like a muskrat, only his eyes and nose above the surface. Then suddenly he saw Tom’s head and saw that Tom was watching him. He stopped his game and sat up.

188Tom said, “Hello.”

189“ ’Lo!”

190“Looks like you was playin’ mushrat.”

191“Well, I was.” He edged gradually away toward the bank; he moved casually, and then he leaped out, gathered his clothes with a sweep of his arms, and was gone among the willows.

192Tom laughed quietly. And then he heard his name called shrilly. “Tom, oh, Tom!” He sat up in the water and whistled through his teeth, a piercing whistle with a loop on the end. The willows shook, and Ruthie stood looking at him.

193“Ma wants you,” she said. “Ma wants you right away.”

194“Awright.” He stood up and strode through the water to the shore; and Ruthie looked with interest and amazement at his naked body.

195Tom, seeing the direction of her eyes, said, “Run on now. Git!” And Ruthie ran. Tom heard her calling excitedly for Winfield as she went. He put the hot clothes on his cool, wet body and he walked slowly up through the willows toward the tent.

196Ma had started a fire of dry willow twigs, and she had a pan of water heating. She looked relieved when she saw him.

197“What’s a matter, Ma?” he asked.

198“I was scairt,” she said. “They was a policeman here. He says we can’t stay here. I was scairt he talked to you. I was scairt you’d hit him if he talked to you.”

199Tom said, “What’d I go an’ hit a policeman for?”

200Ma smiled. “Well—he talked so bad—I nearly hit him myself.”

201Tom grabbed her arm and shook her roughly and loosely, and he laughed. He sat down on the ground, still laughing. “My God, Ma. I knowed you when you was gentle. What’s come over you?”

202She looked serious. “I don’ know, Tom.”

203“Fust you stan’ us off with a jack handle, and now you try to hit a cop.” He laughed softly, and he reached out and patted her bare foot tenderly. “A ol’ hell-cat,” he said.

204“Tom.”

205“Yeah?”

206She hesitated a long time. “Tom, this here policeman—he called us—Okies. He says, ‘We don’ want you goddamn Okies settlin’ down.’ ”

207Tom studied her, and his hand still rested gently on her bare foot. “Fella tol’ about that,” he said. “Fella tol’ how they say it.” He considered, “Ma, would you say I was a bad fella? Oughta be locked up—like that?”

208“No,” she said. “You been tried— No. What you ast me for?”

209“Well, I dunno. I’d a took a sock at that cop.”

210Ma smiled with amusement. “Maybe I oughta ast you that, ’cause I nearly hit ’im with a skillet.”

211“Ma, why’d he say we couldn’ stop here?”

212“Jus’ says they don’ want no damn Okies settlin’ down. Says he’s gonna run us in if we’re here tomorra.”

213“But we ain’t use’ ta gettin’ shoved aroun’ by no cops.”

214“I tol’ him that,” said Ma. “He says we ain’t home now. We’re in California, and they do what they want.”

215Tom said uneasily, “Ma, I got somepin to tell ya. Noah—he went on down the river. He ain’t a-goin’ on.”

216It took a moment for Ma to understand. “Why?” she asked softly.

217“I don’ know. Says he got to. Says he got to stay. Says for me to tell you.”

218“How’ll he eat?” she demanded.

219“I don’ know. Says he’ll catch fish.”

220Ma was silent a long time. “Family’s fallin’ apart,” she said. “I don’ know. Seems like I can’t think no more. I jus’ can’t think. They’s too much.”

221Tom said lamely, “He’ll be awright, Ma. He’s a funny kind a fella.”

222Ma turned stunned eyes toward the river. “I jus’ can’t seem to think no more.”

223Tom looked down the line of tents and he saw Ruthie and Winfield standing in front of a tent in decorous conversation with someone inside. Ruthie was twisting her skirt in her hands, while Winfield dug a hole in the ground with his toe. Tom called, “You, Ruthie!” She looked up and saw him and trotted toward him, with Winfield behind her. When she came up, Tom said, “You go get our folks. They’re sleepin’ down the willows. Get ’em. An’ you, Winfiel’. You tell the Wilsons we’re gonna get rollin’ soon as we can.” The children spun around and charged off.

224Tom said, “Ma, how’s Granma now?”

225“Well, she got a sleep today. Maybe she’s better. She’s still a-sleepin’.”

226“Tha’s good. How much pork we got?”

227“Not very much. Quarter hog.”

228“Well, we got to fill that other kag with water. Got to take water along.” They could hear Ruthie’s shrill cries for the men down in the willows.

229Ma shoved willow sticks into the fire and made it crackle up about the black pot. She said, “I pray God we gonna get some res’. I pray Jesus we gonna lay down in a nice place.”

230The sun sank toward the baked and broken hills to the west. The pot over the fire bubbled furiously. Ma went under the tarpaulin and came out with an apronful of potatoes, and she dropped them into the boiling water. “I pray God we gonna be let to wash some clothes. We ain’t never been dirty like this. Don’t even wash potatoes ’fore we boil ’em. I wonder why? Seems like the heart’s took out of us.”

231The men came trooping up from the willows, and their eyes were full of sleep, and their faces were red and puffed with daytime sleep.

232Pa said, “What’s a matter?”

233“We’re goin’,” said Tom. “Cop says we got to go. Might’s well get her over. Get a good start an’ maybe we’ll be through her. Near three hunderd miles where we’re goin’.”

234Pa said, “I thought we was gonna get a rest.”

235“Well, we ain’t. We got to go. Pa,” Tom said, “Noah ain’t a-goin’. He walked on down the river.”

236“Ain’t goin’? What the hell’s the matter with him?” And then Pa caught himself. “My fault,” he said miserably. “That boy’s all my fault.”

237“No.”

238“I don’t wanta talk about it no more,” said Pa. “I can’t—my fault.”

239“Well, we got to go,” said Tom.

240Wilson walked near for the last words. “We can’t go, folks,” he said. “Sairy’s done up. She got to res’. She ain’t gonna git acrost that desert alive.”

241They were silent at his words; then Tom said, “Cop says he’ll run us in if we’re here tomorra.”

242Wilson shook his head. His eyes were glazed with worry, and a paleness showed through his dark skin. “Jus’ hafta do ’er, then. Sairy can’t go. If they jail us, why, they’ll hafta jail us. She got to res’ an’ get strong.”

243Pa said, “Maybe we better wait an’ all go together.”

244“No,” Wilson said. “You been nice to us; you been kin’, but you can’t stay here. You got to get on an’ get jobs and work. We ain’t gonna let you stay.”

245Pa said excitedly, “But you ain’t got nothing.”

246Wilson smiled. “Never had nothin’ when you took us up. This ain’t none of your business. Don’t you make me git mean. You got to go, or I’ll get mean an’ mad.”

247Ma beckoned Pa into the cover of the tarpaulin and spoke softly to him.

248Wilson turned to Casy. “Sairy wants you should go see her.”

249“Sure,” said the preacher. He walked to the Wilson tent, tiny and gray, and he slipped the flaps aside and entered. It was dusky and hot inside. The mattress lay on the ground, and the equipment was scattered about, as it had been unloaded in the morning. Sairy lay on the mattress, her eyes wide and bright. He stood and looked down at her, his large head bent and the stringy muscles of his neck tight along the sides. And he took off his hat and held it in his hand.