The Grapes of Wrath

FLOYD: Twicet now I've fell for that line. Maybe he needs a thousan' men. So he get's five thousan' there, an' he'll pay fifteen cents a hour. An' you guys'll have to take it 'cause you'll be hungry. 'F he wants to hire men, let him write it out an' say what he's gonna pay. Ast to see his license. He ain't allowed by law to contrack men without a license.

AGENT: Joe!

FLOYD: All right, mister. I'll go. You just show your license to contrack, an' then you make out a order--where an' when an' how much you gonna pay--an' you sign it an' we'll go.

AGENT: You trying to tell me how to run my own business?

FLOYD: 'F we're workin' for you, it's our business too. An' how do we know-- --you ain't one a the guys that sent these things out?

AGENT: Listen, Smart Guy. I'll run my business my own way. I got work. If you wanta take it, okay. If not, just sit here, that's all.

FLOYD: You doin' the hirin'?

AGENT: Well, I'm contracting the land.

AL: Twenty days work, oh boy!

PA: Be glad to get my han' on some cotton. That's the kin' a pickin' I understan'.

AL: Ready, Pa?

PA: Let 'er go, Gallagher!

PA: Leave him alone, Ma--Al's just billy- goatin' around--

AL: Sure! I was just aimin' to meet up with a couple girls I know.

AL: Will ya look at her!

PA: I never knowed they was anything like her!

AL: She'll prob'ly ride like a bull calf-- but she'll ride!

PA: Reckon we better begin roustin' 'em out if we aim to get outa here by daylight. How about it, John? How you boys comin'?

CASY: Go on. Get in your tent. You don't know nothin'.

AL: How 'bout you?

CASY: *Some*body got to take the blame. They just *got* to hang it on somebody, you know. An' I ain't doin' nothin' but set around.

AL: But ain't no reason--

CASY: Lissen. I don't care nothin' about you, but if you mess in this, your whole fambly li'ble to get in trouble, an' Tom get sent back to the penitentiary.

AL: Okay. I think you're a darn fool, though.

CASY: Sure. Why not?

MA: Woman can change better'n a man. Man lives in jerks--baby born, or somebody dies, that's a jerk--gets a farm, or loses one, an' that's a jerk. With a woman it's all one flow, like a stream, little eddies, little waterfalls, but the river it goes right on. Woman looks at it like that.

AL: Look at that ol' coffeepot steam!

MA: Maybe. Maybe twenny days work, maybe *no* days work. We ain't got it till we get it.

AL: Whatsa matter, Ma? Gettin' scared?

MA: No. Ain't ever gonna be scared no more. I was, though. For a while I thought we was beat--*good* an' beat. Looked like we didn't have nothin' in the worl' but enemies--wasn't *no*body frien'ly anymore. It made me feel bad an' scared too--like we was lost... an' nobody cared.

AL: Watch me pass that Chevvy.

AL: Ready, Ma?

MA: I'll get Rosasharn.

AL: But it ain't runnin' away, Ma. All I wanta do is go away with another fella an' look aroun' for work by ourself--

MA: Well, you ain't a-goin'! Ain't *nobody* else a-goin'! We *got* here an' we gonna *stay* here, together! As long as we got the fambly unbroke I ain't scared, but it's a long bitter road we got ahead of us-- --an' I'm here to tell ya ef anybody else tries to bust us up anymore I'm a-goin' cat wild with this here piece a bar-arn!

AL: I'd come back--

MA: But ef you *do* whup me, I swear you better not ever go to sleep again, because the minute you go to sleep, or you're settin' down, or your back's turned, I'm gonna knock you belly-up with a bucket.

AL: Ain't you gonna look back, Ma?--give the ol' place a last look?

MA: We're goin' to California, ain't we? Awright then, let's *go* to California.

AL: That don't sound like you, Ma. You never was like that before.

MA: I never had my house pushed over before. I never had my fambly stuck out on the road. I never had to lose... ever'thing I had in life.

AL: Well, you said anybody can waltz... How'm *I* doin'?

BLONDE GIRL: Don't hold me so tight.

AL: Why, I ain't hardly touchin' you!

BLONDE GIRL: You're *ticklin' me!*

AL: That comes from not holdin' you tight *enough.*

BLONDE GIRL: Now I can't breathe.

TOM: Looks like about a mile. Reckon she'll make it?

AL: She got to make it.

TOM: Any gas?

AL: Gallon or two?

TOM: Well, looks like we done it this time awright!

TOM: She's hotter'n a heifer.

AL: Fan-belt's shot.

AL: Think I'll look aroun' an' see if I can't meet me a girl.

TOM: Thing's been workin' on me, what they was yellin' about. Got me all curious.

AL: Maybe the road's out.

TOM: I don't know what these cops got to do with it but I don't like it. An' these here are our own people, all of 'em. I don't like this.

AL: Tom? You can come on. They gone.

TOM: We got to get outa here right away. Ever'body here? Where's Uncle John?

AL: What a place! How'd you like to walk acrost her?

TOM: People done it. If they could, we could.

AL: Lots must a died, too.

TOM: Well, we ain't out a it yet.

AL: You bust outa jail, Tom?

TOM: Naw. They paroled me.

AL: Oh.

AL: You mean that hitch-hiker? Little short fella with a pale face?

GUARD: I guess that's what he looked like.

AL: We just picked him up on the way in. He went away this mornin' when the rate dropped.

GUARD: What'd he look like again?

AL: Short fella. Pale face.

GUARD: Was he bruised up this mornin'? About the face?

AL: I didn't see nothin'.

GUARD: Okay. Go on.

BILL: So long.

MAE: Hey, wait a minute. You got change comin'.

BILL: Them wasn't two-for-a-cent candy.

MAE: What's it to you?

BILL: Them was nickel apiece candy.

BILL: Kinda pie y'got?

MAE: Banana cream, pineapple cream, chocolate cream--and apple.

BILL: Cut me off a hunk a that banana cream, and a cuppa java.

BOOKKEEPER: Want to work?

TOM: Sure, but what is this?

BOOKKEEPER: That's not your affair. Name.

TOM: Joad.

BOOKKEEPER: How many men?

TOM: Four.

BOOKKEEPER: Women?

TOM: Two.

BOOKKEEPER: Kids?

TOM: Two.

BOOKKEEPER: Can all of you work?

TOM: Why, I guess so.

BOOKKEEPER: Okay. House 63. Wages 5 cents a box. No bruised fruit. Move along and go to work right away.

BOOKKEEPER: House 25. Number's on the door.

MIGRANT: Okay, mister. Whatcha payin'?

BOOKKEEPER: Two and a half cents.

MIGRANT: Two an' a half! Say, mister, a man can't make his dinner on that.

BOOKKEEPER: Take it or leave it. There's 200 men coming from the South that'll be glad to get it.

MIGRANT: But--but how we gonna eat?

BOOKKEEPER: Look, I didn't set the price. I'm just working here. If you want it, take it. If you don't, turn right around and beat it.

MIGRANT: Which way is House 25?

DRIVER: Open up! We hear you got a riot.

CARETAKER: Riot? I don't see no riot. Who're you?

DRIVER: Deputy sheriffs.

CARETAKER: Got a warrant?

DRIVER: We don't need a warrant if it's a riot.

CARETAKER: Well, I don't know what you gonna do about it, because I don't hear no riot an' I don't see no riot, an' what's more I don't believe they *is* no riot. Look for yourself.

CARETAKER: Camp site costs a dollar a week, but you can work it out, carrying garbage, keeping the camp clean--stuff like that.

TOM: We'll work it out. What's this committee you talkin' about?

CARETAKER: We got five sanitary units. Each one elects a central committee man. They make the laws, an' what they say goes.

TOM: Are you aimin' to tell me that the fellas that run this camp is jus' fellas--campin' here?

CARETAKER: That's the way it is.

TOM: An' you say no cops?

CARETAKER: No cop can come in here without a warrant.

TOM: I can't hardly believe it. Camp I was in once, they burned it out--the deputies an' some of them poolroom fellas.

CARETAKER: They don't get in here. Sometimes the boys patrol the fences, especially dance nights.

TOM: You got dances too?

CARETAKER: We got the best dances in the county every Saturday night.

TOM: Say, who runs this place?

CARETAKER: Government.

TOM: Why ain't they more like it?

CARETAKER: *You* find out, I can't.

TOM: Anything like work aroun' here?

CARETAKER: Can't promise you that, but there'll be a licensed agent here tomorrow mornin', if you want to talk to him.

TOM: Ma's shore gonna like it here. She ain't been treated decent for a long time.

CARETAKER: That cut you got?

TOM: Crate fell on me.

CARETAKER: Better take care of it. Store manager'll give you some stuff for it in the morning. Goodnight.

TOM: Goodnight.

CARETAKER: I don't mean to be nosy, y'understand. I just got to have certain information. What's your name?

TOM: Joad. Tom Joad.

CARETAKER: How many of you?

CASY: Can't tell if you hear it or not. You hear it, Tom?

TOM: I hear it. I think they's some guys comin' this way, lots of 'em. We better get outa here.

CASY: I guess that's right. Have to take a beatin' before he'll know.

TOM: We was outa food. Tonight we had meat. Not much, but we had it. Think Pa's gonna give up his meat on account a other fellas? An' Rosasharn needs milk. Think Ma's gonna starve that baby jus' cause a bunch a fellas is yellin' outside a gate?

CASY: Got to learn, like I'm a-learnin'. Don't know it right yet myself, but I'm tryin' to fin' out. That's why I can't ever be a preacher again. Preacher got to *know*. I don't. I got to *ask*.

TOM: I'll tell 'em. But I don't know how. Never seen so many guys with guns. Wouldn't even let us talk today.

CASY: Try an' tell 'em, Tom. They'll get two an' a half, jus' the minute we're gone. An' you know what that is? That's one ton a peaches picked an' carried for a dollar. That way you can't even buy food enough to keep you alive! Tell 'em to come out with us, Tom! Them peaches is *ripe*. Two days out an' they'll pay *all* of us five!

TOM: They won't. They're a-gettin' five an' they don't care about nothin' else.

CASY: But jus' the minute they ain't strike- breakin' they won't get no five!

CASY: Lookie, Tom. We come to work here. They tell us it's gonna be fi' cents. But they was a whole lot of us, so the man says two an' a half cents. Well, a fella can't even eat on that, an' if he got kids... So we says we won't take it. So they druv us off. Now they're payin' you five--but when they bust this strike ya think they'll pay five?

TOM: I dunno. Payin' five now.

CASY: I don't expeck we can las' much longer-- some a the folks ain't et for two days. You goin' back tonight?

TOM: I aim to.

CASY: Well--tell the folks inside how it is, Tom. Tell 'em they're starvin' us and stabbin' theirself in the back. An' as sure as God made little apples it's goin' back to two an' a half jus' as soon as they clear us out.

CASY: What's the matter?

TOM: Casy! What you doin' here?

CASY: Well, if it ain't Tom Joad. How ya, boy?

TOM: Thought you was in jail.

CASY: No, I done my time an' got out. Come on in.

CASY: Gimme that gun. Now git outa here. Go down in them willows an' wait.

TOM: I ain't gonna run.

CASY: He seen you, Tom! You wanta be fingerprinted? You wanta get sent back for breakin' parole?

TOM: You're right!

CASY: Hide in the willows. If it's awright to come back I'll give you four high whistles.

TOM: How about us? Is that the truth for us?

CASY: I don't know.

CASY: I ain't no more a preacher, you know.

TOM: We know. But ain't none of our folks ever been buried without a few words.

CASY: I'll say 'em--an' make it short. This here ol' man jus' lived a life an' jus' died out of it. I don't know whether he was good or bad, an' it don't matter much. Heard a fella say a poem once, an' he says, "All that lives is holy." But I wouldn't pray for jus' a ol' man that's dead, because he's awright. If I was to pray I'd pray for the folks that's alive an' don't know which way to turn. Grampa here, he ain't got no more trouble like that. He's got his job all cut out for 'im--so cover 'im up and let 'im get to it.

TOM: Think she'll hold?

CASY: If she does it'll be a miracle outa Scripture.

TOM: She's settlin'.

CASY: What you figger to do?

TOM: It's hard to say. Stay here till mornin' an' then go on over to Uncle John's, I reckon. After that I don't know.

TOM: This is Muley Graves. You remember the preacher, don't you?

CASY: I ain't no preacher anymore.

TOM: All right, you remember the *man* then.

TOM: This used to be mine. I give it to Grampa when I went away. You reckon they could be dead?

CASY: I never heard nothin' about it.

TOM: They're all gone--or dead.

CASY: They never wrote you nothing?

TOM: No. They wasn't people to write.

CASY: Your granma was a great one, too. The third time she got religion she go it so powerful she knocked down a full-growed deacon with her fist.

TOM: That's our place.

CASY: Is it fur?

TOM: Just around that next bend.

TOM: Maybe Ma'll have pork for supper. I ain't had pork but four times in four years--every Christmas.

CASY: I'll be glad to see you pa. Last time I seen him was at a baptizin', an' he had one a the bigges' doses of the Holy Sperit I ever seen. He go to jumpin' over bushes, howlin' like a dog-wolf in moon-time. Fin'ly he picks hisself out a bush big as a piana an' he let out a squawk an' took a run at that bush. Well, sir, he cleared her but he bust his leg snap in two. They was a travellin' dentist there and he set her, an' I give her a prayin' over, but they wasn't no more Holy Sperit in your pa after that.

TOM: Lissen. This wind's fixin't to *do* somepin'!

CASY: Shore it is. It always is, this time a year.

CASY: Say, ain't you young Tom Joad--ol' Tom's boy?

TOM: Yeah. On my way home now.

CASY: Well, I do declare! I baptized you, son.

TOM: Why, you're the preacher!

CASY: *Used* to be. Not no more. I lost the call. But boy, I sure *used* to have it! I'd get an irrigation ditch so squirmin' full of repented sinners I pretty near *drowned* half of 'em! But not no more. I lost the sperit.

TOM: Pa always said you was never cut out to be a preacher.

CASY: I got nothin' to preach about no more--that's all. I ain't so sure o' things.

TOM: Maybe you should a got yourself a wife.

CASY: At my meetin's I used to get the girls glory-shoutin' till they about passed out. Then, I'd go to comfort 'em--and always end up by lovin' 'em. I'd feel bad, an' pray, an' pray, but it didn't do no good. Next time, do it again. I figgered there just wasn't no hope for me.

TOM: I never let one go by me when I could catch her.

CASY: But you wasn't a preacher. A girl was just a girl to you. But to me they was holy vessels. I was savin' their souls. I ast myself--what *is* this call, the Holy Sperit? Maybe *that's* love. Why, I love everybody so much I'm fit to bust sometimes! So maybe there ain't no sin an' there ain't no virtue. There's just what people do. Some things folks do is nice, and some ain't so nice. But that's as far as any man's got a right to say.

TOM: Have a little snort?

CASY: Course I'll say grace if somebody sets out the food-- --but my heart ain't in it. Nice drinkin' liquor.

TOM: Ought to be. That's fact'ry liquor. Cost me a buck.

CASY: Been out travelin' around?

TOM: Didn't you hear? It was in the papers.

CASY: No, I never. What?

TOM: I been in the penitentiary for four years.

CASY: Excuse me for asking.

TOM: I don't mind any more. I'd do what I done again. I killed a guy at a dance. We was drunk. He got a knife in me and I laid him out with a shovel. Knocked his head plumb to squash.

CASY: And you ain't ashamed?

TOM: He had a knife in me. That's why they only gave me seven years. Got out in four--parole.

CASY: Ain't you seen your folks since then?

TOM: No, but I aim to before sundown. Gettin' kind of excited about it, too. Which way you going?

CASY: It don't matter. Ever since I lost the sperit it looks like I just as soon go one way as the other. I'll go your way.

ROSASHARN: Seems like we wasn't never gonna do nothin' but move. I'm so tar'd.

CONNIE: Women is always tar'd.

ROSASHARN: You ain't--you ain't sorry, are you, honey?

CONNIE: No, but--but you seen that advertisement in the Spicy Western Story magazine. Don't pay nothin'. Jus' send 'em the coupon an' you're a radio expert--nice clean work.

ROSASHARN: But we can still do it, honey.

CONNIE: I ought to done it then--an' not come on any trip like this.

TOM: Fella named Spencer sent us--said they was work pickin' peaches.

COP: Want to work, do you?

TOM: Sure do.

COP: Pull up behind that car. Okay for this one. Take 'em through.

TOM: What's the matter? What's happened?

COP: Little trouble up ahead, but you'll get through. Just follow the line.

TOM: They shore don't waste no time! Take her out.

COP: Save your strength, lady. Get goin', buddy. No campin' here.

TOM: We ain't campin'. We jus' stoppin' a minute--

COP: Lissen, I heard that before--

MULEY: Have it your own way, son, but just as sure as you touch my house with that cat I'm gonna blow you plumb to kingdom come.

DAVIS: You ain't gonna blow nobody nowhere. First place, you'd get hung and you know it. For another, it wouldn't be two days before they'd have another guy here to take my place.

DAVIS: I don't like nobody drawin' a bead on me.

MULEY: Then what are you doin' this kind a thing for--against your own people?

DAVIS: For three dollars a day, that's what I'm doin' it for. I got two little kids. I got a wife and my wife's mother. Them people got to eat. Fust and on'y thing I got to think about is my own folks. What happens to other folks is their lookout.

MULEY: But this is *my land*, son. Don't you understand?

DAVIS: *Used* to be your land. B'longs to the comp'ny now.

DRIVER: I never asked you!

TOM: Sure, but you'd a throwed a fit if I hadn't tol' you.

DRIVER: Been doin' a job?

TOM: Yeah.

DRIVER: I seen your hands. You been swinging a pick or a sledge--that shines up your hands. I notice little things like that all the time. Got a trade?

TOM: Why don't you get to it, buddy?

DRIVER: Get to what?

TOM: You know what I mean. You been givin' me a goin' over ever since I got in. Whyn't you go on and ask me where I been?

DRIVER: I don't stick my nose in nobody's business.

TOM: Naw--not much!

DRIVER: I stay in my own yard.

TOM: Listen. That big nose of yours been goin' over me like a sheep in a vegetable patch. But I ain't keepin' it a secret. I been in the penitentiary. Been there four years. Like to know anything else?

DRIVER: You ain't got to get sore.

TOM: Go ahead. Ask me anything you want.

DRIVER: I didn't mean nothing.

TOM: Me neither. I'm just tryin' to get along without shovin' anybody around, that's all. See that road up ahead?

DRIVER: Yeah.

TOM: That's where I get off.

DRIVER: Goin' far?

TOM: Just a few miles. I'd a walked her if my dogs wasn't pooped out.

DRIVER: Lookin' for a job?

TOM: No, my old man got a place, forty acres. He's a sharecropper, but we been there a long time.

DRIVER: Oh!

TOM: How about a lift, mister?

DRIVER: Can't you see that sticker?

FIRST BOY: You people got a lotta nerve.

TOM: What you mean?

FIRST BOY: Crossin' the desert in a jalopy like this.

TOM: You been acrost?

FIRST BOY: Sure, plenty, but not in no wreck like this.

TOM: If we broke down maybe somebody'd give us a han'.

FIRST BOY: Well, maybe. But I'd hate to be doin' it. Takes more nerve than I got.

TOM: It don't take no nerve to do somep'n when there ain't nothin' else you can do.

FRANK: An' the nex' thing you know you'll be out, because they got it all figgered down to a T--until the harvest is in you're a *migrant* worker--afterwards, just a bum.

TOM: Five they're a-gettin' now, an' that's all they're int'rested in. I know exackly what Pa'd say. He'd jus' say it wasn't none a his business.

TOM: Workin'. Pickin' peaches. But I seen a bunch a fellas yellin' when we come in, so I come out to see what's goin' on. What's it all about?

FRANK: This here's a strike.

TOM: Well, fi' cents a box ain't much, but a fella can eat.

FRANK: Fi' cents! They pain' you fi' cents?

TOM: Sure. We made a buck since midday.

GIRL: I could break up some bresh if you want me, ma'am.

MA: You want to get ast to eat, hunh?

GIRL: Yes, ma'am.

MA: Didn' you have no breakfast?

GIRL: No, ma'am. They ain't no work hereabouts. Pa's in tryin' to sell some stuff to get gas so's we can get along.

MA: Didn' none of these have no breakfast?

GIRL: What's he fixin' to do, ma?

MA: Hush!

PA: Easy, *easy!* You wanta bust his head wide open? Pull his arms, John.

GRAMPA: Ain't a-goin', thas all...

PA: Put somepin' over him, so he won't git sun-struck. Ever'body set now? Awright, Al, letta go!

PA: Now listen, Grampa. Listen to me, just a minute.

GRAMPA: And I ain't gonna listen either. I tol' you what I'm gonna do. And I don't give a hoot in a hollow if they's oranges and grapes crowdin' a fella outa bed even, I ain't a- goin' to California! This here's my country. I b'long *here*. It ain't no good-- --but it's mine.

PA: What you mean you ain't goin'? We *got* to go. We got no place to stay.

GRAMPA: I ain't talkin' about you, I'm talkin' about me. And I'm a-stayin'. I give her a good goin' over all night long-- and I'm a-stayin'.

PA: But you can't *do* that, Grampa. This here land is goin' under the tractor. We *all* got to git out.

GRAMPA: All but me! I'm a-stayin'.

GRAMPA: *Ain't* a-goin'... ain't a-goin'...

TOM: 'S all right, Grampa. You just kind a tar'd, that's all. Somebody fix a pallet.

TOM: Ma. Pa. Grampa, his eyes hurt and hunted and frightened and bewildered, scratches in the dirt.

GRAMPA: And can't nobody *make* me go, either! Ain't nobody here *man* enough to make me! I'm a-stayin'.

TOM: How 'bout Granma?

GRAMPA: Take her with you!

TOM: What's the matter, Grampa?

GRAMPA: Ain't nothin' the matter. I just ain't a-goin', that's all.

GRAMPA: You know what I al'ays said: "Tom'll come bustin' outa that jail like a bull through a corral fence." Can't keep no Joad in jail!

TOM: I didn't bust out. They lemme out. Howya, Noah. Howya, Uncle John.

GUARD: Where you think you're going?

TOM: Thought I'd take a walk. Any law against it?

GUARD: Well, you just turn around and walk the other way.

TOM: You mean I can't even get outa here?

GUARD: Not tonight you can't. Want to walk back?--or you want me to whistle up some help and take you back?

TOM: I'll walk back.

GUARD: Where you going?

TOM: California.

GUARD: How long you plan to be in Arizona?

TOM: No longer'n we can get acrost her.

GUARD: Got any plants?

TOM: No plants.

GUARD: Okay. Go ahead, but you better keep movin'.

TOM: Sure. We aim to.

JOHN: I got to get a lot curiouser than I am--with all them cops out there.

TOM: Okay. I be back a little later.

JOHN: You take this. I ain't hungry.

TOM: Whatta ya mean? You ain't et today.

JOHN: I know, but I got a stomickache. I ain't hungry.

TOM: You take that plate inside the tent an' you eat it.

JOHN: Wouldn't be no use. I'd still see 'em inside the tent.

TOM: You git. Go on now, git. You ain't doin' no good. They ain't enough for you.

MA: You an' me's goin' together--jus' you an' me. We're a-goin' to that dance an' we're a-goin' to jus' set an' watch. If anybody says to come dance--why I'll say you're poorly. But you an' me, we're gonna hear the music an' see the fun.

ROSASHARN: An' you won't let nobody touch me?

MA: No--an' look what I got for you.

ROSASHARN: Ma... Ma, I--I can't go to the dance. I jus' can't Ma. I can't hardly stan' it, with Connie not here--an' me this way.

MA: Why, honey, it makes folks happy to see a girl that way--makes folks sort of giggly an' happy.

ROSASHARN: I can't he'p it, Ma. It don't make *me* giggly an' happy.

ROSASHARN: Ma... you know, if Connie was here I wouldn't min' any a this.

MA: I know, honey, an' just as soon as we get settled Al's gonna set out an' look for him. How 'bout gas, Tommy?

MA: Anybody ask anything?

ROSASHARN: No'm.

MA: Stand by the door.

ROSASHARN: We gonna live here?

MA: Why, sure. It won't be so bad once we get her washed out.

ROSASHARN: I like the tent better.

MA: This got a floor. Wouldn't leak when it rains.

ROSASHARN: Maybe Connie went to get some books to study up with. He's gonna be a radio expert, ya know. Maybe he figgered to suprise us.

MA: Maybe that's jus' what he done.

ROSASHARN: Ma... all this, will it hurt the baby?

MA: Now don't you go gettin' nimsy-mimsy.

ROSASHARN: Sometimes I'm all jumpy inside.

MA: Well, can't nobody get through nine *months* without sorrow.

ROSASHARN: But will it--hurt the baby?

MA: They use' to be a sayin': A chile born outa sorrow'll be a happy chile. An' another: Born outa too much joy'll be a doleful boy. That's the way I always heard it.

ROSASHARN: You don't ever get scairt, do you, Ma?

MA: Sometimes. A little. Only it ain't scairt so much. It's just waitin' an' wonderin'. But when sump'n happens that I got to do sump'n-- --I'll do it.

ROSASHARN: Don't it ever scare you it won't be nice in California like we think?

MA: No. No, it don't. I can't do that. I can't let m'self. All I can do is see how soon they gonna wanta eat again. They'd all get upset if I done anymore 'n that. They all depen' on me jus' thinkin' about that. That's my part--that an' keepin' the fambly together.

PA: Maybe, but we shore takin' a beatin'.

MA: I know. Maybe that makes us tough. Rich fellas come up an' they die, an' their kids ain't no good, an' they die out. But we keep a-comin'. We're the people that live. Can't nobody wipe us out. Can't nobody lick us. We'll go on forever, Pa. We're the people.

PA: Make her easy, John. Watch her.

MA: She'll be awright.

PA: Know where we're a-goin'?

MA: Don't matter. Just got to go--an' keep a-goin', till we get plenty a distance away from here.

PA: That!

MA: They charge extry at the comp'ny store but they ain't no other place.

MA: Sump'n got to happen soon. We got one day's more grease, two day's flour, an' ten potatoes. After that... An' Rosasharn, we got to remember she's gonna be due soon.

PA: It sure is hell jus' tryin' to get enough to eat.

MA: Connie's gone. Lit out this e'enin'--said he didn't know it was gonna be like this.

PA: Glad to get shet of him. Never was no good an' never will be--

MA: Pa! Shh!

PA: How come I got to shh? Run out, didn't he?

PA: Jus' sassy, that's all.

MA: Sassy my foot! I'm jus' sick and tar'd a my folks tryin' to bust up. All we got lef' in the *worl'* is the fambly--an' right down at bottom that's all we *got* to have! Ef some of us dies, we can't he'p that--but ain't nobody else runnin' away!

MA: You don't know *no* girls around here. You're lyin', *You're runnin' away*!

PA: Cut it out, Ma, or I'll--

MA: You'll *what*?... Come on, Pa. Come on an' whup me. Jus' try it.

PA: Now don't get sassy, Ma.

MA: Al ain't a-goin' away, an' you gonna *tell* him he ain't a-goin' away. An' if you think diff'unt, you gotta whup me first. So some on.

PA: I never *seen* her so sassy. An' she ain't so young, neither!

PA: How 'bout it?

MA: Go get Tom an' Al. I dunno what to do. I got to feed the fambly. What'm I gonna do with these here?

TOM: They was some cops here, Ma. They was takin' down the license numbers. It looks like somebody knows sump'n.

MA: It had to come, I reckon, soon or later.

TOM: I'd like to stay. I'd like to be with ya-- --an' see your face when you an' Pa get settled in a nice little place. I sure wish I could see you then. But-- --I guess I won't never be able to do that. Not now.

MA: I could hide you, Tommy.

TOM: I know you would, Ma. But I ain't gonna let you. You hide somebody that's kilt a man an'... an' you'd be in trouble too.

MA: Awright, Tommy. What you figger you gonna do?

TOM: You know what I been thinkin' about, Ma? About Casy. About what he said, what he done, an' about how he died. An' I remember all of it.

MA: He was a good man.

TOM: I been thinkin' about us, too--about our people livin' like pigs, an' good rich lan' layin' fallow, or maybe one fella with a million acres, while a hundred thousan' farmers is starvin'. An' I been wonderin' if all our folks got together an' yelled--

MA: Tommy, they'll drive you, an' cut you down like they done to Casy.

TOM: They gonna drive me anyways. Soon or later they'll get me, for one thing if not another. Until then...

MA: You don't aim to kill nobody, Tom!

TOM: No, Ma. Not that. That ain't it. But long as I'm a outlaw, anyways, maybe I can do sump'n. Maybe I can jus' fin' out sump'n. Jus' scrounge aroun' an' try to fin' out what it is that's wrong, an then see if they ain't sump'n could be done about it. But I ain't thought it out clear, Ma. I can't. I don't know enough.

MA: How'm I gonna know 'bout you? They might kill you an' I wouldn't know. They might hurt you. How'm I gonna know?

TOM: Well, maybe it's like Casy says, a fella ain't got a soul of his own, but on'y a piece of a big soul--the one big soul that belongs to ever'body-- an' then...

MA: Then what, Tom?

TOM: Then it don't matter. Then I'll be all aroun' in the dark. I'll be ever'where--wherever you look. Wherever there's a fight so hungry people can eat, I'll be there. Wherever there's a cop beatin' up a guy, I'll be there. I'll be in the way guys yell when they're mad--an' I'll be in the way kids laugh when they're hungry an' they know supper's ready. An' when our people eat the stuff they raise, an' live in the houses they build, why, I'll be there too.

MA: I don't understan' it, Tom.

TOM: Me neither. It's jus' stuff I been thinkin' about. Gimme you han', Ma. Good-by.

MA: Good-by, Tom. Later--when it's blowed over--you'll come back? You'll try to fin' us?

TOM: Sure. Good-by.

MA: Good-by, Tommy.

TOM: She's gettin' prettier, Ma.

MA: Girl with a baby *always* gets prettier.

MA: What is it?

TOM: Don't know--but it's better'n this.

MA: It's jus' till we get some distance. Then you can come out.

TOM: I'd hate to get *trapped* in here.

TOM: That Casy. He might a been a preacher, but--he seen a lot a things clear. He was like a lantern--he helped mw see things too.

MA: Comes night we'll get outa here.

MA: How's it feel, Tommy?

TOM: Busted my cheek but I can still see. What'd you hear?

MA: Looks like you done it.

TOM: I kinda thought so. Felt like it.

MA: Folks ain't talkin' about much else. They say they got posses out. Talkin' about a lynchin'--when they catch the fella.

TOM: They killed Casy first.

MA: That ain't the way they're tellin' it. They're sayin' you done it fust.

TOM: They know what--this fella looks like?

MA: They know he got hit in the face.

TOM: I'm sorry, Ma. But--I didn't know what I was doin', no more'n when you take a breath. I didn't even know I was gonna do it.

MA: It's awright, Tommy. I wisht you didn't do it, but you done what you had to do. I can't read no fault in you.

TOM: I'm gonna go away tonight. I can't go puttin' this on you folks.

MA: Tom! They's a whole lot I don't understan', but goin' away ain't gonna ease us. They was the time when we was on the lan'. They was a bound'ry to us then. Ol' folks died off, an' little fellas come, an' we was always one thing-- we was the fambly--kinda whole an' clear. But now we ain't clear no more. They ain't nothin' keeps us clear. Al--he's a-hankerin' an' a- jibbitin' to go off on his own. An' Uncle John is just a-draggin' along. Pa's lost his place--he ain't the head no more. We're crackin' up, Tom. They ain't no fambly now. Rosasharn-- --she gonna have her baby, but *it* ain't gonna have no fambly. I been tryin' to keep her goin' but--Winfiel'-- what's he gonna be, this-a-way? Growin' up wild, an' Ruthie, too-- like animals. Got nothin' to trus'. Don't go Tom. Stay an' help. Help me.

TOM: Okay, Ma. I shouldn't, though. I know I shouldn't. But okay.

MA: You be careful, Tommy. Don't you be stickin' your nose in anything.

TOM: Okay, Ma. Don't you worry.

TOM: I ain't full.

MA: Well, tomorra you'll get in a full day--full day's pay--an' we'll have plenty.

TOM: Got any more, Ma?

MA: No. That's all. You made a dollar, an' that's a dollar's worth.

MA: Fust thing I'll get is coffee, cause ever'body been wantin' that, an' then some flour an' bakin' powder an' meat. Better not get no side- meat right off. Save that for later. Maybe Sat'dy. Got to get some soap too. An' milk. Rosasharn's got to have some milk.

TOM: Get some sugar too, for the coffee.

MA: You know, I jus' can't remember when I felt so good before!

TOM: Ma, they comes a time when a man gets mad.

MA: Tom--you tol' me--you promised you wasn't like that. You promised me.

TOM: I know, Ma. I'm a tryin'. If it was the law they was workin' with, we could take it. But it *ain't* the law. They're workin' away at our spirits. They're tryin' to make us cringe an' crawl. They're workin' on our decency.

MA: You promised, Tommy.

TOM: I'm a-tryin', Ma. Honest I am.

MA: You gotta keep clear, Tom. The fambly's breakin' up. You *got* to keep clear.

TOM: What's that--detour?

TOM: She shore don't look prosperous. Want to go somewheres else?

MA: On a gallon a gas? Let's set up the tent. Maybe I can fix us up some stew.

TOM: Ma, you sick?

MA: Ya say we're acrost?

TOM: Look, Ma!

MA: Thank God! An' we're still together-- most of us.

TOM: Didn' you get no sleep?

MA: No.

TOM: Was Granma bad?

MA: Granma's dead.

TOM: When?

MA: Since before they stopped us las' night.

TOM: An' that's why you didn't want 'em to look?

MA: I was afraid they'd stop us an' wouldn't let us cross. But I tol' Granma. I tol' her when she was dyin'. I tol' her the fambly had ta get acrost. I tol' her we couldn't take no chances on bein' stopped.

TOM: Yes'm, that was it.

MA: Your pa tol' me you didn't ought to cross it if you're paroled. Says they'll send you up again.

TOM: Forget it, Ma. I got her figgered out. Long as I keep outa trouble, ain't nobody gonna say a thing. All I gotta do is keep my nose clean.

MA: Maybe they got crimes in California we don't know about. Crimes we don't even know *is* crimes.

TOM: Forget it, Ma. Jus' think about the nice things out there. Think about them grapes and oranges--an' ever'body got work--

MA: Wait. There's a half a bottle a soothin' sirup here. It put the chillun to sleep.

TOM: Don't taste bad.

MA: And they's some coffee here. I could fix him a cup...

TOM: That's right. And douse some in it.

TOM: How about it, Ma?

MA: I'm ready.

TOM: Muley tol' me what happened, Ma. Are we goin' to California true?

MA: We *got* to, Tommy. But that's gonna be awright. I seen the han'bills, about how much work they is, an' high wages, too. But I gotta fin' out somepin' else first, Tommy. Did they hurt you, son? Did they hurt you an' make you mean-mad?

TOM: Mad, Ma?

MA: Sometimes they do.

TOM: No, Ma I was at first--but not no more.

MA: Sometimes they do somethin' to you, Tommy. They hurt you--and you get mad--and then you get mean--and they hurt you again--and you get meaner, and meaner--till you ain't no boy or no man any more, but just a walkin' chunk a mean-mad. Did they hurt you like that, Tommy?

TOM: No, Ma. You don't have to worry about that.

MA: Thank God. I--I don't want no mean son

MA: I was so scared we was goin' away without you--and we'd never see each other again.

TOM: I'd a found you, Ma.

MA: Thank God. Oh thank God. Tommy, you didn't *bust* out, didya? You ain't got to hide, have you?

TOM: No, Ma. I'm paroled. I got my papers.

MAE: Oh, them? Well, no--them's *two* for a penny.

PA: Well, give me two then, ma'am.

MAE: Which ones?

PA: There, them stripy ones.

MAE: You can have this for ten cents.

PA: I don't wanta rob you, ma'am.

MAE: Go ahead--Bert says take it.

MAE: This here's a fifteen-cent loaf.

PA: Would you--could you see your way to cuttin' off ten cents worth?

MAE: Yeah?

PA: Could you see your way clear to sell us a loaf of bread, ma'am.

MAE: This ain't a groc'ry store. We got bread to make san'widges with.

PA: I know, ma'am... on'y it's for a ole lady, no teeth, gotta sof'n it with water so she can chew it, an' she's hongry.

MAE: Whyn't you buy a san'wich? We got nice san'widges.

PA: I shore would like to do that, ma'am, but the fack is, we ain't got but a dime for it. It's all figgered out, I mean--for the trip.

MAE: You can't get no loaf a bread for a dime. We only got fifteen-cent loafs.

MULEY: All you got to do is lay down an' watch.

TOM: Won't they come out here?

MULEY: I don't think so. One come out here once an' I clipped him from behin' with a fence stake. They ain't bothered since.

MULEY: Listen! That's them! Them lights! Come on, we got to hide out!

TOM: Hide out for what? We ain't doin' nothin'.

MULEY: You're *trespassin'*! It ain't you lan' no more! An' that's the supr'tendant--with a gun!

MULEY: What was the use. He was right. There wasn't a thing in the world I could do about it.

TOM: But it don't seem possible--kicked off like that!

MULEY: The rest of my fambly set out for the west--there wasn't nothin' to eat--but I couldn't leave. Somepin' wouldn't let me. So now I just wander around. Sleep wherever I am. I used to tell myself I was lookin' out for things, so when they come back ever'thing would be all right. But I knowed that wan't true. There ain't nothin' to look out for. And ain't nobody comin' back. They're gone-- and me, I'm just an 'ol graveyard ghost--that's all in the world I am.

TOM: Well?

MULEY: They come. They come and pushed me off.

MULEY: Gone-- --over to your Uncle John's. The whole crowd of 'em, two weeks ago. But they can't stay there either, because John's got *his* notice to get off.

TOM: But what's happened? How come they got to get off? We been here fifty years--same place.

MULEY: Ever'body got to get off. Ever'body leavin', goin' to California. My folks, your folks, ever'body's folks. Ever'body but me. I ain't gettin' off.

TOM: But who done it?

MULEY: Listen! That's some of what done it--the dusters. Started it, anyway. Blowin' like this, year after year--blowin' the land away, blowin' the crops away, blowin' us away now.

TOM: Are you crazy?

MULEY: Some say I am. You want to hear what happened?

TOM: That's what I asked you, ain't it?

MULEY: Tommy?

TOM: Muley! Where's my folks, Muley?

MULEY: They gone.

TOM: I know that! But *where* they gone?

MULEY: Then who *do* we shoot?

THE MAN: Brother, I don't know. If I did I'd tell you. But I just don't know *who's* to blame!

MULEY: Well, I'm right here to tell you, mister, ain't *nobody* going to push me off *my* land! Grampa took up this land seventy years ago. My pa was born here. We was *all* born on it, and some of us got killed on it, and some died on it. And that's what makes it ourn--bein' born on it, and workin' it, and dyin' on it--and not no piece of paper with writin' on it! So just come on and try to push me off!

MULEY: Who's the Shawnee Land and Cattle Comp'ny?

THE MAN: It ain't nobody. It's a company.

MULEY: You mean get off my own land?

THE MAN: Now don't go blaming me. It ain't *my* fault.

THE MAN: Fact of the matter, Muley, after what them dusters done to the land, the tenant system don't work no more. It don't even break even, much less show a profit. One man on a tractor can handle twelve or fourteen of these places. You just pay him a wage and take *all* the crop.

MULEY: But we couldn't *do* on any less'n what our share is now. The chillun ain't gettin' enough to eat as it is, and they're so ragged we'd be shamed if ever'body else's chillun wasn't the same way.

THE MAN: I can't help that. All I know is I got my orders. They told me to tell you you got to get off, and that's what I'm telling you.

TOM: Take 'er on down, Al. I'll sign.

PA: We gonna stay, ain't we?

TOM: You're tootin' we're gonna stay.

PA: You wouldn't think jus' reachin' up an' pickin'd get you in the back.

TOM: Think I'll walk out an' try to fin' out what all that fuss outside the gate was. Anybody wanta come with me?

PA: No. I'm jus' gonna set awhile an' then go to bed.

TOM: Just in case. Sit up back an' if anybody tries to climb up--let 'im have it.

PA: I ain't got nothin' in *my* han'.

TOM: Give 'im a fryin' pan.

PA: Ya know, you're the second fella talked like that. I'd like to hear some more about that.

TOM: Me an' you both.

TOM: She's jus' wore out, that's all.

PA: I shore would like to stop here a while an' give her some res' but we on'y got 'bout forty dollars left. I won't feel right till we're there an' all workin' an' a little money comin' in.

TOM: Got that desert yet. Gotta take her tonight. Take her in the daytime fella says she'll cut your gizzard out.

PA: How's Granma since we got her in the tent?

TOM: I figger best we leave something like this on him, lest somebody dig him up and make out he been kilt. Lotta times looks like the gov'ment got more interest in a dead man than a live one.

PA: Not be so lonesome, either, knowin' his name is there with 'im, not just' a old fella lonesome underground.

TOM: Casy, won't you say a few words?

PA: Here we go!

TOM: California, here we come!

TOM: Either we got to tie him up and *throw* him on the truck, or somepin. He can't stay here.

PA: Can't tie him. Either we'll hurt him or he'll git so mad he'll hurt his self. Reckon we could git him *drunk*?

TOM: Ain't no whisky, is they?

TOM: How you get all this money?

PA: Sol' things, chopped cotton--even Grampa. Got us about two hunnerd dollars all tol'. Shucked out seventy- five for this truck, but we still got nearly a hunnerd and fifty to set out on. I figger we oughta be able to make it on that.

TOM: Easy. After all, they ain't but about *twelve* of us, is they?

PA: That's Connie Rivers with her. They're married now. She's due about three-four months.

TOM: Why, she wasn't no more'n a kid when I went up.

PA: But what does *that* prove?

SECOND MAN: Look at 'em! Same yella han'bill-- 800 pickers wanted. Awright, this man wants 800 men. So he prints up 5,000 a them han'bills an' maybe 20,000 people sees 'em. An' maybe two-three thousan' starts movin, wes' account a this han'bill. Two- three thousan' folks that's crazy with worry headin' out for 800 jobs! Does that make sense?

PA: Whatta you think you're talkin' about? I got a han'bill here says good wages, an' I seen it in the papers they need pickers!

SECOND MAN: Awright, go on! Ain't nobody stoppin' ya!

PA: But what about this?

SECOND MAN: I ain't gonna fret you. Go on!

SECOND MAN: Good wages, eh! Pickin' oranges an' peaches?

PA: We gonna take whatever they got.

TOM: Cut it out, Pa. He'p Al with the truck. Don't fret, honey. You goin' to be awright.

ROSASHARN: Tom, I jus' don't feel like nothin' a tall. Without him I jus' don't wanta live.

TOM: Maybe he'll be back. We'll leave word for him. Jus' don't cry.

ROSASHARN: Maybe it's nice on the other side. Them pitchers--them little pos'cards-- they was real pretty.

TOM: Aw, sure. This here's jus' a part of it. Ain't no sense a gettin' scairt right off.

ROSASHARN: Heh'o Tom. This is Connie, my husband.

TOM: If this don't beat all! Well, I see you been busy already!

ROSASHARN: You do not see either!--not yet!

WINFIELD: Lemme go! I didn't go to do it!

RUTHIE: Keep qui'te, will ya! Shet your mouth!

WINFIELD: I never knowed it! All I done was pull that string!

RUTHIE: Lissen. You done busted it. You hear? But lissen here. I won't tell nobody, y'understan'?

WINFIELD: Please don't.

RUTHIE: I won't-- --if you won't tell what *I* done!

RUTHIE: Come on. Ain't nobody gonna say anything.

WINFIELD: Won't they ketch us?

RUTHIE: Git up. I got sump'n to show you.

WINFIELD: Whatsa matter?

RUTHIE: It's them white things, made outa dish-stuff, like in the catalogues!

RUTHIE: This here's the desert an' we're right in it!

WINFIELD: I wisht it was day.

RUTHIE: Tom says if it's day it'll cut you gizzard smack out a you. I seen a pitcher once. They was bones ever'place.

WINFIELD: Man bones?

RUTHIE: Some, I guess, but mos'ly cow bones.

RUTHIE'S VOICE: Now you done it! You busted it!

WINFIELD'S VOICE: I never--

WINFIELD'S VOICE: Jes' like in the catalogues, ain't they!

RUTHIE'S VOICE: I seen 'em b'fore you did.

WINFIELD'S VOICE: What's this?

RUTHIE'S VOICE: Now don't you go monk'ing--

WINFIELD'S VOICE: What's these?

RUTHIE'S VOICE: Well, I reckon you *stan'* in them little rooms--an' water come down outa that there little jigger up there--take a bath!

SPENCER: Morning.

TOM: Morning.

SPENCER: You people looking for work?

TOM: Mister, we're lookin' even under boards for work.

SPENCER: Can you pick peaches?

TOM: We can pick anything.

SPENCER: Well, there's plenty of work for you about forty miles north, this road just outside Pixley. Turn east on 32 and look for Hooper's ranch. Tell 'em Spencer sent you.

TOM: Yes, sir.

TIM: Awright. An' if she gets outa han', I'll be in the right han' corner, this side the dance floor.

TOM: Ain't gonna get outa han'.

TIM: You sure you got ever'thing ready?

TOM: Ain't gonna be no trouble.

TIM: You ain't to hurt them fellas.

TIM: Lotta these little farmers mighty nice fellas. Trouble is they're little, they ain't got much say-so.

TOM: Shore looks like my lucky day, anyway. Gettin' some work at las'.