The Grapes of Wrath Page #14

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As the music ends we see a GROUP ON THE PORCH STEPS. The men

murmur approbation of Connie's playing.

PA:

(with quiet pride)

Thas my son-in-law.

FIRST MAN:

Sings real nice. What state y'all

from?

PA:

Oklahoma. Had us a farm there, share-

croppin'.

TOM:

Till the tractors druv us out.

FIRST MAN:

We from Arkansas. I had me a store

there, kind of general notions store,

but when the farms went the store

went too.

(Sighing)

Nice a little as you ever saw. I

shore did hate to give it up.

PA:

(profoundly)

Wal, y'cain't tell. I figure when we

git out there an' git work an' maybe

git us a piece a growin' lan' near

water it might not be so bad at that.

OTHER MEN:

Thas right... Payin' good wages, I

hear... Ever'body got work out

there... Can't be no worse...

As they talk, a SECOND MAN, standing on the edge of the group,

begins to grin bitterly. He is much more ragged than the

others.

SECOND MAN:

You folks must have a pot a money.

The GROUP turns to look at the Man.

PA:

(with dignity)

No, we ain't got no money. But they's

plenty of us to work, an' we 're all

good men. Get good wages out there

an' put it all together an' we'll be

awright.

The Man begins to snigger and then to laugh in a high

whinneying giggle which turns into a fit of coughing. All of

the men are watching him.

SECOND MAN:

Good wages, eh! Pickin' oranges an'

peaches?

PA:

(quietly)

We gonna take whatever they got.

TOM:

What's so funny about it?

SECOND MAN:

(sniggering again)

What's so funny about it? I just

*been* out there! I been an' *seen*

it! An' I'm goin' *back* to starve--

because I ruther starve all over at

once!

PA:

(angrily)

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:

(pulling out handbill)

But what about this?

SECOND MAN:

I ain't gonna fret you. Go on!

TOM:

Wait a minute, buddy. You jus' done

some jackassin'! You ain't gonna

shut up now. The han'bill says they

need men. You laugh an' say they

don't. Now which one's a liar?

SECOND MAN:

(after a pause)

How many you'all got them han'bills?

Come on, how many?

At least three-quarters of the men worriedly reach into their

pockets and draw out worn and folded handbills.

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?

There is a long worried silence. The proprietor leans forward

angrily.

PROPRIETOR:

What are you, a troublemaker? You

sure you ain't one a them labor fakes?

SECOND MAN:

I swear I ain't, mister!

PROPRIETOR:

Well, don't you go roun' here tryin'

to stir up trouble.

SECOND MAN:

(drawing himself up)

I tried to tell you folks sump'n it

took me a year to fin' out. Took two

kids dead, took my wife dead, to

show me. But nobody couldn't tell me

neither. I can't tell ya about them

little fellas layin' in the tent

with their bellies puffed out an'

jus' skin on their bones, an'

shiverin' an' whinin' like pups, an'

me runnin' aroun' tryin' to get work--

(shouting)

--not for money, not for wages--jus'

for a cup a flour an' a spoon a lard!

An' then the coroner came. "Them

children died a heart-failure," he

says, an' put it in his paper.

(With wild bitterness)

Heart-failure!--an' their little

bellies stuck out like a pig-bladder!

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