The Grapes of Wrath Page #20

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MA:

(hoarsely)

Ya say we're acrost?

TOM:

(eagerly)

Look, Ma!

MA:

Thank God! An' we're still together--

most of us.

(Her knees buckle and

she sits down on the

running board)

TOM:

Didn' you get no sleep?

MA:

No.

TOM:

Was Granma bad?

MA:

(after a pause)

Granma's dead.

TOM:

(shocked)

When?

MA:

Since before they stopped us las'

night.

TOM:

An' that's why you didn't want 'em

to look?

MA:

(nodding)

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.

With the valley for background, Ma looks down on it.

MA:

(softly)

So it's all right. At leas' she'll

get buried in a nice green place.

Trees and flowers aroun'.

(Smiling sadly)

She got to lay her head down in

California after all.

The scene fades out.

A TOWN STREET, by day, fades in. Down a town or small city

business street, with quite a bit of traffic, comes the Joad

truck being pushed by the Joad men. At the wheel, aiming at

a corner gas station, is Rosasharn, frightened and uncertain,

with Ma beside her on the front seat. In the back Ruthie and

Winfield are delighted with this new form of locomotion.

Crossing the street, a policeman falls into step with Tom.

POLICEMAN:

How far you figger you gonna get

*this* way?

TOM:

Right here. We give out a gas.

It is a two-pump station and one of the pumps has a car,

with the attendant servicing it. The Joad truck stops by the

other pump and Tom, wiping his face with his sleeve, grins

and address himself to the policeman. The others stand

listening solemnly in the background.

TOM:

Where's the bes' place to get some

work aroun' here?

(Pulling out the

handbill)

Don't matter what kin' either.

POLICEMAN:

(patiently)

If I seen one a them things I must a

seen ten thousan'.

PA:

Ain't it no good?

POLICEMAN:

(shaking his head)

Not here--not now. Month ago there

was some pickin' but it's all moved

south now. Where'bouts in Oklahoma

you from?

TOM:

Sallisaw.

POLICEMAN:

I come out from Cherokee County--two

years ago.

ROSASHARN:

(pleased)

Why, Connie's folks from Cherokee

County--

POLICEMAN:

(stopping her wearily)

Okay, ma'am, let's don't go into it.

I already met about a hundred firs'

cousins an' it mus' be five hundred

secon'. But this is what I got to

tell you, don't try to park in town

tonight. Keep on out to that camp.

If we catch you in town after dark

we got to lock you up. Don't forget.

PA:

(worriedly)

But what we gonna *do*?

POLICEMAN:

(about to leave)

Pop, that just ain't up to me.

(Grimly he points to

the handbill)

But I don't min' tellin' you, the

guy they *ought* to lock up is the

guy that sent out *them* things.

He strolls away, the Joads looking concernedly after him,

just as the gas station attendant comes briskly to them after

disposing of the other car.

ATTENDANT:

(brightly)

How many, folks?

AL:

(after a pause)

One.

The attendant regards him in disgust.

The scene dissolves to HOOVERVILLE, by day. A large migrant

camp, a typical shanty town of ragged tents and tarpaper

shacks, jalopies and dirty children. A dozen or more children

pause to watch as the Joad truck lumbers down a dirt incline

from the road and stops at the edge of the camp in front of

one of the most miserable of the shacks. The Joads regard

the camp with dismay.

TOM:

(shaking his head)

She shore don't look prosperous.

Want to go somewheres else?

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