The Grapes of Wrath Page #4

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TOM:

(entering)

Muley! Where's my folks, Muley?

MULEY:

(dully)

They gone.

TOM:

(irritated)

I know that! But *where* they gone?

Muley does not reply. He is looking up at Casy as he enters.

TOM:

(to Casy)

This is Muley Graves.

(To Muley)

You remember the preacher, don't

you?

CASY:

I ain't no preacher anymore.

TOM:

(impatiently)

All right, you remember the *man*

then.

MULEY AND CASY:

Glad to see you again. Glad to see

you.

TOM:

(angrily)

Now where is my folks?

MULEY:

Gone--

(hastily)

--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:

(bewildered)

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.

(After a pause)

Ever'body but me. I ain't gettin'

off.

TOM:

But who done it?

MULEY:

Listen!

(Impatiently Tom

listens to the storm)

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:

(angrily)

Are you crazy?

MULEY:

(simply)

Some say I am.

(After a pause)

You want to hear what happened?

TOM:

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

MULEY is seen at close range. Not actually crazy, Muley is a

little touched. His eyes rove upward as he listens to the

sound of the storm, the sough of the wind and the soft hiss

of the sand. Then...

MULEY:

The way it happens--the way it

happened to me--the man come one

day...

The scene dissolves to MULEY'S DOORYARD. It is a soft spring

day, with the peaceful sounds of the country. Seated in a

three-year-old touring car is THE MAN, a city man with a

collar and tie. He hates to do what he is doing and this

makes him gruff and curt, to hide his misgivings. Squatted

beside the car are Muley, his son-in-law, and a half-grown

son. At a respectful distance stand Muley's wife, his

daughter, with a baby in her arms, and a small barefooted

girl, watching worriedly. The men soberly trace marks on the

ground with small sticks. A hound dog sniffs at the automobile

wheels.

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.

(Looking around)

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:

(irritably)

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.

Muley stands in anger. The two younger men pattern after

him.

MULEY:

You mean get off my own land?

THE MAN:

Now don't go blaming me. It ain't

*my* fault.

SON:

Whose fault is it?

THE MAN:

You know who owns the land--the

Shawnee Land and Cattle Company.

MULEY:

Who's the Shawnee Land and Cattle

Comp'ny?

THE MAN:

It ain't nobody. It's a company.

SON:

They got a pres'dent, ain't they?

They got somebody that knows what a

shotgun's for, ain't they?

THE MAN:

But it ain't *his* fault, because

the *bank* tells him what to do.

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